It had to be done

I have just returned from a rare trip to Wal-Mart, a store I avoid for a wide variety of reasons. When I do go there to shop, I most always have a meticulous plan to get in and out in the least possible amount of time. If at all possible, I try to plan any trips either late at night or early in the morning. Any other time of day will present a gauntlet of well-nourished individuals driving their beloved MartCarts at a snail's pace in the absolute center of whichever aisle I choose to go down, preventing passage from either side. I am usually so lucky as to be asked something similar to the following: "Excuse me...since you're tall, would you mind reaching up there (at a shelf roughly 4 feet from the floor, no less) and handing me a couple of bags of those double-stuffed deep-fried Twinkies....no, no, not the plain ones...over to your right...yes, those chocolate fudge covered ones with the sprinkles and bacon bits." If you can successfully get past this obstacle, next comes the employees themselves, who seem to have their shelf re-stocking schedule precisely synchronized to the times of peak store traffic. In addition, one must always be on the lookout for screaming children, older men yelling at each other because they have forgotten to turn on their hearing aids, and the annoyance of overhearing the same worn-out conversations. Current topics at the Sylacauga Wal-Mart are: not being able to "get over" why one can't get cell phone reception inside the store (hint...it's a big metal box); the rising cost of food; the fact that kids used to not behave the way they do now; the shrinking size of product packaging, the rising cost of gas, and the oft-overheard conversation wherein two people reassure each other that we are indeed living in the end times and that the good Lord will be coming soon and none of this will matter.
So, when I found myself in a virtually empty Wal-Mart tonight, I realized I was actually enjoying my stroll around the store. My first observation was that even after perusing the entire store, there was virtually nothing that caught my eye as being even slightly appealing to me as a consumer. Perhaps I was just tired. It never ceases to amaze me, though, the range of products one can buy at the supercenter. Don't get me wrong. I am most impressed with Wal-Mart's business model, and while their distribution methods may be adding carbon to the environment in unfathomable quantities, the revolutionary and efficient logistical performance that results in the aggregation of thousands of fresh fruits and vegetables from hundreds of countries picked, packed, shipped, and displayed within a period of days to every store in the nation is mind-boggling. The logic, however, that is employed on the side of the store know as the "general merchandise" area leaves me entertained, confused, and a bit scared. I could spend hours discussing not only the offerings of but also the patrons of our local Wal-Mart. Instead, I just wanted to record a few rather unique and interesting items I came across during my perusal of the wares. With Easter approaching, there's no question but that there would be pastel displays of eggs and chocolates, etc. What amazes me about much of the Easter candy, however, is the sheer volume of some of the packages. A five pound bag of jelly beans? A two pound box of malted milk balls? A mesh bag containing 50 plastic eggs? These quantities might be useful if you ran a decent-sized orphanage, but for the average consumer? Five pounds of candy? Really? Another interesting department was men's clothing, and I am being most liberal in my use of the word clothing. Among the offerings: Nascar tank tops, t-shirts screen printed with images of large-mouth bass, Auburn and Alabama boxer shorts, baseball caps emblazoned with Nascar logos, Auburn and Alabama team colors, various cartoon characters, skulls, some type of skate/punk imitation graphics, and some type of hat that looked like a cross between a fedora and a toboggan. My next stop was the "literature" department, where I was actually impressed to see that Vanity Fair was offered among the magazine selections. This was about as good as it got, however, with the exception of mega best-sellers such as Stieg Larsson's trilogy and a few Oprah's Book Club selections that were of some merit. The rest could be grouped into a few general classes: soft-core vampire porn, Fabio-covered romance novels, puzzle books (mostly circle word) and Christian works, generally falling into either self-help style books promising prosperity through Jesus, or hellfire and brimstone guides to preparing for the end times. Having had enough, I proceeded to the check out lanes to purchase the sunscreen I had come to the store to buy in the first place. Amazingly, there were three lines open. One, the express lane, had 4 customers; another, two or three registers away, had only one person on line, but this person had a shopping cart containing enough food to support a small country for the better part of a year, and finally, the line I chose, a line, from all appearances, the one most likely to swiftly get me through my transaction and out the door. Prior experience should have told me that when faced with the choice of a long line or a short line, especially at Wal-Marts and bank drive-through tellers, always choose the longest line. I don't know why this is, but I know the opposite always results in a near-eternal wait. While the lady in front of me at the check out had only 3 items on the conveyor belt, it was the instrument of torture in her hand that led to my increasing levels of irritation. I say irritation, but that actually came later. At first, it was more of a feeling of intense disbelief. It seems that she had forgotten to pick up some puff paint for a t-shirt she was going to "embellish". So, instead of paying for her few items and then going back to get the item she had forgotten, she called her son on his cell phone (poor reception and all), as he was still wandering around somewhere in the store. She told him that she had forgotten the puff paint, and directed him to the craft section to pick it out, and then proceeded to tell him to look for this kind and not that, this color but not that, and then specified the type of applicator tip, and finally an admonition to get the regular kind, sans glitter. She then continued to speak in a loud voice to him over the phone, directing him back to my register. Nearly 8 minutes had elapsed. I payed and walked to the exit as quickly as possible, but of course, as it was now approaching 10 p.m., the exit that I had chosen had been locked for the evening, and I had to walk the length of the store to the other set of doors, where my sunscreen set off the alarm at the door. I vowed to myself on the way back to my car that I would not, under any circumstances, return to Wal-Mart for at least a month, or until I need a new "My other vehicle is a Bass Boat" bumper sticker, which ever comes first.

