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My North Carolina State of Mind My North Carolina State of Mind
(about 17 hours later)
HILLSBOROUGH, N.C. — “YOU can’t go home again”? If only!HILLSBOROUGH, N.C. — “YOU can’t go home again”? If only!
Children believe all problems can be solved by scrawling a mean note for their parents then buying a bus ticket elsewhere. Grown-ups know there’s no leaving. We’re all from somewhere. And my home is now haunted.Children believe all problems can be solved by scrawling a mean note for their parents then buying a bus ticket elsewhere. Grown-ups know there’s no leaving. We’re all from somewhere. And my home is now haunted.
I am a native Carolinian who sets his novels in a fictive Falls, N.C. I could live anyplace, but I choose here. Still, as our election looms, as Republican advocates of small government make epic incursions into personal freedoms, Patagonia starts sounding attractive.I am a native Carolinian who sets his novels in a fictive Falls, N.C. I could live anyplace, but I choose here. Still, as our election looms, as Republican advocates of small government make epic incursions into personal freedoms, Patagonia starts sounding attractive.
Last month our Republican Legislature rolled back the autonomy of all the state’s l town councils, all gay-and-trans rights. Officials invented a boogeyman excuse: murderous transgender bathroom intruders. This is Jim Crow politics unleashed on L.G.B.T. citizens by lawmakers furious since the court of Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. dignified gay marriage. Our governor? He explained that the legislation was “unifying.” I take this personally. Last month our Republican Legislature rolled back the autonomy of all the state’s town councils, all gay-and-trans rights. Officials invented a boogeyman excuse: murderous transgender bathroom intruders. This is Jim Crow politics unleashed on L.G.B.T. citizens by lawmakers furious since the court of Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. dignified gay marriage. Our governor? He explained that the legislation was “unifying.” I take this personally.
So it’s been tough to love our beloved North Carolina these past few weeks. Then something made it even harder: Nancy Olson died.So it’s been tough to love our beloved North Carolina these past few weeks. Then something made it even harder: Nancy Olson died.
We lost Nancy, our state’s best-loved independent bookseller, on Easter Sunday, and buried her at a crowded funeral on Thursday. The subtraction would be painful at any time. But now especially, we feel this sudden vacuum.We lost Nancy, our state’s best-loved independent bookseller, on Easter Sunday, and buried her at a crowded funeral on Thursday. The subtraction would be painful at any time. But now especially, we feel this sudden vacuum.
Nancy was in her early 40s when a literate uncle left her $30,000. Handed a windfall, smart older people want to open either a bar or a bookstore. So, 29 years back, Nancy and her husband, Jim, founded what would become Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh. She handpicked its brilliant staff, somewhat-talkative folks who read widely for fun. Nancy created a slightly profitable retail establishment that became a hangout, then a secular temple in our conservative (if still progressive) state. There, citizens could gather to dissect the latest of our pointless recent wars. The store became my refuge when I limped home from my young manhood spent too far north.Nancy was in her early 40s when a literate uncle left her $30,000. Handed a windfall, smart older people want to open either a bar or a bookstore. So, 29 years back, Nancy and her husband, Jim, founded what would become Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh. She handpicked its brilliant staff, somewhat-talkative folks who read widely for fun. Nancy created a slightly profitable retail establishment that became a hangout, then a secular temple in our conservative (if still progressive) state. There, citizens could gather to dissect the latest of our pointless recent wars. The store became my refuge when I limped home from my young manhood spent too far north.
I once believed this state’s progress, like mine, could roll only forward — clearer thinking, greater tolerance ahead. I chose a Yankee college where professors mistook my genteel accent for a brain disorder. Oh, I adjusted. But the first fiction I wrote described runaway slaves. My narrative pay dirt always trended southerly. I was no apologist, not yet. When asked why North Carolina produced so many novelists, I knew to say it wasn’t our barbecue or drinking water but our progressive schools.I once believed this state’s progress, like mine, could roll only forward — clearer thinking, greater tolerance ahead. I chose a Yankee college where professors mistook my genteel accent for a brain disorder. Oh, I adjusted. But the first fiction I wrote described runaway slaves. My narrative pay dirt always trended southerly. I was no apologist, not yet. When asked why North Carolina produced so many novelists, I knew to say it wasn’t our barbecue or drinking water but our progressive schools.
But I did notice that North Carolina kept choosing Jesse Helms to represent it in the Senate. How to explain the anti-intellectual hatreds of an otherwise nice man? How might the state that founded our country’s first public university, in 1789, re-elect a man notorious for racist election-night mailings, doctored-photo smear campaigns?But I did notice that North Carolina kept choosing Jesse Helms to represent it in the Senate. How to explain the anti-intellectual hatreds of an otherwise nice man? How might the state that founded our country’s first public university, in 1789, re-elect a man notorious for racist election-night mailings, doctored-photo smear campaigns?
