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Suwannee River town, Suwannee River country

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Title:
Suwannee River town, Suwannee River country political moieties in a Southern county community
Added title page title:
Political moieties in a Southern county community
Creator:
Sapp, Richard Wayne, 1946-
Publication Date:
Copyright Date:
1976
Language:
English
Physical Description:
xiii, 257 leaves : diagrs., maps ; 28cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Agriculture ( jstor )
Cities ( jstor )
Counties ( jstor )
Crackers ( jstor )
Farmers ( jstor )
Farms ( jstor )
State banks ( jstor )
Towns ( jstor )
Voting ( jstor )
White people ( jstor )
Anthropology thesis Ph. D ( lcsh )
Dissertations, Academic -- Anthropology -- UF ( lcsh )
Political sociology ( lcsh )
Politics and government -- Florida -- 1951- ( lcsh )
Social surveys -- Florida ( lcsh )
Suwannee County ( local )
Genre:
bibliography ( marcgt )
non-fiction ( marcgt )

Notes

Thesis:
Thesis--University of Florida.
Bibliography:
Bibliography: leaves 247-256.
General Note:
Typescript.
General Note:
Vita.
Statement of Responsibility:
by Richard Wayne Sapp.

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University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
Copyright [name of dissertation author]. Permission granted to the University of Florida to digitize, archive and distribute this item for non-profit research and educational purposes. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions requires permission of the copyright holder.
Resource Identifier:
025276039 ( AlephBibNum )
02762722 ( OCLC )
AAT0105 ( NOTIS )

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SUWANNEE RIVER TOWN, SUWANNEE RIVER COUNTRY:
POLITICAL MOIETIES IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY COMMUNITY


By

Richard Wayne Sapp


A Dissertation Presented to the Graduate Council
Of the University of Florida
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements
For the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy











UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA


1976















PREFACE


The Center for Rural Development and the Department of 4-H

and Other Youth Programs, Institute of Food and Agricultural

Sciences, University of Florida, sponsored the research for this

dissertation with a working graduate assistantship. I began

active research in the county I have called Apalachee in June

1974 and completed that phase in May 1975. During the summer of

1974 I labored in tobacco warehouses in the county seat, Lizbeth,

and the following summer I worked in Lizbeth as project coordi-

nator for a summer program of the Suwanne River Economic Council.

These activities provided additional insight into my host com-

munity and the financial means to remain there during those

summers.

I went to Apalachee County to examine political processes in

the context of a human community, a socially whole unit,, rather

than of a specific group or geographic area. This approach

seemed eminently applicable to study in large-scale complex

societies. My premise suggested that to get at widespread phe-

nomena in complex systems, we must enter by examining proces-

sual or organizational nodes of interaction rather than structural

nodes. Of course, some social scientists have long done exactly

this, but the method has particular value for the cultural











anthropology of complex societies. Consequently I chose to look

at the distribution of political power and resources within a

large (15,000+ inhabitants) social arena. While I think the work

itself was successful, I missed the close, intensely personal

experience of working day by day in a tiny, isolated group

formerly the hallmark of the professional anthropologist.

I initiated the active phase of on-site research with a set

of methods and principles in mind. Methodologically the work

resembled decades of anthropological tradition. I planned to

sit quietly, listen, question, and read what I could of the area

and the people. I determined to be honest in my approach, open

in my "search for truth," and confidential with all volunteered

information. These principles served me well and were only

muddled by their occasional inconsistency with contractual obli-

gations to my employer.

My reception in the community must be understood as inter-

action with at least two levels of meaning, which structural

analysis endeavors to decipher--a public front and a private

interior. When natives of Apalachee County inquired challeng-

ingly, "Why did you come here (to do your research)?" they seemed

to mean not only "Why here?" but "Why not elsewhere?" Privately '

implied was a clear statement--"Leave Us Alone"--restating the

plea sewn on the First Flag of the territory of Florida, a

product of rural, north Florida localism. Locals frequently

asked, "How have people received you here?" revealing a protective










premise of localism and provincialism underlying their interest.

Publicly the people described themselves as "friendly" and

received me well. Locals stuck a hand up in their version of

waving and I waved back, waved every chance I got, whether or

not I knew the person on the other end of the greeting. At this

level, the level of public form, the whole world is a stage and

the people indeed are "friendly."

The private sphere opened less to me, for intimacy took

time, and this brought me to realize another structuring principle

of Apalachee society--familism. A person involved in great

sets of kinfolk or many voluntary associations has a high thres-

hold requirement for sympathetic interaction with strangers,

and I consider myself fortunate in the close relationships I had.

Intimacy, in a sense, is a gift of birth or marriage, and though

a great grandmother of mine was born in. the southern end of the

county in 1882, though I was related to a well-remembered

marshal of the county seat, though I bore a familiar cracker name,

I had to demonstrate my ability and willingness to reciprocate in

the public display of being a "good old boy"--I had to earn my

way in.

Grappling with practical and methodological considerations

led me toward the formation of hypotheses during my field work.

This repetition of interest in the nature of my reception forced

me to try to'understand the implications of a dual level of

interaction. I realized that a we-vs.-they spirit of localism











was a structuring principle in the social life of rural north

Florida.



After work like mine in Apalachee County, one owes a debt

beyond immediate repayment to two groups of people--the pene-

trated host community and the assertive academic community. These

debts cannot be compared, because their fundamental nature springs

from distinctive and occasionally opposing premises. The hosts

must protect their integrity from exploitation and uncharitable

publicity, while the academic sponsors must pry in order that

they may understand and interpret social life in all its complexity

as truthfully as possible. I am not at liberty to cite the names

of individuals of the host community who aided and befriended me,

for whatever personal reasons. Although the manuscript names

positions and personal names, identities, wherever possible, have

been disguised. I can only say thank you, and hope that the

analysis I present of your community and your way of life is free

of major errors: you did receive me well.

To the academic community of the University of Florida I

owe a debt of gratitude for urging me to ask the impertinent

question--"What are the reasons?"--and to view responses with

benign (but not patronizing) skepticism. Shepherding my tenure

in graduate school was a demanding and often thankless task.

I will not single out all who have played a role in my academic

and career development and who deserve a special thank you, but











the following have had a deep and lasting effect on my personal

and professional life: Dr. G. Alexander Moore, chairman of my

supervisory committee, and Dr. Solon T. Kimball read and critized

early drafts of the manuscript. Mr. Carl Feiss, Dr. Paul Doughty,

and Dr. Alfred Clubok have served on my supervisory committee.

Dr. James Brasher, Dr. Thearon McKinney, Dr. B. R. Eddleman, and

Dr. Michael Davis have sponsored my work with the Institute of

Food and Agricultural Sciences of the University of Florida.

Dr. Bill Smith and Mr. Jim Brown, extension personnel, always

lent me a helpful hand in north Florida. Martha Hetrick of Edition

Makers assisted in the preparation of the manuscript.

I wish to express my gratitude for and appreciation of the

support and encouragement offered me by my own families. Without

their unstinting care I would have fallen by the wayside long

ago.

Finally it-must be made clear that many people have played a

part in the development of this manuscript--the facts included,

opinions expressed, and interpretations presented. Errors,

omissions, and occasional rejection of good advice, however, can

be charged against no one but myself.













*CONTENTS


Preface ii
List of Tables viii
List of Figures .ix
Abstract x


A COMMUNITY EVENT 2

CHAPTER

1 INTRODUCTION 10


PART I 19

2 ENTER THE COUNTRYMAN--THE TOWNMAN ATTENDS 20

3 THE BLACK MAN IN COUNTY HISTORY 68

4 THE PRESENT ERA 88


PART II 105

5 CLIQUE, COLLECTIVE, AND FACTION 108

6 THE SYSTEM AND STRUCTURE OF GOVERNANCE 130

7 POLITICAL PRIZES 165

8 POLITICAL ENCOUNTERS 185

9 POLITICAL RESOLUTION 211

10 CONCLUSION 236


APPENDIX 244
BIBLIOGRAPHY 248
Biographical Sketch 257















LIST OF TABLES


TABLE Page


1 POPULATION TRENDS 22

2 POPULATION TRENDS 23

3 RURAL LAND IN PRIVATE OWNERSHIP 49

4 AGRICULTURAL STATISTICS 50

5 INCOME DISTRIBUTION 100

6 BASIC COUNTY REVENUES AND EXPENDITURES
1971 138

7 REVENUES BY COUNTY 1971 139

8 APALACHEE COUNTY TAX SCHEDULE
1965-1975 140

9 APALACHEE COUNTY HOSPITAL FINANCIAL
REPORT 142

10 REVENUES AND SELECTED EXPENDITURES
1973-74 APALACHEE COUNTY SCHOOL
SYSTEM 144

11 REVENUES PER CAPITAL BY SOURCE, BONDED
INDEBTEDNESS, AND EXPENDITURES:
LIZBETH, JORDAN, FLORIDA MUNICIPALI-
TIES OF 5,000-20,000 INHABITANTS 148

12 LIZBETH REVENUES AND EXPENSES 149

13 REGISTERED VOTERS IN APALACHEE COUNTY,
FLORIDA JULY 27, 1974 151

14 TOTAL APALACHEE COUNTY REGISTRATION
1914-1940 (inclusive) 153

15 OFFICE AND TENURE IN APALACHEE COUNTY 159


viii















LIST OF FIGURES


FIGURE Page


1 MAP OF AREA 21

2 NATURAL PLANT ASSOCIATIONS,
APALACHEE COUNTY 28

3 RAINFALL AND TEMPERATURE CHARACTER-
ISTICS OF THE APALACHEE COUNTY CLIMATE 36

4 SOILS MAP, APALACHEE COUNTY 44

5 BLACK NEIGHBORHOODS, CITY OF LIZBETH,
FLORIDA 86

6 PRINCIPAL GEOLOGICAL FORMATIONS,
APALACHEE COUNTY 94

7 SUBSISTENCE PROFILE, APALACHEE
COUNTY 97

8 THE REBEL YELL CAFE: ,FLOORPLAN 112

9 ORGANIZATIONAL CHART: APALACHEE COUNTY
GOVERNMENT. 136

10 ORGANIZATIONAL CHART: CITY OF LIZBETH
GOVERNMENT 147

11 PRECINCT LINES AND % TO GO WET 200










Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate Council
Of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

SUWANNEE RIVER TOWN, SUWPUEE RIVER COUNTRY:
POLITICAL MOIETIES IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY COMMUNITY

by

Richard Wayne Sapp

June, 1976


Chairman: G. Alexander Moore, Jr.
Major Department: Anthropology

Studies of the political institutions of the southeastern

United States exhibit three major problems--one historical, one

structural, and one methodological. The historical problem

derives from the region's peculiar agricultural nature, which

allowed the development of a tradition of plantation aristocrats.

These elites of the "Old South" tended to monopolize the inter-

actional relation between town and country components of the

Southern county community.

Structural and methodological flaws derive from the charac-

teristics of sociological research, not from populations studied.

The structure of party politics, especially the division of the

population into two dominant parties (Democratic and Republican)

and the resultant competition between the parties, is the subject

of the majority of speculation and research about Southern politics.

These studies examine decision-making and governance as a structure

of relations between local representatives of national voluntary










associations and public policy produced as the outcome of interplay

between these associations.

The methodological problem results from an emphasis on survey

research using questionnaires and structured interview techniques. F1yj

Hunter's B search for community "power structure" is typical.

This research program carried a biasing premise in the idea that

voluntary associations are the uniformly American form of social

organization.

The fieldwork behind this manuscript required one year. Princi-

pal data-gathering methods were participant observation, interview-

ing, and analysis of written material. The methodology counters

the bias of survey research. Findings challenge the historical and

structural flaws cited above.

Apalachee County, a north Florida county community, nestles in

a bend of the Suwannee River. The urban county seat is the center

of government and associational life. Scattered over the country-

side are farming neighborhoods whose interactional centers are rural

churches. County seat and rural neighborhoods are coupled by mutual

exchanges of goods and services: neither are, of themselves, cultural

wholes. The poor quality of its soils and the relative recency of

settlement (post-Civil-War) give the community its distinctiveness;

it never had a planting elite.

Apalachee society is structured along moiety lines: town and

country. These halves rest on an earlier "cracker" horizon of

isolated single-family homesteads. True crackers subsisted by










living off the land and practicing hoe agriculture; they were

fiercely independent and socially isolated. Apalachee moieties

are also related to regional traditions: townmen as town nabobs

in the Cavalier tradition and countrymen as yeoman farmers in

the Calvinist tradition. Townmen promote associational inter-

action, valuing familism (nuclear), hierarchy in organizations,

"progress," and paternalistic interaction with countrymen.

Countrymen value familism (extended), localism, and personalism,

interacting on individually egalitarian rather than ordered

associational terms.

Black persons were never more than 25 percent of the community's

population. They participate peripherally in community political

life, their relations modified by the Southern caste system.

The division of governmental offices falls along moiety lines.

Townmen control municipal governments; countrymen control the

powerful county bodies. Except for jobs, the governmental insti-

tution is not a major source of political prizes. The country

moiety is the dominant political force.

Politically, moieties compete through ephemeral factions,

whose interaction replicates the valued interaction pattern of

the parent moiety. The town relies on an.informal men's associa-

tion (a group) for action; the country, on a loose coalition of

interested persons (a collective). Factional types are dis-

tinguished as international and structural, respectively. A










local bank backs each faction, thus revealing the major prize

gained from political involvement--access to credit. To arrive

at these conclusions, two types of political competition are

examined: an extraordinary political fight involving a confronta-

tion between the two factions, directly, and a routine,

scheduled set of electoral encounters.




































SUWANNEE RIVER TOWN, SUWANNEE RIVER COUNTRY:


POLITICAL MOIETIES'IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY COMMUNITY


I















A COMMUNITY EVENT


Plenty of time had elapsed since the last referendum

on liquor in the county, "dry" now for twenty years. The Con-

stitution in Florida requires only a two-year wait between refer-

endums, and by 1973 five years had elapsed.

In 1973 the "wets," who favored selling hard liquor in

Apalachee County, decided that the time was propitious for their

cause. No long-simmering emotions had flared in 1967, no one had

vented emotions publicly, and liquor had lost just 51 to 49. If

they could mount a well-orchestrated "sales campaign" with an

economic "pitch," using the "business approach" to this issue by

reckoning in dollars-and-cents terms, they could overcome that

narrow margin and win. If they pushed hard, if they organized

better, if they developed a hard-hitting advertising campaign,

their chances were excellent.

The wets believed that another factor operated in their

favor; this farm county seemed to be filling up with outsiders,

"Yankees" and urbanites from south Florida--all escaping the

"rat race." These new residents, coming from places where

liquor was sold with few restrictions, would surely prefer to

live in a wet county, and these people would tip the scales

toward victory.










Harry Grimes organized the campaign for the wets. A some-

time businessman, sometime cattleman, he had good connections to

both county political coalitions--the downtown interests and the

rural interests. Grimes had led the liquor effort in 1967, and

besides, he kept a business connection which would turn extremely

lucrative if the wets won. He called himself a "one-man committee."

Before the pro-liquor group could force an election on the

liquor issue, however, they had to petition for a special elec-

tion. Crimes directed the effort to collect the signatures

required--25% of county voters. Feelings about liquor ran

strong in the county, and when area newspapers gave special

coverage to the rekindled issue, signatures collected rapidly.

In August the County Supervisor of Elections certified the

signatures on the petition and set the referendum for October

16, allowing sufficient pre-election time for emotional build-up.

SOnly when signature collection was well underway did the

Reverend Smith, a local Baptist preacher, begin to organize the

drys, the anti-liquor faction. Smith located a couple of hard-

working preachers in Lizbeth, the county seat, and they set to

work on a campaign of their own. The wets had an organizational

advantage, and unless Smith worked hard, the election would

surely swing against his cause. He knew that once opened, the

evils of this Pandora's box might not be undone in his county.

Both wets and drys established campaign treasuries in

Lizbeth banks: wets at the State Bank and drys at the County










Bank. The wets were crowing over a dozen large donations. The

drys reported small donations, but small donations from scores

of people. When, in mid-campaign, a local newspaper favorable

to the drys published the official list of contributors to the

wet treasury, donations to Grimes's comm ittee "dried up."

The three weekly newspapers in Apalachee County worked

actively in the wet-dry battle. Two advocated voting against

liquor and openly supported the drys. The established Lizbeth

News-Leader attempted a neutral stance, counseling reason, dis-

passionate examination of the facts, and voting for the more

"progressive" sides, but it never actually endorsed voting for

liquor. Active official support of the wets was out of the

question. The people would vote on October 16, and the vote

would be close, but the community favored a public front shunning

liquor, regardless of private sympathies.

Grimes, for the wets, instigated a newspaper campaign to

escalate community interest in the coming election. His adver-

tisements played on the nerves of county residents:


WHY DRY?

So the Bootlegger can supply!
Vote for Legal Control October 16th



Smith launched a counter campaign for the drys in area newspapers.

He specifically attacked Grimes's economic arguments:










WHO BENEFITS FROM LIQUOR?

Former State Beverage Director, Don Meiklejohn,
told the United Drys six years ago that a
license which costs $600 in Apalachee County was
worth at least $20,000. If it was worth that
much then, what is it worth today? In Brevard
County a license was bought for $1,800 and sold
for $67,000.

NO WONDER SOME FOLKS WANT TO GO WET!



In September the campaigns were gaining emotional momentum.

The wets advertised:


"YES"

BUSINESS' PROFESSIONAL MEN
OF JORDAN AND LIZBETH
FAVOR LEGAL CONTROL

Why Send Local Dollars Out of Town?

Under Legal Control our citizens won't find it
necessary to travel to adjoining counties to make
their beverage purchases and while there make
many other purchases.

IT'S THE DOLLARS SPENT AT HOME
THAT AID IN THE GROWTH AND
PROSPERITY OF OUR COMMUNITIES

LET'S MAKE IT LEGAL OCT. 16TH



When Reverend Smith countered this advertisement by flaunting

the names and signatures of anti-liquor community leaders in

a full-page newspaper ad, Crimes could only cry that


Many of the 354 plus business and professional men
of Apalachee County desiring legal control refused
to be intimidated when asked to sign a "Dry" state-
ment being carried around by the Preachers. We











have been told that some of the personally "Dry"
will vote "Wet" for progress of Apalachee County.



Jdckeying for advantage, both sides adopted characteristic

terms of reference for themselves and for the opposition. The

wets called themselves "The Committee for Legal Control" and

sneered at the drys as "the Preachers." Reverend Smith called

his group "The United Drys" and simply snubbed his opponents as

"the wets." Both wets and drys formulated campaign and propaganda

strategies. Grimes knew that his chance of victory lay in sell-

ing his economic views to the public and keeping personalities

out of the fracas. The drys rebuked Grimes's economics and

broadened the issues tangential to liquor. Smith maintained

that the community had staked its religious heritage, "the family,"

and public morality on the outcome of the election.

Late in the campaign the drys discovered Grimes's personal

business interest in the liquor issue. The chairman of the wets

was forced to write:


As you know, I own property at the northern
interchange and I want to say here that I fully
expect to make a profit on any sale of land
or development that can be attracted to this
location. It is estimated that one motel
could add close to one million dollars to our
tax rolls and I believe this with the addi-
tional employment opportunities and possible
other development would be advantageous to
all the people in Apalachee County.










This revelation on the eve of the election injected Grimes

himself as an issue into the campaigning. Local people

muttered that if the county "went wet," Grimes "was going to

make a killing" selling his land to a national motel chain.

They said he had not already sold out, because no large motel

would settle a franchise in a county where drinks could not be

served with meals. Locals tended to disbelieve Grimes's

claim that his profit would "be advantageous to all the people."

What was good for Harry Grimes was not necessarily good for

Apalachee County. This incident tipped the scales.

On October 16, 1973, 4,814 voters went to the polls for the

Apalachee County wet-dry election, 54% of the registered elec-

torate. Of that number, 54% voted for the county to remain

dry. Reverend Smith's drys won by a margin wider than their

1967 victory--a resounding success in a hard-fought and often

bitter campaign.

In the final newspaper edition before the election, the drys

ran a large advertisement with the following Biblical quota-

tion in capital letters:


ROMANS 14: 10-13

10 But why dost thou judge thy brother? or why
dost thou set at nought thy brother? for we
shall all stand before the judgment-seat of
Christ.
11 For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord,
every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue
shall confess to God.











12 So then every one of us shall give account
of himself to God.
13 Let us not therefore judge one another any
more: but judge this rather, that no man
put a stumbling-block, or an occasion to fall
in his brother's way.



This quotation cut the controversy like a double-edged sword.

The drys meant to suggest a parallel between liquor and the

"stumbling-block," thereby urging people to vote to keep the

county dry. A secondary but important thrust of the verses

opened the door to reconciliation between community factions

using religion, which had separated the groups, as a symbolic

point about which both might rally and reconstitute as a unity.

Win or lose, life in this small county-community had to con-

tinue. When the fracas was all over, these groups must lay aside

bitterness.

In an editorial two days after the election, the Lizbeth

News-Leader, cautious supporter of the wets during the campaign,

doubted the finality of the election results but called for a

reunited Apalachee County:


At long last, October 16 has finally come and
gone--much to the delight of Wets and Drys alike.
However, we find ourselves at exactly the same
point at which we started from over one month
ago. . Face it, none of us have won anything
at least not yet. Now is the time to have
a unified county. If the county is to be dry--
it should be as dry as is humanly possible for any
place to be in this day and age. .. [We should be]
concentrating on total unity of the citizens in this
county. . Don't drop the battle now. The
problem remains unsolved and continues to grow on
an even larger scale than yesterday. And tomorrow
it will have grown even more.










Even now, years after this election, Harry Grimes 's wife

attends church alone.



The wet-dry election of 1973 was a special contest in the

Apalachee County political arena. It distinctly divided the

opposing coalitions and settled a matter of public policy with-

out involving government in a partisan role or the elected

officials normally charged with supervision of public policy.

The unusually deep emotions generated in the fray remained

years later, suggesting value conflicts more profound than the

manifest issue. What was the meaning of this event?












CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION



The goal of this research has been to present a sociological

analysis of structures and processes of community activity revealed

through a study of local politics in one county-community in north-

central Florida. The study was designed not as a general community

study but as a complement to other research through the Institute

of Food and Agricultural Sciences of the University of Florida.

This larger research framework examined alternative arrangements

and costs of financing and producing certain public services and re-

lating quantity of services (of specified quality) under alternative

facility arrangements to costs to the system (Eddleman >OiM,/l 117).

Hence, although the fieldwork upon which this dissertation is

based was applied in concept, this manuscript will present material

in a theoretical context.

Knowledge gained from studying political value allocations will

enable policy makers, program planners, and private citizens to

more realistically assess community systems of rationality for

such allocations. Plans may then be based on an understanding of

or at least some appreciation for the ongoing models of community

action held by the people themselves. This dissertation is de-

signed to show how the people of one community are organized to

meet their political wants and needs and, most importantly, what

their system's operating assumptions are.










While all social systems allocate resources according to

structuring principles, allocation is an especially acute task in

communities like the counties of the southeastern U.S.A., where

traditional agricultural resource bases must support a number of

distinct, interdependent, and often mutually hostile subcultural

traditions. A national system of social and moral provincialism

contains the agricultural exporting regions of the U.S., and the

Southeast in particular, to a relation of economic, intellectual,

and political dependence upon manufacturing centers of the nation,

thereby exacerbating the difficulties of resource allocation in

county-communities. The need to understand systems of value allo-

cation in chronically resource-poor twentieth-century Southern

counties cannot be overemphasized.

I undertook to understand local-level politics by focusing on

community organization--public decision-making as a function of

political processes that set goals, determine means and alterna-

tives, and negotiate a course of action: ultimately an authorita-

tive allocation of values (Easton, 1953). These processes, syste-

matized in a body of rules, have three dimensions: a structure of \

interaction, a system of customary behavior, and a system of values

(Kimball & Pearsall, 1954). Within the relational structure of

a community, coalitions form about commonly held value positions

or about unified task-oriented efforts; their interactions, cus-

tomary behavior, values, resources, and relative power are open to

assessment. These coalitions infiltrate, and in turn are balanced










by, semi-public and governmental structures of appointed and elected

officials.

Public services are deployed in the process of making decisions

based on the felt needs and desires of groups influential in the

political process. Factions mobilize for the purpose of implement-

ing shared policies and common values, working out paths for in-

fluence and communication in the interaction-exchange networks of

the community (Homans, 1958). The resultant public service infra-

structure of a community reflects the policies and values of com-

peting groups as well as the structure of community competition,

cooperation, and compromise; it is a mini-model in physical terms

of the culture of the community.

Images of public service deployment are shared within, and the

subjects of continual negotiation between, relational groups.

Images or perceptions are formulated in relation to systems of

values, expressed through customary behaviors, and operationalized

through structures of interaction exchange. Actual deployment is

a reflection not so much of "rational" evaluations of resources,

capabilities, and limitations, in Weber's sense of the term, as

of cultural perceptions or images of such rationality. This is

the usual problem with the rationality concept--it is not so much

objective as it is relative.

In proceeding with this research I used the "natural history"

methodology to approach the research situation. Data were collected

in vivo, through observation, rather than in vitro, through











isolation and experimentation. The sub-community models intro-

duced in Part I, the community social history, were viewed through

a more comprehensive model of community social structure, relieved

of preconceived or eclectic structuring frameworks insofar as was

possible. This methodology commends the use of a variety of tech-

niques and focuses them on individuals and relational groups, their

activities, and their relationships in events. Internal and ex-

ternal conditions and variables then can be considered within the

parameters of space and time (Arensberg & Kimball, 1968). I have

relied principally on participant-observation (including interac-

tional and event analysis), interviewing, and content analysis of

related literature (local newspapers, area census tracts, novels, v

travelogues, and other accessible documents).

A system of hunan community derivative of Europe and still

basic to the southern United States is the county-community.

Conrad Arensberg has suggested, "The distinctive community form of

the South was and is the county" (Arensberg & Kimball, 1965,

p. 106). The symbolic heart of this traditional community, the

county courthouse, has been the central point of political and

economic assembly for county residents. Its people lived dis-

persed in neighborhoods clustered about small Protestant churches,

points of assembly in socialization and socializing as well as

bastions of moral and spiritual rectitude. The courthouse was

situated in a county seat that served as a central marketplace but,

until recently, was neither an urban nor an inherently dominating

place.










In Florida, counties are the smallest constitutionally estab-

lished governmental structures; towns and cities are chartered

separately and maintain a corporate existence at the will and

whim of the state legislature. In the north center and the north-

west, county residents have held tenaciously to traditional

regional forms of social organization, even in the face of massive

national social readjustment.

Along with this county-community organizational form, much of

Florida's countryside has lived under a shadow of relative

poverty and economic dependence (Bostwick, 1946; Hebel, n.d: (c. 191/j;

Thompson, 1973; U.S.OEO, 1967), if the general literature is to be

believed.

Into this economically poorer, more "traditionalist" rural north

Florida region urbanization is gradually encroaching from the south

(Tampa-Orlando-Gainesville), from the east (Jacksonville), and

from the southwest the Gulf coast (Pickard, 1972).

The consequences for regional forms of community in general

and for Florida's county-community in particular of incipient

urbanization; invasion by extraneous, dominant community forms

such as the city or metropolis; and mounting intervention in local

affairs by non-local regulatory agencies are an unresolved ques-

tion. The classic answer is local social disorganization (Wirth,

1938). Vidich and Bensman in 1958 exhumed and revised this theme

as local "surrender to mass society" after they had studied a

"township" in New York State. A number of writers have disagreed










with this view, arguing that there is much evidence that community

forms are flexible, adaptive, and persistent through time (Arens-

berg & Kimball, 1965; Gans, 1962; Mumford, 1961).

As county seats become urban places, they are able to match

the dominant economic position in the county with political domi-

nance, supporting the cosmopolites' inherent anti-rural biases

and thereby altering traditional social patterns. When city hall

vigorously contests with the county courthouse, local governments

find themselves in strained and overlapping functional coexistence,

sharing the load of public services and competing for public re-

sources. This overt conflict is often evidence of community re-

organization and an expression of more fundamental cultural con-

tradictions. With growth in population of the county seat, economic

diversification, and hence reorganization of community relational

sets, the kernel of conflict sprouts visible manifestations such

as strains to redefine charters of various governmental bodies

(e.g., Miami-Dade County's urban-county governmental restructuring

from 1957; Jacksonville-Duval County's near total consolidation

in 1968; Gainesville-Alachua County's continual well-publicized

efforts to effect a plan for governmental consolidation during the

decade of the 1970s). Interestingly enough, the majority of move-

ments for these "reforms" in the U.S. Southeast and across the

nation have not succeeded, despite "objective economic evidence"

warranting their consideration.

If there are distinctive modes of human community, we should

expect distinctive organizations of political phenomena since











current students generally understand political activity to arise

from the socio-cultural matrix and to reinforce the value system

(Balandier, 1970; Rosenthal & Crain in Clark, 1968). I have herein

followed the suggestion that political studies be explicated in

terms of social organization, the distribution of social resources,

and the generators of social inequalities.

When V. O. Key (1950) considered politics in the U.S. Southeast,

he emphasized three points:


1. That politics was the #1 problem of the
South as a whole.
2. That Southern politics was factional and
Florida's especially so.
3. That the key issue in politics in the South
and particularly the "black-belt" South
was the Negro.


We will see how these statements fare in examination of a north

Florida county on the edge of the black-belt.

In Part I we will examine the social history of the Apalachee

county-community. We begin with the early 1800s' entrance of

"cracker" subsistence farmers and follow the history through the

inmigration of yeoman-dirt farmers and townmen. Throughout we

will focus on community subsistence and industrial activities and

on the credit function.

In Part II we examine the formal structure of governance and

move on to the native system of political competition, to which

the formal system is only tangential. This native system struc-

tures competition between community moieties--townmen and country-










men. Black people have little aggregate or individual influence

in the county. Organization for political action follows tradi-

tional patterns for social action of the respective moieties;

townmen compete through a semi-formal association, a clique of

town nabobs, out of which interactional factions rise in ex-

ceptional circumstances. Countrymen compete through a structural

faction, whose leaders hold the traditional leadership position

of rural neighborhoods: preachers. We examine both periodic

electoral contests and an extraordinary non-periodic contest.

I suggest that Key's conclusions about north Florida politics

erred because he focused on analysis of elections and "issues"

(where he could find them)without studying the social matrix be-

hind the public face of political events. In Apalachee County

"race" is not the key issue in politics. This type of error

results fromstudying community power structure in the manner

which Floyd Hunter (1953) popularized: entering communities

through the associational nexus of the towns. This strategy of

listing and cross-referencing guarantees that a political system

such as that of the Apalachee county-community will be misunder-

stood.

Throughout this essay we will be concerned with the question

of the wellsprings of political activity in this county-community.

What is the connection between this system and field of relations

and the peculiar dynamisms of the structures: Between politics

and the historical sequencing of basic economic activities?






18



Between politics and the total social phenomena? The significance

of this work will ultimately lie in its ability to be faithful to

these "tests" of adequacy and to integrate the hypotheses thus

generated.





























A SOCIAL HISTORY
OF APALACHEE COUNTY
















CHAPTER 2

ENTER THE COUNTRYMAN--THE TOWNMAN ATTENDS



Apalachee County lies at the navel of Florida's north center

(see Figure 1). Near the county cross major transportation

routes, by railroad and by automobile, that afford easy access to

more glamorous, more publicized parts of the state. Although

more than 50% urbanized (1970 standards, U.S. Census Bureau:

incorporated places of 2,500+'population; see Table 1), this major

agricultural center of Florida specializes in the production of

field crops (corn, tobacco, watermelons) and cover and forage

crops (peanuts and soybeans). Cattle, poultry, and swine raising

and commercial harvesting of slash pine contribute significantly

to the local economy (Thompson, 1973). In the center of the

county Lizbeth, the county seat and urban hub of 6,830 people

(1970 census), squats like a giant spider reaching to all corners

of the county along outflung roadways (see Table 2).

