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Dealing with Post Tarheel Sisyphus Disorder

5Trigger warning, this column is not suitable for UNC football fans, Snowflakes irritated by mangled Greek Mythology, or small house plants. Parental discretion is advised. You would be better off binge-watching pre-season Hallmark Channel Christmas movies rather than wasting your time reading this drivel. I personally witnessed the recent UNC- Clemson football debacle. I am scarred for life as a result of the traumatic events at Kenan Stadium. Unlike what Andy Griffith once said, what it was, was not football. It was Slaughter House 38-10 in Chapel Hill. Andy at least got a big Orange soda at his Tar Heel game. I did not even have the comfort of adult beverages to ease the gridiron pain as I had to drive back home after the game.
To be a Tar Heel football fan is to suffer, to know great pre-season hopes only to see them dashed to bits on the shores of a non-existent defense and an at best mediocre offense. It is to be Charlie Brown hoping that this time Lucy will not snatch the football away at the last minute. It is to understand the depths of Charlie’s anguish as he screams, “AAUGH!” The Heels gave up 28 points to Clemson in the first quarter. There is no Mercy Rule in college football to stop scoring carnage. UNC, like Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire, must depend upon the kindness of strangers. In this case, the kind strangers wore Clemson orange. If Clemson had not played its second and third strings after the first quarter, the score might have been a Zillion to 3.
Unfortunately, like Humpty Dumpty’s issues, UNC’s Bill Belichick, our $50 million 73-year-old coach, and Jordan, his 24-year-old girlfriend, could not put the Tar Heels back together again. To rationalize why Tar Heel fans still pull for the football team, kindly turn to the story of Sisyphus, the patron saint of Carolina Football. At some point in the past, UNC football must have offended the Greek Gods. We are the Sisyphus of college football. Were you asleep when Sisyphus was discussed in your Greek Mythology class? Allow me to refresh your recollection. Post Tarheel Sisyphus Disorder (PTSD) explains what happens in Kenan Stadium each Autumn.
Sisyphus considered himself smarter than Zeus. He ticked off Zeus by ratting him out about kidnapping the River God’s daughter. It is not wise to aggravate the King of the Gods. Zeus ordered Thanatos the God of Death to chain up Sisyphus. Sisyphus pulled the old switcheroo and chained up Thanatos instead. Because Thanatos was chained up, no humans could die on Earth. This situation frustrated Ares, the God of War, because battles couldn’t result in killing his enemies. Death was stingless while Thanatos was imprisoned. Ares finally captured Sisyphus and unchained Thanatos so people could start dying again.
Sisyphus ended up in the custody of Hades, the God of the Underworld. Being a smooth talker, Sisyphus conned Hades into letting him temporarily go back to the world of the living to remonstrate with his wife. Once above ground, Sisyphus refused to go back to the Underworld until he died of old age. On returning to the Underworld, Hades made Sisyphus push a giant enchanted rock up a hill. When Sisyphus got the rock almost to the top of the hill, the rock would roll back down the hill, forcing Sisyphus to start pushing the rock back up the hill again. This goes on for eternity. Sisyphus is the universal symbol of “useless efforts and unending frustration.”
Speaking of useless efforts and unending frustration, Gentle Reader, now do you see why UNC football fans suffer PTSD every Autumn? Hope springs eternal each pre-season. We dream the impossible dream. We will fight the unbeatable foe. We will bear with unbearable sorrow. We will run where the brave dare not go. This season will be different. The Heels will go all the way. We will push the Enchanted Rock up the hill. Victory will be in sight. Then the month of September arrives. The football-shaped rock rolls back down Chapel Hill, crushing the hopes of the Village Faithful in Kenan Stadium. By October, there is no pressure on Tar Heel football fans. We leave during the 3rd quarter. The season was wrecked during September. We long for the return of basketball season and UNC Women’s Field Hockey.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright/ The band is playing somewhere/ And somewhere hearts are light/ And somewhere men are laughing/ And somewhere children shout/ But there is no joy in Chapel Hill/ Mighty Belichick has struck out.

