No, You Can't Go Back To 'Old Virginny'
![[Bierbauer]](/ALLPOLITICS/1996/analysis/pundits.prose/images/cnn/bierbauer.sm.jpg)
By Charles Bierbauer/CNN
WASHINGTON (Jan. 31) -- Commonwealth of a certain age, mother of presidents, courtly, serene, but "with it" in a 90s kind of way seeks gentleman who will woo her with a song. Must be seductive, but not overtly sexy. Appealing, but not offending. PC only.
"Carry Me Back to Old Virginia" won't do any more. The Virginia state legislature voted this week to retire its state song and seek a new one.
The words to "Carry Me Back..." harked back to the Virginia of cotton, corn and 'tatoes. To the Confederacy, slavery and segregation of Virginia's past. In some instances, not too distant past.
"That's where this old darkey's heart am long'd to go. That's where I labored so hard for old massa."
"This is a huge step..." said one white Virginia state senator.
Well, it's a step. What the senate actually did was to retire the state song and accord it "emeritus" status, like your favorite old college professor.
Still too much of an honor for some black legislators. But it's a lot better than they'd gotten over the years they've been trying to strike its discordant message.
Ironically, the song is not the work of a homesick Southerner, but the words penned by a New Yorker--a black minstrel singer--in the 1870s. In fact, the "old Virginny" tune and taunt had not been played at official functions for some 20 years.
Now having retired it, will the Virginia legislators leave well enough alone? Of course, not. They've called for a committee to find a replacement state song.
A committee! Rogers and Hammerstein were a committee. More than that you don't need to write a song.
What Virginia might better need is a committee to make sure the commonwealth has retired the attitudes that the state song, now emeritus, represented to some. One Northern Virginia high school had an outbreak of anti-semitism this week. The same school's baseball team was using a KKK symbol as a good luck charm last year.
Virginia is not alone in loosing its more than century-old Civil War bonds.
The governor of South Carolina is trying to get the Confederate Stars and Bars off his state house.
The Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration is trying to get a Confederate battle flag off the vanity license plates ordered by the Sons of Confederate Veterans. Maryland, by the way, was a border state, never a part of the Confederacy.
Maryland asked for it by trying to turn license plates into a revenue source. Every affinity group around, from alma maters to zoologists, has its own license logo. That's how the rebel battle flag got there. Robert E. Lee did not have them on his wagons when the army of Virginia marched through Maryland on the way to Gettysburg in 1863.
I'm a born and bred Pennslylvanian. We're not much inclined to relive the Civil War. But we do know a thing or two about the risks of political incorrectness.
Somewhere between when I was a Penn State student in the 60s and last year when my son and daughter graduated the words to the school's "alma mater" changed.
became:
Catchy, eh? But PC. Hey, I didn't send my daughter there to be molded into a man.
Political correctness takes on a multitude of offenses. So far, Penn State's Nittany Lion has not become an endangered species, though some school mascots have fallen to the PC warriors. (Dare I use that word?)
What's a Nittany Lion, by the way? It's really an Eastern mountain lion (already extinct) that lives in the shadow of Mount Nittany which is a largish hill near the Penn State campus, reportedly the burial ground of the Indian princess Nittany (spelling may vary).
No, no one dresses up as the princess and cavorts at football games.
Yes, someone dresses up as the Nittany Lion and cavorts at football games. But it's fake fur, honest!
Other schools have not so successfully averted the mascot police. Animals are fairly safe. It's people that become tricky.
Herbie Husker's overalls and straw hat were too unsophisticated for some University of Nebraska officials who sought to retire Herbie as perhaps unbefitting of the school's national championship footbals team. But Herbie Huskers still sprout on Nebraska lawns and RVs on autumn Saturdays when fans rule.
Somehow Notre Dame's leering leprechaun has avoided sensitizing by those who are either short or Irish or both.
Native Americans are most sensitive, perhaps with most cause. Warpath Indians have long served as fierce mascots for athletic teams.
Now Stanford's Indian has become the "Cardinal." Is it just the color, or is it the bird?
Syracuse's chief has become "the Orange". Not just the color, the fruit. What inspires anyone to walk around dressed as a huge fuzzy beachball? That's school spirit.
Professional teams have been more resistant to change. The Cleveland Indian still has that big toothy grin. Ted Turner and Jane Fonda might still break into the Atlanta Braves' tomahawk chop. The Washington Redskins are decamping to the Maryland suburbs, but the Redskin has not folded his tent.
In clear contrast, the Washington Bullets are moving from the suburbs to a downtown arena where they'll be playing basketball next season as the Washington Wizards. Washington, of course, has too many bullets flying around. This was a popular PC switch. As for the Wizards, can they balance the budget?
As for Virginia, it's never too late to correct an afront. A state song is hardly a necessity. Comity among its citizens is more valuable.
A few years ago Virginia's public relations folks beckoned visitors with the motto: "Virginia is for Lovers." Now the charmless greeting as you cross the Potomac River from Washington reads: "Radar Detectors Prohibited."
Political correctness detectors are not, but they can get out of hand.
Virginia's still a pretty place "where the birds warble sweet in the springtime." You can still sing that, if you choose. You can still whistle "Dixie," and some do.
What Virginia's legislators conceded this week is that you may not be able to do it with an entirely clear conscience.