After graduating, I moved to New York, in 1979, too few years before AIDS did. Moralists of the right saw AIDS as anaturally occurring form of weeding. Mr. Helms and other evangelical Christians immediately proclaimed it God’s judgment on Haitians and queers. The senator’s policy, patterned on the Reagans’, was to never utter the disease’s name, except as a punch line. When my gifted young friends started coming down with it, I marveled how their parents clung to Senator Helms’s blame-the-victim invective. A few reversed themselves; others held fast. Some even proved principled enough to skip their children’s funerals. After graduating, I moved to New York, in 1979, too few years before AIDS did. Moralists of the right saw AIDS as a naturally occurring form of weeding. Mr. Helms and other evangelical Christians immediately proclaimed it God’s judgment on Haitians and queers. The senator’s policy, patterned on the Reagans’, was to never utter the disease’s name, except as a punch line. When my gifted young friends started coming down with it, I marveled how their parents clung to Senator Helms’s blame-the-victim invective. A few reversed themselves; others held fast. Some even proved principled enough to skip their children’s funerals.
It never occurred to me that I might move back to North Carolina. But in 1993, after my 30th AIDS funeral, I found my role as night nurse suddenly ended. I was off duty thanks to an improbable and undeserved survival. Hollowed out, I assumed the default position; I retreated to my native state. Unbelievably, I still believed in progress there! As a responsible Carolinian, I would now help un-elect Jesse Helms. But I missed the activist lobby of St. Vincent’s Hospital, missed the phone poles so stapled with Act Up posters they looked like hula skirts.It never occurred to me that I might move back to North Carolina. But in 1993, after my 30th AIDS funeral, I found my role as night nurse suddenly ended. I was off duty thanks to an improbable and undeserved survival. Hollowed out, I assumed the default position; I retreated to my native state. Unbelievably, I still believed in progress there! As a responsible Carolinian, I would now help un-elect Jesse Helms. But I missed the activist lobby of St. Vincent’s Hospital, missed the phone poles so stapled with Act Up posters they looked like hula skirts.
Mourning, I chanced into Quail Ridge Books in 1994. I smelled hardbacks, I recognized fellow travelers. I had just co-founded Writers Against Jesse Helms. Our veteran senator would back any goon-squad dictator branded “anti-Communist.” Helms, a great churchman, blocked every penny meant to fund a cure for AIDS. I’d moved south to cast just one more vote against “Senator No,” to publicize his death-dealing record. Quail Ridge soon became my refueling think-tank haven. And today, feeling again under attack, I cannot help longing for Nancy and the catacomb safety of her Quail Ridge.Mourning, I chanced into Quail Ridge Books in 1994. I smelled hardbacks, I recognized fellow travelers. I had just co-founded Writers Against Jesse Helms. Our veteran senator would back any goon-squad dictator branded “anti-Communist.” Helms, a great churchman, blocked every penny meant to fund a cure for AIDS. I’d moved south to cast just one more vote against “Senator No,” to publicize his death-dealing record. Quail Ridge soon became my refueling think-tank haven. And today, feeling again under attack, I cannot help longing for Nancy and the catacomb safety of her Quail Ridge.
Her store had the cheer of a maintained bulletin board. Nancy presided, salon hostess, den mother. Her white hair she kept in bangs. Nancy Olson was a Unitarian Universalist Grace Paley. Her laugh created other laughs. She sensed when to demonstrate, when to smile, when to try both. Nancy retained even her most far-right customers, hoping they’d “get over themselves” and come around. She and Jim guarded a space where the very outsiders our legislators seek to scare from public toilets always felt valued, welcomed. Store hours then ran 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. You could find kindred spirits before or after work. Under the Art Books sign, you might even get lucky of a Friday night.Her store had the cheer of a maintained bulletin board. Nancy presided, salon hostess, den mother. Her white hair she kept in bangs. Nancy Olson was a Unitarian Universalist Grace Paley. Her laugh created other laughs. She sensed when to demonstrate, when to smile, when to try both. Nancy retained even her most far-right customers, hoping they’d “get over themselves” and come around. She and Jim guarded a space where the very outsiders our legislators seek to scare from public toilets always felt valued, welcomed. Store hours then ran 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. You could find kindred spirits before or after work. Under the Art Books sign, you might even get lucky of a Friday night.
Nancy and Jim saw the writers of our state as extended family. She made secret loans to local authors between books. Nancy even read chapters from customers’ novels-in-progress. One part-time teacher named Charles Frazier worked for years on an epic he called “Cold Mountain” while Nancy promoted it to every publishing rep. Humane politics and empathetic fiction became a single saving force. And Nancy’s sense of the local, her knowledge of her customers, gave Quail Ridge its sense of being everyone’s library-playhouse away from home.Nancy and Jim saw the writers of our state as extended family. She made secret loans to local authors between books. Nancy even read chapters from customers’ novels-in-progress. One part-time teacher named Charles Frazier worked for years on an epic he called “Cold Mountain” while Nancy promoted it to every publishing rep. Humane politics and empathetic fiction became a single saving force. And Nancy’s sense of the local, her knowledge of her customers, gave Quail Ridge its sense of being everyone’s library-playhouse away from home.