(Illustration by Pitt Dickey)

Folk school operates a time machine

4Is time travel possible? Of course! On this matter, you’d be wise to consult not physicists but artists — including the faculty of a certain highland school that once existed in a time all its own.
No, it wasn’t nestled inside Brigadoon. I refer to the John C. Campbell Folk School in beautiful Brasstown, North Carolina, which straddles the boundary between Clay and Cherokee counties.
When the United States was initially divided into four standard time zones in 1883, the far western corner of our state lay within Central Time. Over the ensuing decades, many communities voted to join the rest of North Carolina in observing Eastern Time. Clay County was one of them. Cherokee wasn’t. So the folks in Brasstown decided to split the difference. When it was 4 o’clock in Hayesville and 3 o’clock in Murphy, the clock at Campbell Folk School read 3:30!
Speaking of time, this fall marks the 100th anniversary of the school’s founding. Olive Dame Campbell, the widow of scholar John C. Campbell, incorporated the institution in late 1925 with her friend Marguerite Butler, a Kentucky schoolteacher. Residents of Brasstown and neighboring communities contributed land, labor, and resources to the emerging folk school, a form of education borrowed from Northern Europe that imparts knowledge and skills without conferring grades or credentials.
Campbell Folk School is, in fact, the oldest and largest such institution in the United States, serving thousands of students and tens of thousands of visitors annually with weeklong and weekend classes, longer work-study programs for young people, and hundreds of concerts and dances a year for everyone.
What can you study at the folk school? Here’s a partial list: music, dance, gardening, quilting, photography, weaving, marbling, storytelling, painting, and puppetry. Fair warning, though: don’t expect to spend much of your time in classrooms listening to lectures. Campbell is very much a learn-by-doing school. Its motto? “We sing behind the plow.”
It was, indeed, sound that Olive Campbell used to describe what she had in mind. “We listen to sound of hammer,” she wrote, to “saw and plane in the carpentry room, to the thud of the loom and whirr of spinning wheel in the weaving and sewing room. We watch them at their daily physical training in the gymnasium. We hear them singing — for it is song that welds the group.”
Bethany Chaney, executive director of Campbell Folk School, relishes the opportunity to honor its past while serving new generations.
“We are this anchor here in far western North Carolina,” she told my Carolina Journal colleague Katherine Zender, “and because so few of us who’ve grown up in North Carolina ever get out here, we may not know what an incredibly special, beautiful, vibrant 100-year-old institution we have and how the folk school has changed people’s lives, perspectives, and even vocations.”
The school just completed its Fall Festival and is now preparing to host its Forge After Dark event, which will feature a blacksmithing demonstration and live music on Nov. 7 and a craft auction on Nov. 8.
No, you won’t find a mysterious TARDIS or souped-up DeLorean in Brasstown. Still, the kind of time travel practiced there is no less powerful and exciting.
By teaching the fine arts, agricultural practices, foodways, and traditional culture of the Southern Appalachians, the John C. Campbell Folk School spirits its students and visitors away to a rich and deservedly cherished past.
At the same time, teacher and learner alike are building a bridge to a brighter future, one dedicated to the proposition that, as Olive Campbell put it, “education should not discredit” the “humble tasks of farm, shop and home.” Education should link “the culture of toil and culture of books,” she continued. “It should be enlightened action.”
Now, in our seemingly perpetual winter of discontent and disconnection, it’s a promise that beckons us with convivial warmth and glorious light — both available in ample quantities in Brasstown, at a time of your choosing.
Editors’ note: John Hood is a John Locke Foundation board member. His books Mountain Folk, Forest Folk, and Water Folk combine epic fantasy with American history (FolkloreCycle.com).

(Photo: The Campbell Folk School has classes and hosts events throughout the year to showcase the talents of those who attend. Photo courtesy of the Campbell Folk School Facebook page)