The Mill Village in decline

Sylacauga on Acid

What a name!

A brief note of explanation on the title of this blog. The name Sylacauga, virtually unpronounceable to anyone not from here, derives from a Native American word belonging to the language of the Creek Nation, who, along with Cherokee, Chickasaw, and Choctaw natives, inhabited and flourished in Alabama prior to the infamous Trail of Tears. Playing off the perceived difficulty of the name, a promotional slogan was developed for the city: "Sylacauga--What a Name! What a Town!"
(Regarding the origin of the town name, there is some debate. Local legend tells that the name translates literally into "Buzzard's Roost", but the only evidence I have found for this, after considerable research, is unreliable. To my knowledge there are no original source documents verifying this piece of local lore. A more likely origin is, and I'm paraphrasing the exact spelling, the word "Chalaka-gee", which, as I understand, translates to "the village of the Chalaka tribe". The Ch- was pronounced similarly to the English dipthong "sh", leading to a phonetic pronunciation of shall-ah'-kah-guh (or gee). At one point in the town's history, the spelling was Syllacauga, but the second "l" was later dropped.)

The Marble City

This blog is not intended to tell the story of Sylacauga from an historical perspective; indeed, several publications, as well as Sylacauga's Wikipedia page (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylacauga,_Alabama), provide ample information on the city's history and vital statistics. I'm more interested in recording my own observations about life in a small southern town as I see it. As each person's life experiences are different and, when taken as a whole, affect one's perspective and point of view, my perception of this city may seem entirely foreign to your own. As a disclaimer, I would like to go on record as saying that I have no intention to portray Sylacauga in any particular light. My goal is to be as impartial an observer as I can be, recording daily events and observations, in hopes of creating a snapshot of life in this place I call home. Initially, I'll focus on trying to identify some of the pros and cons of modern-day life here, and then move more into more of a "day in the life" journalistic style. I suppose what I'm tying to say is that there is no real road map that I intend to follow. One post may be funny, one scathing, one inspiring, and one heart breaking. Such is the nature of life in any town, large or small.