Two community traditions influenced the late-developing social

structures of Apalachee County. Havard (1972) has suggested that

the historical Southern dichotomy of life-styles fell along the

following lines:
























GULF OF MEXICO /
/
/




LIZBETH

APALACHEE
COUNTY



JORDAN


ATLANTIC
OCEAN


FLORIDA


FIGURE 1

MAP OF AREA











TABLE

POPULATION


Year Columbia Hamilton


1970

1960

1950

1940

.1930

1920

1910

1900

1890

1880

1870

1860

1850

1840

1830

1820


25,250

20,077

18,216

16,859

14,638

14,290

17,689

17,094

12,877

9,589

7,335

4,646

4,808

2,102


7,787

7,705

8,981

9,778

9,454

9,873

11,825,

11,881

8,507

6,790

5,749

4,154

2,511

1,464

553


1

TRENDS


Lafayette

2,892

2,889

3,440

4,405

4,361

6,242

6,710

4,987

3,686

2,441

1,783

2,068


Apalachee

15,559

14,961

16,986

17,073

15,731

19,789

18,603

14,554

10,524

7,161

3,556

2,303


Madison

13,481

14,154

14,197

16,190

15,614

16,516

16,919

15,446

14,316

14,798

11,121

7,779

5,490

2,644

525











TABLE 2

POPULATION TRENDS


Year Lizbeth Jordan

1970 6,830 820

1960 6,544 663

1950 4,064 753

1940 3,427 684

1930 2,734 498

1920 3,103 708

1910 3,450 262

1900 1,659

1890 687

1880 458

1870 ----










Calvinist-Yeoman Farmer Cavalier-Planter/Town Nabob

Radical individualism Social conformity
Personalism Caste
Personal independence Paternalistic dependency
Populism Conservatism
Unity out Factionalism in
Regionalist traditions Nationalist patriotism



He wrote that this split fathered two mainstream traditions in the

South: yeoman farmer and plantation farmer. The yeoman farmers,

he said, opposed governmental centralization and exhibited an

aversion to urbanism, industrialization, and the entrepreneurial

classes; they were libertarian, egalitarian, and populist. The

plantation whigs, identified with downtown mercantile interests,

supported themselves as planters, factors, bankers, and merchants,

sat as the "county seat clique," developed the theme of racial

segregation in the post-bellum era, and promoted a cult of "manners"

and paternalism.

Before turning to a discussion of county government and politi-

cal activity, we will identify these elements in the social history

of Apalachee County, with a single important exception: absence

of the plantation farmer. The infertility of the sandy soils in

the great bend of the Suwannee River and the lateness of settler

infiltration into the vast reaches of pine barriers in Florida's

heartland account for his absence. Before Apalachee had a town

to speak of, Florida west of the Suwannee River was settled in

the classic bi-tradition discussed by Havard, and the Florida

coast to the east of Apalachee had a long history of towns and

cities.











Nestled in the great bend of the Suwannee River lies

Apalachee County, Fl8ida. There was a time in the not-too-

distant past when the white man was unknown there: a time unlike

the "good old days" that live in social memory and imagination,

recorded and stored only in booRs. Time was when land, forests,

and aboriginals coexisted. Then a crack rent the fabric of time,

and the imperialistic Europeans reached out to the New World.

The Apalachees and the Timucuans, pushed to the wall, were no more

forever, leaving only the renegade Seminoles as the briefest of

sojourners. The social history of Apalachee County arrived at

that point of disjunction a century and a half ago, in the 1820s:

the era of the red man ended; that of the white man and the black

man began.

Throughout the Suwannee River Valley to the edge of historic

time lived aboriginals of the Apalachee and Chicasaw groups. To

the east the Timucuans exploited the lush coastal plains and

subtropical sea islands. To the north in the colony of Georgia

remained the town-dwelling Creeks, the remnants of whom drifted

as Seminoles south through Florida from the Okeefenokee Swanp to

the fasts of the Everglades. The Europeans with African slaves

drove these people out of the homelands and murdered them with

disease, with arms, and with starvation.

Bernard Romans, a British naturalist and writer, traversed

the interior of north Florida late in the 18th century and made

special note of economic features that would ultimately struc-

ture the social history of the area (Romans, 1961).










Cotton will grow in any soil, even the most
meager and barren sand that we can find.
(p. 97)

Hogs are so profitable an article, and so
easily made spontaneous, that it is a matter
of the greatest surprise to me that no more
are raised in Florida; especially as mast
is very various, and in great abundance.
(p. 120)

But the grand manufacture to be made of
timber here, is SHIPPING, for this pur-
pose no country affords more or better
wood; live oak, cedar, cypress, yellow
pine, are adapted by nature to this. (p. 124)

[He noted that the "ground nut" had been
introduced to the area by black people
from Guinea.]

The pipe is used here as with others.
Tobacco in some shape or other seems
be the American symbol of peace, friend-
ship and social conversation, to which
last Europeans seem also to have applied
it in imitation of the savages. (p. 69)
Tobacco is a source of great riches
in this country; the French have proved
that this plant may be an article of
great emolument especially as that
trade is on the decline in Virginia and
Maryland. . (p. 102)

Naval stores are likewise an article of
immense speculation in both provinces
[East and West Florida]. . (p. 143)



The area's utter provincialism obtained throughout the history

of the European settlement. The Spaniards, the French, and the

British clung to the coast, rarely venturing into the interior of

the province and then but tentatively. The inland swamps, flat-

woods, and rolling pine barrens only interested the"cracker folk,"











from the northern United States, who could wrest a meager living

from the drearily forbidding natural environment.

These early white inhabitants confronted four natural plant

associations in the Suwannee River Valley when they drifted

down through Georgia between the 1820s and the War Between the

States (see Figure 2). Swamp forests, the "hant" of black bear,

panther, and otter, composed mostly of water and laurel oaks,

sweet and black gum, bay, and cypress, bordered the Suwannee and

Santa Fe rivers around three sides of the county. Gaunt, wild

bovines, escaped from Spanish pens, roamed an association of

towering native yellow pine, oak, and interspersed grassy plains,

the flatwoods of an oval area southeast of the county seat.

These flatwoods roughly coincide with areas of excessive wetness

and a perched water table. A broad swath of northern-central

hardwood and pine forest paralleled the swamps next to the

southern-and western track of the Suwannee River. The upland

pine and oak forest, the pine barrens, covering a thin Hawthorn

limestone formation near the surface in the northern, central,

and eastern sections of the county, consisted of slash and long-

leaf pine and live oak.

Although the origin of the term cracker is disputed, Stetson

Kennedy claims that cracker first applied to an assortment of

"bad characters" who gathered in northern Florida before it be-

came a territory of the United States. Deep-South Southerners

later applied the epithet to the "poor white folk of Florida,








































1 = Northern central hardwood
and pine forest


2 = Upland pine and oak forest

3 = Pine flatwoods

4 = Swamp forests (on riverine
borders of county only)


Adapted from: "Comprehensive Development Plan for [Apalachee]
County, Florida," Tallahassee, Fla.: Barr,
Dunlop & Associates, 1974, p. 10.






FIGURE 2

NATURAL PLANT ASSOCIATIONS
APALACHEE COUNTY


L











Georgia, and Alabama"(Kennedy, 1942, p. 59). He further relates:


Crackers are mainly descended from the Irish,
Scotch, and English stock which, from 1740 on,
was slowly populating the huge Southern wilder-
ness behind the thin strip of coastal civiliza-
tion. These folk settled the Cumberland Valley,
the Shenandoah, and spread through every
Southern state east of the Mississippi. That
branch of the family which settled in the Deep
South was predominantly of Irish ancestry, and
their modern cracker descendants still sing
songs in which their immigrant ancestors ex-
pressed hope for a better life in America.
S. (p. 60)

The early crackers were the Okies of their day
(as they have been ever since). Cheated of
land, not by wind and erosion, but by the plan-
tation and slaverysystem of the Old South,
they were nonessentials in an economic, politi-
cal and social order dominated by the squire-
archy of wealthy planters, and in most respects
were worse off than the Negro slaves. (p. 61)



Powell (1969), a white turpentine camp overseer of the late

nineteenth century, called the crackers of Apalachee County

"wild woodsmen" (p. 30) and mentioned a man who "had lived the

usual life of a shiftless Cracker, hunting and fishing, and

hard work did not agree with him" (p. 61).


When I speak of villages throughout this country,
I use the word for lack of a better term, for
in nine cases out of ten, they were the smallest
imaginable focus of the scattering settlement,
and usually one general store embraced the sum
total of business enterprise. There the natives
came at intervals to trade for coffee, tobacco,
and the few other necessities that the woods
and waters did not provide them with. Alligators'
hides and teeth, bird plumes and various kinds











of pelts were the medium of barter. They were
a curious people, and there are plenty of them
there yet, born and bred to the forest and
as ignorant of the affairs of every-day life
outside of their domain, as are the bears and
deer upon which they mainly subsist. A man
who would venture to tell them that the
earth moved instead of the sun, or that there
was a device by which a message could be
flashed for leagues across a wire, would run
the risk of being lynched, as too dangerous
a liar to be at large. (pp. 249-50)



The true crackers, Powell's "wild woodsmen," were never numerous,

and they rarely participated in the social life of the wider

Apalachee county-community. Crackers were born, lived, and

died in the woods. They buried their own in family plots far

from the nearest church. The willful isolation of their way

of life effectively secured their privacy and social remoteness

from the yeoman farmers who began to move into the Suwannee River

Valley in the mid-1800s. Cracker families settled the Apalachee

area without recourse to legal formalities. Thus, when the

yeomen farmers (and plantation farmers in counties to the west)

eventually purchased legal titles to land, true crackers were

forced out and deeper into Florida.

Cracker subsistence strategy depended on scratch, perhaps

slash-and-burn, summer agriculture and year-round food collecting

activities: hunting, fishing, and foraging. Because their

farming operations were so small, limited to the part-time efforts

of an individual family, they had no need of financial credit.











Indeed, their fiercely independent, egalitarian ethos pro-

hibited them from interacting significantly in the rural neigh-

borhoods of the community.

While the term cracker has been popularized in the last half-

century and extended to include the poorer white farmers

generally, no true cracker would refer to himself as such.

As does the term nigger, the word cracker connotes social dis-

approbation: the former applied to all black people and the

latter to the poorest rural whites.1

Few true crackers remain in Apalachee County, for two reasons:

their traditional habitats, swamps and forest edges, have almost

disappeared and the institutions of the community now readily

disturb their secluded way of life. A few families still live

on the borders of the county. There they exploit the food re-

sources of the rivers and swamps and perhaps scratch-farm a few

acres. They reputedly ignore official game limits and seasonal

restrictions and plow land whose ownership is disputed; their

hogs ("piney woods rooters") they loose in any convenient field

or woodlot, regardless of ownership. When a businessman needs



One speculates that the driving force behind withholding
respectability from the true crackers and the extension of
the consequently disparaging term to include countrymen of the
small farmer class originated with the townspeople. This
idea parallels the hypothesis that townsmen perpetuated and
revitalized the issue of racial politics in the twentieth cen-
tury. The specific group in both cases would have been the
planter/town nabob class, whose personal interest lay in divid-
ing the other class in the bi-class system of the Southern
region.











a guide for a fishing trip up the Withlacoochee River or a hunting

expedition on the "Peckerwood Trail," a cracker male appears.

The technological changes of the twentieth century have

enabled social institutions to penetrate the isolation of the

crackers and enforce town mores. Cracker homicides are no longer

unreported and uninvestigated or allowed to result in clannish

feuding between secluded, but related, families. No longer may

the children escape the public school regimen. No longer may

they escape taxation by the state.

Because one social system does not altogether supplant

another, the cracker and his world view persist. While only a

handful of true crackers endure in the county, their shacks

dotting primitive dirt traces on the poorer agricultural lands

near the river, modern-day imitators erect trailers in remote

corners, moving to north-central Florida from New York, Pennsyl-

vania, and Miami to escape the "rat race." These backwoodsmen

[and many of the yeoman farmers) butcher their own stock, carry

weapons openly, and begrudge bureaucratic authority. More

important, however, their values have suffused the world views

of the general populace of Apalachee County. Natives flaunt

their clannish familism, fierce individualism, and provincial

localism; countrymen talk physical violence with some enthusiasm

and, given the opportunity, resist "outside intervention" with

vigor.



Compared to the rest of the eastern United States, permanent

settlers in numbers came late to Florida. The real growth of











Apalachee County in the present era began, not with Hernando De

Soto's expedition through the county to the Mississippi River

in the sixteenth century, not with seventeenth-century blazing

of the Old Spanish Trail, connecting the city of Pensacola with

Saint Augustine, the oldest continually inhabited city in the

United States--which became State Road 1 three hundred years

later and which the principal east-west thoroughfares through

the county still follow--and not when Reuben and Rebecca Charles

established a ferry on the Suwannee River in 1824 as the area's

first permanent white settlers (Hamilton, 1958). The real develop-

ment began after the War Between the States, when independent

yeoman farmers began moving to the area and turpentining and

timbering opened the county to major extractive industrial

activities, supplementing family farming.

Following the cracker infiltration of the area, a second wave

of in-migration, the yeoman small farmers, pushed south in

numbers. These early settlers of Apalachee County, descended

from English-Irish immigrants, small farmers in lineages of

small farmers, moved south from Alabama, Georgia, and the

Carolinas; this people was descended from other small farmers

who had abandoned Virginia a generation earlier in search of

cheap, unclaimed, and preferably sparsely inhabited lands. They

drifted in as families with their meager possessions stacked

high on a single open wagon and hacked homes out of pine and oak

wildernesses, under the most primitive conditions, all of which










have not been ameliorated to this day in rural neighborhoods and

urban black quarters. They planted and then traded their sur-

pluses, if any, at steamboat landings on the river--timber,

cotton, and hides in exchange for coffee, sugar, axes, and gun-

power. Salt they obtained themselves, from the waters of the

Gulf of Mexico where they trekked periodically to boil sea water

in shallow iron vats. These settlers installed themselves as

single isolated families and in small groups of families, erect-

ing Baptist and Methodist churches as the centers of dispersed

neighborhoods. Kennedy (1942) has described these settlers as

a mixture of true cracker and independent yeoman farmer types:


A hard-drinking, hard-fighting, hard-loving
lot, the crackers are nevertheless ferociously
addicted to piety. Mostly Baptist and Method-
ist fundamentalists, their favorite hymnal
has been the folksy Original Sacred Harp, as
contrasted with the sedate hymn-books of the
big planters. They hold frequent singing
festivals where they try to "sing each other
down" with the largest repertoire, and at
periodic square dances they "dance the pigeons
off the roof." They are also fond of such
festivities as family reunions, fence raising,
cane grindings, taffy pulls, corn huskings,
bear hunts, chicken pileus, barbecues, and
the like. (p. 66)



Today's natives refer to these times as "humble beginnings."

The rural clapboard churches built by these countrymen hosted

community social and ritual activities. Neighbors assembled

periodically for preaching and singing, for weddings and

burials, for suppers and courting. Such a rural church,











generally occupying the same site as the original of one hundred

years ago, is still frequently referred to as "the head of the

community."

Complementing the rural churches were nearby school houses,

often in fact one and the same building, but always built, by

and for the people themselves, in the architectural vernacular,

the schools duplicating the box-like structure of churches and

houses. Today, rural school buildings have either been converted

to other purposes or destroyed--swiftly by man or his agent

fire or through time's remorseless patience withdrawing the

breath of life from their frames.

These early rural settlers found that precipitation varies

significantly for any one month from year to year, and while it

is adequate, nearly half the annual total falls during a summer

rainy season. A -droughty period frequently lingers from mid-

April through May, returning in the autumn (October and November).

Nearly all precipitation falls as rain; hail and snow are extra-

ordinary and long remembered after they do occur. The period

June through early November is hurricane season and can bring

excessive rainfall and temporary flooding, but rarely in the

ApalAchee area (see Figure 3).



2When remarkable conditions do obtain, the people of the area
add them to a repertoire of temporal markers relating personnel
to time and space, e.g. "Were you here when Dora (hurricane) came
through?" or "Wasn't that before the Great Freeze (1894-95)?"












Rainfall (in.)

8 .

7 .

6 .

5 tempe;


4 .


3 .


2 .

1 ,


Month J F


Adapted from:


(F) Temperature



100

90

80.

S70

S. 60

50

40

30

20


"Comprehensive Plan for [Lizbeth], Florida,"
Tallahassee, Fla.: Planning and Improvement
Division, Florida Development Commission, 1963.
Vol. I.


FIGURE 3

RAINFALL AND TEMPERATURE CHARACTERISTICS
OF THE APALACHEE COUNTY CLIMATE


(from a 95-year record)











The wave of immigration onto the Apalachee countryside by

yeoman farmers, small and independent operators, left a visible

imprint on the county as did the cracker social tradition. The

social universe of the countryman is today structured by the

values of these people--familism, localism, andpersonalism--

and by the remaining ethic of the cracker frontier--individualism

and isolationism.

Children, male and female, coming of age in the yeoman farmer

tradition, generally find themselves enmeshed in a maze of kin-

folk who rapidly introduce them to the world, including the

world of work. Commonly, during school-age they ride buses for

two hours a day going to and returning from the public facility in

the county seat.3 The geographic factor of distance conditions

after-hours social life, when many of the town children may linger

and participate in formal and informal school-related activities.

Today certain technological changes and the greater parity of

affluence between town and country people (tenantry is a thing of

the past, and sharecropping no longer denotes a servile patron-

client relationship for the sharecropper) have much ameliorated

this friction of distance. At home in the country, whether or

not the family derives basic subsistence from farming, there are

often farm-type chores for youths, since many country families



During the 1971-72 school year, Apalachee County transported
67.3% of its pupils at public expense, driving an estimated
2,400 miles each day, not counting extracurricular activities
(Bureau of Economic and Business Research, 1973).











have adopted an income diversification strategy, subsisting in

part on a member's extra-farm wage and in part on farm products
4
income.

Rural youths haunt the dozens of natural springs along the

rivers, socializing and being socialized to peer group drinking,

smoking, and courting intricacies. Young and early-middle-aged

adults also frequent these springs, but older adults go only to

introduce children to them. These relatively isolated, clear

bubbles pour millions of gallons of fresh water into the Suwannee

River every day; quiet, secluded, rarely furnished with more than

a crude and slippery rope swing tied to a high cypress or oak

limb: Wonderland rabbit holes of escape from adult supervision.

Blacks rarely,or perhaps never, visit these springs, in part

from a distaste for swimming as recreation (a distaste encouraged

by Southern whites). Whites have claimed these springs, then, as

restricted social territories, for social caste rules make it

taboo to appear unclothed before the other caste. Too, the widely

reputed penis size of the black male poses a threat to white

males, especially to those of courting age. Interpretations of

black male behavior as irresponsible and aggressive would intro-

duce ambiguity into a social situation enacted in the confines of



4
In 1969, 214 of the county's 1,091 farms were classed "part-
time": value of products sold $50-2,500/year and an operator
under 65 years of age who worked off the farm 100+ days during
the year. A further 116 farms were classed "part-retirement":
value of products sold $50-2,500/year and an operator over 65
years of age (U.S. Census of Agriculture, 1972).











a small social stage. Spring bathing is quite unlike public

bathing on coastal beaches, where a brilliant strand of sand and

the immensity of the water ripple away to the horizon in shimmer-

ing waves of heat. Bathing at a spring is to be enfolded in a

hovering and encircling swamp forest, where the sole source of

light and sole feeling for distance is a narrow tube directly

overhead and below. Thus the social stage retracts reducing the

potential for maneuver. Finally, there is the real threat of

violence publicly flaunted in the rear windows of countrymen's

pick-ups.

Country youth learn weaponry at an early age, as nearly all

rural homes keep firearms loaded, handy, and on display in the

gunracks of pick-up trucks. Countrymen talk guns and shooting

and hunting, clothing their youngest children in camouflage cos-

tumes for the hunt and allowing their toy guns in the trucks with

dogs and adults. Throughout the hunt adults batter children with

instructions about gun care and with the rules of the hunt. Al-

though females often handle guns in a commendable manner (and

men are not generally reluctant to acknowledge this; conversely,

women seem to take a perverse pride in crediting the rare male

found in local kitchens with culinary skill of exceptional degree),

the gun properly belongs to the male's repertoire of cultural arti-

facts.

Countrymen tend to devote themselves and their winters to

the idea of hunting (at the opening of hunting season in October,











a townman remarked to me that the local country hunters do not

necessarily confine themselves to the state-regulated hunting

seasons--a practice reminiscent of the cracker frontier). An

entire wall of a home may be decorated with row upon row of

mounted deer heads and racks of deer antlers. Nowhere is the ..

spirit of utter freedom and independence, the tension and passion

of frontier psychology, more evident than in this highly regu-

lated activity. Men train their sons alone and in informal

peer-kin groups, the same groups that occasionally cooperate in

the annual work cycle which peaks in the summer. They assemble

in the winter for the cooperative-competitive game of skill,

luck, and death: the hunt.

Apalachee males have mechanized and motorized the hunt, now

a matter of hardware as much as keen eyesight, alert senses, and

quick skillful reflexes. For deer hunting, men load the rear of

pick-ups with deer hounds and, in the cabs, carefully tune the

CB (citizen band) radios that allow them to communicate along the

roads and through the forests. They loose the hounds at the edge

of the wood, listen for the baying, anticipate the point at which

the deer will spring across the nearest highway. They race to

that point and kill the deer as it dashes across the road. Compar-

ing body counts of individual kills of game affords hunters hours

of conversational pleasure and perhaps status validation through-

out the year.

Countrymen fish as they hunt--with passion--and in this activity

women participate as actively as men. Whites fish nearly year-round










from motor boats with rods and spinning reels, disdaining fish-

ing from the banks with cane poles as "nigger fishing." The

catch, like the bag of the hunt, stocks freezers for continual

variation in the local diet or fills deep-well pans for outdoor

fish fries at which kin gather for food sharing. Not all fish

are equally socially edible, however, for whites refer to some,

like the "mud fish," a black, fleshy fish that lives on the

bottom of the river, as "nigger fish," because of two character-

istics, one relating to the fish itself and one to the black

people: the meat of the fish tastes "tainted," slightly disagree-

able, and "niggers'll eat anything."

The countryman's social gamut runs heavily to family and

church reunions in the summer. These rites of intensification, not

essentially different from those described by Neville (1971), are

annual and relate to group maintenance by celebrating origins and

reifying continuities.

. churches were situated in the open
countryside surrounded by the graveyard for
the congregation, spatially uniting the living
and the dead. Each sat at the center of a
neighborhood of individual farms owned in-
dividually and operated with seasonal coopera-
tive effort with one's neighbors and kin. The
local congregation was bounded by the area
gathering each Sunday for worship services and
for ceremonials such as communion, baptism,
and periodic weddings and funerals. (Neville,
1971, p. 10)


For the focal point of these rites of intensification, a great

meal, each family contributes a number of food dishes prepared










by its women--far more food than it would itself consume. After

the church service or family ceremony women spread the food on

long, wooden planks laid side by side on carpenters' saw horses

to make tables under moss-draped oaks or adjacent tin-roofed

sheds.

These activities tend to be organized and orchestrated by

females: a ritual social ahd a social ritual duplicated on a

small scale time and again throughout the year in the homes of

countrymen. Customarily then, an older women signifies the table

prepared by calling out for a prayer, "suggesting" a particular

mature male to give it. Women also visit and tend to the adjacent

church cemetery or family grave site, unless the undergrowth and

weed cover necessitates a massive cleanup-restoration, in which

case the men devote the Saturday before the reunion to this activity.

These essentially kin groups have lingering sentimental ties to

particular geographic locations and to particular churches their

ancestors helped establish.

Yeoman farmers have perhaps dominated area social life be-

cause Apalachee County lacks the necessary foundation for great

agricultural prosperity: high soil fertility. Indeed Apalachee

soils are for the most part sand. Of the eight general soil

associations found in the county, only two, the Blanton-Kalmia-Swamp



5For an excellent and marvellously funny account of a rural
Mississippi family reunion, which stylistically resembles those
of Apalachee County, see Eudora Welty's Losing Battles (N.Y.:
Random House, 1970).











and the Alluvial Land-Swamp associations, classify otherwise.

The Blanton association girds the county in a thin sliver border-

ing the surrounding rivers, and the alluvial predominates in de-

pressions, streams, and the sinks of the area. Soils under

cultivation generally lack nutrients, are predominantly porous and

subject to wind erosion, but with proper management farmers obtain

moderate to good yields (see Figure 4).

Sinks characterize the Karst topography of the gently undulat-

ing terrain. These enclosed depressions, locally called "go-away

holes," form when water dissolves the subsurface limestone at weak

or thin points, opening holes to the labyrinth of underground caves

that criss-cross and intersect beneath the county, from near the

surface to far below the water table. The porosity of this

geologic formation inhibits the formation of natural lakes, al-

though in the eastern sector of the county one finds a few ponds

and lakes ranging in size from 10 to 300 acres.

The sinkhole has developed a social personality of its own in

an area nearly devoid of streams. The entire county lies low and

completely within the Suwannee River drainage basin. Elevations

range from 38 feet (where the Suwannee and Sante Fe rivers meet at

the southern extremity) to nearly 188 feet above mean sea level in

the eastern sector. Ranchers and farmers tell of stock wandering

into sinkholes never to be recovered. Historians record that

steamers plied a great low prairie in a neighboring county till

the water drained away through a sinkhole. Since environmental










































1 = Lakeland-Blanton'Associa-
tion: well-drained sandy
soils.
2 = Kenney-Lakeland, phosphatic
Association: well-drained sandy
soils.
3 = Blanton-Wagram Association: well-
drained sandy soils.
4 = Blanton-Susquehanna-Wagram Association:
generally well-drained sandy soils
with occasionallyclayey or loamy subsoils.
5 = Mascotte-Leon-Pluimmer Association: poorly
drained sandy soils.
6 = Blanton-Chipley-Surrensy Association: well-
drained sandy soils and poorly drained
soils with loamy subsoils.


Source: General
Soil Map, Suwannee
River Resource Con-
servation and
Development Project.
Gainesville, Fla.:
Soil Conservation
Service, U. S. Dept.
of Agriculture, 1972.


FIGURE 4


SOILS MAP, APALACHEE COUNTY










planners relate development potential to the strength and conforma-

tion of subsurface topography, the Apalachee area has, in theory,

a low potential for nonagricultural growth.

The term countryman in Apalachee County connotes "dirt farmer,"

for countryman itself simply denotes non-townmen. The dirt farmer

category does not include the categorically marginal "gentleman

farmer," who may reside in the country. There are two classes of

dirt farmer, big farmer and small farmer, both of whom own their

land. Small farmers historically have owned 40 to 80 acres, or

"one-horse farms," regardless of whether the draft animal was a

horse or a mule (or even a tractor in the 1940s), and they manage

no tenants. Interestingly enough, horseback riding for pleasure

has long been disdained by countrymen. This attitude relates to

differential traditional uses of the horse: to the small farmer

the horse was a necessity as a draft animal and beast of burden;

-to the "gentleman farmer," the wealthy town professional, the horse

was a relatively inexpensive luxury and a means of transportation

for supervisory visits to the small homes and fields of tenants.

The gentleman farmer bred or purchased animals for qualities other

than ability to pull a wagon or a plow: from horseback, one looks

down to one's servants.

Big farmers manage great expanses of land under their personal

cultivation, and at one time they employed tenants on these lands.

Few of the white large farmers retain live-on laborers in the

context of a patron-client relationship although this practice











once prevailed widely on all large farms: In exchange for hard

(if not always willing) work, the landlord provided food and shelter,

a liquor allownace, and minimal but necessary legal protection.

At one time during the era of cotton and till the Second World

War, a large number of farm tenants inhabited the countryside.6

But big and small, black and white, the dirt farmer distinguishes

himself by personally directing farm operations and personally

taking a hand in the work, as opposed to the gentleman farmer,

whose farm work is done by others.

The rare townsman who not only invests for profit in rural

land but also farms that land,, calls himself a gentleman farmer.

Countrymen believe that the gentleman farmer shies from row crops

without a full-time overseer (or perhaps tenants), to concentrate

on raising cattle,not hogs generally. Locals claim


that the dirt farmer makes his money in the country
and spends it in the city
while
the gentleman farmer makes his money in the city
and spends it in the country.



Different traditional patterns of land use and subsistence

characterize these two farm types:



6The U.S. Census of Agriculture gives the following figures
for percentages of Apalachee farms operated by tenants: 1920 =
34.7, 1930 = 42.4, 1940 = 32.3, 1950 = 20.9, 1959 = 8.0, 1964 =
5.6, and 1969 = 4.6. The 1969 percentage is figured as 51 of
1,091 farms.











Dirt farmer: Cropland, pastureland, woodland.
Rural homestead with garden, dairy cow,
hogs, chickens, scuppernong grape
arbors, cash and subsistence
cropping, chicken houses on con-
tract.

Gentleman farmer: Pastureland and woodland.
Home in the city and perhaps in the
country.
Basic subsistence activity a pro-
fessional job in the county
seat (lawyer, doctor, banker).
Cattle, flower gardens,
and cash crops, if any crops at
all.



There are no blacks in the category, although one young black

in a traditional black profession indicated an interest in

joining it by opening a horse farm--what more vivid demonstra-

tion of social rise could be made, given the social history of

the horse in this county--the gentleman farmer generally in-

vested in land from a successful profession in the county seat,

perhaps acquiring a tobacco poundage allotment, which over the

years he rents out for clear profit to a dirt-farmer producer,

rarely, if ever, growing the crop himself. The townman is

gradually drawn into farming as a hobby or a tax shelter, al-

though it occasionally becomes a consuming interest, for he finds

that contacts made in the farm business draw him to countrymen

as a townman become, in part, one of them.

Thus the gentleman farmer maneuvers from a position of

power, especially if his profession is the practice of law in

the county seat. Lawyers may mediate between townman and











countryman at the nexus of political and official power.

Apalachee County has one gentleman farmer in this very position,

lawyer and cattleman. When complaints under law are discussed

in the countryman's coffee klatsch, at a restaurant on the out-

skirts of Lizbeth, this gentleman's name is most frequently

aired as the man to whom the complaint will be taken. Like the

position of black mediator in the black community, this broker-

age position easily becomes the focus of latent hostilities.

When cattle prices dropped to the point that cattle were no

longer worth raising in 1975, dirt farmers and rural cattlemen

of the county blamed the situation on lawyers and doctors who

flooded the market with cattle to make quick profits. This

dabbling profiteering consequently ruined the livelihood of the

countryman.

At this point we must understand a salient pattern of land

ownership and of derivative political influence in north Florida.

The counties considered in Table 3 form the drainage basin of

the Suwannee River in Florida. Of these counties, Apalachee is

the least tied to great landholdings, but only four of all of

Florida's counties (one of them in north Florida) exhibit

less acreage owned in such chunks. Timber companies in

north Florida account for the overwhelming majority of these

landholdings, and only the giant sugar, phosphate, and land










development corporations of south Florida rival them in the state

at large.


TABLE 3

RURAL LAND IN PRIVATE OWNERSHIP


HOLDINGS OF 1000+ ACRES
COUNTY TOTAL # ACRES %

Apalachee 415,290 30 84,920 20.4
Columbia 401,280 35 202,310 50.4
Dixie 431,500 4 296,200 68.6
Gilchrist 214,950 18 91,280 42.5
Hamilton 315,160 29 186,160 59.1
Lafayette 342,330 15 288,870 66.9
Levy 665,740 51 467,960 70.3
Madison 434,630 38 217,560 50.1

Adapted from: Daniel E. Alleger, "Florida's Rural Land--How
Its Ownership is Distributed," Agricultural Experiment Station
Bulletin 766, Gainesville, Fla.: University of Florida, July 1974.



Agricultural statistics support the thesis that farmers with a

tradition of small independent operations settled Apalachee County,

for this subsistence pattern remains as the predominant historical

legacy. Total numbers of farms increased during the depression

years of the thirties in Florida as a whole and in Apalachee

County, while surrounding counties suffered the incursions of

national timber corporations. Mean farm size in Apalachee has not

tended to fluctuate as in Florida and the surrounding counties.