Publisher's Pen: Dead center: Wake-up call for political civility

4aI’m recommending to all my friends—Democrats and Republicans alike—that they read former Senator Joe Manchin’s new book, Dead Center: In Defense of Common Sense.
It’s a compelling and timely reminder that in politics, listening, compromise, cooperation, and civility are essential to progress. Sadly, these qualities are becoming increasingly rare at every level of government.
For nearly 30 years, my focus has remained squarely on the quality of life in Fayetteville and Cumberland County, with a consistent emphasis on leadership in local government. Unfortunately, this past week has not been our proudest moment.
On Sept. 29, a video went viral showing a female supporter of Mayor Mitch Colvin verbally attacking a female poll worker for mayoral candidate Mario Benavente. The barrage of obscenities was shocking, and the confrontation escalated to the point where the abused poll worker charged the aggressor with intent to cause bodily harm. Thankfully, Benavente intervened and restrained her, preventing physical violence. This behavior is totally unbecoming of our local Democrats.
However, not to be outdone, Cumberland County Republicans hosted their own “fight night” on Oct. 2 at Peter Pappas’ converted Baldino’s restaurant, now the Republican Resource Center on Owen Drive. There, two factions of the local GOP exchanged insults and accusations, exposing their internal divisions and contradictory agendas. These are the same individuals who organize prayer vigils and solidarity marches in honor of Turning Point founder Charlie Kirk, while shamelessly promoting his doctrine. Unfortunately, they “talk the talk” but fail to “walk the walk.”
Thursday evening may well have been their own “turning point,” as two prominent GOP women—Cumberland County GOP Board Member Laura Mussler and Calista Cuevas, local director of Moms for Liberty—engaged in a heated exchange that turned physical and ended with police intervention and both parties filing misdemeanor assault charges against one another. You can read the full account of the melee in Paul Woolverton’s October 3rd article in CityView. Spoiler alert: it reads like a supermarket tabloid. Both women are scheduled to appear before a judge in November. One can’t help but imagine Judge Judy presiding.
These incidents are just two recent examples of the toxic discourse plaguing politics today. There’s no communication, no empathy, no willingness to listen or compromise. It’s become a race for power and control, rather than a pursuit of public service..
“It’s not about power—it’s about people. Civility, compromise, and common sense must return to the center of our politics.”
A recent poll found that 82% of Americans believe political discourse has gone too far and that both major parties have become too extreme—abandoning the common-sense middle ground.
We’re seeing this firsthand in Fayetteville and Cumberland County, and that’s why this Nov. 7, we must vote for candidates who prioritize humanity, civility, and cooperation. Our future depends on it.
This being said, I strongly recommend to everyone who loves our community, state, and nation to:

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Working to reconstruct common ground

5My father was a lifelong Fayetteville resident. He, like millions of other American men, was drafted into the United States Army. All were changed by their service with fellow soldiers from vastly different places, with different points of view and different ways of life. My father’s military friends included a businessman from the garment district in New York City, a midwestern corn farmer, and someone from New Orleans whose background I never knew. They would never have crossed paths without shared service, but they nurtured these friendships throughout their lives, with shared experiences and a love of our nation being the glue holding them together.
We are now a divided nation, with few common experiences, military or otherwise. Today, although it does not feel this way in our community, less than 1 percent of Americans are on active military duty, and many Americans do not know anyone serving or who has served. Military service is no longer a common experience.
Both talking heads and everyday Americans see that we are now either red or blue, with only a tad of purple. We all wave the American flag, then take it home, and lock our doors and our minds. We watch programs and read publications that reflect our world views back to us, and we associate with people who think like us and avoid people who do not. People, unlike us, are now “the other,” with all of us spinning off into our own orbits.
Increasingly, I see mandatory national service for young Americans as a way to provide a common experience at the beginning of adulthood, a formative time of life in all societies. It could take many different forms with a year or so of service by all able young Americans, including military, educational, health-care related, environmental, agricultural, social, or cultural. It could include existing organizations like Teach for America, Americorps, and other national, regional, and local organizations. Such service could point young people in career directions. Options are fluid and endless.
The point is not what our young people do but that they do something both for themselves and for their country. The point is that young people pause and think not so much about themselves as about their communities and our nation. The point is that we remix and spread our national glue, creating common experiences and bonds for future generations like the ones my father’s generation treasured.
None of this would be easy, of course.
Critics of the notion cite individual liberty concerns. Some say the burden of service could fall disproportionately on disadvantaged young people, as the draft did when it was the law of the land. And then there is the cost and the bureaucracy required to administer such a large national program. In addition, some fear broad mandatory service could hurt military requirements. Each of these is a valid concern, but 10 European nations already require military service by men, and several encourage women to serve, with others moving toward conscription for women. Nations elsewhere in the world require non-military service, and Great Britain and France are both working on similar programs for teenagers.
In other words, we are a bit late to this party.
Like many other Americans, I fear for the future of our nation and believe to my core that we must find common ground, work for common goals, and see each other for what we are, Americans. This matters less for older Americans, but it matters enormously for our young people.
If we cannot, or if we do not, I fear that poet W. E. Yeats will be right—-that “the centre cannot hold.”