Sylacauga, along with thousands of other small towns throughout the United States, faces numerous serious problems. Many of these problems cannot be (nor should they be) sugar-coated or subjected to positive spin in order to create the illusion of a progressive town on the move. While not as idyllic as a high-gloss chamber-of-commerce-style brochure might have you believe, Sylacauga does possess many positive attributes, including one of the best libraries in the state, a first-rate municipal airport, and a marble quarry from which pure white marble is mined, comparable in quality only to the finest white marbles of Carrera, Italy. In fact Sylacauga is the nation's largest producer of calcium carbonate, a product found in everything from paint to antacids to toothpaste. The city maintains a small-town charm and feel with all of the typical accoutrements one would expect--high school football games during cool, fall Friday nights, a bustling little league baseball program, beauty pageants, numerous churches and civic organizations, and, of course, a ubiquitous Wal-Mart Supercenter that is, for better or worse, the cultural and social hub for many a Sylacaugan. Without a doubt the single greatest asset of this place is its people. And yet despite their resiliency and tenacity, most struggle on a daily basis to feed their families and put gas in their cars.
Just under the Rockwellian surface of Sylacauga lies a darker interior. Unemployment has remained steadily high since the closure of Avondale Mills, once the driving force behind Sylacauga's economy and one of the most progressive and profitable textile mills in the Southeast. Driven into bankruptcy due primarily to competition from Central American and offshore markets, Avondale's closure left in its wake thousands of unemployed blue-collar workers, many who had never held another job. Without other local industries to absorb these individuals, many left the area. Those who remained turned to government support programs in order to survive. The number of people living at or below the poverty line in areas all over the state is staggering, and Sylacauga is certainly no exception. The average unemployment compensation check provides roughly $135 per week, and food stamps supply an additional $200-$600 per month for food items. Even with the area's relatively low cost of living, individuals and families on this type of budget must forgo many everyday conveniences most people take for granted. Further perpetuating this cycle of poverty is the financial catch-22 of returning to the workforce. Since most local jobs are in the retail sector (and by retail sector I mean convenience stores, so-called dollar stores, Wal-Mart, national fast-food restaurant chains and the like), starting wages are likely to be in a range from $7.25 to at most $10.00 per hour. If one is lucky enough to obtain a full-time job working 40 hours a week at $8.00 an hour, that person can expect to earn $320 a week before deductions. On the surface this may seem markedly better than the $135 they were receiving from unemployment benefits, but from the moment that person reenters the job market, food stamp benefits are reduced, often dramatically. In addition, loans and credit cards must be paid off, many of which may have had payments put on hold or made payable at a reduced rate during the time of unemployment. In many cases these credit cards were maxed out months before work was found, and inability to make minimum payments in the interim has led to an unending barrage of phone calls from debt collectors, provided the individual's phone has not been disconnected for lack of payment. To make matters worse, those single mothers and fathers of pre-school age children must now rely on relatives or begin paying considerable sums of money to daycare facilities. Consider, also, that it has become a relatively common practice to pawn one's car title while maintaining physical possession of the automobile. These "loans", issued to the desperate, are accompanied by usurious interest rates. When the loan comes due and can't be paid, the loan company may choose to repossess the car and file a civil suit for any fees or interest still due. Now, without a car and perhaps a lien on their already meager weekly check, the person who struggled to find and acquire a job against tremendous odds in a faltering economy comes to the almost maddening conclusion that he or she was actually better off unemployed. By having a job, no matter how insignificant in its compensation, one is almost summarily disqualified from all types of financial aid. And thus, a seemingly inescapable cycle begins. Minimum payments every week to numerous creditors, in most cases, do not even cover the interest owed. The stress of such an existence would be tremendous for even the most emotionally-stable and stoic individual. It is then no wonder that many in this town turn to their physicians (if they can afford an office visit) or to the local hospital emergency room, or, in many cases, to a local drug dealer for whatever chemical relief they might find to ease their intractable financial and physical anxiety. In addition to alcohol and tobacco, the drugs of choice in Sylacauga are primarily prescription medications, from benzodiazepines--such as Xanax, Klonopin, Ativan and Valium--to the new sleep aids Lunesta and Ambien; to narcotics, among the most popular being Lortab and Oxycontin. Marijuana, crack cocaine, and crystal methamphetamine use are also on the rise, with several meth labs having been discovered in the Sylacauga in the past year. Unfortunately, the above scenarios are being played out on a daily basis in home after home all over south Talladega county.

This first blog post merely begins to introduce a superficial overview of what is truly a complex and difficult situation. And yet, as is human nature, those who call Sylacauga home continue to persevere and to take pride in this town. Sadly, though, the level of pride and sense of civic duty has declined rapidly in recent decades. In future posts I will address this issue, as well as continue to give my view of the current state of Sylacauga. It is my fervent hope that we as citizens of this town can act as we have in the past to pull together in this difficult time to revitalize and rejuvenate our community. For this to happen, though, a community movement unlike anything in Sylacauga's history will be needed. There are already stirrings of change, and there are amazing men and women doing heroic things to help guide this city forward. Leadership Sylacauga, SAFE, the Chamber, Rotary, Civitan, and the B.B. Comer Library (to name but a few) continue to set the standard for compassion and service. A handful of individuals and organizations, however, cannot shoulder the weight of an entire community on their own. More thoughts on this in my next post.