Although the trends of the twentieth century point to larger farms

but lesser numbers of farms--supporting the prevailing skepticism

about the future of the yeoman farmer's way of life--the ideal of







TABLE 4

AGRICULTURAL STATISTICS


Florida

Apalachee Co.

Hamilton Co.

Lafayette Co.

Madison Co.


TOTAL FARMS
1900 1935 1969

40,814 72,857 35,586

1,679 1,810 1,091

1,085 856 402

580 440 325

2,100 1,305 737


MEAN FARM SIZE
(acres)
1900 1935 1969

106.9 83.0 394.3

131.5 139.1 252.2

168.5 129.6 283.2

158.7 138.2 233.5

108.1 114.2 278.6


LAND IN FARMS
(thousands acres)
1900 1935 1969

4,363 6,048 14,031

221 252 275

183 111 114

92 60 76

227 149 205


ACREAGE IN


UNIT

Florida

Apalachee Co.

Hamilton Co.

Lafayette Co.

Madison Co.


CROPLAND
1935 1969

2,468,639 3,774,119

130,444 131,657

57,881 49.005

22,118 38,379

79,857 85,796


PASTURAGE
1935 1969

1,489,070 10,167,849*

25, 395 164,679*

31,019 26,294*

8,376 16,646

17,216 53,160


*1959 figures
Adapted from: Census of Agriculture, Washington, D.C.: Bureau of the Census, U.S. Dept. of Commerce,
June 1972.











the small family farm remains a living tradition in the country-

side Csee Table 4),

The vantage of historical hindsight shows farm trends over-

taking Apalachee County decades after appearing in neighboring

counties. Men working the soil are no longer farmers, but

"agriculturalists" or "farmers, ranchers, and growers," because

some (especially some south Floridians, said a local banker)

resent being called farmers. Mechanization and the extension of

civil rights have altered the constituency of labor pools and

have formulated different labor needs year by year.

Churches, rural schools,,and crossroads general stores have

served as centers of widely dispersed rural neighborhoods, tying

the scattered populace into networks of communication. Over the

years a demographic shift in population has emptied half a hundred

of these hamlet centers for each that exists today. Yet the names

of these long-departed social units still- dot the maps and spice

the conversation of locals: Columbus, Marion Station, Fort

Eagle, Hudson-upon-the-Suwannee. The railroads, as much as any

factor, accounted for the distribution of population throughout

the countryside of Apalachee County; Lizbeth, the present county

seat, was formed forty years after the county was first settled,

as a station stop on a railway spur from Georgia.

In Apalachee County farming neighborhoods appeared prior to

Lizbeth, the urban county seat, and decades before numerous and

ephemeral market centers that sprang up every few miles along











railroad rights-of-way. In those years before and briefly after

the War Between the States inhabitants marketed preponderantly

at the river. After 1880 or so, rural people marketed chiefly

at crossroads stores and at tiny commercial nuclei strung like

beads -along county railway chains built to sell real estate and

to haul timber. When the easily accessible timber had been

harvested, the railways folded up their tracks and moved on south

along the central Florida ridge or to the flatwoods of the Gulf

coastal counties. By the 1900s Lizbeth (and to a lesser extent

Jordan) exerted preeminent market influence in the county.

Consider the townspeople. In Apalachee County the dirt

farmers arrived first. Townspeople, as small merchants and

peddlers, part-time preachers, tonsorial artists, usurers, entre-

preneurs in cotton ginning, grist milling, or timber milling,

appeared on the heels of the farmers, setting up in dozens of

rural neighborhoods, at intersections toosmall to be crossroads,

and at numerous railroad stops. In 1926 "The railroads radiate

from [Lizbeth] like the spokes in a wheel, reaching all sections

of the county, giving a large number of shipping points within

the county. No farm in [Apalachee]County is over eight miles

from a railroad" (Polk, 1927, p. 7).

The county was founded in 1858, and Lizbeth officially became

the county seat a decade later, three years after its founding as

a small railroad terminus. Despite its "humble beginnings," by

1871 Lizbeth bustled as "the railroad centre of the state" and


1











"the principal manufacturing town in the State, and Ewasi rapidly

increasing in importance and population" (Nichols, 1871).

This unguardedly optimistic, but at the time not altogether

unreasonable, assessment of Apalachee County potential considered

a climate characterized by long hot summers and mild winters

(see Figure 3). Summer temperatures rarely display much day-to-

day variation in any given year, and relative humidity is usually

high. Winter cold spells linger only two or three days, and even

on the colder days, temperatures almost always rise above freezing.

The Apalachee county-community only coalesced in the decade

after the end of the War Between the States. During those years

Lizbeth became the county seat, merchants swarmed into the pine

barrens, and the railroads marched outward from that less-than-

town to make it, at the turn of the century, Florida's most promi-

nent inland commercial center. During those years a settled lawyers'

row (still existing)-sprang up in the county seat, incorporating a

permanent legal institution to temper the independence of isolated

cracker homesteads and yeoman farmer hamlets scattered through the

county. Effective concentration of politico-legal power in the

institutions of the county seat began then: the social structure

had'imported a legal system to enforce the authority of that struc-

ture to distribute power and its prizes and spoils. During this

era the credit function was dispersed among crossroads store owners,

landlords with tenants, town money-lenders, turpentiners with a

camp of blacks to look after, others. Centralizing forces came






54




from outside the county, riding international economic cycles of

prosperity and despair involving the raw materials of the county:

cotton and naval stores.

The townsfolk of Apalachee County have led a distinctly differ-

ent way of life from the countryfolk. Kinsmen dominate the lives

of town folk to a lesser degree than they do of countrymen. The

large country families have sloughed off relatives to live in the

towns and to work in town businesses, over the years intermarrying

with town-based families. These countrymen-in-town, a significant

element in most small north Florida towns, must bridge two cultural

worlds: To be in good standing with country relatives, they must

participate in an extensive network of kinship reciprocities

germane to the countryman's social system, and execute faithfully

the expectations of employers, neighbors, and friends in the town,

they must learn and follow another occasionally conflicting set of

operating principles based on the life devoted to "getting ahead."-

A local physician, for example, a member in good standing of a

large country-kin group, prefers not to accept relatives and friends

as patients, although he does not hold inflexibly to this rule.

Charging fees for services rendered to kin violates the county

ethic of free labor exchange, but failure to charge a fee violates

the townman's image of the businessman as a valued social personality.

The dual nature of the respective ethics conceals an ironic situation:

the countryman publicly espouses favoring relatives and friends

while privately complaining of the necessity to do so, the townman










publicly defends a fairness doctrine, a "rational" system of fee-

for-services priority scale, but privately works hard to see that

his favorites receive their share and more.

The social nature of the work environment suggests that the

family system of the townspeople differed from that of the country

people. In the country men worked in the open where, till the

advent of mechanized farming, income level depended in part upon

amount of work done and the ability to be up and out before dawn

till after sunset. Wives brought dinner pails into the fields so

that work would be interrupted as little as possible. The more

sons a family had, the greater the amount of work they could do.

Work began before ten years of age and continued (like work in the

turpentine camps) until a man escaped or died. The extended family,

which tended to cohabit in the same rural neighborhood (called

"communities," either after a church or a prominent family; e.g.,

"New Corinth community," after the New Corinth Methodist Church,

or "Singer community," after the Singer family which had long

farmed much land thereabouts), participated in work sharing,

especially in times of family crisis.

The family system of the townspeople operated within a far

more enclosed setting: the locus of work, a store or a mill. A

man and wife or a man and business partner easily handled the



When neighbors plow a sick man's fields today, it is good
cause for comment and a newspaper story.










business of the store, where income depended on direct commodity

exchange for money (or credit) rather than on the duration of

work-related activity inside or the number of workers there.

Children were not a direct economic asset, because too many black

men would work under brutal conditions just to subsist on the

lowest wages. The town merchant might marry his children into

rural families to increase his clientele, as a rural crossroads

storekeeper might, but four reasons doomed even this as a con-

scious effort. First, the prevailing romantic ethic of marriage

for "love" has pervaded the literary atmosphere of twentieth-

century pulp novels and magazines. Second, the church acted as

the field for locating marriage partners, and townspeople and

country people frequented different churches. Third, even an

early respectable age for marriage followed too many years of

nonproductive activity and upkeep by.the townman. Fourth, before

the Second World War most countrymen handled sums of money in any

consequence only once a year--at fall harvest--although they

trekked to the county seat on many a Saturday. In commerce the

extended family was as much a bane as a boon, for relatives manipu-

lated kinship ties to procure credit, which the procuring tie

hindered the repayment of--especially repayment with interest.

Town logic tended to smaller, more nuclear families with less

well-developed kin affiliations than country families. When a

proprietor fell ill, the wife remained at home as nurse. If a

partner could not keep an enterprise open, it closed until the

owner returned or creditors foreclosed.











Lizbeth serves as a locus for persons who sell extralocal

products at retail prices and purchase local products at whole-

sale prices. As one countryman said, "The farmer's the only man

who asks both, 'What do you want for this?' and 'What will you

give me for this?'" This comment typifies the countryman's

attitude.

Townmen voice opposing views, as in a complaint which over-

looked, perhaps consciously, the countryman's desire to pay "cash

on the barrelhead," thereby avoiding credit charges and the socio-

economic status of debtor to a townsman:


Every year it's the same. Farmers come in
here to look over the new cars. The first
thing you hear is how poor the weather's been.
Then it's how much crops this year have
suffered. Next thing is how high fertilizer
is getting to be. Well, they'll drive off in
an old pick-up (truck) and come back time and
time again, till they've beaten your selling
price down and made you plumb tired of seeing
him. Then they pick out the biggest luxury
car you have on the lot and pay cash for it.



The native system of social organization relates to and

derives its endurance from internal relational patterns in sub-

sistence activities throughout the community over time. At the

local level townmen mediate at the nexus of locally organized

production economies and nationally organized distribution

systems. In Apalachee County the townman element of the native

townman-countryman system has seized control of this local










production-distribution nexus, operating through approved social

forms of the higher order system. For instance, in Apalachee

County county seat mens' clubs (which as the following pages

suggest, represent the townman's characteristic form of social

activity) organize and preside over the rituals of Farm-City Week

in November and the Apalachee Tobacco Festival in August, both

arranged so as to manage the ambiguity inherent in a meeting be-

tween systems disparate in power. When a countryman-in-town

accuses "the Chamber of Commerce crowd" of pushing Apalachee County

"down the growth and development path to ruin already taken by

south Florida," we find three levels of meanings:


1. An anti-growth (and perhaps anti-outsider)
ethic derivative of north Florida localism.

2. An anti-town/urban ethic of the country-
man in the native social system.

3. The anti-community organization (or
anti-hierarchy) ethic of the personalist
representing an egalitarian native social
system opposed to the townman's dominat-
ing social activity--the voluntary associa-
tion.



The town nabob group per se has not maintained a historical

continuity in this community. Prominent families of the pre-

1920s have generally failed to perpetuate themselves biologically,

although a claim to high social status lingers in the community's

sociological imagination. Should a descendant of suitable means

return, his claim to social honor would be upheld. Apalachee











County has not existed as a community long enough to determine

how long such residual status may persist. The failure to abide

and beget relates, perhaps, to differing export economies of the

times, which have shifted from a turpentine-cotton-lumber complex

to a tobacco-pulpwood-banking complex.

The rotation of elites prompted by changes in community

revenue-producing activities has bequeathed two characteristics

to the Apalachee town nabob class: small size and a tenuous hold

on high status. Warner (1962) wrote: "The newer regions of

America, because of rapid social change and their comparative

recency, tend not to develop a superior old-family class" (p. 78).

Since frontier families settled Apalachee late, there is neither a

plantation aristocracy nor a group of decadent "old families" to

monopolize an upper-class prestige while economic power rests in the

hands of an upper-middle class, as in Mississippi counties studied

in the late 1930s by Davis, Gardner, and Gardner (1941).

None of the town influentials have successfully claimed status

as small town aristocrats, although the closest would be the few

remaining members of the family of the former state governor from

Lizbeth. Few of these families have held a status for more than

two generations. Aside from the governor's family, herein must

be counted the leading banking family and older professional men

and their families.

The public cemetery for whites in downtown Lizbeth has allowed

these nabob families to remain in death as cohesive as in life.










Grave plots of the prestigious and wealthy families lie centered

and aligned at the top of the cemetery hill. Graves of the

founding family (which donated the land for the cemetery) lie at

the apex of the hill, surrounded by thigh-high marble railings.

Round this family are ranged the plots of other, less powerful

members of the town nabob class, whose plots are demarcated by

less ostentatious granite and concrete.

The townspeople have set themselves the task of organizing

and regulating the social relations sets of the country. From

their nuclear families the true townmen (not the countrymen-in-

town) generate activity requiring the participation of country

people, imposing their value system as they interact from positions

of economic and social authority. On the other hand, rural families

interact intensively in extended kinship alliances and tend to

respond warily, without enthusiasm, to the overtures of town

organizers and promoters. This town initiation-country response

pattern, coupled with a debt-credit pattern of relations, has

perpetuated the barriers--in symbol and in deed--between towns-

people and country peoples, which although weaker than in past

decades, have not died. The townman's self-appointed task of over-

seeing internal social interactions and external economic linkages

between locals and externally situated agencies and institutions has

generated continual conflict on the county.

Activities in voluntary associations most characterize towns-

people. Locals claim that the people of Lizbeth overorganize,











thereby attesting to the social importance of the formal club.

In an area where familism is a definite virtue, at times a neces-

sity, the formal organizations substitute for the intimacy of a

close-knit extended family. In these clubs task accomplishment

(community service) and group maintenance rate equally important,

and far more so than their show of fraternalism.

Towns people grade their clubs by age, ethnicity, and social

class. Adults organize youth clubs under the guise of the educa-

tional and religious systems, which are so structured to take up

more of the time of town youth than of rural youth, since (1)

adults charge town youth far, less with work and "chores" than

farm youth, and were it not for these organized actitivies, town

parents or hired black "maids" would themselves be forced to super-

vise the children. In rural areas, youth may be "cut loose"

because the large social zones and the expected social behavior

within them are homogenous. Town parents face a different chal-

lenge, because urban areas are a patchwork of public and private

zones calling for matching behaviors which youth by definition have

not mastered--perhaps because they have not mastered the cues

demarcating zones. (2) the friction of distance, discussed

earlier, penalizes town youth less heavily than rural youth.



8The census for 1970 listed 229 "private household workers"
in Apalachee County: 176 of them employed in Lizbeth (U.S. Bureau
of the Census, 1972).











Towns people live nearer the schools and hence need not ride for

hours on school buses.

Within the school establishment community divisions between

town and country represented within each age grade tend to coin-

cide with the pupil breakdowns into classrooms, even though the

school uses other, formal criteria (such as "intelligence") for

segregating purposes. Older teachers from this area well remember

when sex was also used as a segregating mechanism. Only within

the decade of the 1970s have blacks and whites been publicly

integrated, although racial caste lingers as a formal segregating

principle in informal relations such as peer groupings. Club

activities (Beta club, Key club) reflect the wider social divi-

sions of the county.

Except for social clubs like the Benevolent Protective Order

of Elks or the country club, people of Apalachee County relate to

"clubbing" on the basis of age, sex, caste, and often social class.

There are men's clubs and women's clubs, young people's clubs and

old people's clubs, white clubs and black clubs. The principle

of social class within bi-class community overlies all the other

criteria as a segregating mechanism.


9
In the cry for consolidation of schools cultural power
statements lie hidden. Riding two hours each day, from rural
homesteads to schools in the county seat, not only consumes time
but energy. Bus rides force rural youth out of bed earlier in
the morning (and hence earlier to bed in the evening perhaps);
it follows that they participate less in "experience-widening"
extracurricular activities, sports and social interactions.











Men's clubs, for example, tend to activity specificity:

religious clubs ("brotherhoods" specific to particular churches

in particular denominations), .'fraternal clubs (Masonic lodges and

area hunting clubs), and "community service" or task clubs. The

four principal white-male task clubs are: the Junior Chamber of

Commerce (Jaycees), the Kiwanis club, the Lions club, and the

Rotary club. The Jaycees, the least active, offer a social bridge

from clubs of adolescence, from simple legal adulthood to community-

recognized adult status (the Junior Woman's Club performs a similar

function for women), by validating adult status through participa-

tion in club activities which are highly ritualized in nature:

e.g., presenting the nearly annual Miss Apalachee County Beauty

Pageant.or sponsoring fund-raising events for local charities.

Young men graduating from club to club, advancing through the age

grades, make an easy social transition on the level of form because

nearly every club is structured similarly in Apalachee County

regardless of overt function: a minimum slate of officers and a

maximum slate of committeemen.

Of the three principal white, mature men's clubs, it is said:


The Rotary club owns the town;
The Kiwanis club runs the town; and
The Lions club enjoys the town.



This statement ranks the clubs in terms of socio-politico-economic

power. Rotarians strongest as a whole and Lions clubbers least

strong. This ranking holds generally for the relation of clubbers











to social prestige as well. As expected, then, the Lions work

the most energetically at "community service."

A middle-aged informant related the following story. He

was born into a large farm family of very modest means. Through

education and manipulation of the structure of male age groupings

and his old father's knowledge of the area's political situation,

he not only climbed the social ladder but won election to a re-

sponsible county-wide office. When he obtained a university

degree, he returned to Apalachee County to teach school, joining

the Kiwanis Club and the local Florida National Guard company.

The guard afforded him an opportunity to interact in a position of

benevolent authority with many of the county males who rely on

income from guard duty to supplement family incomes. Well-managed

ties with the men in the guard, plus demonstration of goodwill and

enthusiasm in the Kiwanis club, plus a large kinship network, were

factors immeasurably helpful in elevating him from the rank of

classroom teacher to that of school administrator. This occupa-

tional advance was marked by receipt of a graduate degree, by

marriage, and soon after by a change of membership from the Kiwanis

club to the Rotary club.

The primary recreational field outside schooling for'youth,

outside kin folk for rural adults, and outside voluntary associa-

tions for town adults, is the church. White town churches, much

larger on the whole than white rural churches, are highly organized,

formally constituted, and then formally reconstituted at a myriad










of age-graded levels; each department, class, and committee elect-

ing its own slate of ranked officers and keeping them busy. If

anything, the worship of the Creator more carefully segregates

socially than any other activity field outside kinship, and activity

in this field closely replicates kin role titles: the men's

"brotherhood," "Father," the "Holy Family."

In Apalachee County church rank reiterates the general rank

of its membership. Urban churches consider themselves higher in

rank than rural churches. The rural churches consider themselves

no better than, but"just as good as" the urban churches. Perhaps

a church is a collective gathered to ritually reinforce in sacred

ceremony its interpretation of proper secular relationships within

the universe. Thus, in form and in content the communal church

ceremony expresses ideal interactional patterns and values: man

to man, man to God, and man to universe.

We may correlate church social rank with the amount of indi-

vidual freedom to extemporize during a communal service, with which

rank varies inversely. In Apalachee County the small Episcopal

church, for example, ranks very high; nearly every word and move-

ment conform to a schedule, and communicants know exactly what to

expect from the preacher (the "rector") and from each other.

Activity proceeds at an unemotional, orderly, rehearsed pace, led

by a single individual specifically clothed and trained for this

specific task. Changes in the form of worship or in interpreta-

tion of the holy writings are not local prerogatives. The service

emphasizes reaffirmation and continuation.











Holiness churches, Jehovah's Witnesses, and the Churches of

God bear low social rankings; Baptist churches occupy-the mid-

range, the numerous sects (Freewill, Independent, Primitive,

Southern) comprising the overwhelming majority of the Apalachee

County church-going public. Churches of low rank value spontaneity

and regard individual experiences "with the Lord" with rapture;

individuals prize self-expression; several people, all informally

clothed, initiate to the audience at different times in the cere-

mony; people move in specific relation to the circumstnaces of

that particular Sunday meeting; the preacher, who often serves part

time, is inventive in speech and gesture, although he relies on

repetition of key phrases and movements, emphasizing a personal

commitment, an emotional religious experience.

Baptists span the high- and low-valued church types: ceremonies

proceed in a highly regulated, formalized, prescribed manner, but

the essence of the service promotes a highly personal, intense

relationship between the individual and God. The ceremonial

format of Baptist churches varies between sects, locally ranked

by the same criteria as other denominations, Southern being not only

the most numerous but also the highest ranked. As with the

Methodists, the downtown First Baptist Church--"de fust chuch"--

is the largest, most formal, most active, most organized, most

visible, and most wealthy of its denomination in the county. Indeed

the First Baptist Church of Lizbeth is the largest church of any

denomination within the county.










Public investment in area recreation lags behind expressed

public interest. The few official declarations of interest in

such recreation have come from either the State of Florida (which

supports five public facilities in the general area) or the town-

based development authority, which the state legislature created as

an arena for public display for local merchants and politicians

of the State Bank of Lizbeth's political faction. This authority,

tied to the bank and the local chamber of commerce, occasionally

promotes speculation in the creation of a public park on the

Suwannee River in the northern section of the county. It aims to

capitalize on the Stephen Foster theme, despite the presence of a

similar facility not 15 miles upstream, on the county border, but

situated in a neighboring county.



In this chapter we have sketched the origins of dominant white

social categories in the Apalachee county-community. First to

arrive in the early 1800s were the true cracker backwoodsmen. The

isolated, individualistic way of life of the craker remains in

spirit in the community although the crackers themselves have passed

into history. Following the War Between the States, a wave of

independent yeoman-dirt farmers entered the area from the north,

with townmen-entrepreneurs following. Two distinct life-styles

remain in Apalachee County which are traceable to these separate

traditions--town and country. In the next chapter we shall discuss

the role of the black man in the social history of the country.















CHAPTER 3

THE BLACK MAN IN COUNTY HISTORY



The "racial situation" in the southern region of the United

States has frequently been described as a relationship of caste

in the classical social science sense of the word (Davis, Gardner

Gardner, 1941, Dollard, 1937). That is, there endures a fixed

and theoretically inviolable disparity in access to social

resources between the categories of persons making the society:

a closed hierarchical system of groups with differential access

to prestige and economic goods and services, with membership

completely ascribed by birth. Reality, however, suggests that

rigidly proclaimed barriers in this country yield when necessary

or convenient.- William Faulkner (Light in August), John Howard

Griffin (Black Like Me), and others have spoken eloquently to this

social fact.

Maintenance of caste dogma and caste boundaries has gone

underground since the government tabooed public and/or official

support for policies of white supremacy. Private publications

such as The Citizen, official organ of the Citizens Councils of

Ameri'ca, maintain the old cries for "racial integrity" and "states'

rights" (i.e., white supremacy and isolationism), but the body of

caste system tradition passes orally.










As elsewhere in the South, white "old timers" reminisce

about lynchings, murders, and mutilations they have witnessed

(none ever admits having himself participated, much less as a

principal actor, in one of these tragedies) and recall infamous

legends concerning local blacks, legends passed on to them which

they in turn pass on. An elderly, sickly white man, for decades

in the naval stores industry, described in vivid detail how "they

caught this buck nigger" and shackled him by a five-foot chain to

a stake planted on a spot by the railroad tracks where he

allegedly raped and murdered a white woman. "They" piled wood

around him in a circle and set it afire. "Well, just about the

time you could see the grease a poppin out of him," a train

happened by. The engineer, never one to pass up a free show,

halted the train, allowing passengers to climb on top of the cars

and watch the man burn.

Berreman (1960-61) and others have maintained that caste in

the United States, unlike caste in India, lacks sacred justifi-

cation for its existence, but the evidence from Apalachee County

suggests otherwise. In this county, where 80 percent of church-

goers affiliate Southern Baptist of a fundamentalist sort, white

people interpret religious myths as support for the.system, "as

documented" in the Christian Bible. Black people of course do

not share the prevailing white belief in the categorical charters.

The preachers of the countryside, practically unlettered and

frequently employed only part time, but generally not the

preachers of the town, who are occasionally graduates of seminaries









and fully supported by their churches (these categorical descriptions

are by no means invariable), refer in private to the book of Genesis:

"Then the Lord put an identifying mark on Cain as a warning not to

kill him" (Genesis 4:5). White people "logically" tend to inter-

pret that God's mark, this unexplained, mysterious, and unremitting

curse, had to be black skin, for "What could be worse than that?"

Here perhaps we find a pragmatic example of the social necessity

to find a symbol for an extant referent rather than of intellec-

tual gymnastics to find a referent for an extant symbol.

A favorite story manipulated to account for caste as a holy

system in the United States (in The Living BibZe [Wheaton, Ill.:

Tyndale House, 1971] a specific disclaimer is added in the margin)

is Noah's drunken curse of his son Ham and Ham's descendants: "May

they be the lowest of slaves to the descendants of Shem and Japeth"

(Genesis 9:24-25). Benet illustrated the type of social inter-

pretation of this passage:


"I get my sailing-orders from the Lord."
He touched the Bible. "And it's down there, Mister,
Down there in black and white--the sons of Ham--
Bondservants--sweat of their brows." His voice
Trailed off into texts. "I tell you, Mister," he
Said fiercely, "The pay's good pay, but it's the
Lord's work, too. We're spreading the Lord's seed--
Spreading his seed--"
(Slaveship Captain speaking in the "Prelude" to Stephen
Vincent Bgnkt's John Brown's Body [N.Y.: Farrar 6
Rinehart, 1942] p. 12).


The Negro, as black man, fits a local system of symbolic

opposition. Preachers teach the concepts of "heaven" and "hell,"

the respective abodes of the Christian God of Love in the sky and










of the arch-fiend, the devil Satan, in the bowels of the earth,

by reference to color schemes familiar to readers of John Milton's

"Paradise Lost":

Heaven: White and gold
Hell: Black and red

Indeed, white and black preachers alike describe a Satan black

in color and demeanor. Interestingly enough, the anti-black force

in the southern and border states, the sheeted Ku Klux Klan, most

frequently resorted to terror by arson, symbolically uniting white

with impersonal godly power and black with inflicted, but deserved,

suffering through pain in fire.

This thin veil of religious support for an extant though time-

weakened caste system justifies, in the eyes of many whites, a

secondary association of black with social anti-values. Where

whites value familism, localism, and the work-is-virtuous ethic,

these whites claim that blacks neglect their families, bring

outside authorities ("agitators") into the county to "meddle" in

strictly local matters, and refuse to work for an honest living.

Local idiom suggests three socially fundamental types of

black persons in Apalachee County: turpentine or pulpwood blacks,

country blacks, and town blacks. The pulpwood workers descended

historically from the turpentine workers. Some speculate that

more than a loose theoretical-historical linkage dependent upon

nature of work activity exists; that generations of male descen-

dants have followed the occupation that usually crippled or

worked their fathers to an early death. Zora Neale Hurston,










a regional black writer, said: ". . teppentime folks are born,

not made, and certainly not overnight. They are born in teppen-

time, live all their lives in it, and die and go to their graves

smelling of teppentime" (1948, p. 7).

Naval stores, a vigorous regional industry from the 1870s

until the early 1950s, has declined to near insignificance, and

at present a sole entrepreneur milks the pines of their sap.

Regional white people made fortunes in this business, founded

on a supply of unskilled, legally unprotected and dependent black

labor. Relations of a patron-client nature between the laborer

and the white owners and supervisors endured as long as the market

for the raw materials remained strong. Kennedy wrote:


Negroes have provided the labor for the naval
stores industry since the beginning of slavery
in America. Generation after generation they have
followed its southward migration, and the majority
of those engaged in it today are descended from
a long line of turpentine workers. More than
any other occupational group these Negroes are
denied the rights for which the Civil War was
supposedly fought. As one who knows told me,
"A Negro who is foolish enough to go to work in
a turpentine camp is simply signing away his birth-
right." They are held in abject poverty and
peonage by a combination of forces quite beyond
their power to oppose. (1942, pp. 261-62)



White men with access to a black labor pool contracted to tap the

trees on land owned by other whites. The contractor and his

white overseers (called woods riders because they checked the

productivity of the black laborers from horseback) then moved a

settlement of black people into the area of the leased trees,










housing them in portable huts in a "camp." The camp owner, him-

self usually absent from the camp, founded a commissary for "his"

blacks where the barest essentials could be had. Purchasing was

rarely a matter of exchanging cash for commodity, though, for these

blacks rarely had cash money. Rather, commodities were purchased

on time with substantial credit charges affixed, the balance

eventually subtracted from the purchaser's share in the seasonal

profits, for full repayment was forever difficult.

Contractors sublet stands of pines to black men, encouraging

them to maintain families in the camp on the theory that the men

would thus be bound to their service and prevented from "running"

when accumulated debt negated any profit from a year's activity.

It was not at all unheard of for the owner to supply a woman for

a man without, "marrying" the pair by the simple expedient of

assigning them to a cabin and opening an account for them in the

camp commissary. An owners' association served not only to

disseminate information and innovations related to the industry

but also to return indebted laborers to camp owners who in the

absence of formal legal apparatus, meted out punishment personally

and severely.

.Turpentining strained a man's physical endurance to the limit.

A camp boss at the turn of the century compared another strenuous

agricultural enterprise to it: "In point of severity it [growing

cotton] is not to be compared to turpentine culture . ."

(Powell, 1969, p. 349). He related:










The work is severe to a degree almost impossible
to exaggerate, and it is very difficult to con-
trol a sufficient quantity of free labor to
properly cultivate any great number of trees.
The natives follow it more as a make-shift than
a vocation, and are only too glad to abandon
its hardships for any other character of work
that comes to hand. (Powell, 1969, p. 27)



The camps initially worked captive labor leased from the Florida

state prison system, which in 1870 operated 20:1 black to white,

although by the 1890s the proportion had reputedly dropped to 2:1

(Powell, 1969, p. 332).1

Saturday payday activity illustrates the nature of the black-

white relationship in this extractive enterprise. Early in the

morning the white man loaded his trucks or wagons with black men,

men hungering for the diversity and excitement of the county seat.

There, men who lived for long months in virtual isolation in the

deep woods proverbially spent their money riotously on liquor,

gambling ("skin games"), and women. Early Sunday morning those

physically able and of such a persuasion returned to camp via

the return truck. Those left behind often remained involuntarily,

as guests of the City Marshal or the "High Sheriff" until Monday

morning, when the contractor or an overseer, a camp "captain" (or

"cap'n"), ritually returned to the county seat to bail men out of



1Powell tried to explain: "I attribute the increase [in
whites relative to blacks] to several different causes. In the
early days it was possible to send a negro to prison on almost
any pretext, but difficult to get a white man there, unless he
committed some very heinous crime" (1969, p. 332). By 1890 this
situation had evidently changed.










jail with money from a standing account for that very purpose.

The overseers added the amount of the bail and fine plus the

payoff to the appropriate law enforcement official to the

worker's commissary debt.2

Turpentiners worked a stand of trees for seven years or less,

and when blade and cup eventually killed the trees, they moved

on. The personnel of any one camp changed every move, some

arriving and some managing to escape. These people, savaged by

a life of hardship and want, were outsiders in the lands that

supported them, lands where toleration was the exception rather

than the rule, and they settled only when economic expediency

dictated that "teppentime" had run its course as a way of life.

While no turpentine camps remain in Apalachee County, many

black men earn a living today in pulpwooding--cutting pines and

shipping them by truck or by rail to industrial processing plants



Hurston related the classic southern white-black joke between
Jim, a white turpentine woods rider, and Joe, a black hand: "I
know, I know, Jim retorted in mock sternness. It's Saturday
nights that's your trouble Joe. Saturday pay-night, you spend
all you got on likker and women. Before draw-day, you're pestering
my life out of me for more money. Pretty nearly every man on the
camp is the same way. Saturday night! Saturday night! Look
like that's all you colored folks live for on this camp, Saturday
night! Joe looked very serious while Jim was preaching. When
the woodsman had finished, Joe kept on looking serious. Finally
he scratched his head and seemed to reach a conclusion. I speck
youse right about that Saturday night business, Mister Jim.
Fact of the matter is, I knows youse dead right. But if you
ever was to be a Negro just one Saturday night, you'd never want
to be white no more" (1948, p. 40).