Pitt, Grimm’s Fairy Tales presents: The Riddle

Welcome back to the wonderful world of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Today, we enter a forest to meet a Prince, his faithful but clumsy servant, 12 murderers, and a Princess. The truth shall set you free. Unless you are questioned by the police, you are advised to consult with an attorney before answering questions. The Prince in our story gets interrogated by a Princess. Spoiler Alert: Despite telling her the truth, it turns out OK for the Prince. Remember, this is a fairy tale. Any resemblance to real life is purely coincidental.
5Once upon a time, a Prince came down with wanderlust. He rode into the forest with his trusty servant to seek adventure. Near dark, he began looking for a place to spend the night. He found a cottage in the woods with a beautiful girl standing outside the door. He asked if they could spend the night. She warned him that her wicked stepmother lived there and not to eat or drink anything she offered him. The Prince did not fear witches, but he did not consume any food or drink just to be safe. The next morning, the Prince rode away before his servant finished saddling his horse. The witch offered the servant a cup of ale to take to the Prince. The servant, who was a butter-fingered lout, spilled the cup on his horse. The horse immediately died as the witch’s brew was poison.
The servant caught up with the Prince. On returning to the cottage to retrieve the abandoned saddle, they found a raven eating the eye of the dead horse. Unsure of when or if they would find food, they killed the raven and took it with them for supper. That evening, they saw an inn in the woods. The servant gave the innkeeper the raven to cook for their supper. It turned out that twelve murderers were also staying at the inn. The innkeeper was about to serve the Prince when the murderers grabbed the raven stew for themselves. After one bite, each of the murderers died because the raven had been poisoned by eating the horse’s eyeball.
The innkeeper skedaddled from the inn, leaving his beautiful daughter behind. She showed the Prince where the murderers had hidden all their stolen treasures. Being an honest man, he refused her offer to take the robber’s stolen booty.
Next, the Prince rode into a town ruled by the King. The King had a beautiful daughter who prided herself on being the greatest riddle solver in the world. She promised to marry anyone who could ask her a riddle she could not solve in 3 days. If she solved the riddle, then her suitor would have his head chopped off. Nine men tried and nine men died. The Prince, being smitten by her beauty, took up her challenge. He asked her this riddle: “One killed none, but still killed twelve. Who was it?”
The Princess was stumped. She sent her maid to sneak into the Prince’s bed chamber to try to overhear if he talked in his sleep about the riddle. On the first night, the Prince faked sleep. He snatched the maid’s robe and chased her away with a stick. He did the same on the second night, again snatching her robe. Finally, on the third night, the Princess herself stole into his room. He pretended to be asleep as the Princess whispered his riddle into his ear. He gave her the answer: “A raven ate the flesh of a dead horse that was poisoned and died itself. Then 12 murderers ate the raven stew and died.” He grabbed her royal robe when she ran from his room.
The next morning, the Princess proudly announced she had solved the riddle. She presented her explanation to the court’s 12 Riddle Masters. It appeared the Prince was doomed. Then he explained that he had been awake and given her the answer, as she would never have figured it out on her own. The Riddle Masters asked for proof. He produced the 3 robes from the maids and the Princess to prove his story was true. The Riddle Masters ruled in his favor that he had stumped the Princess. She had to marry him. He ultimately inherited the entire Kingdom when her father died.
MORAL: This is possibly the only documented time a man telling a woman the truth worked out well for the man. Remember, this is a fairy tale. Gentlemen, don’t try this at home. As Tony Soprano said to Dr. Melfi: “Is this a woman thing? You ask me how I am feeling. I tell you how I’m feeling, and now you’re gonna torture me with it?” No ravens were harmed during the writing of this column.

(Illustration by Pitt Dickey)

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