POOR WILLIAM’S WHIMS

Fearing the Delta Freebird

By POOR WILLIAM

Photo by The Delta Bohemian

Enemy forces will never invade the Mississippi Delta; if they did, they would quickly find out the futility of attempting to control, harness, and subdue its obdurate occupants–black or white. Deltans don’t play when it comes to our God-given, Constitution-confirming freedoms.

Poor William believes blacks and whites in Mississippi have more in common with each other than blacks and whites have with members of their own race residing north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Just as any proper social history of people groups over time focuses more on continuity than change, the real story of the Delta is in our similarities, not in our differences.

The Delta races have moved closer together as a result of music and recognition of our shared interests, such as an affinity for pork, fried yard bird, church, sports, blues, cornbread and both kinds of tea–sweet and un-sweet.

So, if our fair environs were ever under siege, Poor William thinks it might behoove leaders in the Delta to manufacture and disseminate disinformation in order to unify blacks and whites against a perceived, overwhelming invading force.

We could spread the word the enemy had talked about our mommas and Poor William’s weekly column, dissed our BBQ, told us our crappie weren’t big enough to fry, said ribs don’t matter in the grand scheme of things, and spoke ugly about Charlie Conerly, Walter Peyton, Jerry Rice, Eli and Archie, Billy Graham, T.D. Jakes, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and cold malt liquor.

Everybody down south knows “God don’t like ugly.” Talk about our icons and “it’s on.” Deltans would snatch their enemies baldheaded and then beat their asses for being baldheaded.

Enough bullets are stockpiled beneath our rich, alluvial soil to effectively tilt the earth’s axis in mid-rotation! If bullets were magnetized, planes would not be able to fly over Coahoma County for fear of being unable to overcome the magnetic pull!

Neither France nor the United States was ever able to root out the Viet Cong in Southeast Asia. People who love their land and way of life do not give up the ghost easily, and we love our ghosts down here.

The Viet Cong (VC) might have instilled fear in American GI’s when they were clad in black pajamas and Ho Chi Minh sandals during the conflict in Southeast Asia, but camouflage, a baseball cap worn backwards and a Raiders jersey will make the enemy fear The Blues Trail in the same way “Charlie” made Westerners fear the Ho Chi Minh trail after dark!

The VC carried a bag of rice, pajamas, and an AK47, but the indigenous redneck–a redundancy–will have beef jerky, cold beer, a stadium chair, a can of dip, a bag of corn nuts, a canister of DDT and more firepower than Saddam had palaces.

Neither Yankees, Soviets, Bin Ladenites nor Red Army regulars will prevail amongst the descendents of Theodore–Bilbo not Roosevelt–and if they start with the cities, they will likely be decimated by Tec-9s shot sideways.

Then, when they head to the levee, Poor William thinks they better be thinking long haul, just as the Soviets found out trying to occupy Afghanistan in the 1980s, and like the United States is finding out now.

Armies and sport’s teams have long united around battle cries intended to frighten the enemy and bolster their own courage, but present day, land-grabbing conquistadors would have to reckon with the modern day Rebel yell–“FREEEEBUUURD.”

Non-English speaking Visigoths would surely understand how precariously their lives hang beneath Damocles’ sword when hearing pumped-up, psyched-out, Southern rock warriors screaming the title of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s rock anthem, “Freebird,” while watching throngs of mullets bend four-wheel throttles to the breaking point, bursting from tall rows of ethanol-producing plants, hurtling lead like the Duke in True Grit as he charged across a meadow with reigns in mouth and visions of the South.

You know, if an enemy wants the Delta, they might be better off gifting local politicians with an all-expense-paid, fact-finding mission to Aruba, than to physically invade with the hope of effectuating local acquiescence. Rebellion and autonomy run as deep here as do our artesian wells. “FREEEEBUUURD.”

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