(none in Apalachee County) where they are converted into paper,

rayon derivatives, and other commercial products. Pulpwooding

has inherited turpentining's reputation as strenuous labor. In-

deed, a white "old timer," who himself did hard physical work

all his life in the pulpwood industry, claimed that there is no

harder work than the old-style pre-machine, hand turpentining,

called "chipping and dipping," but the closest thing to it is

pulpwooding. Laborers in pulpwood claim the reputation for

toughness, hell raising, and ignorance of the old "turpentine

niggers" as well as the same pattern of labor relations with the

personalistic white owners of town woodyards where railcars are

loaded.

Where overseers previously employed dozens of unskilled black

laborers, machines today do most of the heavy field work of

felling trees, sawing to length, and loading on trucks. Even at

such transfer points as barren woodyards along railroad tracks

in the county seat, where heavy labor in direct sunlight predomi-

nates, the back-breaking work is much ameliorated. Since no

commercial or industrial establishments have replaced the jobs

lost to mechanization, the black men thus employed have been

forced into three strategies, strategies not necessarily discreet:

migratory patterns of wage earning, welfare exploitation, or

permanent out-migration.

Social distinctions between town blacks and country blacks

derive from the essence of the townman-countryman bi-class system










of social relations in the area. Blacks, too, share the philo-

sophical bias of the town sophisticate-country bumpkin dichotomy

with whites who apply it among their own kind. In turn, all

whites reverse the social implications of that philosophy against

blacks who live in the county seat--town blacks see themselves

as more sophisticated than rural blacks and expect some validation

of this status by whites. Whites, on the other hand, dare not

legitimize this distinction and prefer to consider them "uppity,"

meaning that whites believe that behavioral affirmation of this

distinction played out among the blacks threatens the basis of

the caste system itself because the blacks and whites use the

same criteria of sophistication. Only the racial line thus

stands between dominance of black townmen over white countrymen.

Town blacks have adopted behavioral strategies based on

frequent observation of interactions between town whites and

country whites, which often take the form of town dominance-

country submissiveness. Town blacks perhaps easily extended

deprecation of country status to country whites as well as to

country blacks. Coupled with imitative learning based on

repetition in observing dominant town white-submissive country

white encounters, this imagined dichotomy of "sophistication"

has caused blacks to modulate their behavior depending on the

category of white person faced. In the whites, especially

country whites in town, this black behavioral tactic triggered

a status-protection drive to reinforce caste lines. But the










black certainly knew from experience the propensity to violence

of the lower-class white and of the "cracker," and this fore-

knowledge caused a mediation, a third behavioral set, not servi-

tude but not equality: black behavior with vague connotations

generates social ambiguity and hence greater intercaste pressure

to conform and submit.

Town blacks have traditionally earned livings working under

white supervision, whereas country blacks in Apalachee County,

except for the formerly large tenant class, predominantly lived

and worked independently on their small farms.3 Business enter-

prises such as dry cleaners employed blacks in dark, damp sweat-

rooms as pressers toiling over great steam irons. Agricultural

warehouses and lumber mills used black men for the heavy labor of

hoisting and moving while women worked as domestics in the homes

of affluent whites; Employment diversification for the black

woman, except for the solitary homelife of the school teacher,

remains minimal but greater than for the black males, for many

women do find employment as assembly-line workers in the area's

small textile mills or the chicken processing plant.

For a few black men alternative employment has meant the

ministry, taking the duties as local black mortician, or operating

a business in the small black business section. These positions

offer a man the chance to rise economically to the level of the



3Today fewer than 100 black families are independently
involved in agriculture in Apalachee County.











white "middle class" and to exercise some power, albeit in a

mediating role, between white and black castes. There, whites

with power or black patrons can easily jeopardize a man's reputa-

tion and security, whites by force and blacks by ceasing to

frequent the business of a "Tom" and shopping at a rival white

business.

In the mid 1970s country blacks and town blacks alike lived

in ethnic neighborhoods, named enclaves on side roads and off

the principal paths of commerce. There, scattered about one-room

church buildings, live a handful of black farmers as truly inde-

pendent as any local white small farmer. Faulkner wrote that

you could always distinguish a Negro country road: . a

road marked with many wheels and traced with cotton wisps, yet

dirt, not even gravel, since the people who lived on and used it

had neither the voting power to compel nor the money to persuade

the Beat supervisor to do more than scrape and grade it twice a

year" (Faulkner, 1955, p. 398).

We should think of race and caste, not just as sets of

categories which separate groups, but also as definitions pro-

viding means for them to come together, to interact in fact and

in imagination. We may carry this much further if we think of

race and caste as sets of rules for relating (not interacting

is a form of relating).

Two "feelings" about race relations in Apalachee County

must be considered here. Whites promote the idea that relations










between the races are much less "strained" than in any surrounding

county, and a white saying so often had an incident or story to

illustrate this difference:


Why just last year there was this black boy in
Lafayette County tried for murdering a white boy.
Now used to be they'd a just strung him up . well,
that was years ago. He'd a gone to jail and never
come out. Well, this boy here got off with life
[meaning that he received a life sentence] and it
was an all-white jury too.



Although I have less data from blacks testifying to this

point, there appears to be something of an opposed and cynical

feeling--that relations ii Apalachee County are more strained

than in surrounding counties. Nevertheless a general presumption

exists that relations between the races have changed a great

deal in recent years. Whites almost invariably related this era

of desegregation to wider social degeneration and lamented the

change.

Blacks more slowly testified to the extent and nature of

changes forced in the system although grudgingly granting that

there had been some change.

Superficially, or publicly, relations between the races have

changed immensely during the past quarter-century. Seating around

the county courthouse remains but the bench backs no longer carry

specific caste designations. The "separate but equal" school

system was phased out during the 1960s, and blacks occasionally

eat in the downtown Dixie Grill, although whites rarely eat in










a black-owned cafe--caste breaking up and not down. Caste

impediments for entrance into the voting public of the community,

such as poll taxes, literacy tests, and forceful denial, are no

longer. The Ku Klux Klan no longer has an organization in the

county, and the White Citizens' Council formed at the height of

the school integration crisis never gained community support or

approval.

In private systems of relations the traditional patterns of

interaction remain in effect. In agriculture, for example,

blacks presumably need no longer perform and be generally limited

to menial and laborious tasks, now that the Federal governmental

system has intervened directly and massively in the food produc-

tion-processing-distribution system. Still, independent agri-

cultural operations in the area tend to exclude black entre-

preneurs, except for a handful of black small farmers who have

held tenaciously to the land deeded them after the War Between

the States.

Of the 146 Negro farmers in Apalachee County in 1964, 113

were full owners of their farms: 23 were part owners and 10 were

tenants. By 1969 the total had dropped to 84 Negro farmers:

73 full owners, 11 part owners; and no tenants (U.S. Department

of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Census of Agriculture, 1964

and 1969).

All farmers claim that they are hard-pressed to recruit and

pay for semi-skilled agricultural labor and, hence, turn










increasingly to machinery produced in outside manufacturing

centers, which must ordinarily be bought on credit, reinforcing

the farmer's dependence and subservience to town credit lenders.

White countrymen claim that they would much rather experience the

frustrations of working with agricultural equipment, which fails

to equal human labor in the quality of work done, than to work

agricultural labor which must now be handled carefully, patiently,

and quietly or else will disappear in the midst of a job. This

new set of interactional rules counters traditional normative

relations (directions of white domination and black .subordination)

and hence irritates and frustrates the white farmer, who finds

his self-image and positive value of "independence" threatened

within the very context where he learned to be most secure.

This interactional system is illustrated by one abstract

sequence of activities in tobacco crop production. In Apalachee

County basic allocations for market production were held by 94

farmers: black = 6 and white = 88.

1. Seeding in beds: the farmer, black or white.

2. Transplanting to the fields: mostly black labor.

3. Application of insecticides and sucker (branching) control:
the farmer.

4. Cropping (picking): blacks and whites of the lower classes,
frequently middle-class children, and the farm family itself.

5. Curing: women do the light work of stringing or racking, and
men do the heavy work of lifting and hauling.

6. Warehousing: manual labor by black men and women and lower-
class white children; technical labor by white men and women.










7. Buying and selling: white men.

8. Shipping: black men perform heavy tasks supervised by
white men.

The following story concerning a system of debt peonage was

told me by a local white man. It illustrates the recent anachron-

istic state of relations between blacks and whites; this based

on events in a neighboring county:


When I moved there in 1959, I first went to see
the Sheriff. He took me right over to register to
vote, backdating the entry because I had only been
in the area a few days. Well, when he found out
I made my living lending money to niggers, he
made me a deputy sheriff. That way, he said, "If
you ever have to kill one, it'll be legal." The
way I operated was like this: I'd scout out the
nigger jooks and the quarters making acquaintances
here and there. Pretty soon the word got out
that I could be hit up for a loan and they began
a-coming. I'd lend a man $5 and collect $7 at
the end of the week. Why once I made $250 on a
$20 loan. But I always got a signed blank check
from them as security, because .1 knew didn't none
of them have any banking account. So if they
defaulted, I'd fill in the check, cash it, and
have the Sheriff arrest them for passing bad
checks. Then after they'd stayed in jail a few
days, I'd bail them out and take them to the owner
of the pulpwood yard--a friend of mine--who'd
reimburse me their $50 bail and put them to work
to repay the both of us. Once I was waiting at
the woodyard on payday to collect a note and saw
this nigger walk out of the office counting his
money. When he seen me coming, he put the money
in his pocket and told me he didn't have any. I
insisted, and when he reached into his right pocket,
I knocked him out with my fist--cause I'd seen
him put the money in his left pocket. I figured
he was reaching for a knife. Well, I went to my
car and got my gun and put it right into that
nigger's nose. When he come to, he gave me the
money he owed me. I've still got a lump on my
hand from where I hit that nigger. That's one
nigger I could've killed. I left there in about
1964 cause I got tired of the work--it was just too
easy--like shooting fish in a tank. I ain't
never had no use for niggers.










Area blacks understand the local social system too and

have worked actively from within to change it. The following

incident, related to me by a young black Apalachee entrepreneur,

illustrates the dynamics involved in local social change:


Back a couple of years ago, there was a fight
between a black high school girl and a white
woman bus driver. The Sheriff put the girl in
jail and sent the white woman home after taking
her to the hospital for a check-up. Well there
was a mass meeting in Cherished Harmony Baptist
Church to protest his holding the girl in jail;
she was underage and there was no proof that the
girl caused the fight. They were listening to
speeches and about ready to march on the court-
house to picket and sleep on the steps there, if
need be. Well I got up and announced that I
wasn't going to sleep on any steps outside,
because I had a good bed to sleep in. I left
with a few others and went quietly to the Sheriff,
asking him to release the girl on her own
recognizance or in the custody of her mother
or us. The Sheriff and the youth counselor both
refused. So we went home and called the Governor
and got an executive order to release the girl.



Although the necessities of making a living and mediating

the interactional fields do bring them together, blacks and

whites historically live apart and play apart, interlocked but

segregated in zones of social space. Whites have generally

enforced this communal separation--as if spatial proximity related

in direct proportion to social access to the family hearth.

At first glance, maps of social divisions in the city of

Lizbeth resemble a maze, a surrealist pastiche. By conceptually

dividing the city into quarters, we find that each contains both










white and black neighborhoods (see Figure 5). The derivation of

these separate quarters resulted, not only from a conscious

separation, but also from an ecological corollary to the forms

of labor relations. (A young white man of Lizbeth joked, "They

live all around us. It's like a donut around a hole.") For

example, the southwestern black neighborhood in Lizbeth began as

the quarters-nucleus of a large sawmill in the late 1800s. A

sawmill owner, in a position to employ dozens of unskilled

laborers, was then a man of considerable power and economic re-

sources. Owners maintained themselves as paternal bosses to

their hands, black and white, often supplying them with cheap

housing near the mill. Such was the case here. The black

neighborhood in southeast Lizbeth originated as a settlement of

black railroad laborers early in the twentieth century.

Few blacks lived in Apalachee County before the War Between

the States, but they are nearly one-quarter of the population in

the 1970s. The black people have participated in the same social

relations as the white people, with the additional burden of

subordination in the system of caste relations of the region.

Many blacks lived in turpentine or logging camps in the county

under the supervision of white "bosses" until these activities

withered after the Second World War. Apalachee County has a minor

tradition of independent black farmers who nest on pockets of

land held by their families since the land was deeded them after

the War Between the States. Blacks in the towns worked in "gangs"




















































Key: Main thoroughfare
----- Railway

///// Black neighborhood


FIGURE 5

BLACK NEIGHBORHOODS
CITY OF LIZBETH, FLORIDA






87


on the railroad or in sawmills and lived on the outskirts of

towns in racially segregated neighborhoods, or "quarters." No

other ethnic minorities reside in Apalachee County. Now that

we have introduced the cast of characters, we shall bring the

social history up to date.




Full Text

PAGE 1

SUWANNEE RIVER TOWN, SUWANNEE RIVER COUNTRY: POLITICAL MOIETIES IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY COMMUNITY By Richard Wayne Sapp A Dissertation Presented to the Graduate Council Of the University of Florida In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements For the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA 1976

PAGE 2

PREFACE The Center for Rural Development and the Department of 4-H and Other Youth Programs, Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences, University of Florida, sponsored the research for this dissertation with a working graduate assistantship. I began active research in the county I have called Apalachee in June 1974 and completed that phase in May 1975. During the summer of 1974 I labored in tobacco warehouses in the county seat, Lizbeth, and the following summer I worked in Lizbeth as project coordinator for a summer program of the Suwanne River Economic Council. These activities provided additional insight into my host community and the financial means to remain there during those summers. I went to Apalachee County to examine political processes in the context of a human community, a socially whole unit, rather than of a specific , group or geographic area. This approach seemed eminently app] icable to study in large-scale complex societies. My premise suggested that to get at widespread phev nomena in complex systems, we must enter by examining processual or organizational nodes of interaction rather than structural nodes. Of course, some social scientists have long done exactly this, but the method has particular value for the cultural

PAGE 3

anthropology of complex societies. Consequently I chose to look at the distribution of political power and resources within a large (15,000+ inhabitants) social arena. While I think the work itself was successful, I missed the close, intensely personal experience of working day by day in a tiny, isolated group formerly the hallmark of the professional anthropologist. I initiated the active phase of on-site research with a set of methods and principles in mind. Methodologically the work resembled decades of anthropological tradition. . I planned to sit quietly, listen, question, and read what I could of the area and the people. I determined to be honest in my approach, open in my "search for truth," and confidential with all volunteered information. These principles served me well and were only muddled by their occasional inconsistency with contractual obligations to my employer. My reception in the community must be understood as interaction with at least two levels of meaning, which structural analysis endeavors to decipher--a public front and a private interior. When natives of Apalachee County inquired challengingly, "Why did you come heve (to do your research)?" they seemed to mean not only "Why here?" but "Why not elsewhere?" Privately v implied was a clear statement-"Leave Us Alone"--restating the plea sewn on the First Flag of the territory of Florida, a product of rural, north Florida localism. Locals frequently asked, "How have people received you here?" revealing a protective i i i

PAGE 4

premise of localism and provincialism underlying their interest. Publicly the people described themselves as "friendly" and received me well. Locals stuck a hand up in their version of waving and I waved back, waved every chance I got, whether or not I knew the person on the other end of the greeting. At this level, the level of public form, the whole world is a stage and the people indeed are "friendly." The private sphere opened less to me, for intimacy took time, and this brought me to realize another structuring principle of Apalachee society--familism. A person involved in great sets of kinfolk or many voluntary associations has a high threshold requirement for sympathetic interaction with strangers, and I consider myself fortunate in the close relationships I had. Intimacy, in a sense, is a gift of birth or marriage, and though a great grandmother of mine was born in the southern end of the county in 1882, though I was related to a well-remembered marshal of the county seat, though I bore a familiar cracker name, I had to demonstrate my ability and willingness to reciprocate in the public display of being a "good old boy"--I had to earn my way in. Grappling with practical and methodological considerations led me toward the formation of hypotheses during my field work. This repetition of interest in the nature of my reception forced me to try to understand the implications of a dual level of interaction. I realized that a we-vs.-they spirit of localism

PAGE 5

was a structuring principle in the social life of rural north Florida. After work like mine in Apalachee County, one owes a debt beyond immediate repayment to two groups of people--the penetrated host community and the assertive academic community. These debts cannot be compared, because their fundamental nature springs from distinctive and occasionally opposing premises. The hosts must protect their integrity from exploitation and uncharitable publicity, while the academic sponsors must pry in order that they may understand and interpret social life in all its complexity as truthfully as possible. I am not at liberty to cite the names of individuals of the host community who aided and befriended me, for whatever personal reasons. Although the manuscript names positions and personal names, identities, wherever possible, have been disguised. I can only say thank you, and hope that the analysis I present of your community and your way of life is free of major errors: you did receive me well. To the academic community of the University of Florida I owe a debt of gratitude for urging me to ask the impertinent question--"What are the reasons?"--and to view responses with benign (but not patronizing) skepticism. Shepherding my tenure in graduate school was a demanding and often thankless task. I will not single out all who have played a role in my academic and career development and who deserve a special thank you, but

PAGE 6

the following have had a deep and lasting effect on my personal and professional life: Dr. G. Alexander Moore, chairman of my supervisory committee, and Dr. Solon T. Kimball read and critized early drafts of the manuscript. Mr. Carl Feiss, Dr. Paul Doughty, and Dr. Alfred Clubok have served on my supervisory committee. Dr. James Brasher, Dr. Thearon McKinney, Dr. B. R. Eddleman, and Dr. Michael Davis have sponsored my work with the Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences of the University of Florida. Dr. Bill Smith and Mr. Jim Brown, extension personnel, always lent me a helpful hand in north Florida. Martha Hetrick of Edition Makers assisted in the preparation of the manuscript. I wish to express my gratitude for and appreciation of the support and encouragement offered me by my own families. Without their unstinting care I would have fallen by the wayside long ago. • Finally it-must be made clear that many people have played a part in the development of this manuscript--the facts included, opinions expressed, and interpretations presented. Errors, omissions, and occasional rejection of good advice, however, can be charged against no one but myself.

PAGE 7

CONTENTS Preface ii List of Tables viii List of Figures ix Abstract x A COMMUNITY EVENT 2 CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION 10 PART I 19 2 ENTER THE COUNTRYMAN-THE TOWNMAN ATTENDS 20 3 THE BLACK MAN IN COUNTY HISTORY 68 4 THE PRESENT ERA 88 PART II 105 5 CLIQUE, COLLECTIVE, AND FACTION 108 6 THE SYSTEM AND STRUCTURE OF GOVERNANCE 130 7 POLITICAL PRIZES 165 8 POLITICAL ENCOUNTERS 185 9 POLITICAL RESOLUTION 211 10 CONCLUSION 236 APPENDIX 244 BIBLIOGRAPHY 248 Biographical Sketch 257

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LIST OF TABLES TABLE Page 1 2 3 4 5 6 POPULATION TRENDS

PAGE 9

LIST OF FIGURES FIGURE Page 1 MAP OF AREA 21 2 NATURAL PLANT ASSOCIATIONS, APALACHEE COUNTY 28 3 RAINFALL AND TEMPERATURE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE APALACHEE COUNTY CLIMATE 36 4 SOILS MAP, APALACHEE COUNTY 44 5 BLACK NEIGHBORHOODS, CITY OF LIZBETH, FLORIDA 86 6 PRINCIPAL GEOLOGICAL FORMATIONS, APALACHEE COUNTY 94 7 SUBSISTENCE PROFILE, APALACHEE COUNTY -" 97 8 THE REBEL YELL CAFE: .FLOORPLAN 112 9 ORGANIZATIONAL CHART: APALACHEE COUNTY GOVERNMENT. 136 10 ORGANIZATIONAL CHART: CITY OF LIZBETH . GOVERNMENT 147 11 PRECINCT LINES AND % TO GO WET 200

PAGE 10

Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate Council Of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy SUWANNEE RIVER TOWN, SUwMlEE RIVER COUNTRY: POLITICAL MOIETIES IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY COMMUNITY by Richard Wayne Sapp June, 1976 Chairman: G. Alexander Moore, Jr. Major Department: Anthropology Studies of the political institutions of the southeastern United States exhibit three major problems--one historical, one structural, and one methodological. The historical problem derives from the region's peculiar agricultural nature, which allowed the development of a tradition of plantation aristocrats. These elites of the "Old South" tended to monopolize the interactional relation between town and country components of the Southern county community. Structural and methodological flaws derive from the characteristics of sociological research, not from populations studied. The structure of party politics, especially the division of the population into two dominant parties (Democratic and Republican) and the resultant competition between the parties, is the subject of the majority of speculation and research about Southern politics. These studies examine decision-making and governance as a structure of relations between local representatives of national voluntary

PAGE 11

associations and public policy produced as the outcome of interplay between these associations. The methodological problem results from an emphasis on survey research using questionnaires and structured interview techniques. \r^°y* Hunter's (fi B search for community "power structure" is typical. This research program carried a biasing premise in the idea that voluntary associations are the uniformly American form of social organization. The fieldwork: behind this manuscript required one year. Principal data-gathering methods were participant observation, interviewing, and analysis of written material. The methodology counters the bias of survey research. Findings challenge the historical and structural flaws cited above. Apalachee County, a north Florida county community, nestles in a bend of the Suwannee River. The urban county seat is the center of government and associational life. Scattered over the countryside are farming neighborhoods whose interactional centers are rural churches. County seat and rural neighborhoods are coupled by mutual exchanges of goods and services: neither are, of themselves, cultural wholes. The poor quality of its soils and the relative recency of settlement (post-Civil-War) give the community its distinctiveness; it never had a planting elite. Apalachee society is structured along moiety lines: town and country. These halves rest on an earlier "cracker" horizon of isolated single-family homesteads . True crackers subsisted by

PAGE 12

living off the land and practicing hoe agriculture; they were fiercely independent and socially isolated. Apalachee moieties are also related to regional traditions: townmen as town nabobs in the Cavalier tradition and countrymen as yeoman farmers in the Calvinist tradition. Townmen promote associational interaction, valuing familism (nuclear), hierarchy in organizations, "progress," and paternalistic interaction with countrymen. Countrymen value familism (extended), localism, and. personal ism, interacting on individually egalitarian rather than ordered associational terms. Black persons were never more than 25 percent of the community's population. They participate peripherally in community political life, their relations modified by the Southern caste system. The division of governmental offices falls along moiety lines. Townmen control municipal governments; countrymen control the powerful county bodies. Except for jobs, the governmental, institution is not a major source of political prizes. The country moiety is the dominant political force. Politically, moieties compete through ephemeral factions, whose interaction replicates the valued interaction pattern of the parent moiety. The town relies on an-informal men's association (a group) for action; the country, on a loose coalition of interested persons (a collective) . Factional types are distinguished as interactional and structural, respectively. A

PAGE 13

local bank backs each faction, thus revealing the major prize gained from political involvement--access to credit. To arrive at these conclusions, two types of political competition are examined: an extraordinary political fight involving a confrontation between the two factions, directly, and a routine, scheduled. set of electoral encounters.

PAGE 14

SUWANNEE RIVER TOWN, SUWANNEE RIVER COUNTRY: POLITICAL MOIETIES 'IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY COMMUNITY

PAGE 15

A COMMUNITY EVENT Plenty of time had elapsed since the last referendum on liquor in the county , "dry" now for twenty years. The Constitution in Florida requires only a two-year wait between referendums, and by 1973 five years had elapsed. In 1973 the "wets j " who favored selling hard liquor in Apalachee County , decided that the time was propitious for their cause. No longsimmering emotions had flared in 1967, no one had vented emotions publicly, and liquor had lost just 51 to 49. If they could mount a wellorchestrated "sales campaign" with an economic "pitch, " using the "business approach" to this issue by reckoning in dollars-and-cents terms, they could overcome that narrow margin and win. If they pushed hard, if they organized better, if they developed a hard-hitting advertising campaign, their chances were excellent. The wets believed that another factor operated in their favor; this farm county seemed to be filling up with outsiders, "Yankees" and urbanites from south Florida--all escaping the "rat race. " These new residents, coming from places where liquor was sold with few restrictions, would surely prefer to live in a wet county, and these people would tip the scales toward victory.

PAGE 16

Harry Grimes organized the campaign for the wets. A sometime businessman, sometime cattleman, he had good connections to both county political coalitions — the downtown interests and the rural interests. Grimes had led the liquor effort in 1967, and besides, he kept a business connection which would turn extremely lucrative if the wets won. He called himself a "one-man committee. " Before the proliquor group could force an election on the liquor issue, however, they had to petition for a special election. Grimes directed the effort to collect the signatures required — 25% of county voters. Feelings about liquor ran strong in the county, and when area newspapers gave special coverage to the rekindled issue, signatures collected rapidly. In August the County Supervisor of Elections certified the signatures on the petition and set the referendum for October 16, allowing sufficient pre-election time for emotional build-up. Only when signature collection was well underway d^id the Reverend Smith, a local Baptist preacher, begin to organize the drys, the anti-liquor faction. Smith located a couple of hardworking preachers in Lizbeth, the county seat, and they set to work on a campaign of their own. The wets had an organizational advantage, and unless Smith worked hard, the election would surely swing against his cause. He knew that once opened, the evils of this Pandora's box might not be undone in his county. Both wets and drys established campaign treasuries in Lizbeth banks: wets at the State Bank and drys at the County

PAGE 17

Bank. The wets weve crowing over a dozen large donations. The drys reported small donations, but small donations from scores of people. When, in mid-campaign 3 a local newspaper favorable to the drys published the official list of contributors to the wet treasury, donations to Grimes's committee "dried up." The three weekly newspapers in Apalachee County worked actively in the wet-dry battle. Two advocated voting against liquor and openly supported the drys. The established Lizbeth News-Leader attempted a neutral stance, counseling reason, dispassionate examination of the facts, and voting for the more "progressive" sides, but it never actually endorsed voting for liquor. Active official support of the wets was out of the question. The people would vote on October 16, and the vote would be close, but the conmunity favored a public front shunning liquor, regardless of private sympathies . Grimes, for the wets, instigated a newspaper campaign to escalate community interest in the coming election. His advertisements played on the nerves of county residents : my DRY? So the Bootlegger can supply! Vote for Legal Control October 16th Smith launched a counter campaign for the drys in area newspapers. Be specifically attacked Grimes 's economic arguments:

PAGE 18

WHO BENEFITS FROM LIQUOR? Former State Beverage Director, Don Meiklejohn, told the United Drys six years ago that a license which costs $600 in Apalachee County was worth at least $20,000. If it was worth that much then, what is it worth today? In Brevard County a license was bought for $1,800 and sold for $67,000. NO WONDER SOME FOLKS WANT TO GO WET! In September the campaigns were gaining emotional momentum. The wets advertised: "YES" BUSINESS' $ PROFESSIONAL MEN OF JORDAN AND LIZBETH FAVOR LEGAL CONTROL Why Send Local Dollars Out of Town? Under Legal Control our citizens won't find it necessary to travel to adjoining counties to make their beverage purchases and while there make many other purchases. IT'S THE DOLLARS SPENT AT HOME THAT AID IN THE GROWTH AND PROSPERITY OF OUR COMMUNITIES LET'S MAKE IT LEGAL OCT. 16TH I'/hen Reverend Smith countered this advertisement by flaunting the names and signatures of anti-liquor community leaders in a full-page newspaper ad 3 Grimes could only cry that Many of the 354 plus business and professional men of Apalachee County desiring legal control refused to be intimidated when asked to sign a "Dry" statement being carried around by the Preachers. We

PAGE 19

have been told that some of the personally "Dry" will vote "Wet" for progress of Apalachee County. Jockeying for advantage j both sides adopted characteristic terms of reference for themselves and for the opposition. The wets called themselves "The Committee for Legal Control" and sneered at the drys as "the Preachers." Reverend Smith called his group "The United Drys" and simply snubbed his opponents as "the wets. " Both wets and drys formulated campaign and propaganda strategies. Grimes knew that his chance of victory lay in selling his economic views to the public and keeping personalities out of the fracas. The drys rebuked Grimes's economics and broadened the issues tangential to liquor. Smith maintained that the community had staked its religious heritage 3 "the family," and public morality on the outcome of the election. Late in the campaign the drys discovered Grimes's personal business interest in the liquor issue. The chairman of the wets was forced to wri te : As you know, I own property at the northern interchange and I want to say here that I fully expect to make a profit on any sale of land or development that can be attracted to this location. It is estimated that one motel could add close to one million dollars to our tax rolls and I believe this with the additional employment opportunities and possible other development would be advantageous to all the people in Apalachee County.

PAGE 20

This revelation on the eve of the election injected Grimes himself as an issue into the campaigning . Local people muttered that if the county "went wet, " Grimes "was going to make a killing" selling his land to a national motel chain. They said he had not already sold out, because no large motel would settle a franchise in a county where drinks could not be served with meals. Locals tended to disbelieve Grimes's claim that his profit would "be advantageous to all the people. " What was good for Harry Grimes was not necessarily good for Apalachee County. This incident tipped the scales. On October 16, 1973, 4,81,4 voters went to the polls for the Apalachee County wet-dry election, 54% of the registered electorate. Of that number, 54% voted for the county to remain dry. Reverend Smith's drys won by a margin wider than their 1967 victory --a resounding success in a hard-fought and often bitter canrpaign. In the final newspaper edition before the election, the drys ran a large advertisement with the following Biblical quotation in capital letters: ROMANS 14: 10-13 10 But why dost thou judge thy brother? or why dost thou set at nought thy brother? for we shall all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. 11 For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.

PAGE 21

12 So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God. 13 Let us not therefore judge one another any more: but judge this rather, that no man put a stumbling-block, or an occasion to fall in his brother's way. This quotation cut the controversy like a double-edged sword. The drys meant to suggest a parallel between liquor and the "s tumbling-block 3 " thereby urging people to vote to keep the county dry. A secondary but important thrust of the verses opened the door to reconciliation between community factions using religion, which had separated the groups 3 as a symbolic point about which both might rally and reconstitute as a unity. Win or lose 3 life in this small county -community had to continue. When the fracas was all over 3 these groups must lay aside bitterness. In an editorial two days after the election, the Lizbeth News -Leader, cautious supporter of the wets during the campaign, doubted the finality of the election results but called for a reunited Apaladhee County: At long last, October 16 has finally come and gone--much to the delight of Wets and Drys alike. However, we find ourselves at exactly the same point at which we started from over one month ago. . . . Face it, none of us have won anything ... at least not yet. Now is the time to have a unified county. If the county is to be dryit should be as dry as is humanly possible for any place to be in this day and age. . . . [We should be] concentrating on total unity of the citizens in this county. . . . Don't drop the battle now. The problem remains unsolved and continues to grow on an even larger scale than yesterday. And tomorrow it will have grown even more.

PAGE 22

Even now 3 years after this election^ Harry Grimes 's wife attends church alone. The wet-dry election of 19 7 S was a special contest in the Apalachee County political arena. It distinctly divided the opposing coalitions and settled a matter of public policy without involving government in a partisan role or the elected officials normally charged with supervision of public policy. The unusually deep emotions generated in the fray remained years later 3 suggesting value conflicts more profound than the manifest issue. What was the meaning of this event?