Nancy also practiced the art of “hand selling.” This was a political act, and unlike the gender-inspecting of all public bathroom users, it proved a generative one. Nancy didn’t just point her reader to a shelf; no, she set the perfect volume into that customer’s very mitt. Nancy’s hand selling often involved intervention: Taking a bad book out of a customer’s clutch, replacing it with something better, with a work more ambitious, spiritual, more beautifully wrought.Nancy also practiced the art of “hand selling.” This was a political act, and unlike the gender-inspecting of all public bathroom users, it proved a generative one. Nancy didn’t just point her reader to a shelf; no, she set the perfect volume into that customer’s very mitt. Nancy’s hand selling often involved intervention: Taking a bad book out of a customer’s clutch, replacing it with something better, with a work more ambitious, spiritual, more beautifully wrought.
If Nancy were alive this week she might have pointed out how hateful acts like the “HB2” law have deep American precedents — like the legal quest of 1692 to “abjure Satan’s Magick among us,” to quote the Salem witch trial transcripts. Given our country of obsessives, sex itself is always the witch.If Nancy were alive this week she might have pointed out how hateful acts like the “HB2” law have deep American precedents — like the legal quest of 1692 to “abjure Satan’s Magick among us,” to quote the Salem witch trial transcripts. Given our country of obsessives, sex itself is always the witch.
Senator No is dead now. But so is Nancy, our neighborly spirit of “Yes.”Senator No is dead now. But so is Nancy, our neighborly spirit of “Yes.”
If she were alive, we’d be asking what we always asked her: “Nancy? What should we read now? Quick, Nancy: Given the opposition, what should we do next?”If she were alive, we’d be asking what we always asked her: “Nancy? What should we read now? Quick, Nancy: Given the opposition, what should we do next?”
The legislation — House Bill 2, the Public Facilities Privacy and Security Act — has the title, look and feel not of a signed first edition, but of Home Depot plywood. It immediately drew the ire of Mark Zuckerberg, Harvey Weinstein, Andrew Cuomo, the airlines, the White House and those sports franchises so dear to our state. The High Point Furniture Market, an event that draws 80,000 customers and designers per year, is considering a boycott. (Governor? Who knew there were gay people in the interior decorating industry?) PayPal, which recently announced it would open a North Carolina operations center, protested by canceling its plan, and the 400 new jobs with it. And just yesterday, Bruce Springsteen torpedoed his sold-out show in Greensboro.The legislation — House Bill 2, the Public Facilities Privacy and Security Act — has the title, look and feel not of a signed first edition, but of Home Depot plywood. It immediately drew the ire of Mark Zuckerberg, Harvey Weinstein, Andrew Cuomo, the airlines, the White House and those sports franchises so dear to our state. The High Point Furniture Market, an event that draws 80,000 customers and designers per year, is considering a boycott. (Governor? Who knew there were gay people in the interior decorating industry?) PayPal, which recently announced it would open a North Carolina operations center, protested by canceling its plan, and the 400 new jobs with it. And just yesterday, Bruce Springsteen torpedoed his sold-out show in Greensboro.
This beautiful state of ours was once only schizophrenic. For every Senator Jesse Helms it produced a racially aware, education-minded Gov. Terry Sanford. Redistricting then lobotomized North Carolina. At my rusting age, how to find a way to re-believe in progress?This beautiful state of ours was once only schizophrenic. For every Senator Jesse Helms it produced a racially aware, education-minded Gov. Terry Sanford. Redistricting then lobotomized North Carolina. At my rusting age, how to find a way to re-believe in progress?
Nancy’s death seems like another legislative mistake. We need more such forthright guides to books and life. In a world turned cyanide cynical, belief grows more precious, more powerfully colorful. Where are people whose clarion ethics so shape their taste? “Good” in both cases. How singular and pivotal one book dealer can be in a North Carolina that now seems run for and by Charlotte’s D+ mediocrities. Where are 10,000 other folks willing to come out and say: “Respect is better than hate. Love always outranks enemy making. And this book, unlike that lazy escapist junk you picked first, is a great book. Read it. Then come back and I swear I’ll send you to 40 more this good or better. Trust me? You can trust me.”Nancy’s death seems like another legislative mistake. We need more such forthright guides to books and life. In a world turned cyanide cynical, belief grows more precious, more powerfully colorful. Where are people whose clarion ethics so shape their taste? “Good” in both cases. How singular and pivotal one book dealer can be in a North Carolina that now seems run for and by Charlotte’s D+ mediocrities. Where are 10,000 other folks willing to come out and say: “Respect is better than hate. Love always outranks enemy making. And this book, unlike that lazy escapist junk you picked first, is a great book. Read it. Then come back and I swear I’ll send you to 40 more this good or better. Trust me? You can trust me.”
If only.If only.