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Lady Bird Johnson died, and predictably the papers are filled with obituaries talking about her contribution to the esthetics of America’s roadways. This is predictably shallow. I was very moved by the tribute that Sid Blumenthal pens this morning at Salon.com, in which he reminds us that Lady Bird was a Southern Lady from a very prominent Montgomery, Alabama family—and she was defined by her conscience, not by her concern about highway billboards.
Lady Bird belonged to the other South, the liberal South that confronted the harsh realities of segregation and the monolithic system of power that enforced it. She came to her beliefs gradually and, like many other Southerners, engaged in an internal struggle to remake herself and her legacy. She was born, 94 years ago, in a part of East Texas 10 miles from the Louisiana border, amid cotton plantations and “many, many blacks,” she wrote, “totally part of the Old South … a whole feudal way of life.” The bricks of her large house had been handmade by slaves. Her grandfather had fought for the Confederacy at Shiloh. Her father was known to whites as “Cap’n” and to blacks simply as “Mister Boss.” Her mother came a big and influential family in Alabama, where as a girl Lady Bird spent her summers.
“She did not start out as an all-out civil rights person. It took getting there,” Harry McPherson, a longtime aide to Lyndon Johnson, told me. “My recollection is of an enormously civilized woman who was also politically intelligent and knew how important the civil rights issue was to the country and to her husband. That was the main tide she was sailing on. But there was a riptide, the long Southern background, the Montgomery, Alabama, background of her family.”
Sometimes the day’s must-read can be an obituary. And that’s the case today.
More from Scott Horton:
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Average speed of Heinz ketchup, from the mouth of an upended bottle, in miles per year:
After studying the fall of 64,000 individual raindrops, scientists found that some small raindrops fall faster than they ought to.
The Playboy mansion in California was bought by the heir to the Twinkie fortune, and a New Mexico man set fire to his apartment to protest his neighbors’ loud lovemaking.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”