PAGE 23

CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION The goal of this research has been to present a sociological analysis of structures and processes of community activity revealed through a study of local politics in one countycommunity in northcentral Florida. The study was designed not as a general community study but as a complement to other research through the Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences of the University of Florida. This larger research framework examined alternative arrangements and costs of financing and producing certain public services and relating quantity of services (of specified quality) under alternative facility arrangements to costs to the system (Eddleman <*G-otfrtlA/v, '?7Z-^. Hence, although the fieldwork upon which this dissertation is based was applied in concept, this manuscript will present material in a theoretical context. Knowledge gained from studying political value allocations will enable policy makers, program planners, and private citizens to more realistically assess community systems of rationality for such allocations. Plans may then be based on an understanding of or at least some appreciation for the ongoing models of community' action held by the people themselves. This dissertation is designed to show how the people of one community are organized to meet their political wants and needs and, most importantly, what their system's operating assumptions are. 10

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11 While all social systems allocate resources according to structuring principles, allocation is an especially acute task in communities like the counties of the southeastern U.S.A., where ><< traditional agricultural resource bases must support a number of distinct, interdependent, and often mutually hostile subcultural traditions. A national system of social and moral provincialism contrains the agricultural exporting regions of the U.S., and the Southeast in particular, to a relation of economic, intellectual, and political dependence upon manufacturing centers of the nation, thereby exacerbating the difficulties of resource allocation in county-communities. The need to understand systems of value allocation in chronically resource-poor twentieth-century Southern counties cannot be overemphasized. I undertook to understand local-level politics by focusing on community organization--public decision-making as a function of political _ processes that set goals, determine means and alternatives, and negotiate a course of action: ultimately an authoritative allocation of values (Easton, 1953). These processes, systematized in a body of rules, have three dimensions: a structure of \ interaction, a system of customary behavior, and a system of values (Kimball $ Pearsall, 1954). Within the relational structure of a community, coalitions form about commonly held value positions or about unified task-oriented efforts; their interactions, customary behavior, values, resources, and relative power are open to assessment. These coalitions infiltrate, and in turn are balanced

PAGE 25

12 by, semi-public and governmental structures of appointed and elected officials. Public services are deployed in the process of making decisions based on the felt needs and desires of groups influential in the political process. Factions mobilize for the purpose of implementing shared policies and common values, working out paths for influence and communication in the interaction-exchange networks of the community (Homans, 1958). The resultant public service infrastructure of a community reflects the policies and values of competing groups as well as the structure of community competition, cooperation, and compromise; it is a mini -model in physical terms of the culture of the community. Images of public service deployment are shared within, and the subjects of continual negotiation between, relational groups. Images or perceptions are formulated in relation to systems of values, expressed through customary behaviors, and operationalized through structures of interaction exchange. Actual deployment is a reflection not so much of "rational" evaluations of resources, capabilities, and limitations, in Weber's sense of the term, as of cultural perceptions or images of such rationality. This is the usual problem with the rationality con.cept--it is not so much objective as it is relative. In proceeding with this research I used the "natural history" methodology to approach the research situation. Data were collected in vivo s through observation, rather than in vitro, through

PAGE 26

13 isolation and experimentation. The sub-community models introduced in Part I, the community social history, were viewed through a more comprehensive model of community social structure, relieved of preconceived or eclectic structuring frameworks insofar as was possible. This methodology commends the use of a variety of techniques and focuses them on individuals and relational groups, their activities, and their relationships in events. Internal and exA-' ternal conditions and variables then can be considered within the parameters of space and time (Arensberg § Kimball, 1968). I have relied principally on participant-observation (including interactional and event analysis), interviewing, and content analysis of related literature (local newspapers, area census tracts, novels, ^ travelogues, and other accessible documents) . A system of human community derivative of Europe and still basic to the southern United States is the county-community. Conrad Arensberg has suggested, "The distinctive community form of the South was and is the county" (Arensberg § Kimball, 1965, p. 106). The symbolic heart of this traditional community, the county courthouse, has been the central point of political and economic assembly for county residents. Its people lived dispersed in neighborhoods clustered about small Protestant churches, points of assembly in socialization and socializing as well as bastions of moral and spiritual rectitude. The courthouse was situated in a county seat that served as a central marketplace but, until recently, was neither an urban nor an inherently dominating place.

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14 In Florida, counties are the smallest constitutionally established governmental structures; towns and cities are chartered separately and maintain a corporate existence at the will and whim of the state legislature. In the north center and the northwest, county residents have held tenaciously to traditional regional forms of social organization, even in the face of massive national social readjustment. Along with this county-community organizational form, much of Florida's countryside has lived under a shadow of relative poverty and economic dependence (Bostwick, 1946; Hebel, n.d: (c. 19/5) Thompson, 1973; U.S.OEO, 1967), if the general literature is to be believed. Into this economically poorer, more "traditionalist" rural north Florida region urbanization is gradually encroaching from the south (Tampa-Orlando-Gainesville), from the east (Jacksonville), and from the southwest the Gulf coast (Pickard, 1972). The consequences for regional forms of community in general and for Florida's county-community in particular of incipient urbanization; invasion by extraneous, dominant community forms such as the city or metropolis; and mounting intervention in local affairs by non-local regulatory agencies are an unresolved question. The classic answer is local social disorganization (Wirth, 1938). Vidich and Bensman in 1958 exhumed and revised this theme as local "surrender to mass society" after they had studied a , "township" in New York State. A number of writers have disagreed

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15 with this view, arguing that there is much evidence that community forms are flexible, adaptive, and persistent through time (Arensberg § Kimball, 1965; Gans, 1962; Mumford, 1961). As county seats become urban places, they are able to match the dominant economic position in the county with political dominance, supporting the cosmopolites' inherent anti-rural biases and thereby altering traditional social patterns. When city hall vigorously contests with the county courthouse, local governments find themselves in strained and overlapping functional coexistence, sharing the load of public services and competing for public resources. This overt conflict is often evidence of community reorganization and an expression of more fundamental cultural contradictions. With growth in population of the county seat, economic diversification, and hence reorganization of community relational sets, the kernel of conflict sprouts visible manifestations such as strains to redefine charters of various governmental bodies (e.g., Miami-Dade County's urban-county governmental restructuring from 1957; Jacksonville-Duval County's near total consolidation in 1968; Gainesville-Alachua County's continual well-publicized efforts to effect a plan for governmental consolidation during the > decade of the 1970s). Interestingly enough, the majority of •movements for these "reforms" in the U.S. Southeast and across the nation have not succeeded, despite "objective economic evidence" warranting their consideration. If there are distinctive modes of human community, we should expect distinctive organizations of political phenomena since

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16 current students generally understand political activity to arise from the socio-cultural matrix and to reinforce the value system (Balandier, 1970; Rosenthal § Crain in Clark, 1968). I have herein followed the suggestion that political studies be explicated in terms of social organization, the distribution of social resources, and the generators of social inequalities. When V. 0. Key (1950) considered politics in the U.S. Southeast, he emphasized three points: 1. That politics was the #1 problem of the South as a whole. 2. That Southern politics was factional and Florida's especially so. 3. That the key issue in politics in the South and particularly the "black-belt" South was the Negro. We will see how these statements fare in examination of a north Florida county on the edge of the black-belt. In Part I we will examine the social history of the Apalachee county-community. . We begin with the early 1800s' entrance of "cracker" subsistence farmers and follow the history through the inmigration of yeoman-dirt farmers and townmen. Throughout we will focus on community subsistence and industrial activities and on the credit function. In Part II we examine the formal structure of governance and move on to the native system of political competition, to which the formal system is only tangential. This native system structures competition between community moieties--townmen and country-

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17 men. Black people have little aggregate or individual influence in the county. Organization for political action follows traditional patterns for social action of the respective moieties; townmen compete through a semi-formal association, a clique of town nabobs, out of which interactional factions rise in exceptional circumstances. Countrymen compete through a structural faction, whose leaders hold the traditional leadership position of rural neighborhoods: preachers. We examine both periodic electoral contests and an extraordinary non-periodic contest. I suggest that Key's conclusions about north Florida politics erred because he focused on analysis of elections and "issues" (where he could find them) without studying the social matrix be hind the public face of political events. In Apalachee County "race" is not the key issue in politics. This type of error results from studying community power structure in the manner which Floyd Hunter (1953) popularized: entering^ communities through the associational nexus of the towns. This strategy of listing and cross-referencing guarantees that a political system such as that of the Apalachee county-community will be misunderstood. Throughout this essay we will be concerned with the question of the wellsprings of political activity in this county-community What is the connection between this system and field of relations and the peculiar dynamisms of the structures: Between politics and the historical sequencing of basic economic activities?

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Between politics and the total social phenomena? The significance of this work will ultimately lie in its ability to be faithful to these "tests" of adequacy and to integrate the hypotheses thus generated.

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A SOCIAL HISTORY OF APALACHEE COUNTY

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CHAPTER 2 ENTER THE COUNTRYMAN-THE TOWNMAN ATTENDS Apalachee County lies at the navel of Florida's north center (see Figure 1) . Near the county cross major transportation routes, by railroad and by automobile, that afford easy access to more glamorous, more publicized parts of the state. Although more than 50% urbanized (1970 standards, U.S. Census Bureau: incorporated places of 2,500+' population; see Table 1), this major agricultural center of Florida specializes in the production of field crops (corn, tobacco, watermelons) and cover and forage crops (peanuts and soybeans). Cattle, poultry, and swine raising and commercial harvesting of slash pine contribute significantly to the local economy (Thompson, 1973). In the center of the county Lizbeth, the county seat and urban hub of 6,830 people (1970 census), squats like a giant spider reaching to all corners of the county along outflung roadways (see Table 2). Two community traditions influenced the late-developing social structures of Apalachee County. Havard (1972) has suggested that the historical Southern dichotomy of life-styles fell along the following lines: 20

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21 ATLANTIC OCEAN FIGURE 1 MAP OF AREA

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22 TABLE 1 POPULATION TRENDS Year

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23 TABLE 2 POPULATION TRENDS Year Lizbeth Jordan 1970 6,830 820 1960 6,544 663 1950 4,064 753 1940 3,427 684 1930 2,734 498 1920 3,103 708 1910 3,450 262 1900 1,659 1890 687 1880 458 1870 • ---

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24 Calvinist-Yeoman Farmer Cavalier-Planter/Town Nabob Radical individualism Social conformity Personalism Caste Personal independence Paternalistic dependency Populism Conservatism Unity out Factionalism in Regionalist traditions Nationalist patriotism He wrote that this split fathered two mainstream traditions in the South: yeoman farmer and plantation farmer. The yeoman farmers, he said, opposed governmental centralization and exhibited an aversion to urbanism, industrialization, and the entrepreneurial classes; they were libertarian, egalitarian, and populist. The plantation whigs, identified "with downtown mercantile interests, supported themselves as planters, factors, bankers, and merchants, sat as the "county seat clique," developed the theme of racial segregation in the post-bellum era, and promoted a cult of "manners" and paternalism. Before turning to a discussion of county government and political activity, we will identify these elements in the social history of Apalachee County, with a single important exception: absence of the plantation farmer. The infertility of the sandy soils in the great bend of the Suwannee River and the lateness of settler infiltration into the vast reaches of pine barriers in Florida's, heartland account for his absence. Before Apalachee had a town to speak of, Florida west of the Suwannee River was settled in the classic bi-tradition discussed by Havard, and the Florida coast to the east of Apalachee had a long history of towns and cities.

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25 Nestled in the great bend of the Suwannee River lies Apalachee County, Fl^ida. There was a time in the not-toodistant past when the white man was unknown there: a time unlike the "good old days" that live in social memory and imagination, recorded and stored only in booRs. Time was when land, forests, and aboriginals coexisted. Then a crack rent the fabric of time, and the imperialistic Europeans reached out to the New World. The Apalachees and the Timucuans, pushed to the wall, were no more forever, leaving only the renegade Seminoles as the briefest of sojourners. The social history of Apalachee County arrived at that point of disjunction a century and a half ago, in the 1820s: the era of the red man ended; that of the white man and the black man began. Throughout the Suwannee River Valley to the edge of historic time lived aboriginals of the Apalachee and Chicasaw groups. To the east the Timucuans exploited the lush coastal plains and subtropical sea islands. To the north in the colony of Georgia remained the town-dwelling Creeks, the remnants of whom drifted as Seminoles south through Florida from the Okeefenokee Swanp to the fasts of the Everglades. The Europeans with African slaves drove these people out of the homelands and murdered them with disease, with arms, and with starvation. Bernard Romans, a British naturalist and writer, traversed the interior of north Florida late in the 18th century and made special note of economic features that would ultimately structure the social history of the area (Romans, 1961).

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26 Cotton will grow in any soil, even the most meager and barren sand that we can find. (P97) Hogs are so profitable an article, and so easily made spontaneous, that it is a matter of the greatest surprise to me that no more are raised in Florida; especially as mast is very various, and in great abundance, (p. 120) But the grand manufacture to be made of timber here, is SHIPPING, for this purpose no country affords more or better wood; live oak, cedar, cypress, yellow pine, are adapted by nature to this. (p. 124) [He noted that the "ground nut" had been introduced to the area by black people from Guinea. ] The pipe is used here as with others. Tobacco in some shape or other seems „.be the American symbol of peace, friendship and social conversation, to which last Europeans seem also to have applied it in imitation of the savages. (p. 69) Tobacco is a source of great riches in this country; the French have proved that this plant may be an article of great emolument especially as that trade is on the decline in Virginia and Maryland. ... (p. 102) Naval stores are likewise an article of immense speculation in both provinces [East and West Florida]. ... (p. 143) The area's utter provincialism obtained throughout the history of the European settlement. The Spaniards, the French, and the British clung to the coast, rarely venturing into the interior of the province and then but tentatively. The inland swamps, flatwoods, and rolling pine barrens only interested the"cracker folk,"

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27 from the northern United States, who could wrest a meager living from the drearily forbidding natural environment. These early white inhabitants confronted four natural plant associations in the Suwannee River Valley when they drifted down through Georgia between the 1820s and the War Between the States (see Figure 2). Swamp forests, the "hant" of black bear, panther, and otter, composed mostly of water and laurel oaks, sweet and black gum, bay, and cypress, bordered the Suwannee and Santa Fe rivers around three sides of the county. Gaunt, wild bovines, escaped from Spanish pens, roamed an association of towering native yellow pine, oak, and interspersed grassy plains, the flatwoods of an oval area southeast of the county seat. These flatwoods roughly coincide with areas of excessive wetness and a perched water table. A broad swath of northern-central hardwood and pine forest paralleled the swamps next to the southern-and western track of the Suwannee River. The upland pine and oak forest, the pine barrens, covering a thin Hawthorn limestone formation near the surface in the northern, central, and eastern sections of the county, consisted of slash and longleaf pine and live oak. Although the origin of the term cracker is disputed, Stetson Kennedy claims that cracker first applied to an assortment of "bad characters" who gathered in northern Florida before it became a territory of the United States. Deep-South Southerners later applied the epithet to the "poor white folk of Florida,

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28 1 = Northern central hardwood and pine forest 2 = Upland pine and oak forest 3 = Pine flatwoods 4 = Swamp forests (on riverine borders of county only) k Adapted from: "Comprehensive Development Plan for [Apalachee] County, Florida," Tallahassee, Fla.: Barr, Dunlop 5 Associates, 1974, p. 10. FIGURE 2 NATURAL PLANT ASSOCIATIONS APALACHEE COUNTY

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29 Georgia, and Alabama" (Kennedy, 1942, p. 59). He further relates: Crackers are mainly descended from the Irish, Scotch, and English stock which, from 1740 on, was slowly populating the huge Southern wilderness behind the thin strip Of coastal civilization. These folk settled the Cumberland Valley, the Shenandoah, and spread through every Southern state east of the Mississippi. That branch of the family which settled in the Deep South was predominantly of Irish ancestry, and their modern cracker descendants still sing songs in which their immigrant ancestors expressed hope for a better life in America. . . . (p. 60) The early crackers were the Okies of their day (as they have been ever since) . Cheated of land, not by wind and erosion, but by the plantation and slavery .system of the Old South, they were nonessentials in an economic, political and social order dominated by the squirearchy of wealthy planters, and in most respects were worse off than the Negro slaves. (p. 61) Powell (1969), a white turpentine camp overseer of the late nineteenth century, called the crackers of Apalachee County "wild woodsmen" (p. 30) and mentioned a man who "had lived the usual life of a shiftless Cracker, hunting and fishing, and hard work did not agree with him" (p. 61). When I speak of villages throughout this country, I use the word for lack of a better term, for in nine cases out of ten, they were the smallest imaginable focus of the scattering settlement, and usually one general store embraced the sum total of business enterprise. There the natives came at intervals to trade for coffee, tobacco, and the few other necessities that the woods and waters did not provide them with. Alligators 1 hides and teeth, bird plumes and various kinds

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30 of pelts were the medium of barter. They were a curious people, and there are plenty of them there yet, born and bred to the forest and as ignorant of the affairs of every-day life outside of their domain, as are the bears and deer upon which they mainly subsist. A man who would venture to tell them that the earth moved instead of the sun, or that there was a device by which a message could be flashed for leagues across a wire, would run the risk of being lynched, as too dangerous a liar to be at large. (pp. 249-50) The true crackers, Powell's "wild woodsmen," were never numerous, and they rarely participated in the social life of the wider Apalachee county-community. Crackers were born, lived, and died in the woods. They buried their own in family plots far from the nearest church. The willful isolation of their way of life effectively secured their privacy and social remoteness from the yeoman farmers who began to move into the Suwannee River Valley in the mid-1800s. Cracker families settled the Apalachee area without recourse to legal formalities. Thus, when the yeomen farmers (and plantation farmers in counties to the west) eventually purchased legal titles to land, true crackers were forced out and deeper into Florida. Cracker subsistence strategy depended on scratch, perhaps slash-and-burn, summer agriculture and year-round food collecting activities: hunting, fishing, and foraging. Because their farming operations were so small, limited to the part-time efforts of an individual family, they had no need of financial credit.

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31 Indeed, their fiercely independent, egalitarian ethos prohibited them from interacting significantly in the rural neighborhoods of the communicy. While the term cracker has been popularized in the last halfcentury and extended to include the poorer white farmers generally, no true cracker would refer to himself as such. As does the term nigger, the word cracker connotes social disapprobation: the former applied to all black people and the latter to the poorest rural whites. Few true crackers remain in Apalachee County, for two reasons: their traditional habitats, swamps and forest edges, have almost disappeared and the institutions of the community now readily disturb their secluded way of life. A few families still live on the borders of the county. There they exploit the food resources of the rivers and swamps and perhaps scratch-farm a few acres. They reputedly ignore official game limits and seasonal restrictions and plow land whose ownership is disputed; their hogs ("piney woods rooters") they loose in any convenient field or woodlot, regardless of ownership. When a businessman needs 1 0ne speculates that the driving force behind withholding respectability from the true crackers and the extension of the consequently disparaging term to include countrymen of the small farmer class originated with the townspeople. This idea parallels the hypothesis that townsmen perpetuated and revitalized the issue of racial politics in the twentieth century. The specific group in both cases would have been the planter/town nabob class, whose personal interest lay in dividing the other class in the bi-class system of the Southern region.

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32 a guide for a fishing trip up the Withlacoochee River or a hunting expedition on the "Peckerwood Trail," a cracker male appears. The technological changes of the twentieth century have enabled social institutions to penetrate the isolation of the crackers and enforce town mores. Cracker homicides are no longer unreported and uninvestigated or allowed to result in clannish feuding between secluded, but related, families. No longer may the children escape the public school regimen. No longer may they escape taxation by the state. Because one social system does not altogether supplant another, the cracker and his world view persist. While only a handful of true crackers endure in the county, their shacks dotting primitive dirt traces on the poorer agricultural lands near the river, modern-day imitators erect trailers in remote corners, moving to north-central Florida from New York, Pennsylvania, and Miami to escape the "rat race." These backwoodsmen (and many of the yeoman farmers) butcher their own stock, carry weapons openly, and begrudge bureaucratic authority. More important, however, their values have suffused the world views of the general populace of Apalachee County. Natives flaunt their clannish familism, fierce individualism, and provincial localism; countrymen talk physical violence with some enthusiasm and, given the opportunity, resist "outside intervention" with vigor. Compared to the rest of the eastern United States, permanent settlers in numbers came late to Florida. The real growth of

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33 Apalachee County in the present era began, not with Hernando De Soto's expedition through the county to the Mississippi River in the sixteenth century, not with seventeenth-century blazing of the Old Spanish Trail, connecting the city of Pensacola with Saint Augustine, the oldest continually inhabited city in the United States—which became State Road 1 three hundred years later and which the principal east-west thoroughfares through the county still follow--and not when Reuben and Rebecca Charles established a ferry on the Suwannee River in 1824 as the area's first permanent white settlers (Hamilton, 1958). The real development began after the War Between the States, when independent yeoman farmers began moving to the area and turpentining and timbering opened the county to major extractive industrial activities, supplementing family farming. Following the cracker infiltration of the area, a second wave of in-migration, the yeoman small farmers," pushed south in numbers. These early settlers of Apalachee County, descended from English-Irish immigrants, small farmers in lineages of small farmers, moved south from Alabama, Georgia, and the Carol inas; this people was descended from other small farmers who had abandoned Virginia a generation earlier in search of cheap, unclaimed, and preferably sparsely inhabited lands. They drifted in as families with their meager possessions stacked high on a single open wagon and hacked homes out of pine and oak wildernesses, under the most primitive conditions, all of which

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34 have not been ameliorated to this day in rural neighborhoods and urban black quarters. They planted and then traded their surpluses, if any, at steamboat landings on the river-timber, cotton, and hides in exchange for coffee, sugar, axes, and gunpower. Salt they obtained themselves, from the waters of the Gulf of Mexico where they trekked periodically to boil sea water in shallow iron vats. These settlers installed themselves as single isolated families and in small groups of families, erecting Baptist and Methodist churches as the centers of dispersed neighborhoods. Kennedy (1942) has described these settlers as a mixture of true cracker and independent yeoman farmer types: A hard-drinking, hard-fighting, hard-loving lot, the crackers are nevertheless ferociously addicted to piety. Mostly Baptist and Methodist fundamentalists, their favorite hymnal has been the folksy Original Sacred Harp, as contrasted with the sedate hymn-books of the big planters. They hold frequent singing festivals where they try to "sing each other down" with the largest repertoire, and at periodic square dances they "dance the pigeons off the roof." They are also fond of such festivities as family reunions, fence raisings, cane grindings, taffy pulls, corn huskings, bear hunts, chicken pileus, barbecues, and the like. (p. 66) Today's natives refer to these times as "humble beginnings." The rural clapboard churches built by these countrymen hosted community social and ritual activities. Neighbors assembled periodically for preaching and singing, for weddings and burials, for suppers and courting. Such a rural church,

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35 generally occupying the same site as the original of one hundred years ago, is still frequently referred to as "the head of the community." Complementing the rural churches were nearby school houses, often in fact one and the same building, but always built, by and for the people themselves, in the architectural vernacular, the schools duplicating the box-like structure of churches and houses. Today, rural school buildings have either been converted to other purposes or destroyed--swiftly by man or his agent fire or through time's remorseless patience withdrawing the breath of life from their frames. These early rural settlers found that precipitation varies significantly for any one month from year to year, and while it is adequate, nearly half the annual total falls during a summer rainy season. A -droughty period frequently lingers from midApril through May, returning in the autumn (October and November) . Nearly all precipitation falls as rain; hail and snow are extraordinary and long remembered after they do occur. The period June through early November is hurricane season and can bring excessive rainfall and temporary flooding, but rarely in the 2 Apalachee area (see Figure 3) 2 When remarkable conditions do obtain, the people of the area add them to a repertoire of temporal markers relating personnel to time and space, e.g. "Were you here when Dora (hurricane) came through?" or "Wasn't that before the Great Freeze (1894-95)?"

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36 Rainfall (in.)

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37 The wave of immigration onto the Apalachee countryside by yeoman farmers, small and independent operators, left a visible imprint on the county as did the cracker social tradition. The social universe of the countryman is today structured by the values of these people--familism, localism, and personal ismand by the remaining ethic of the cracker frontier--individualism and isolationism. Children, male and famale, coming of age in the yeoman farmer tradition, generally find themselves enmeshed in a maze of kinfolk who rapidly introduce them to the world, including the world of work. Commonly, during school -age they ride buses for two hours a day going to and returning from the public facility in 3 the county seat. The geographic factor of distance conditions after-hours social life, when many of the town children may linger and participate in formal and informal school-related activities. Today certain technological changes and the greater parity of affluence between town and country people (tenantry is a thing of the past, and sharecropping no longer denotes a servile patronclient relationship for the sharecropper) have much ameliorated this friction of distance. At home in the country, whether or not the family derives basic subsistence from farming, there are often farm-type chores for youths, since many country families 3 During the 1971-72 school year, Apalachee County transported 67.3% of its pupils at public expense, driving an estimated 2,400 miles each day, not counting extracurricular activities (Bureau of Economic and Business Research, 1973).

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38 have adopted an income diversification strategy, subsisting in part on a member's extrafarm wage and in part on farm products 4 income. Rural youths haunt the dozens of natural springs along the rivers, socializing and being socialized to peer group drinking, smoking, and courting intricacies. Young and early-middle-aged adults also frequent these springs, but older adults go only to introduce children to them. These relatively isolated, clear bubbles pour millions of gallons of fresh water into the Suwannee River every day; quiet, secluded, rarely furnished with more than a crude and slippery rope swing tied to a high cypress or oak limb: Wonderland rabbit holes of escape from adult supervision. Blacks rarely, or perhaps never, visit these springs, in part from a distaste for swimming as recreation (a distaste encouraged by Southern whites). Whites have claimed these springs, then, as restricted social territories, for social caste rules make it taboo to appear unclothed before the other caste. Too, the widely reputed penis size of the black male poses a threat to white males, especially to those of courting age. Interpretations of black male behavior as irresponsible and aggressive would introduce ambiguity into a social situation enacted in the confines of 4 : In 1969, 214 of the county's 1,091 farms were classed "parttime": value of products sold $50-2, 500/year and an operator under 65 years of age who worked off the farm 100+ days during the year. A further 116 farms were classed "part-retirement": value of products sold $50-2, 500/year and an operator over 65 years of age (U.S. Census of Agriculture, 1972).

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39 a small social stage. Spring bathing is quite unlike public bathing on coastal beaches, where a brilliant strand of sand and the immensity of the water ripple away to the horizon in shimmering waves of heat. Bathing at a spring is to be enfolded in a hovering and encircling swamp forest, where the sole source of light and sole feeling for distance is a narrow tube directly overhead and below. Thus the social stage retracts reducing the potential for maneuver. Finally, there is the real threat of violence publicly flaunted in the rear windows of countrymen's pick-ups. Country youth learn weaponry at an early age, as nearly all rural homes keep firearms loaded, handy, and on display in the gunracks of pick-up trucks. Countrymen talk guns and shooting and hunting, clothing their youngest children in camouflage costumes for the hunt and allowing their toy guns in the trucks with dogs and adults. Throughout the hunt adults batter children with instructions about gun care and with the rules of the hunt. Although females often handle guns in a commendable manner (and men are not generally reluctant to acknowledge this; conversely, women seem to take a perverse pride in crediting the rare male found in local kitchens with culinary skill of exceptional degree), the gun properly belongs to the male's repertoire of cultural artifacts. Countrymen tend to devote themselves and their winters to the idea of hunting (at the opening of hunting season in October,

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40 a townman remarked to me that the local country hunters do not necessarily confine themselves to the state-regulated hunting seasons--a practice reminiscent of the cracker frontier). An entire wall of a home may be decorated with row upon row of mounted deer heads and racks of deer antlers. Nowhere is the .• spirit of utter freedom and independence, the tension and passion of frontier psychology, more evident than in this highly regulated activity. Men train their sons alone and in informal peer-kin groups, the same groups that occasionally cooperate in the annual work cycle which peaks in the summer. They assemble in the winter for the cooperative-competitive game of skill, luck, and death: the hunt. Apalachee males have mechanized and motorized the hunt, now a matter of hardware as much as keen eyesight, alert senses, and quick skillful reflexes. For deer hunting, men load the rear of pick-ups with deer hounds and, in the cabs, carefully tune the CB (citizen band) radios that allow them to communicate along the roads and through the forests. They loose the hounds at the edge of the wood, listen for the baying, anticipate the point at which the deer will spring across the nearest highway. They race to that point and kill the deer as it dashes across the road. Comparing body counts of individual kills of game affords hunters hours of conversational pleasure and perhaps status validation throughout the year. Countrymen fish as they hunt--with passion--and in this activity women participate as actively as men. Whites fish nearly year-round

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41 from motor boats with rods and spinning reels, disdaining fishing from the banks with cane poles as "nigger fishing." The catch, like the bag of the hunt, stocks freezers for continual variation in the local diet or fills deep-well pans for outdoor fish fries at which kin gather for food sharing. Not all fish are equally socially edible, however, for whites refer to some, like the "mud fish," a black, fleshy fish that lives on the bottom of the river, as "nigger fish," because of two characteristics, one relating to the fish itself and one to the black people: the meat of the fish tastes "tainted," slightly disagreeable, and "niggers 1 11 eat anything." The countryman's social gamut runs heavily to family and church reunions in the summer. These rites of intensification, not essentially different from those described by Neville (1971), are annual and relate to group maintenance by celebrating origins and reifying continuities. — . . . churches were situated in the open countryside surrounded by the graveyard for the congregation, spatially uniting the living and the dead. Each sat at the center of a neighborhood of individual farms owned individually and operated with seasonal cooperative effort with one's neighbors and kin. The local congregation was bounded by the area gathering each Sunday for worship services and for ceremonials such as communion, baptism, and periodic weddings and funerals. (Neville, 1971, p. 10) For the focal point of these rites of intensification, a great meal, each family contributes a number of food dishes prepared

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42 by its women--far more food than it would itself consume. After the church service or family ceremony women spread the food on long, wooden planks laid side by side on carpenters' saw horses to make tables under moss-draped oaks or adjacent tin-roofed sheds. These activities tend to be organized and orchestrated by females: a ritual social and a social ritual duplicated on a small scale time and again throughout the year in the homes of countrymen. Customarily then, an older women signifies the table prepared by calling out for a prayer, "suggesting" a particular mature male to give it. Women also visit and tend to the adjacent church cemetery or family grave site, unless the undergrowth and weed cover necessitates a massive cleanup-restoration, in which case the men devote the Saturday before the reunion to this activity. These essentially kin groups have lingering sentimental ties to particular geographic locations and to particular churches their ancestors helped establish. Yeoman farmers have perhaps dominated area social life because Apalachee County lacks the necessary foundation for great agricultural prosperity: high soil fertility. Indeed Apalachee soils are for the most part sand. Of the eight general soil associations found in the county, only two, the Blanton-Kalmia-Swamp For an excellent and marvellously funny account of a rural Mississippi family reunion, which stylistically resembles those of Apalachee County, see Eudora Welty's Losing Battles (N.Y.: Random House, 1970).

