Just South of Crazy

Southerners love eccentrics. William Faulkner walked about town in his Royal Air Corps uniform. In Memphis, Robert Hodges, better known as Prince Mongo, is often seen around town with a long wig, aviation goggles, and a rubber chicken attached to his jacket. My grandmother, my father’s mother, was sometimes called “crazy” by others who didn’t quite understand her eccentric ways.

Of course, in the South, we are proud of such a label. It means we are interesting and worthy of being the center of dinnertime conversation. Who wants to be completely normal and boring?

If I descended from a rational, reasonable, logical family, I would have no stories to tell. And to a gregarious Southern someone like me, I live or die by telling stories. Therefore, I am grateful for every ounce of eccentricity that has ever flowed through the veins of anyone with whom I share blood.

Now, my Granny was smart as a whip, but she definitely had her peculiarities. She heard voices from time to time — informative, friendly voices — and would regularly talk openly with them. She was convinced Jackie Kennedy lived next door, and at the end of her life, she disappeared for days only to be found in a hotel room hiding from the aliens.

Mama used to warn, “You girls better be careful. It’s in the genes.”

When it comes to American regionalism, the South is rich, idiosyncratic territory for the eccentric. To northerners, life below the Mason-Dixon Line may feel like a different world, a quaint land full of oddities and mysteries. But to Southerners, it's all totally normal. The difference between the North and the South is that in the north the crazy relatives are hidden away. In the South, we put them on the front porch and hand them a drink.

And if you should decide to visit, there’s a UFO Welcome Center in Bowman, South Carolina a resident has made it clear that his place is the place to be when the aliens finally visit. The unofficial site is a makeshift design of two silver UFOs. Inside one of the ships, there’s a toilet, shower, television, and even air conditioning: everything to make an extraterrestrial visitor feel welcomed.

Most families have had to tolerate at least one bona fide eccentric: the great aunt with the habit of speaking with a British accent, or a cousin who remains sequestered in his garage with old car motors assembling his own spaceship. Some families cope by having little to do with these odd relations. Not me. Not only do I enjoy eccentric people’s stories but the voices inside of my head enjoy them, too. Southerners are the best at small talk. We will talk to anyone literally anywhere. You may find it crazy, but we simply enjoy the company of strangers. And of course, that includes all the aliens, too.