I will preface this by saying I am not a fan of President Donald Trump or his politics. I am an even lesser fan of Hillary Clinton and her politics, so I didn’t vote for her either.
I voted for Gary Johnson, a libertarian, and did so because he seemed to at least have a sense of humor about the whole two-party mess we’re in.
We need new ideas and new parties, so maybe I will start one - the short old fat newspaper editor’s party, where the few of us who can stand each other for longer than five minutes sit around playing cards and grumbling about being short and fat and old andeditors.
As Old Dean Vernon Wermer said, it’s no way to go through life, son, but at least we newspaper people don’t like to take credit. Let the people who like to be on TV and Facebook get it wrong first.
Our platform will be something along the lines of “we never let facts stand in the way of a good story,” or something we’ll steal from somebody else, and we’ll write long columns about how our bellybuttons used to be so much easier to keep an eye on before they started looking at the ground, and every typo we ever missed was the county commission’s fault. Where was I? Oh yes.
Despite my misgivings regarding President Trump, he is the president, so I tend to try and keep up with what he says - mostly in case he declares war on somebody I know, or decides all editors should be made illegal and sent back to whatever country we came from. I’m from South Carolina by way of Scotland somewhere around 1750 or thereabouts, I think. Go Gamecocks.
Anyway, President Trump said something the other day that resonated with me, probably for the wrong reason.
“We’re full,” he said, right there on TV.
For a second I was afraid he’d try to spell it, but he didn’t.
And then I said, “Hey, he’s right. We’re full.”
Not full of the poor tired huddled masses who seek a better life, mind you, and risk all to make it happen, only to be sneered at and given the worst jobs imaginable, like cleaning up after us Americans.
If anything, we need to treat them with compassion and respect. After all, it was only a couple centuries ago many of our forefathers came over here in search of a better life, risking all. Far as I know, none of them filled out an application for a visa before showing up on the Native Americans’ collective doorstep, hat in one hand and beads in the other.
That was then, of course, and ancient history. This is now, and we’re full of all that stuff comes with where we are now, like noise and traffic and litter and more coming every day.
In Bryan County, Richmond Hill gets the lion's share of the blame for sprawl or whatever you want to call it, though in fairness the city had little to do with the residential growth around it that has clogged its major thoroughfares and stretched its resources thin.
Naturally, the increasingly hectic traffic and burden such growth has placed on services is nowhere in the paragraph “about Richmond Hill” that accompanies just about every press release the city issues through its PR firm.
Here’s what that paragraph says, exactly: “Richmond Hill, Ga., is a quiet family community, located just minutes south of metropolitan Savannah. The city of more than 13,000 residents retains a small town charm and offers citizens a diminished crime rate, outstanding educational opportunities, community services, recreational facilities, and beautiful scenery. Visitors are impressed by its southern charm, rich history, a variety of outdoor adventures, fishing, and great local seafood. With its distinctive history and scenic beauty, Richmond Hill is coastal Georgia living at its finest.”
I know. Sounds like Mayberry goes to St. Tropez, with just a hint of Southern Living meets Conde Nast or whatever it calls itself.
Truth is, Richmond Hill is some of that, and more. It’s got great people, especially among the old guard, as they’re called by some.
Those who’ve lived here for generations and volunteered and worked and served and were fortunate to dwell in a great place, yet didn’t think it made them better than the rest of humanity, just lucky to have the good sense to be here.
But retaining that small town charm isn’t getting any easier, especially since this neck of the woods is full and getting fuller, and it’s not going to stop of its own accord.
Of course, as some note, I’m full of something myself, so take this entire column with whatever grain of salt it deserves. Or, next election, vote for me and if elected I’ll fix everything. I’ll start by building a wall just under North Carolina and make Michigan pay for it.
Then I’ll tackle trade. The Braves look like they still might need some pitching.