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43 and the Alluvial Land-Swamp associations, classify otherwise. The Blanton association girds the county in a thin sliver bordering the surrounding rivers, and the alluvial predominates in depressions, streams, and the sinks of the area. Soils under cultivation generally lack nutrients, are predominantly porous and subject to wind erosion, but with proper management farmers obtain moderate to good yields (see Figure 4) . Sinks characterize the Karst topography of the gently undulating terrain. These enclosed depressions, locally called "go-away holes," form when water dissolves the subsurface limestone at weak or thin points, opening holes to the labyrinth of underground caves that criss-cross and intersect beneath the county, from near the surface to far below the water table. The porosity of this geologic formation inhibits the formation of natural lakes, although in the eastern sector of the county one finds a few ponds and lakes ranging in size from 10 to 300 acres. The sinkhole has developed a social personality of its own in an area nearly devoid of streams. The entire county lies low and completely within the Suwannee River drainage basin. Elevations range from 38 feet (where the Suwannee and Sante Fe rivers meet at the southern extremity) to nearly 188 feet above mean sea level in the eastern sector. Ranchers and farmers tell of stock wandering into sinkholes never to be recovered. Historians record that steamers plied a great low prairie in a neighboring county till the water drained away through a sinkhole. Since evironmental

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44 1 = Lakeland-Blanton '.Association: well-drained sandy soils. 2 = Kenney-Lakeland, phosphatic Association: well-drained sandy soils. 3 = Blanton-lVagram Association: welldrained sandy soils. 4 = Blanton-Susquehanna-Wagram Association: generally well-drained sandy soils with occasionally clayey or loamy subsoils. 5 = Mascotte-Leon-Plummer Association: poorly drained sandy soils. 6 = Blanton-Chipley-Surrensy Association: welldrained sandy soils and poorly drained soils with loamy subsoils. K Source: General Soil Map, Suwannee River Resource Conservation and Development Project. Gainesville, Fla. : Soil Conservation Service, U. S. Dept. of Agriculture, 1972. FIGURE 4 SOILS MAP, APALACHEE COUNTY

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45 planners relate development potential to the strength and conformation of subsurface topography, the Apalachee area has, in theory, a low potential for nonagricultural growth. The term countryman in Apalachee County connotes "dirt farmer," for countryman itself simply denotes non-townmen. The dirt farmer category does not include the categorically marginal "gentleman farmer," who may reside in the country. There are two classes of dirt farmer, big farmer and small farmer, both of whom own their land. Small farmers historically have owned 40 to 80 acres, or "one-horse farms," regardless of whether the draft animal was a horse or a mule (or even a tractor in the 1940s), and they manage no tenants. Interestingly enough, horseback riding for pleasure has long been disdained by countrymen. This attitude relates to differential traditional uses of the horse: to the small farmer the horse was a necessity as a draft animal and beast of burden; to the "gentleman farmer," the wealthy town professional, the horse was a relatively inexpensive luxury and a means of transportation for supervisory visits to the small homes and fields of tenants. The gentleman farmer bred or purchased animals for qualities other than ability to pull a wagon or a plow: from horseback, one looks down to one's servants. Big farmers manage great expanses of land under their personal cultivation, and at one time they employed tenants on these lands. Few of the white large farmers retain live-on laborers in the context of a patron-client relationship although this practice

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46 once prevailed widely on all large farms: In exchange for hard (if not always willing) work, the landlord provided food and shelter, a liquor allownace, and minimal but necessary legal protection. At one time during the era of cotton and till the Second World ., 6 War, a large number of farm tenants inhabited the countryside. But big and small, black and white, the dirt farmer distinguishes himself by personally directing farm operations and personally taking a hand in the work, as opposed to the gentleman farmer, whose farm work is done by others. The rare townsman who not only invests for profit in rural land but also farms that land, calls himself a gentleman farmer. Countrymen believe that the gentleman farmer shies from row crops without a full-time overseer (or perhaps tenants), to concentrate on raising cattle, not hogs generally. Locals claim that the dirt farmer makes his money in the country and spends it in the city while the gentleman farmer makes his money in the city and spends it in the country. Different traditional patterns of land use and subsistence characterize these two farm types: The U.S. Census of Agriculture gives the following figures for percentages of Apalachee farms operated by tenants: 1920 = 34.7, 1930 = 42.4, 1940 = 32.3, 1950 = 20.9, 1959 8.0, 1964 = 5.6, 'and 1969 = 4.6. The 1969 percentage is figured as 51 of 1,091 farms.

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47 Dirt farmer: Cropland, pastureland, woodland. Rural homestead with garden, dairy cow, hogs, chickens, scuppernong grape arbors, cash and subsistence cropping, chicken houses on contract. Gentleman farmer: Pastureland and woodland. Home in the city and perhaps in the country. Basic subsistence activity a professional job in the county seat (lawyer, doctor, banker). Cattle, flower gardens, and cash crops, if any crops at all. There are no blacks in the category, although one young black in a traditional black profession indicated an interest in joining it by opening a horse farm-what more vivid demonstration of social rise could be made, given the social history of the horse in this county--the gentleman farmer generally invested in land from a successful profession in the county seat, perhaps acquiring a tobacco poundage allotment, which over the years he rents out for clear profit to a dirt-farmer producer, rarely, if ever, growing the crop himself. The townman is gradually drawn into farming as a hobby or a tax shelter, although it occasionally becomes a consuming interest, for he finds that contacts made in the farm business draw him to countrymen as a townman become, in part, one of them. Thus the gentleman farmer maneuvers from a position of power, especially if his profession is the practice of law in the county seat. Lawyers may mediate between townman and

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48 countryman at the nexus of political and official power. Apalachee County has one gentleman farmer in this very position, lawyer and cattleman. When complaints under law are discussed in the countryman's coffee klatsch, at a restaurant on the outskirts of Lizbeth, this gentleman's name is most frequently aired as the man to whom the complaint will be taken. Like the J position of black mediator in the black community, this brokerage position easily becomes the focus of latent hostilities. When cattle prices dropped to the point that cattle were no longer worth raising in 1975, dirt farmers and rural cattlemen of the county blamed the situation on lawyers and doctors who flooded the market with cattle to make quick profits. This dabbling profiteering consequently ruined the livelihood of the countryman. At this point we must understand a salient pattern of land ownership and of derivative political influence in north Florida. The counties considered in Table 3 form the drainage basin of the Suwannee River in Florida. Of these counties, Apalachee is the least tied to great landholdings, but only four of all of Florida's counties (one of them in north Florida) exhibit less acreage owned in such chunks. Timber companies in north Florida account for the overwhelming majority of these landholdings, and only the giant sugar, phosphate, and land

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49 development corporations of south Florida rival them in the state at large. TABLE 3 RURAL LAND IN PRIVATE OWNERSHIP

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50

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51 the small family farm remains a living tradition in the countryside (see Table 4), The vantage of historical hindsight shows farm trends overtaking Apalachee County decades after appearing in neighboring counties. Men working the soil are no longer farmers, but "agriculturalists" or "farmers, ranchers, and growers," because some (especially some south Floridians, said a local banker) resent being called farmers. Mechanization and the extension of civil rights have altered the constituency of labor pools and have formulated different labor needs year by year. Churches, rural schools, .and crossroads general stores have served as centers of widely dispersed rural neighborhoods, tying the scattered populace into networks of communication. Over the years a demographic shift in population has emptied half a hundred of these hamlet centers for each that exists today. Yet the names of these long-departed social units stilT dot the maps and spice the conversation of locals: Columbus, Marion Station, Fort Eagle, Hudson-upon-the-Suwannee. The railroads, as much as any factor, accounted for the distribution of population throughout the countryside of Apalachee County; Lizbeth, the present county seat, was formed forty years after the county was first settled, as a station stop on a railway spur from Georgia. In Apalachee County farming neighborhoods appeared prior to Lizbeth, the urban county seat, and decades before numerous and ephemeral market centers that sprang up every few miles along

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52 railroad rights-of-way. In those years before and briefly after the War Between the States inhabitants marketed preponderantly at the river. After 1880 or so, rural people marketed chiefly at crossroads stores and at tiny commercial nuclei strung like beads -along county railway chains built to sell real estate and to haul timber. When the easily accessible timber had been harvested, the railways folded up their tracks and moved on south along the central Florida ridge or to the flatwoods of the Gulf coastal counties. By the 1900s Lizbeth (and to a lesser extent Jordan) exerted preeminent market influence in the county. Consider the townspeople. In Apalachee County the dirt farmers arrived first. Townspeople, as small merchants and peddlers, part-time preachers, tonsorial artists, usurers, entrepreneurs in cotton ginning, grist milling, or timber milling, appeared on the heels of the farmers, setting up in dozens of rural neighborhoods, at intersections too small to be crossroads, and at numerous railroad stops. In 1926 "The railroads radiate from [Lizbeth] like the spokes in a wheel, reaching all sections of the county, giving a large number of shipping points within the county. No farm in [Apalachee] County is over eight miles from a railroad" (Polk, 1927, p. 7). The county was founded in 1858, and Lizbeth officially became the county seat a decade later, three years after its founding as a small railroad terminus. Despite its "humble beginnings," by 1871 Lizbeth bustled as "the railroad centre of the state" and

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53 "the principal manufacturing town in the State, and Twasl rapidly increasing in importance and population" (Nichols, 1871). This unguardedly optimistic, but at the time not altogether unreasonable, assessment of Apalachee County potential considered a climate characterized by long hot summers and mild winters (see Figure 3) . Summer temperatures rarely display much daytoday variation in any given year, and relative humidity is usually high. Winter cold spells linger only two or three days, and even on the colder days, temperatures almost always rise above freezing. The Apalachee countycommunity only coalesced in the decade after the end of the War Between the States. During those years Lizbeth became the county seat, merchants swarmed into the pine barrens, and the railroads marched outward from that less-thantown to make it, at the turn of the century, Florida's most prominent inland commercial center. During those years a settled lawyers' row (still existing)-sprang up in the county seat, incorporating a permanent legal institution to temper the independence of isolated cracker homesteads and yeoman farmer hamlets scattered through the county. Effective concentration of politico-legal power in the institutions of the county seat began then: the social structure had 'imported a legal system to enforce the authority of that structure to distribute power and its prizes and spoils. During this era the credit function was dispersed among crossroads store owners, landlords with tenants, town money-lenders, turpentiners with a camp of blacks to look after, others. Centralizing forces came

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54 from outside the county, riding international economic cycles of prosperity and despair involving the raw materials of the county: cotton and naval stores. The townsfolk of Apalachee County have led a distinctly different way of life from the countryfolk. Kinsmen dominate the lives of town folk to a lesser degree than they do of countrymen. The large country families have sloughed off relatives to live in the towns and to work in town businesses, over the years intermarrying with town-based families. These countrymenintown, a significant element in most small north Florida towns, must bridge two cultural worlds: To be in good standing with country relatives, they must participate in an extensive network of kinship reciprocities germane to the countryman's social system, and execute faithfully the expectations of employers, neighbors, and friends in the town, they must learn and follow another, occasionally conflicting set" of operating principles based on the life devoted to "getting ahead. "A local physician, for example, a member in good standing of a large country-kin group, prefers not to accept relatives and friends as patients, although he does not hold inflexibly to this rule. Charging fees for services rendered to kin violates the county, ethic of free labor exchange, but failure to charge a fee violates the townman's image of the businessman as a valued social personality. The dual nature of the respective ethics conceals an ironic situation: the countryman publicly espouses favoring relatives and friends while privately complaining of the necessity to do so, the townman

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55 publicly defends a fairness doctrine, a "rational" system of feefor-services priority scale, but privately works hard to see that his favorites receive their share and more. The social nature of the work environment suggests that the family system of the townspeople differed from that of the country people. In the country men worked in the open where, till the advent of mechanized farming, income level depended in part upon amount of work done and the ability to be up and out before dawn till after sunset. Wives brought dinner pails into the fields so that work would be interrupted as little as possible. The more sons a family had, the greater the amount of work they could do. Work began before ten years of age and continued (like work in the turpentine camps) until a man escaped or died. The extended family, which tended to cohabit in the same rural neighborhood (called "communities," either after a church or a prominent family; e.g., "New Corinth community," after the New Corinth Methodist Church, or "Singer community," after the Singer family which had long farmed much land thereabouts), participated in work sharing, r r . , . . 7 especially in times of family crisis. The family system of the townspeople operated within a far more enclosed setting: the locus of work, a store or a mill. A man and wife or a man and business partner easily handled the 7 When neighbors plow a sick man's fields today, it is good cause for comment and a newspaper story.

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56 business of the store, where income depended on direct commodity exchange for money (or credit) rather than on the duration of work-related activity inside or the number of workers there. Children were not a direct economic asset, because too many black men would work under brutal conditions just to subsist on the lowest wages. The town merchant might marry his children into rural families to increase his clientele, as a rural crossroads storekeeper might, but four reasons doomed even this as a conscious effort. First, the prevailing romantic ethic of marriage for "love" has pervaded the literary atmosphere of twentiethcentury pulp novels and magazines. Second, the church acted as the field for locating marriage partners, and townspeople and country people frequented different churches. Third, even an early respectable age for marriage followed too many years of nonproductive activity and upkeep bythe townman. Fourth, before the Second World War most countrymen handled sums of money in any consequence only once a year--at fall harvest-although they trekked to the county seat on many a Saturday. In commerce the extended family was as much a bane as a boon, for relatives manipulated kinship ties to procure credit, which the procuring tie hindered the repayment of--especially repayment with interest. Town logic tended to smaller, more nuclear families with less well-developed kin affiliations than country families. When a proprietor fell ill, the wife remained at home as nurse. If a partner could not keep an enterprise open, it closed until the owner returned or creditors foreclosed.

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57 Lizbeth serves as a locus for persons who sell extralocal products at retail prices and purchase local products at wholesale prices. As one countryman said, "The farmer's the only man who asks both, 'What do you want for this?' and 'What will you give me for this?'" This comment typifies the countryman's attitude. Townmen voice opposing views, as in a complaint which overlooked, perhaps consciously, the countryman's desire to pay "cash on the barrelhead," thereby avoiding credit charges and the socioeconomic status of debtor to a townsman: Every year it's the same. Farmers come in here to look over the new cars. The first thing you hear is how poor the weather's been. Then it's how much crops this year have suffered. Next thing is how high fertilizer is getting to be. Well, they'll drive off in an old pick-up (truck) and come back time and time again, till they've beaten your selling price down and made you plumb tired of seeing him. Then they pick out the biggest luxury car you have on the lot and pay cash for it. The native system of social organization relates to and derives its endurance from internal relational patterns in subsistence activities throughout the community over time. At the local level townmen mediate at the nexus of locally organized production economies and nationally organized distribution systems. In Apalachee County the townman element of the native townman-countryman system has seized control of this local

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58 production-distribution nexus, operating through approved social forms of the higher order system. For instance, in Apalachee County county seat mens 1 clubs (which as the following pages suggest, represent the townman's characteristic form of social activity) organize and preside over the rituals of Farm-City Week in November and the Apalachee Tobacco Festival in August, both arranged so as to manage the ambiguity inherent in a meeting between systems disparate in power. When a countryman -in -town accuses "the Chamber of Commerce crowd" of pushing Apalachee County "down the growth and development path to ruin already taken by south Florida," we find three levels of meanings: 1. An anti-growth (and perhaps anti-outsider) ethic derivative of north Florida localism. 2. An ant itown/urban ethic of the countryman in the native social system. 3. The anti-community organization (or _ anti -hierarchy) ethic of the personalist representing an egalitarian native social system opposed to the townman's dominating social activity--the voluntary association. The town nabob group per se has not maintained a historical continuity in this community. Prominent families of the pre1920s have generally failed to perpetuate themselves biologically, although a claim to high social status lingers in the community's sociological imagination. Should a descendant of suitable means return, his claim to social honor would be upheld. Apalachee

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59 County has not existed as a community long enough to determine how long such residual status may persist. The failure to abide and beget relates, perhaps, to differing export economies of the times, which have shifted from a turpentine-cottonlumber complex to a tobacco-pulpwood-banking complex. The rotation of elites prompted by changes in community revenue -producing activities has bequeathed two characteristics to the Apalachee town nabob class: small size and a tenuous hold on high status. Warner (1962) wrote: "The newer regions of America, because of rapid social change and their comparative recency, tend not to develop a superior old-family class" (p. 78). Since frontier families settled Apalachee late, there is neither a plantation aristocracy nor a group of decadent "old families" to monopolize an upper-class prestige while economic power rests in the hands of an upper-middle class, as in Mississippi counties studied in the late 1930s by Davis, Gardner, and Gardner (1941). None of the town influentials have successfully claimed status as small town aristocrats, although the closest would be the few remaining members of the family of the former state governor from Lizbeth. Few of these families have held a status for more than two generations. Aside from the governor's family, herein must be counted the leading banking family and older professional men and their families. The public cemetery for whites in downtown Lizbeth has allowed these nabob families to remain in death as cohesive as in life.

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60 Grave plots of the prestigious and wealthy families lie centered and aligned at the top of the cemetery hill. Graves of the founding family (which donated the land for the cemetery) lie at the apex of the hill, surrounded by thigh-high marble railings. Round this family are ranged the plots of other, less powerful members of the town nabob class, whose plots are demarcated by less ostentatious granite and concrete. The townspeople have set themselves the task of organizing and regulating the social relations sets of the country. From their nuclear families the true townmen (not the countrymen-intown) generate activity requiring the participation of country people, imposing their value system as they interact from positions of economic and social authority. On the other hand, rural families interact intensively in extended kinship alliances and tend to respond warily, without enthusiasm, to the overtures of town organizers and promoters. This town initiation-country response pattern, coupled with a debt-credit pattern of relations, has perpetuated the barriers--in symbol and in deed--between townspeople and country peoples, which although weaker than in past decades, have not died. The townman's self-appointed task of overseeing internal social interactions and external economic linkages between locals and externally situated agencies and institutions has generated continual conflict on the county. Activities in voluntary associations most characterize townspeople. Locals claim that the peoole of Lizbeth overorganize,

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61 thereby attesting to the social importance of the formal club. In an area where familism is a definite virtue, at times a necessity, the formal organizations substitute for the intimacy of a close-knit extended family. In these clubs task accomplishment (community service) and group maintenance rate equally important, and far more so than their show of fraternalism. Towns people grade their clubs by age, ethnicity, and social class. Adults organize youth clubs under the guise of the educational and religious systems, which are so structured to take up more of the time of town youth than of rural youth, since (1) adults charge town youth far less with work and "chores" than farm youth, and were it not for these organized actitivies, town parents or hired black "maids" would themselves be forced to super8 vise the children. In rural areas, youth may be "cut loose" because the large social zones and the expected social behavior within them are homogenous. Town parents face a different challenge, because urban areas are a patchwork of public and private zones calling for matching behaviors which youth by definition have not mastered--perhaps because they have not mastered the cues demarcating zones. (2) the friction of distance, discussed earlier, penalizes town youth less heavily than rural youth. c The census for 1970 listed 229 "private household workers" in Apalachee County: 176 of them employed in Lizbeth (U.S. Bureau of the Census, 1972).

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62 Towns people live nearer the schools and hence need not ride for 9 hours on school buses. Within the school establishment community divisions between town and country represented within each age grade tend to coincide with the pupil breakdowns into classrooms, even though the school uses other, formal criteria (such as "intelligence") for segregating purposes. Older teachers from this area well remember when sex was also used as a segregating mechanism. Only within the decade of the 1970s have blacks and whites been publicly integrated, although racial caste lingers as a formal segregating principle in informal relations such as peer groupings. Club activities (Beta club, Key club) reflect the wider social divisions of the county. Except for social clubs like the Benevolent Protective Order of Elks or the country club, people of Apalachee County relate to "clubbing" on the basis of age, sex, caste, and often social class. There are men's clubs and women's clubs, young people's clubs and old people's clubs, white clubs and black clubs. The principle of social class within bi-class community overlies all the other criteria as a segregating mechanism. 9 In the cry for consolidation of schools cultural power statements lie hidden. Riding two hours each day, from rural homesteads to schools in the county seat, not only consumes time but energy. Bus rides force rural youth out of bed earlier in the morning (and hence earlier to bed in the evening perhaps); it follows that they participate less in "experience-widening" extracurricular activities, sports and social interactions.

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63 Men's clubs, for example, tend to activity specificity: religious clubs ("brotherhoods" specific to particular churches in particular denominations), "fraternal clubs (Masonic lodges and area hunting clubs), and "community service" or task clubs. The four principal white-male task clubs are: the Junior Chamber of Commerce (Jaycees), the Kiwanis club, the Lions club, and the Rotary club. The Jaycees, the least active, offer a social bridge from clubs of adolescence, from simple legal adulthood to communityrecognized adult status (the Junior Woman's Club performs a similar function for women), by validating adult status through participation in club activities which are highly ritualized in nature: e.g., presenting the nearly annual Miss Apalachee County Beauty Pageant. or sponsoring fund-raising events for local charities. Young men graduating from club to club, advancing through the age grades, make an easy sbcial transition on the level of form because nearly every club is' structured similarly in Apalachee County regardless of overt function: a minimum slate of officers and a maximum slate of committeemen. Of the three principal white, mature men's clubs, it is said: The Rotary club owns the town; The Kiwanis club runs the town; and The Lions club enjoys the town. This statement ranks the clubs in terms of socio-politico-economic power. Rotarians strongest as a whole and Lions clubbers least strong. This ranking holds generally for the relation of clubbers

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64 to social prestige as well. As expected, then, the Lions work the most energetically at "community service." A middle-aged informant related the following story. He was born into a large farm family of very modest means. Through education and manipulation of the structure of male age groupings and his old father's knowledge of the area's political situation, he not only climbed the social ladder but won election to a responsible county-wide office. When he obtained a university degree, he returned to Apalachee County to teach school, joining the Kiwanis Club and the local Florida National Guard company. The guard afforded him an opportunity to interact in a position of benevolent authority with many of the county males who rely on income from guard duty to supplement family incomes. Well-managed ties with the men in the guard, plus demonstration of goodwill and enthusiasm in the Kiwanis club, plus a large kinship network, were factors immeasurably helpful in elevating him from the rank of classroom teacher to that of school administrator. This occupational advance was marked by receipt of a graduate degree, by marriage, and soon after by a change of membership from the Kiwanis club to the Rotary club. The primary recreational field outside schooling for 'youth, outside kin folk for rural adults, and outside voluntary associations for town adults, is the church. White town churches, much larger on the whole than white rural churches, are highly organized, formally constituted, and then formally reconstituted at a myriad

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65 of age-graded levels; each department, class, and committee electing its own slate of ranked officers and keeping them busy. If anything, the worship of the Creator more carefully segregates socially than any other activity field outside kinship, and activity in this field closely replicates kin role titles: the men's "brotherhood," "Father," the "Holy Family." In Apalachee County church rank reiterates the general rank of its membership. Urban churches consider themselves higher in rank than rural churches. The rural churches consider themselves no better than, but "just as good as" the urban churches. Perhaps a church is a collective gathered to ritual ly reinforce in sacred ceremony its interpretation of proper secular relationships within the universe. Thus, in form and in content the communal church ceremony expresses ideal interactional patterns and values: man to man, man to God, and man to universe. We may correlate church social rank with the amount of individual freedom to extemporize during a communal service, with which rank varies inversely. In Apalachee County the small Episcopal church, for example, ranks very high; nearly every word and movement conform to a schedule, and communicants know exactly what to expect from the preacher (the "rector") and from each other. Activity proceeds at an unemotional, orderly, rehearsed pace, led by a single individual specifically clothed and trained for this specific task. Changes in the form of worship or in interpretation of the holy writings are not local prerogatives. The service emphasizes reaffirmation and continuation.

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66 Holiness churches, Jehovah's Witnesses, and the Churches of God bear low social rankings; Baptist churches occupythe midrange, the numerous sects (Freewill, Independent, Primitive, Southern) comprising the overwhelming majority of the Apalachee County church-going public. Churches of low rank value spontaneity and regard individual experiences "with the Lord" with rapture; individuals prize self-expression; several people, all informally clothed, initiate to the audience at different times in the ceremony; people move in specific relation to the circumstnaces of that particular Sunday meeting; the preacher, who often serves part time, is inventive in speech and gesture, although he relies on repetition of key phrases and movements, emphasizing a personal commitment, an emotional religious experience. Baptists span the highand low-valued church types: ceremonies proceed in a highly regulated, formalized, prescribed manner, but the essence of the service promotes a highly personal, intense relationship between the individual and God. The ceremonial format of Baptist churches varies between sects, locally ranked by the same criteria as other denominations, Southern being not only the most numerous but also the highest ranked. As with the Methodists, the downtown First Baptist Church--"de fust chuch"-is the largest, most formal, most active, most organized, most visible, and most wealthy of its denomination in the county. Indeed the First Baptist Church of Lizbeth is the largest church of any denomination within the county.

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67 Public investment in area recreation lags behind expressed public interest. The few official declarations of interest in such recreation have come from either the State of Florida (which supports five public facilities in the general area) or the townbased development authority, which the state legislature created as an arena for public display for local merchants and politicians of the State Bank of Lizbeth's political faction. This authority, tied to the bank and the local chamber of commerce, occasionally promotes speculation in the creation of a public park on the Suwannee River in the northern section of the county. It aims to capitalize on the Stephen Foster theme, despite the presence of a similar facility not 15 miles upstream, on the county border, but situated in a neighboring county. In this chapter we have sketched the origins of dominant white social categories in the Apalachee county-community. First to arrive in the early 1800s were the true cracker backwoodsmen. The c isolated, individualistic way of life of the craker remains in spirit in the community although the crackers themselves have passed into history. Following the War Between the States, a wave of independent yeoman-dirt farmers entered the area from the north, with townmenentrepreneurs following. Two distinct life-styles remain in Apalachee County which are traceable to these separate traditions--town and country. In the next chapter we shall discuss the role of the black man in the social history of the country.

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CHAPTER 3 THE BLACK MAN IN COUNTY HISTORY The "racial situation" in the southern region of the United States has frequently been described as a relationship of caste in the classical social science sense of the word (Davis, Gardner & Gardner, 1941, Dollard, 1937). That is, there endures a fixed and theoretically inviolable disparity in access to social resources between the categories of persons making the society: a closed hierarchical system of groups with differential access to prestige and economic goods and services, with membership completely ascribed by birth. Reality, however, suggests that rigidly proclaimed barriers in this country yield when necessary or convenient.William Faulkner {Light in August), John Howard Griffin {Black Like Me), and others have spoken eloquently to this social fact. Maintenance of caste dogma and caste boundaries has gone underground since the government tabooed public and/or official support for policies of white supremacy. Private publications such as The Citizen, official organ of the Citizens Councils of America, maintain the old cries for "racial integrity" and "states' rights" (i.e., white supremacy and isolationism), but the body of caste system tradition passes orally. 68

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69 As elsewhere in the South, white "old timers" reminisce about lynchings, murders, and mutilations they have witnessed (none ever admits having himself participated, much less as a principal actor, in one of these tragedies) and recall infamous legends concerning local blacks, legends passed on to them which they in turn pass on. An elderly, sickly white man, for decades in the naval stores industry, described in vivid detail how "they caught this buck nigger" and shackled him by a five-foot chain to a stake planted on a spot by the railroad tracks where he allegedly raped and murdered a white woman. "They" piled wood around him in a circle and set it afire. "Well, just about the" time you could see the grease a poppin out of him," a train happened by. The engineer, never one to pass up a free show, halted the train, allowing passengers to climb on top of the cars and watch the man burn. Berreman (1960-61) and others have maintained that caste in the United States, unlike caste in India, lacks sacred justification for its existence, but the evidence from Apalachee County suggests otherwise. In this county, where 80 percent of churchgoers affiliate Southern Baptist of a fundamentalist sort, white people interpret religious myths as support for the. system, "as documented" in the Christian Bible. Black people of course do not share the prevailing white belief in the categorical charters. The preachers of the countryside, practically unlettered and frequently employed only part time, but generally not the preachers of the town, who are occasionally graduates of seminaries

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70 and fully supported by their churches (these categorical descriptions are by no means invariable), refer in private to the book of Genesis: "Then the Lord put an identifying mark on Cain as a warning not to kill him" (Genesis 4:5). White people "logically" tend to interpret that God's mark, this unexplained, mysterious, and unremitting curse, had to be black skin, for "What could be worse than that?" Here perhaps we find a pragmatic example of the social necessity to find a symbol for an extant referent rather than of intellectual gymnastics to find a referent for an extant symbol. A favorite story manipulated to account for caste as a holy system in the United States (in The Living Bible [Wheaton, 111.: Tyndale House, 1971] a specific disclaimer is added in the margin) is Noah's drunken curse of his son Ham and Ham's descendants: "May they be the lowest of slaves to the descendants of Shem and Japeth" (Genesis 9:24-25). Benet illustrated the type of social interpretation of this passage: "I get my sailing-orders from the Lord." He touched the Bible. "And it's down there, Mister, Down there in black and white--the sons of Ham-Bondservants--sweat of their brows." His voice Trailed off into texts. "I tell you, Mister," he Said fiercely, "The pay's good pay, but it's the Lord's work, too. We're spreading the Lord's seed-Spreading his seed--" (Slaveship Captain speaking in the "Prelude" to Stephen Vincent B&net's John Brown's Body [N.Y.: Farrar § Rinehart, 1942] p. 12) . The Negro, as black man, fits a local system of symbolic oppositions. Preachers teach the concepts of "heaven" and "hell," the respective abodes of the Christian God of Love in the sky and

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71 of the arch-fiend, the devil Satan, in the bowels of the earth, by reference to color schemes familiar to readers of John Milton's "Paradise Lost": Heaven: White and gold Hell: Black and red Indeed, white and black preachers alike describe a Satan black in color and demeanor. Interestingly enough, the anti-black force in the southern and border states, the sheeted Ku Klux Klan, most frequently resorted to terror by arson, symbolically uniting white with impersonal godly power and black with inflicted, but deserved, suffering through pain in fire. This thin veil of religious support for an extant though timeweakened caste system justifies, in the eyes of many whites, a secondary association of black with social anti-values. Where whites value familism, localism, and the work-is -virtuous ethic, these whites claim that blacks neglect their families, bring outside authorities ("agitators") into the county to "meddle" in strictly local matters, and refuse to work for an honest living. Local idiom suggests three socially fundamental types of black persons in Apalachee County: turpentine or pulpwood blacks, country blacks, and town blacks. The pulpwood workers descended historically from the turpentine workers. Some speculate that more than a loose theoretical-historical linkage dependent upon nature of work activity exists; that generations of male descendants have followed the occupation that usually crippled or worked their fathers to an early death. Zora Neale Hurston,

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72 a regional black writer, said: "... teppentime folks are born, not made, and certainly not overnight. They are born in teppentime, live all their lives in it, and die and go to their graves smelling of teppentime" (1948, p. 7). Naval stores, a vigorous regional industry from the 1870s until the early 1950s, has declined to near insignificance, and at present a sole entrepreneur milks the pines of their sap. Regional white people made fortunes in this business, founded on a supply of unskilled, legally unprotected and dependent black labor. Relations of a patron-client nature between the laborer and the white owners and supervisors endured as long as the market for the raw materials remained strong. Kennedy wrote: Negroes have provided the labor for the naval stores industry since the beginning of slavery in America. Generation after generation they have followed its southward migration, and the majority of those engaged in it today are descended from a long line of turpentine workers. More than any other occupational group these Negroes are denied the rights for which the Civil War was supposedly fought. As one who knows told me, "A Negro who is foolish enough to go to work in a turpentine camp is simply signing away his birthright." They are held in abject poverty and peonage by a combination of forces quite beyond their power to oppose. (1942, pp. 261-62) White men with access to a black labor pool contracted to tap the trees on land owned by other whites. The contractor and his white overseers (called woods riders because they checked the productivity of the black laborers from horseback) then moved a settlement of black people into the area of the leased trees,

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73 housing them in portable huts in a "camp." The camp owner, himself usually absent from the camp, founded a commissary for "his" blacks where the barest essentials could be had. Purchasing was rarely a matter of exchanging cash for commodity, though, for these blacks rarely had cash money. Rather, commodities were purchased on time with substantial credit charges affixed, the balance eventually subtracted from the purchaser's share in the seasonal profits, for full repayment was forever difficult. Contractors sublet stands of pines to black men, encouraging them to maintain families in the camp on the theory that the men would thus be bound to their service and prevented from "running" when accumulated debt negated any profit from a year's activity. It was not at all unheard of for the owner to supply a woman for a man without, "marrying" the pair by the simple expedient of assigning them to a cabin and opening an account for them in the camp commissary. An owners' association served not only to disseminate information and innovations related to the industry but also to return indebted laborers to camp owners who in the absence of formal legal apparatus, meted out punishment personally and severely. . Turpentining strained a man's physical endurance to the limit. A camp boss at the turn of the century compared another strenuous agricultural enterprise to it: "In point of severity it [growing cotton] is not to be compared to turpentine culture ..." (Powell, 1969, p. 549). He related:

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74 The work is severe to a degree almost impossible to exaggerate, and it is very difficult to control a sufficient quantity of free labor to properly cultivate any great number of trees. The natives follow it more as a make-shift than a vocation, and are only too glad to abandon its hardships for any other character of work that comes to hand. (Powell, 1969, p. 27) The camps initially worked captive labor leased from the Florida state prison system, which in 1870 operated 20:1 black to white, although by the 1890s the proportion had reputedly dropped to 2:1 (Powell, 1969, p. 332). 1 Saturday payday activity illustrates the nature of the blackwhite relationship in this' extractive enterprise. Early in the morning the white man loaded his trucks or wagons with black men, men hungering for the diversity and excitement of the county seat. There, men who lived for long months in virtual isolation in the deep woods proverbially spent their money riotously on liquor, gambling ("skin games':') , and women. Early Sunday morning those physically able and of such a persuasion returned to camp via the return truck. Those left behind often remained involuntarily, as guests of the City Marshal or the "High Sheriff" until Monday morning, when the contractor or an overseer, a camp "captain" (or "cap'n"), ritually returned to the county seat to bail men out of Powell tried to explain: "I attribute the increase [in whites relative to blacks] to several different causes. In the early days it was possible to send a negro to prison on almost any pretext, but difficult to get a white man there, unless he committed some very heinous crime" (1969, p. 332). By 1890 this situation had evidently changed.

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75 jail with money from a standing account for that very purpose. The overseers added the amount of the bail and fine plus the payoff to the appropriate law enforcement official to the 2 worker's commissary debt. Turpentiners worked a stand of trees for seven years or less, and when blade and cup eventually killed the trees, they moved on. The personnel of any one camp changed every move, some arriving and some managing to escape. These people, savaged by a life of hardship and want, were outsiders in the lands that supported them, lands where toleration was the exception rather than the rule, and they settled only when economic expediency dictated that "teppentime" had run its course as a way of life. While no turpentine camps remain in Apalachee County, many black men earn a living today in pulpwooding--cutting pines and shipping them by truck or by rail to industrial processing plants 2 Hurston related the classic southern white-black joke between Jim, a white turpentine woods rider, and Joe, a black hand: "I know, I know, Jim retorted in mock sternness. It's Saturday nights that's your trouble Joe. Saturday pay-night, you spend all you got on likker and women. Before draw-day, you're pestering my life out of me for more money. Pretty nearly every man on the camp is the same way. Saturday night! Saturday night! Look like that's all you colored folks live for on this camp, Saturday night! Joe looked very serious while Jim was preaching. When the woodsman had finished, Joe kept on looking serious. Finally he scratched his head and seemed to reach a conclusion. I speck youse right about that Saturday night business, Mister Jim. Fact of the matter is, I knows youse dead right. But if you ever was to be a Negro just one Saturday night, you'd never want to be white no more" (1948, p. 40).

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76 (none in Apalachee County) where they are converted into paper, rayon derivatives, and other commercial products. Pulpwooding has inherited turpentining 's reputation as strenuous labor. Indeed, a white "old timer," who himself did hard physical work all his life in the pulpwood industry, claimed that there is no harder work than the old-style pre-machine, hand turpentining, called "chipping and dipping," but the closest thing to it is pulpwooding. Laborers in pulpwood claim the reputation for toughness, hell raising, and ignorance of the old "turpentine niggers" as well as the same pattern of labor relations with the personalistic white owners of town woodyards where railcars are loaded. Where overseers previously employed dozens of unskilled black laborers, machines today do most of the heavy field work of felling trees, sawing to length, and loading on trucks. Even at such transfer points as barren woodyards along railroad tracks in the county seat, where heavy labor in direct sunlight predominates, the back-breaking work is much ameliorated. Since no commercial or industrial establishments have replaced the jobs lost to mechanization, the black men thus employed have been forced into three strategies, strategies not necessarily discreet: migratory patterns of wage earning, welfare exploitation, or permanent out-migration. Social distinctions between town blacks and country blacks derive from the essence of the townman-countryman bi-class system

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77 of social relations in the area. Blacks, too, share the philosophical bias of the town sophisticate-country bumpkin dichotomy with whites who apply it among their own kind. In turn, all whites reverse the social implications of that philosophy against blacks who live in the county seat-town blacks see themselves as more sophisticated than rural blacks and expect some validation of this status by whites. Whites, on the other hand, dare not legitimize this distinction and prefer to consider them "uppity," meaning that whites believe that behavioral affirmation of this distinction played out among the blacks threatens the basis of the caste system itself because the blacks and whites use the same criteria of sophistication. Only the racial line thus stands between dominance of black townmen over white countrymen. Town blacks have adopted behavioral strategies based on frequent observation of interactions between town whites and country whites, which often take the form of town dominancecountry submissiveness . Town blacks perhaps easily extended deprecation of country status to country whites as well as to country blacks. Coupled with imitative learning based on repetition in observing dominant town white-submissive country white encounters, this imagined dichotomy of "sophistication" has caused blacks to modulate their behavior depending on the category of white person faced. In the whites, especially country whites in town, this black behavioral tactic triggered a status-protection drive to reinforce caste lines. But the

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78 black certainly knew from experience the propensity to violence of the lower-class white and of the "cracker," and this foreknowledge caused a mediation, a third behavioral set, not servitude but not equality: black behavior with vague connotations generates social ambiguity and hence greater intercaste pressure to conform and submit . Town blacks have traditionally earned livings working under white supervision, whereas country blacks in Apalachee County, except for the formerly large tenant class, predominantly lived 3 and worked independently on their small farms. Business enterprises such as dry cleaners employed blacks in dark, damp sweatrooms as pressers toiling over great steam irons. Agricultural warehouses and lumber mills used black men for the heavy labor of hoisting and moving while women worked as domestics in the homes of affluent whites; Employment diversification for the black woman, except for the solitary homelife of the school teacher, remains minimal but greater than for the black males, for many women do find employment as assembly-line workers in the area's small textile mills or the chicken processing plant. For a few black men alternative employment has meant the ministry, taking the duties as local black mortician, or operating a business in the small black business section. These positions offer a man the chance to rise economically to the level of the 3 Today fewer than 100 black families are independently involved in agriculture in Apalachee County.

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79 white "middle class" and to exercise some power, albeit in a mediating role, between white and black castes. There, whites with power or black patrons can easily jeopardize a man's reputation and security, whites by force and blacks by ceasing to frequent the business of a "Tom" and shopping at a rival white business. In the mid 1970s country blacks and town blacks alike lived in ethnic neighborhoods, named enclaves on side roads and off the principal paths of commerce. There, scattered about one-room church buildings, live a handful of black farmers as truly independent as any local white small farmer. Faulkner wrote that you could always distinguish a Negro country road: "... a road marked with many wheels and traced with cotton wisps, yet dirt, not even gravel, since the people who lived on and used it had neither the voting power to compel nor the money to persuade the Beat supervisor to do more than scrape and grade it twice a year" (Faulkner, 1955, p. 398). We should think of race and caste, not just as sets of categories which separate groups, but also as definitions providing means for them to come together, to interact in fact and in imagination. We may carry this much further if we think of race and caste as sets of rules for relating (not interacting is a form of relating) . Two "feelings" about race relations in Apalachee County must be considered here. Whites promote the idea that relations

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80 between the races are much less "strained" than in any surrounding county, and a white saying so often had an incident or story to illustrate this difference: Why just last year there was this black boy in Lafayette County tried for murdering a white boy. Now used to be they'd a just strung him up . . . well, that was years ago. He'd a gone to jail and never come out. Well, this boy here got off with life [meaning that he received a life sentence] and it was an all-white jury too. Although I have less data from blacks testifying to this point, there appears to be something of an opposed and cynical feeling--that relations in Apalachee County are more strained than in surrounding counties. Nevertheless a general presumption exists that relations between the races have changed a great deal in recent years. Whites almost invariably related this era of desegregation to wider social degeneration and lamented the change. Blacks more slowly testified to the extent and nature of changes forced in the system although grudgingly granting that there had been some change., Superficially, or publicly, relations between the races have changed immensely during the past quarter-century. Seating around the county courthouse remains but the bench backs no longer carry specific caste designations. The "separate but equal" school system was phased out during the 1960s, and blacks occasionally eat in the downtown Dixie Grill, although whites rarely eat in

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81 a black-owned cafe-caste breaking up and not down. Caste impediments for entrance into the voting public of the community, such as poll taxes, literacy tests > and forceful denial, are no longer. The Ku Klux Klan no longer has an organization in the county, and the White Citizens' Council formed at the height of the school integration crisis never gained community support or approval . In private systems of relations the traditional patterns of interaction remain in effect. In agriculture, for example, blacks presumably need no longer perform and be generally limited to menial and laborious tasks, now that the Federal governmental system has intervened directly and massively in the food production-processing-distribution system. Still, independent agricultural operations in the area tend to exclude black entrepreneurs, except for a handful of black small farmers who have held tenaciously to the land deeded them after_the War Between the States. Of the 146 Negro farmers in Apalachee County in 1964, 113 were full owners of their farms: 23 were part owners and 10 were tenants. By 1969 the total had dropped to 84 Negro farmers: 73 full owners, 11 part owners; and no tenants (U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Census of Agriculture, 1964 and 1969). All farmers claim that they are hard-pressed to recruit and pay for semi-skilled agricultural labor and, hence, turn

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82 increasingly to machinery produced in outside manufacturing centers, which must ordinarily be bought on credit, reinforcing the farmer's dependence and subservience to town credit lenders. White countrymen claim that they would much rather experience the frustrations of working with agricultural equipment, which fails to equal human labor in the quality of work done, than to work agricultural labor which must now be handled carefully, patiently, and quietly or else will disappear in the midst of a job. This new set of interactional rules counters traditional normative relations (directions of white domination and black subordination) and hence irritates and frustrates the white farmer, who finds his self-image and positive value of "independence" threatened within the very context where he learned to be most secure. This interactional system is illustrated by one abstract sequence of activities in tobacco crop production. In Apalachee County basic allocations for market production were held by 94 farmers: black = 6 and white = 88. 1. Seeding in beds: the farmer, black or white. 2. Transplanting to the fields: mostly black labor. 3. Application of insecticides and sucker (branching) control: the farmer. 4. Cropping (picking): blacks and whites of the lower classes, frequently middle-class children, and the farm family itself. 5. Curing: women do the light work of stringing or racking, and men do the heavy work of lifting and hauling. 6. Warehousing: manual labor by black men and women and lowerclass white children; technical labor by white men and women.

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83 7. Buying and selling: white men. 8. Shipping: black men perform heavy tasks supervised by white men. The following story concerning a system of debt peonage was told me by a local white man. It illustrates the recent anachronistic state of relations between blacks and whites; this based on events in a neighboring county: When I moved there in 1959, I first went to see the Sheriff. He took me right over to register to vote, backdating the entry because I had only been in the area a few days. Well, when he found out I made my living lending money to niggers, he made me a deputy sheriff. That way, he said, "If you ever have to kill one, it'll be legal." The way I operated w&s like this: I'd scout out the nigger jooks and the quarters making acquaintances here and there. Pretty soon the word got out that I could be hit up for a loan and they began a-coming. I'd lend a man $5 and collect $7 at the end of the week. Why once I made $250 on a $20 loan. But I always got a signed blank check from them as security, because .1 knew didn't none of them have any banking account. So if they defaulted, I'd fill in the check, cash it, and have the Sheriff arrest them for passing bad checks. Then after they'd stayed in jail a few days, I'd bail them out and take them to the owner of the pulpwood yard-a friend of mine-who'd reimburse me their $50 bail and put them to work to repay the both of us. Once I was waiting at the woodyard on payday to collect a note and saw this nigger walk out of the office counting his money. When he seen me coming, he put the money in his pocket and told me he didn't have any. I insisted, and when he reached into his right pocket, I knocked him out with my fist--cause I'd seen him put the money in his left pocket. I figured he was reaching for a knife. Well, I went to my car and got my gun and put it right into that nigger's nose. When he come to, he gave me the money he owed me. I've still got a lump on my hand from where I hit that nigger. That's one nigger I could've killed. I left there in about 1964 cause I got tired of the work--it was just too easy--like shooting fish in a tank. I ain't never had no use for niggers.

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84 Area blacks understand the local social system too and have worked actively from within to change it. The following incident, related to me by a young black Apalachee entrepreneur, illustrates the dynamics involved in local social change: Back a couple of years ago, there was a fight between a black high school girl and a white woman bus driver. The Sheriff put the girl in jail and sent the white woman home after taking her to the hospital for a check-up. Well there was a mass meeting in Cherished Harmony Baptist Church to protest his holding the girl in jail; she was underage and there was no proof that the girl caused the fight. They were listening to speeches and about ready to march on the courthouse to picket and sleep on the steps there, if need be. Well I got up and announced that I wasn't going to -sleep on any steps outside, because I had a good bed to sleep in. I left with a few others and went quietly to the Sheriff, asking him to release the girl on her own recognizance or in the custody of her mother or us . The Sheriff and the youth counselor both refused. So we went home and called the Governor and got an executive order to release the girl. Although the necessities of making a living and mediating the interactional fields do bring them together, blacks and whites historically live apart and play apart, interlocked but segregated in zones of social space. Whites have generally enforced this communal separation-as if spatial proximity related in direct proportion to social access to the family hearth. At first glance, maps of social divisions in the city of Lizbeth resemble a maze, a surrealist pastiche. By conceptually dividing the city into quarters, we find that each contains both

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85 white and black neighborhoods (see Figure 5) . The derivation of these separate quarters resulted, not only from a conscious separation, but also from an ecological corollary to the forms of labor relations. (A young white man of Lizbeth joked, "piey live all around us. It's like a donut around a hole.") For example, the southwestern black neighborhood in Lizbeth began as the quarters-nucleus of a large sawmill in the late 1800s. A sawmill owner, in a position to employ dozens of unskilled laborers, was then a man of considerable power and economic resources. Owners maintained themselves as paternal bosses to their hands, black and white, often supplying them with cheap housing near the mill. Such was the case here. The black neighborhood in southeast Lizbeth originated as a settlement of black railroad laborers early in the twentieth century. Few blacks lived in Apalachee County before the War Between the States, but they are nearly one-quarter of .the population in the 1970s. The black people have participated in the same social relations as the white people, with the additional burden of subordination in the system of caste relations of the region. Many blacks lived in turpentine or logging camps in the county under the supervision of white "bosses" until these activities withered after the Second World War. Apalachee County has a minor tradition of independent black farmers who nest on pockets of land held by their families since the land was deeded them after the War Between the States. Blacks in the towns worked in "gangs"

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Key: Main thoroughfare Railway II I II Black neighborhood FIGURE 5 BLACK NEIGHBORHOODS CITY OF L1ZBETH, FLORIDA

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87 on the railroad or in sawmills and lived on the outskirts of towns in racially segregated neighborhoods, or "quarters." No other ethnic minorities reside in Apalachee County. Now that we have introduced the cast of characters, we shall bring the social history up to date.

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CHAPTER 4 THE PRESENT ERA The cessation of hostilities between the Union and the Confederacy in 1865 ushered in the era of Reconstruction, followed by a longer era of benign neglect of the problems and promise of the southern United States. The people of Apalachee County claim that for nearly half a century following that war, anyone (meaning any well-heeled white man) who turned his hand to the lumber or the naval stores industries made a fortune. As early as the 1860s entrepreneurs cut lumber from the county in immense quantities, floating trees down the Suwannee River or hauling them to area sawmills. Lumber-generated capital from this area gave Florida one Governor directly (George Drew: 1877-81) and another (Cary Hardee: 1921-25) backed by Apalachee County naval stores capitalists. By the 1930s, the vast stands of yellow pine and most of the live oak and cypress had vanished from clear-cutting practices. Non-Southerners with whom I have discussed this project often act as if they are shocked by reference to the War Between the States as "the" war. They fail to understand that this war is a historical exclamation point to Southerners, not a sympathetically recidivistic ghost. That war marks a transition from the socioeconomic systems of "the Old South" to those of "the New South." Hence, socioeconomic histories of the region correctly point to the war as an important temporal referent..

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89 Late in that decade, outside corporations with government backing ventured to plant pines in the county, for harvest thirteen to eighteen years later as a commercial cash crop. Initially they planted on a small scale in reforestation/recapitalization/land reclamation drives. Today, liberal estimates put the total acreage in commercial lumber (most owned by farm families) at 50+ percent of total county lands, or roughly 200,000+ acres, of which, in great contrast to surrounding counties, timber corporations own only one-third. For Lizbeth and Apalachee County the economic promise of the late nineteenth century withered in the twentieth century. The precise downturn came at least by the 1920s, when cotton, a most important money crop in the county from the end of the War Between the States until the 1920s, collapsed because of the ruinous cotton-boll weevil (Anthonomous grandis) infestation. Newspapers of that era reported the inexorable progress and pillage of the insect east across the South and documented, in journalistic anguish, its arrival in the county. Die-hards planted small acreages through the 1940s, but no county farmer grows cotton today. There remain, however, many natives who remember growing, chopping, arid picking cotton and a set of economic and social relations not altogether unlike those extant in the tobacco industry today. William Faulkner reminds us of the tone of that industry: [farmers] . . . would come in on their laden wagons and draw into line, mule-nose to tail -gate,

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90 beside the road, waiting for their turn to move onto the scales and then under the suction pipe, and dismount and wrap the reins about a stanchion and cross to the gallery, from which they could watch the still, inpenetrable, steadily-chewing face throned behind the scale-beam. . . . (Faulkner, 1931, p. 60) Tenantry, the backbone of cotton culture-family farmers without farms of their own operating as a production-consumption unit on land leased outright or on a crop-sharing basis--died as a socioeconomic enterprise soon after cotton died. Apalachee County fell below the optimistic projections of the chamber of commerce clique, which studied the decline with increasing alarm. In 1936 a member of the depression-era Writers' Program noted the halting development of a public service infrastructure in the county (Atkinson, 1936) , only much improved in the 1970s. A "development planner" employed by the county Chamber of Commerce in 1946 recommended that to make up the difference between income per family of that day ($1,765 est. avg.) and the desired level per family ($2,940), three areas would have to be revitalized: the timber resources, the tourist industry, and (principally) the agricultural base. He suggested that the natural burden of leadership for implementation of the plan lay on the shoulders of the merchants and businessmen who hired him, paying only lip-service to the involvement of other groups: "In their hands [those of the businessmen] lie the growth and prosperity of the whole area and the business of Main Street reflects the prosperity of an entire county" (Bostwick, 1946, p. 61).

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91 The revitalization of agriculture, a perennial area theme, first began when businessmen and farmers introduced green tobacco in quantity to Apalachee County in the mid1920s as a money crop alternative to the lamented, long-staple sea-island cotton industry ruined by the boll weevil. The relational sets involved in growing tobacco-farmer-broker-buyer in the townman-countryman social system-differed little from those suited to cotton, and hence area agriculturalists made a relatively smooth albeit slow transition from one crop plant to another. Townspeople, former cotton brokers, bankers, and their associates, built warehouses for tobacco auctions in the county seat, all the while working to convince area farmers that tobacco would be an economically rewarding and supporting venture. Like turpentining, tobacco growing also depends upon abundant, marginally skilled, and relatively inexpensive labor but because tobacco employs laborers only seasonally, during the summer, it did not provide a subsistence alternative to turpentining. At one time tobacco's labor needs meant working families as units in large rural kin groups and extensive labor sharing among both kin and neighboring kith. As with cotton, townmen received the produce from the farmer, graded it, fixed a selling price the farmer could either take or leave, and sold his crop for him; the money passed from buyer to grower through town middleman, who took a percentage for his "services." Again, as during the cotton era, fall sales of the tobacco crop put substantial sums of cash money

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92 in the hands of countrymen otherwise cash-poor during the balance of the year. This initiated a brief flurry of economic activity between townmen and countrymen and set off a round of fall and winter social activities among countrymen themselves, centering on their rural neighborhoods. In the decade of the 1970s labor costs have mounted, family sizes have shrunk, and black persons have learned to exploit other avenues of support than seasonal agricultural labor (e.g., government programs). Mechanization of the laborious work of picking ("cropping") and of curing the green leaves in cooking barns is greatly reducing necessary labor inputs to "making a crop" but has vastly increased capital inputs, throwing the farmer again on the mercy of town-based lending institutions. Nevertheless, tobacco reigns today as the single largest revenue producer for the county as a whole. .In 1961, 9,066,872 pounds of tobacco were sold in the Lizbeth warehouses for $5,455,394, or 60.06
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93 production has tended to concentrate in the lime-rich southern tip of the county in the Jordan area. Three major geologic formations undergird the county at or near the surface, and they must be recognized to understand the distribution of peanuts (see Figure 6) . The Ocala Limestone formation, composed of soft cavernous limestone, nearly surfaces in the Jordan area, although it underlies the entire county. This formation, like the Suwannee Limestone formation, acts as a reservoir for fresh water which fills its extensive network of solution pores and caves. Around Jordan farmers find lime more readily accessible to the lime-dependent peanut, and crops there yield significantly higher poundages to the acre than elsewhere in the county. The Suwannee Limestone formation, although mostly hard, is interbedded with strata of soft granular lime and underlies all the county except the southern tip. The thin, mixed Hawthorn formation overlies the Suwannee Limestone in the central part of the county. Some of the strata in this formation are of an impervious nature, which accounts for a perched water table or otherwise inhibited drainage in the flatwoods. In all sections of the county quality herds of beef cattle and costly swine-raising installations have sprung up in the last twenty-five years. Today's animals bear little relation to the wild, durable range cattle of former eras or to the fierce "piney woods rooters" of the deep swamps. Farmers sell cattle and hogs in local livestock markets to buyers representing both

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94 N K Adapted from: "Comprehensive Development Plan for [Apalachee] County, Florida," Tallahassee, Fla.: Barr, Dunlop § Associates, 1974, p. 3. FIGURE 6 PRINCIPAL GEOLOGICAL FORMATIONS APALACHEE COUNTY

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95 large meat-packing firms and a few smaller local packing houses. Apalachee County has more land area in pasture (37%) than any of the surrounding counties (and also more in cropland--35%: U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Census of Agriculture 3 1970). Farm families traditionally kept hogs, a dairy cow, and perhaps a few scrawny cattle, but after the Second World War, costs of keeping a family milch cow climbed and relative benefits declined. In the social system of the past, which has lingered to the present, gentlemen farmers (full-time business or professional men and part-time farmers) raised cattle, and locals considered that the truly successful dirt farmer, the man with a diversified income, derived part of that income from the sale of cattle. Chicken raising came to Apalachee County on a large scale in the mid-1960s when a major U.S. corporation located a processing plant there and, based on the active assistance of area business and banking interests, convinced local farmers that investing in this new industry would be of mutual advantage. Like hogs, chickens ran loose on family farms, and there remain thousands of small, private backyard coops still; but growing chickens in quantity has industrialized. The "independent" farmer now works under contract to the corporation, which supplies chicks, assures credit, and provides technical assistance (and administrative control), relegating the farmer to the corporate status of skilled laborer.

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96 To be more fully understood, cycles of human activity need to be set within a context of the broader universal and natural cycles we have sketched. Indeed, the pictures presented here are but visible rhythms, only the most observable measurements of a universe in motion: geological age succeeds geological age; rainfall and temperature averages respond to the wobble of the earth's poles. On a time-line the aforementioned human subsistence activities of Apalachee County appear as Figure 7. Time, a thoroughly imaginary model, is nevertheless a most fundamental organizing principle derived from selected movements of the heavenly bodies. The incorporation of explanatory statements in creation parables such as this one from the Christian Bible testify to mans' recognition of this structuring: Then God said, "Let there be bright lights in the sky to give light to the earth and to identify the day and the night; they shall bring about the seasons on the earth, and mark the days and years." And so it was. (Genesis 1:14-15) Day is separate from night as one season is from all others, not only because the earth has passed an equinox or a solstice, but because these periods signal different rhythms of human activity and interaction (see Appendix) . Today, while Lizbeth retains the pleasant atmosphere of a quiet small town and market center for a county-community, the plan espoused in 1946 and subsequent plans not implemented have

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97 1850 60 70 80 90 1900 10 20 30 40 50 60 1970 Cotton > Naval Stores > Tobacco Peanuts Commercial Chickens > Lumbering > FIGURE 7 SUBSISTENCE PROFILE APALACHEE COUNTY

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98 succeeded only for main street brokers, middlemen, and opportunists, and for the small class of large dirt farmer. Lizbeth "... has no exclusive economic characteristic which enable (sic) it to stand by itself as a population center. [Lizbeth] exists and is important simply as the county seat and the commercial service center for a greater agricultural region... ." (Florida Development Commission, 1963, p. 72). In 1967 the U.S. Office of Economic Opportunity documented twelve socioeconomic indicators of county "well-being," comparing them nationally (U.S. O.E.O., 1967). They were: Favorable Extremely: .None '•.•.. Significantly: Economic activity Moderately: Employment conditions Normal Health Status Agricultural prosperity Unfavorable Moderately: Magnitude of poverty Economic compensation Sufficiency of housing Significantly: Educational achievement Functional illiteracy Adequacy of health care Extremely: Severity of poverty Family resources While the 1970 census of 1969 incomes classed 1,088,225 (16.4%) of the 6,637,507 persons in Florida households as 'poor," comparable statistics for the Apalachee County area are:

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99 Persons Total "Poor" Persons Percent County in Households in Households "Poor" Apalachee

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100

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101 To outsiders Apalachee County presents itself without reference to its manifest social cleavages or its latent economic contradictions. Local advertisers and promoters fondly style the people of the area and the way of life after the earthy dreams and melancholy of a New York songwriter who never saw their land or the river which snakes around them, brown, slow, and quiet in a narrow cleft overhung by drapes of Spanish moss, but immortalized it in song--Stephen Collins Foster's "Old Folks At Home," written in 1851: Way down upon de S'wannee Ribber Far, far away, Dere's wha my heart is turnin 1 ebber, Dere's wha de old folks stay, All up and down de whole creation, Sadly I roam, Still longin' for de old plantation And for de old folks at home. Natives of Apalachee County inherently understand that they are cut from a different fabric than the people living about them. A handful of ex-plantation aristocrats still own and operate neighboring Madison County--which rests on beds of more fertile clayey soils--Appalacheans say, as a family concern. Absentee corporations own Dixie, Hamilton, Lafayette, and Taylor counties for their timber and phosphate. Therein live only poor whites 2 and "swamp niggers" who go underreported in the decennial census. 2 . The word mgger to denote a black person is the most common term of reference used by area whites and many area blacks. The author finds the term repugnant and uses it only where necessary to carry connotations as well as denotations.

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102 Lake City, the county seat of neighboring and rival Columbia 3 County, has always been a town where "anything goes," but the prime ideological foil for the self-styled Apalachee conservative is Gainesville, county seat of Alachua County and home of "the liberal" state university. In sum we may now look at the social systems of Apalachee County as a tiered structure whose principles range from simple to complex levels of integration with wider systems. System Principles Level Cracker Individualism Local Isolationism Race (Caste) Black subordination Regional White supremacy Countryman Egalitarianism Regional Familism (extended) Localism Personalism Townman Familism (nuclear) _ National Hierarchy in organizations Paternalism Progress and community development The townman-countryman system organizationally bridges the cracker's isolated self-sufficiency on the southern! frontier and Over coffee one afternoon a countryman mentioned that the Florida Highway Patrol had twice recently halted prostitution operations in and around Lake City. Characteristic of the wry local humor, another looked down at the coffee cup cradled between his hands and muttered that "when they did that, they'd done quit enforcing the law and done gone to meddling."

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103 the townman's lock-in with the supralocal, national class structure. Countrymen in the native system tend not to play the zerosum credit system of the crackers, exchanging only goods of direct equivalence, but neither do they participate extensively in the townman's scheme of community capital building through intensive activity in communal associations. During the county's centennial celebration in 1958 the downtown centennial committee wanted men to grow beards, like in frontier days. Then, during the week of the celebration they'd drag men without beards in front of kangaroo courts downtown and assess some token fine (of money) , intern them in the open cage on the courthouse lawn, or levy some other acceptable penance. Well, Daddy took us downtown (from the farm) to observe the celebration, but he hadn't paid any attention to growing a beard. Well, when these "marshals" came up to take him to the kangaroo court, he ran back to the pick-up, grabbed the shotgun, and would have shot one of them had they touched him. This interpretation sums up the way that inhabitants of the area presented themselves and their ways of life to me. I suggest that the native social structuring, the townman-countryman system, is more dramatically present at this point in time than at any other, because the data have arranged themselves in this manner. Awareness of the system arose from an interplay of accumulated information and a dawning realization during the final months of active research that I could at last view the Apalachee world through lens ground to something resembling a native's prescription.

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II GOVERNANCE AND POLITICS IN APALACHEE COUNTY

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In Part I we saw the social history of the people of Apalachee County unfold to the present time. The principle structuring this countycommunity is a dynamic opposition between town and countryside, between the concentrated urban county seat and the dispersed rural neighborhoods. Robert Murphy has suggested that such an opposition as that found in the Apalachee town-country moiety system is a basic principle structuring social life. The structure of reality is a structure of oppositions, of elements that contradict each other's possibilities. Out of this clash of antagonistic tendencies, new forms arise that incorporate the opposing elements, albeit in an altered form and with their contradictions now resolved. (Murphy, 1971, pp. 94-95) Neither town nor country could exist apart from the other, but discovering the structuring principle does not reveal the processes of political decision-making. These moieties, or halves, in Apalachee County do not carry on independent political action from the moiety-asfocus but rely upon both formal and informal systems for 105

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106 governance functions. The formal system, a legally coded set of roles and role relations, is discussed in Chapter 6; prizes available to political competitors are described in Chapter 7. We discuss the informal governance of local affairs, as strong as the formal system, beginning in Chapter 5. The Apalachee moieties are not action groups, however, and the local system lacks the political party competition characteristic of much of the nation. This fact prompted Key (1950) to make the false conclusion that north Florida politics was carried on by ephemeral factions recruited for a specific purpose, whose members expected their involvement to bring them personal gain. Bailey (1969) used a model of the faction similar to Key's: a small unit representative of a larger unit in political encounters. Bailey also regarded the faction with disdain as a dysfunctional and disturbing element in the political process. Nichols' development (1973: in Banton, 1965) of the concept of faction, coupled with what we have learned of the internal structuring of Apalachee moieties, allows us to discern the units of political competition. Nichols understood factions as "conflict groups," as functional units for the development of social policy. Hence we shall see the factions involved in unusual political activity as units organized according to Bailey (1969) distinguished political conflict as encounters (in which the competitors adhere to the rules of the game) and fights (in which the competitors challenge the rules themselves).

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107 moiety-specific rules; we shall discern interactional factions from structural factions representing townman clique and countryman collective, respectively. The townman clique, from which the faction arises, is an informal association. The countryman collective, from which factions may rise, is a loose coalition of rural interests occasionally opposed to each other but always united in opposition to townmen (see Merton, 1964) .

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CHAPTER 5 CLIQUE, COLLECTIVE, AND FACTION V. 0. Key examined Southern politics (1950) and suggested that the political organization basic to Floridians is a political faction structured about a dispersed leadership. He thought of a faction as a task-oriented, transactional team, the members of which as political mercenaries calculate profit and loss carefully. The leader recruits through personal ties. He is a practical politician whose legitimacy rests on short-run effectiveness and who uses ideology, if any, as a guise for a personal struggle. Leaders and groups thus are bound by transactional expectations, practical evaluations of gains and losses. Patient probing of the minds of many Florida politicians fails to reveal among them a consciousness that the factional groupings of the voters represent clusters formed around deep and continuing issues. The attitude of the great bulk of practitioners of the art of vote-getting is about like that of a north Florida county judge, elected and re-elected many times. "Issues? Why son, they don't have a damn thing to do with it." (Key, 1950, p. 94) Key was essentially correct in believing that s-farte-level Florida politics is carried on by factions led by a dispersed leadership, but he misunderstood the nature of the factions involved. He wrote: 108

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109 Campaigns are fought between what appear to be new factions formed around new candidates for each campaign. They are essentially personal factions in contrast with the institutionalized factions of an organized politics. (Key, 1950, p. 101) Key failed to see the continuity of a factional system connected to power differentials rising from the traditional socioeconomic contradictions in the townsman -countryman system of social relations. While Apalachee factions are not legally recognized building blocks of representative political associations (parties), neither are they necessarily transactional or ephemeral. Indeed, using Key's own words, they are "institutionalized factions of an organized politics." In this chapter we look at the genesis and history of the two dominant Apalachee coalitions. They represent not political clubs like the Young Republicans but cultural traditions in conflict: yeoman-dirt farmers on the one hand and townmen (town nabob) on the other. These factions are not formalized by dues, rosters, and committees. The countryman faction represents a loose coalition of notables which tends to submerge after the passing of a crisis, the members remaining informally in contact, ready to reconstitute as a faction should the need arise. The townman faction springs from a clique of nabobs, a pool of personnel with ongoing, extra-associational relations cohering over time, out of which leaders and followers emerge on a specific "issue." These roles also tend to submerge after a political showdown .

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110 The cultural traditions of Apalachee County structure the daily, informal men's coffee groups--the daily public representations of traditions. The composition of the coffee groups changes slowly over time as members die or new members are accepted; the groups fix themselves to times and locations, only moving upon the necessity of a cafe closing or remodeling or perhaps the death of a prominent member. In these cafes men come to talk with friends of long standing, to discuss local and national affairs, to share their sentiments and their presence. Social activity over coffee often assumes the air of an informal decision-making session. Nonparticipants, town and country alike, accuse the men present of making decisions about public matters in the privacy of small talk over morning or afternoon coffee. In the cafe, men discuss matters of importance to individual members or the public at large, opinions are voiced, sides quietly argued--not without occasional fervor. Affairs in the coffee cliques extend less to decision-making, however, than to influence-lending, since the membership tends to be factionally segregated. Lizbeth residents generally denigrate the decision-making power of the coffee cliques. Of the two dominant morning groups of downtown businessmen it is said, "They think they make decisions there . . . but I don't think they do." The public denial of coffee groups' decision-making importance stems as much from a fear of public exclusion as from a conscious desire by members to

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Ill limit the number of persons involved in the circle. This denial serves to reinforce the commonly held belief that the nature of the groups and their overt purposes are to make public decisions in private. One weekday morning clique meets at the Rebel Yell Cafe in downtown Lizbeth. The Rebel Yell passes through a daily cycle of three phases (see Figure :8~), for patrons zone the cafe for social activity according to time of day. During the early hours before 8:00 a.m. activity focuses on the counter area. Between 8:00 and 10:30 a.m. activity centers in the northeast quarter of tables; then follows an hour's hiatus. Between 11:30 a.m. and 1:30 p.m. activity centers on the buffet table, filling the entire cafe and often the adjacent conference room. Following the mid-day activity the cafe closes for the day. Between 6:00 and 8:00 a.m. one encounters early-rising transients, service station attendants, a white pulpwood-truck driver or two getting ready to jockey the big trucks to and from the mills an hour and a half from Lizbeth, a city councilman/salesman, and perhaps a commercial oil middleman. Except for formalities this phase lacks overt sociability; few discourse on any topic. Most patrons seat themselves at the counter where rotating backless stools orient persons parallel with each other. This lack of situational attention prohibits lingering and interaction, and seating oneself in this area may signal an unwillingness to communicate. Family groups in for breakfast invariably seat themselves at the booths along the west wall, never at the tables.

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112 Two Blocks North to City Hall */. > ^ Booth Seating across street to County Courthouse £ across street o Main Street • Restaurant Plate Glass Windows _ _ . . . Fixed Seating ' j si — Cashier Table Buffet Table Section A Tables Section C Tables Fixed Seating o

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113 At about 7:30 a.m. the northeast corner begins to fill with a small group preliminary to the main congregation. The Clerk of the Circuit Court enters as does the Lizbeth city administrator, a long-time prominent citizen and ex-city-councilman. They sit in section B with a few others: perhaps a retired member of an old family who still lives in the family home on a street of decaying elegance in the northern section of the city, perhaps the ex-state's attorney who now practices law with his son in law offices nearby, across from the county courthouse. Except for the retiree, these people do not linger after 8:00 a.m.The main cycle of customers to the northeast corner arrives and departs between 8:00 and 9:00 a.m. The State Bank president has driven to his bank several blocks to the south, there picked up three young white male bank employees, and proceeded to the cafe-one of the employees driving them all in the president's car^ The president sits in section A (position 1) with his back to the window, facing lengthwise down the row of tables. The three young men dispose themselves around section C. The retired owner of the "established paper," a retired Army National Guard general and a director of the State Bank, enters to sit in position 4. A downtown Lizbeth merchant and member of the State Bank's board of directors enters and sits in positions 1 or 2 if possible or if not in position 5. This merchant usually moves to position 1 when the, bank president leaves. A downtown businessman from an older Lizbeth family (80 years in Lizbeth confers this

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114 informal social claim to status, also a member of the State Bank's board of directors and chairman of the city zoning board, enters to sit at position 5. A gentleman farmer comes in to sit at position 3. While he is present, this man answers the phone behind the cash register, which he operates for the waitress; he pushed the initiative to have a "wet -dry" referendum and personally led the "wets." Between 8:00 and 9:00 a.m. sections B and C fill further; B predominantly with the retired or semiretired and C with young men of business. A former Apalachee County Judge who sits on the Lizbeth city council arrives and takes a seat in B with his back to the wall. When Lizbeth needed a full-time administrator recently, they chose not to seek a professional but to recruit a local. The local appointed sat on the council at that time and happened to need a job. Although he was nearing retirement, the ex-judge also needed a job of some sort, because a-young^man had recently beaten him for the judgeship: the exjudge accepted the appointment to the council position vacated by the new administrator, who usually departs the cafe but a few minutes before the ex-judge enters. (The Lizbeth mayor who made these appointments meets with a later, more select group at' the Main Street Restaurant across the street.) The recently retired, long-time Lizbeth city clerk arrives in B. Also arrive a gregarious exbusinessman/ex-councilman; the certified public accountant and his assistant, whose office is nearby; the retired Army National

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115 Guardsman; an ex-councilman/realtor; perhaps an oil distributor, and a few others. Making an occasional appearance in section A during this time comes another oil distributor, a director of the State Bank. Section C fills and empties. The young executive vice president of the Chamber of Commerce arrives; a young businessman, whose father sits in B, arrives with a business partner who works actively on the city recreation board. Between 8:30 and 8:45 a.m. the bank president leaves, and without ceremony his three employees rise and exit with him. This exodus signals the ending of this phase of morning coffee. Shortly thereafter the nonretired drift out, each in response to personal duties. At about 9:00 a.m. the atmosphere in the cafe changes. The gainfully employed have departed, and a clique of four to six retired men remain to enjoy a casual third cup of coffee and bantering conversation. This loose group sits toward the northern end of section B. One member who enters about this time seats himself at A 4. Members of this group straggle out as late as 10:00 a.m. when a group of working women enters to occupy section C for ten to fifteen minutes, their mid-morning coffee break. If all the men in this corner area have not departed, one of the women will accuse them of waiting to have coffee with "the ladies." This jibe invariably moves the men to speedy departure. Between 10:00 and 10:30 a.m. a related group forms and disperses in the large corner booth at the window of the Main Street

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116 Restaurant, across the street from the cafe. Here meet the Lizbeth mayor, a retired telephone company executive; the chairman of the Apalachee Democratic Executive Committee, a retired businessman; a retired aide of the current Florida Governor, an ex-State-Senator and long-time county hospital administrator; the city administrator in for more coffee; perhaps the current director of the area telephone company; also a lawyer-gentleman farmer and member of the hospital trustees . Here again troop the downtown merchant and downtown broker from section A of the cafe's morning group, walking to the restaurant from their nearby businesses. Earlier, at 8:45 a.m., three vice presidents from the County Bank met in the Main Street Restaurant. They paraded from the County Bank, directly across from the county courthouse, around the storefront of the Rebel Yell Cafe to the restaurant. None of the cafe group appeared to notice them: they did not look in through the windows or make any sign of recognition to anyone within. Another collection of coffee drinkers much different from the downtown groups, but not totally exclusive of those groups, meets at the Outskirts Restaurant on the western edge of Lizbeth. Local people humorously suggest that "More farming goes on at the Outskirts than anywhere else in the county." This restaurant, popular with countrymen, features round tables seating six or seven and plenty of coffee throughout the day. Here in early morning and late afternoon one may find: farmers young and old, the Sheriff and/or several deputies, Public Service Commission

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117 deputies, an ex-county-commissioner/ farmer/businessman, foremen and laborers from the chicken-processing factory, drivers of chicken trucks, the president of the county Cattlemen's Association, the director of the Lizbeth livestock market, an ex-Sheriff director of the county bank who is occupied as a timber middleman, and other farmand livestock-oriented persons. Each of these groups has its rules for admission, acceptable topics of conversation, and its cast of characters . A member's presence or absence can be scheduled by past performance and others' knowledge of his schedule. Habitues know, for instance, that the retired newspaper publisher visits the Rebel Yell Cafe only on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings but can be found on Thursday and Friday afternoons at the Outskirts. Failure to appear at usual times sets off speculation about the health or whereabouts of the regular. Too, the topics of conversation at the Outskirts run more frequently to livestock and farming matters than they do in the downtown circles. At the Outskirts matters of international importance tend to be settled by a hypothetical resort to armed violence, and some of the favorite reminiscences are war stories--not so in downtown circles. Political matters are discussed at the Outskirts with disbelief and scatological fatalism: the downtown groups handle political affairs as practical matters of personnel and materiel. The lewd jokes of the Outskirts would bring little laughter downtown. Certain of the members of the downtown coffee group frequent country circles at the Outskirts. The ex-newspaper-publisher, the

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118 retired national guardsman, and the ex-gubernatorial -assistant provide valuable linkage and communication functions between town and country, between townmen and countrymen, between city officials and county officials. Dual access also allows the publisher, for instance, access to the gossip of both worlds, and he provides the community with access to a newspaper-long the only source of local news other than word of mouth. The nature of the townmancountryman social system structures political competition in Apalachee County. The clique of townmen that meets at the Rebel Yell Cafe are a group: "... a number of people who interact with one another in accord with established patterns," members of which hold ". . . self-definition as a member and the same definition by others . . ." (Merton, 1964, pp. 285-86). Members of this group, for instance, have timetables -known to other members, and clique seating in the cafe is rank ordered in sections. From this group rises what we shall call an interactional faction , a subgroup organized temporarily for political action. The State Bank and the Chamber of Commerce are twin organizational rallying points for the townmen. The countrymen of the Outskirts Restaurant represents that part of the community tradition symbolically and structurally opposed to the townmen. These countrymen tend to affiliate with the County Bank. In contrast to the townmen the factions of the countrymen coalesce from the country collective: ". . . people who have a sense of solidarity by virtue of sharing common values

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119 and who have acquired an attendant sense of moral obligation to fulfill role-expectations" (Merton, 1964, p. 299). These countrymen reject the associational model for their coffee klatsch. At the Outskirts men sit hunched about tables, mixing in egalitarian rather than hierarchical fashion. We shall call the type of faction representative of this collective a structural faction, because the leaders hold positions within the collective, roles which carry attendant moral obligations. Two enduring Lizbeth coalitions dominate Apalachee County politics, relating historically to the local credit imperatives. These coalitions date from the turn-of-the-century origin of the downtown banks, the County Bank in 1901 and the State Bank in 1916. The County Bank spawned the Lizbeth Savings and Loan in 1961. Jordan boasts a bank owned and directed locally. It is tied informally to the politics of the State Bank although, as we shall see, its social personality replicates that of the County Bank. During the depression years of the early 1930s the U. S. Congress established a Production Credit Association (PCA) to supplement the federal land-bank program of the early 1900s, and a branch operates in Lizbeth to provide "specialized credit services" to farmers. The PCA is owned and operated locally, governed by federal regulation, and presently conducts business with the State Bank. In the past the PCA worked with the County Bank. At one time yet another bank operated in the county. Run by cotton middlemen, it folded in 1928 upon the demise of local cotton farming.

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120 After bank reorganization and rechartering in 1916 a Lizbeth newspaper described the officers and directors of the State Bank this way: From its inception the officers of the bank have been carefully chosen from among the true and time tried business men of the country and city. No experiments have been made with unknown men. Their records have always read clear. None others have ever had a place on the directorate. (Lizbeth News Leader, September 30, 1916, p. 1) [The directors were] Men of known honesty, sagacity, business acumen and sagacity [sic]. It will be seen that they are successful men of affairs, not misfits, failures nor trials, but time tried, true and safe men. , _, IP2 J The finances needed to charter the State Bank originated outside the county with other banking interests, but local capital came from naval stores operators in the county. A member of the most prominent timber family (considered a "founding family") operated the bank in the 'teens: "He was reared right here, and learned business in the hard school of experience, after leaving the formal schools, and he is attending to that which he learned, all the time" (Lizbeth News Leader, September 30, 1916. p. 2). A prominent Lizbeth businessman and the president of the Jordan Bank ("a southern gentleman") rounded off the list of the "tried and true." In contrast the County Bank was organized with a state charter in 1901, and soon after its formation, controlling interest

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121 passed to a wealthy county naval stores capitalist (the county's first "millionaire"). This operator, whose large wooden house stood as a landmark long after he and his wife died childless, successfully promoted his bank president (a lawyer-scion of a neighboring county's banking family) for the state legislature and then, in 1921, for Governor of the State of Florida. As with the officers and directors of the State Bank, early boards of directors of the County Bank included family names that still appear on the boards and are today considered among the older established families. A wealthy sawmill owner purchased the County Bank in 1928. When the ex-Governor returned from Tallahassee in 1925, he resumed his duties as president of this bank, but friction arose with the new bank owner in 1928 and the ex-Governor moved to the presidency of the rival State Bank. _ The sawmill owner held the County Bank until 1951, when the present family owners bought controlling interest. The current family owners made their fortune in the 1930s and 1940s, speculating in the flatwoods timber of a Gulf coastal county. This family also purchased the sawmill magnate's two-story Lizbeth residence and, shortly thereafter, his bank in a neighboring county. The State Bank fell under the sway of the ex-Governor's family and remained so even after the ex-Governor retired in 1950. In that year, the ex-Governor's son-in-law, a former bookkeeper for a large lumber corporation, accepted the presidency

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122 of the bank. In 1967 a state-wide banking chain, headquartered in south Florida, purchased the State Bank. Like the ex-Governor, the current president of the State Bank began his banking career with the County Bank. Over the years the two Lizbeth banks have served as nuclei of a rivalry which took on political and social significance in 1928, when the ex-Governor moved to the State Bank amid rancorous undercurrents. In 1928 the post-war bubble of financial speculation had reached its limits, inflating prices for agricultural lands and driving the smaller yeoman farmers onto less productive lands. Nearly all Apalachee lands fit this "less productive" category and need extensive, expensive fertilization, and with the county struggling to recover from the boll weevil's devastation by planting flue-cured tobacco, the easy credit of the times was stretched. In this year, preliminary to the stock market collapse, the small bank built by cotton middlemen folded, and the Jordan Bank teetered on collapse. Today townmen tend to deny the importance of the rivalry, explaining that it is "only natural" for two strong banks in a small county seat to have a business rivalry. Townmen urge that the bitterness of the former era is gone, having ended in the early 1950s, when the ex-Governor died and a new family purchased the County Bank and anyway, they claim, no banking chain would today allow such rude local scrapping. As nuclei about which factions form, the banks surround themselves with the primary symbols pertinent to their philosophies

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123 and themselves stand as secondary symbols to the people of the county: banking with the County Bank connotes ("means") something other than banking with the State Bank. The Lizbeth banks properly are named The First X Bank of Lizbeth and the First Y Bank of Lizbeth, the Jordan bank is The Jordan State Bank. In the mottoes county banks use in advertisements we see representations of different theories of community: The Jordan State Bank: "Serving Nice People Since 1911: The Lizbeth County Bank: "The Friendly First" "Home Owned and Home Controlled" "Serving This Area For Over 75 Years" The Lizbeth State Bank: None Although the motto and symbolized life style of the Jordan Bank parallels that of the County Bank, the represented Jordan political clique interacts with the State Bank faction. This contradiction expresses the social cleavage and rivalry between Jordan and Lizbeth municipalities. Rather than ally themselves with a clique representing the countryman's life-style, the County Bank clique, the most powerful group in the county and hence the clique that the people of Jordan blame for the relative underdevelopment of the southern end of the county, the Jordan banking group has allied itself with the opposition to this politically dominant group: sentiment of locality is stronger than sentiment : of life-style.

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124 Banks owned by Apalacheeans emphasize "length of service to" (read "residence in") Apalachee County in their advertisements. Both emphasize the public face of the county as "friendly" and "nice." The County Bank, for instance, displays a great tile mosaic map of Apalachee County in the center of its lobby floor and has two chunks of an early landmark tree mounted for display. This bank also provides a table for display of agricultural products (such as extra-huge cucumbers or pumpkins) , pictures of which appear in local newspapers with the caption: "On display in the lobby of the Lizbeth County Bank." Using advertisements that spotlight tradition-specific values and hence serve to reify these values, the locally owned banks seek to build social (and of course financial) capital. Because the State Bank is now owned by people who do not now and have never resided in Apalachee County and since its charter dates from only fifty-eight years, it cannot compete in the value arenas of "localism"--it lacks the social credit to compete. Locally owned banks flaunt localism as they do a theme that particularly vexes the officers of the State Bank: "You-re Not A Number To Us. All Accounts Are Listed In Your Name." The advertisement turns the lack of computerized clerical assistance into an asset by twisting it through the local value of personalism stemming from cracker frontier individualism and the egalitarianism of the countrymen. The State Bank's advertising theme seeks to connect Apalachee to the world of symbols outside the county, to "progress" and

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125 "modernization". The bank offers computerized service and projects a public image of disinterested clinical professionalism wherein personalities, localities, and family connections are immaterial to the business at hand. Whereas Babbittry seeks to humanize and vulgarize the business ethic, to compromise personalism and professionalism, the State Bank's owners have rejected this public image as well as the image of the local credit patron, opting for an image of noninvolvement and corporate insouciance. Indeed, the placement of advertisements follows the social philosophies of the banks and their cliques. The County Bank advertises in the brassy upstart Lizbeth Heraldas well as in the established Lizbeth News Leader. The State Bank places ads only in the News Leader. The ex-chairman of the county commission, with whom the Eerald bitterly contended for official county patronage, presently sits on the State Bank's board of .directors as does the owner of the News Leader. Hence the State Bank has not advertised in the Herald (the "other" paper). The News Leader features the advertisements of the State Bank with the editorial page, relegating the advertisements of the County Bank to the front of the second section. During the 1973 county liquor referendum the owner of the County Bank personally supported the "drys" while the State Bank clique supported the "wets." The Herald vigorously editorialized for the dry position in the referendum, the News Leader leaned moderately to the side of the wets.

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126 Each of the banks sponsors community activities and donates to fund-raising events. They sponsor prizes at the county fair, purchase advertising space in club activity brochures, and donate employee time to work in community affairs, like the Miss Apalachee County Beauty Pageant. The County Bank and the Jordan Bank have purchased portable cattle-loading chutes and donated them to the Cattlemens' Association of the county after affixing signs that conspicuously identify them as gifts of these banks. The banks identify themselves with different community groups. The State Bank has developed its strongest ties with the Apalachee County Chamber of Commerce in Lizbeth, whose motto "Together We Make Progress" with the words "Suwannee . River," decorates the map of the county on the chamber emblem. The Chamber styles itself: It is the business community at work as the central agency for community development for business, industry, the professions, and~"all civic interests--doing jobs that no individual can do alone--rendering many services that benefit all citizens. The Apalachee County Chamber of Commerce works to improve business and build a better community. It makes available to all members of the community-firms and individuals alike--the necessary vehicle through which to combine forces for the continuous, year after year program of work necessary for community development, trade promotion, civic activities, public relations for the community, and other projects or programs peculiar to the specific community's needs. Through their own organized efforts, all members of the chamber business and professional people alike--obtain many benefits, both direct and indirect, through increased community payrolls and total buying power;

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127 attraction of more customers from the trade area; helping solve city or county zoning, parking and license problems; taking action on county, state and national taxation and other legislation; solving of traffic and transportation problems; and working to prevent discriminatory freight rate structures. The Chamber works to build public sentiment on many civic problems in the community's interest and works closely with other organizations and public officials. ([Apalachee] Chamber of Commerce, 1972) Committee work typifies the activities of the local Chamber of Commerce. Governmental Relations Committee (Co-Chairmen: [president of the State Bank and a Lizbeth gentleman farmer]) Goals: 1. Study land use planning 2. Joint elected official meeting 3. Give attention to all legislative matters Results: 1. Legislative luncheon 2. Dinner for elected officials 3. Urged retention of Local Bureau of Revenue tax office Agricultural Development Committee (Chairman: [gentleman farmer]) Goals : 1. Adopt Soil and Water Conservation Program 2. Promote good forestry practices 3. Sponsor calf clinics and sales 4. Promote Lizbeth tobacco market 5. Sponsor youth livestock trophies at county fair Results: 1. Promoted Lizbeth tobacco markets 2. Aided local tobacco farmers through telegram effort (150 telegrams) protesting low market prices 3. Sponsored youth livestock trophies 4. Sponsored "Sell Your Tobacco in Lizbeth" campaign ([Apalachee] Chamber of Commerce, 1974) The Chamber's goals turn predominantly on "community development," meaning increased retail business activity for the Lizbeth

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128 merchant members of this voluntary association, although both Lizbeth city council and Apalachee county commission tithe from their budgets to maintain this non-profit association. The general lack of business members from the southern end of the county illustrates the antagonism between Lizbeth and Jordan, which the chamber's emphasis on building "public sentiment on many civic problems in the community's interest" has not resolved. Jordan citizens tend to believe that "community development" activity and "promotion" means development and promotion of Lizbeth only, and they resent Jordan's lack of growth and economic prosperity. When the county fair opens for its October week, the Chamber of Commerce sponsors trophies for youth winners in the livestock exhibitions. Compared to the carnival (the "midway"), these exhibitions are poorly attended by the public. The chamber bristles at the thought that area residents could spend their thousands of dollars "more profitably" in downtown businesses than in the carnival, and the chamber would prevent the carnival from coming to the fair if it could. In this chapter we have looked at the dominant cleavage in the Apalachee social structure--townmen-countrym en--by examining In 1975 a shopping mall opened for business fifteen blocks south of downtown and in direct competition with the downtown merchants of Lizbeth. In late 1974 the full-time executive vice president of the chamber admitted that the chamber had no contact of any sort with the owners and developers of the mall at any stage in the activity and further that he personally did not even know who financed it. The financing passed through the hands of the County Bank of Lizbeth.

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129 the men's groups whose personnel and organization represents that split. We have looked only at the informal men's groups because we will see that the political arena of Apalachee County generally allows only male action. Then we looked at the history of the two dominant banks of the county and their symbolic and associational relations to the social moieties. We studied county seat banks because access to credit is the life blood of this agricultural county-community and because the townman and countryman life-styles find structural and symbolic expression through banks serving as nuclei for social forces of opposition. The organization of the opposing elements restates the organizational principles of the represented life-styles: townmen = hierarchy in associations and countrymen = individualistic egalitarianism.

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CHAPTER 6 THE SYSTEM AND STRUCTURE OF GOVERNANCE We have dwelt at length on the social systems extant in Apalachee County, Florida, the social environment within which the political system operates. When studying the social allocation of resources, we must first consider background material because, as F. G. Bailey has written, "The environment both provides resources for political use and puts constraints upon political behavior" (Bailey, 1969, p. 10). The agricultural nature of the Apalachee environment and the county -community form of social system establish a particular arena in which the use of .materiel and the interaction of materiel with personnel conform to arena-specific rules. These rules we shall study in later chapters. All levels of governance are represented in Apalachee County. Demands of the nonlocal levels, federal and state governments, occupy a percentage of the people's time which is considered disproportionate to the return on time invested. This expressed feeling in turn nurtures a protective localism: I think we're lucky here. Why, it only takes me half an hour at most to have my car 130

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131 inspected, and I can go out to the inspection station any day I want. In Miami (Florida) once, I got to the station at 10:00 in the morning and didn't get through until 4:00 in the afternoon. You may make more money in a bigger place than Lizbeth, but you can't find a better life than the one we have here. Locals claim that state and federal levels of government have intruded in community affairs to an unacceptable extent. They retaliate in a spirit of animosity to governance in general and to nonlocal levels in particular, expressing grave doubts about governmental purposes, capabilities, effectiveness, and sincerity. They retaliate physically in such avenues as are open to them: occasionally refusing to cast ballots in elections; secretly destroying, ignoring, or making false statements on government forms (such as the agricultural census; although the government claims absolute confidentiality, many farmers doubt it) ; and maintaining a continual, critical opposition to "bureaucrats" as an economic class of nonproducers. Consider one especially obvious example of the hand of the federal government in local affairs--the regulation of tobacco production and marketing. The agricultural census of 1969 reported that 433 farms in Apalachee County grew marketable tobacco that year, down 292 from the previous census of 1964, earning $3,164,840, or 58 percent of the year's income from all crops ($5,454,043). To grow a crop of tobacco, a farmer must obtain the cooperation of the Agricultural

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132 Stabilization and Conservation Service of the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) to acquire a tobacco allotment and a tobacco marketing card. Allotments ration the amount of tobacco one may market . They may be rented to another farmer but not sold outright; they attach to a piece of land. To purchase an allotment, one must also purchase the land to which the allotment attaches. The allotment system regulates production so that the market will not fluctuate markedly from any one year to another and consequently tends to stabilize prices. A marketing card allows the farmer to sell his crop and must be presented to the warehouse owner before the warehouseman can accept the tobacco for sale. The card reports the total poundage the farmer may sell and over which the warehouseman, under penalty of law, may not accept. The tobacco allotment system, which predates World War II, causes controversy each year. Depending upon projected market demands for tobacco products (chewing tobacco, cigarettes, snuff), the powerful tobacco corporations request that the USDA raise or lower allotments across the board a certain percentage. For the 1975 crop year the companies requested and USDA authorized all allotment holders to grow 15 percent over their basic allotment. Farmers did increase the amount planted and subsequently panicked when prices initially offered by the companies fell below the previous year's offerings. Farm interests accused the USDA of collusion with the major tobacco companies to extort lower prices from the unorganized farmers. During the early period of the auction, farmers appealed for help to elected officials in Washington and Tallahassee and took dramatic action to gain the attention of the national news media. Aid for the farmers came quickly when the USDA rammed an increase in government "support prices" through the U.S. Congress in mid-summer 1975. When tobacco companies fail to buy the tobacco offered for sale, the USDA purchases the tobacco at a price established by federal law called the support price. This price sets an effective lower limit on the profitability of a farmer's crop. Tobacco companies must pay a price greater than the support price to purchase

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133 tobacco. The government stores its tobacco until needed by a company, which then purchases it at the support price from the government. This price depends upon the grade, or quality of the leaf, determined in the early morning hours of an auction day by government graders who check each pile offered for sale. Based on this single illustration of state and federal involvement in but one aspect of local life, we easily understand the acknowledged sense of provincial frustration with governance. 1 Action at these levels may invite hostility because such action is more "visible" than the activities of lower levels. The news media ignore local affairs, and Apalachee newspapers and radio stations give only the briefest outlines, without editorial comment, on local governance. Two levels of local governance oversee public affairs in Apalachee County: County-wide: Board of County Commissioners Apalachee County Board of Trustees Board of Public Instruction Municipal: City Council of Jordan City Council of Lizbeth Residents domiciled outside the municipal limits concern themselves directly only with county-wide governance. But residents "... federal folks were not interested in whether anything worked or not, all they were interested in was that you did it exactly like their rules said to do it" (Faulkner, 1947, p. 156).

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134 of either of the county municipalities find themselves directly involved in both levels--municipal and county. We first examine the county-wide level, then turn to the municipal level. The Apalachee county commission operates under noncharter status, the provisions and powers of which the Constitution of the State of Florida vaguely spells out. The state shall be divided by law into political subdivisions called counties. Counties may be created, abolished or changed by law, with provision for payment or apportionment of the public debt. (Article VIII, Sec. 1(a)) In every county there shall be a county seat at which shall be located the principal offices and permanent records of all county officers. (Article VIII, Sec. l(k)) John W. White has written: Traditionally, counties have been administrative subdivisions of the state, created by the state to perform essentially state-related functions on a decentralized basis. Cities, on the other hand, are created to provide a variety of local services which the citizens of the municipality desire. (in Morris, 1975, p. 298) Voters elect a Board of County Commissioners, five members, for staggered terms of office, and for this purpose, the county Supervisor of Elections divides the county into five districts (and thirteen subdistricts called precincts). Persons must stand for election to the commission to represent the district

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135 they live in, although all county electors vote for all five representatives. These internal divisions are altered over time to maintain roughly equivalent numbers of inhabitants in each. The commission levies taxes upon all county residents (including city residents, who are thus subject to both city and county taxes) and budgets funds through its various branches, each of which submits to the commission a separate budget request, which the commission routinely accepts. Otherwise, county government resembles a cluster of grapes (see Figure 9 ). The commission has direct authority to hire and fire only the building inspector, agricultural agent, health officer, road department director, sanitary landfill director, and the veterans' affairs officer. The county employs an attorney on a fee-for-services basis as do the municipalities. Certain of. the county departmental heads report to the commission onlyfor budgetary and coordinating purposes, since the people of the county elects them directly. These officials otherwise work between the people of the county and the equivalent departmental head at the state level. These are: Clerk of the Circuit Court (who also serves as secretary to the county commission), County Judge (elsewhere occasionally called the probate judge or the "high judge"), Property Appraiser (formerly the Tax Assessor), Supervisor of Elections, Tax Collector, and Sheriff (also the"high sheriff," meaning the Sheriff himself and not one of his appointed deputies) .

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136

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137 Included tables of budgets, expenses, incomes, and tax rates (see Tables 6 and 7) assist us in determining the resources available, of which finances are chief. We note a tendency in Table 7 for revenue to vary inversely with population, which may be explained by the higher cost necessary to provide basic governmental services to low density areas. Apalachee figures conform. The power of the county commission over departmental heads, even separately elected heads, lies in its control of the budget, although department heads elsewhere have occasionally appealed budget decisions to the state level of government. The Clerk of the Circuit Court, acting as secretary to the commission, sets the proposed budget in consultation with concerned officials and presents it to the commission for approval. We will return to the meaning of these figures in analyzing county political activity. The Governor of Florida appoints the members of the Apalachee County hospital board of trustees, five persons who, unlike the members of any other county governing board, serve without pay. These members, appointed at large from the county, unrestricted by district lines, report directly to the Governor's office. Trustees levy a tax millage for the support of the public hospital, which the county commission must impose and collect. The board of trustees formulates hospital policy and hires a full-time professional administrator to implement it. The

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138 TABLE 6 BASIC COUNTY REVENUES AND EXPENDITURES 1971 REVENUES

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139

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140 TABLE 8 APALACHEE COUNTY TAX SCHEDULE 1965-1975

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141 position of administrator alters the dynamics of hospital activity and communication, as does that of independent superintendent in the county school system, although the hospital administrator's position is less secure and more vulnerable to the whims of the board. While the Clerk of the Circuit Court performs administrative tasks for the county commission, hiring a full-time county administrator has been discussed now that the work load in the office of the clerk has expanded significantly. Too, an increased domain increases the status of the clerk relative to that of the commission. While the hiring of an administrator would clarify channels of communication and responsibility within county government, such action would inevitably diminish the power of the commissioners to wield personalistic influence. Appointing to the role a person whom commissioners could more easily control would be one solution. After firing a professional administrator, the Lizbeth city council chose this course of action, hiring one of their number--a wellknown downtown businessman, a "good old boy," and at the time a. fellow councilman; whose business failed at just the moment the position was considered. In 1973 the Lizbeth weekly newspaper ran the following assessment (see Table 9) of the hospital financial situation (which is based on a tax levy plus fee for services) from its first year of 2 operation. 2 The Apalachee County Hospital was the first hospital in the United States to be completed under the post-World-War-II HillBurton Act which promoted the development of local public hospitals,

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142 TABLE 9 APALACHEE COUNTY HOSPITAL FINANCIAL REPORT YEAR $ PROFIT/ (Loss) AVERAGE COST/PATIENT/DAY $ 16.41 15.43 14.03 19.91 17.52 16.13 17.07 16.26 18.52 19.14 22.01 21.01 20.41 19.39 27.95 29.95 32.90 36.30 47.52 53.17 66.30 Source: The Lizbeth News Leader, January 25, 1973, p. 2A. 1948-49

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143 The Apalachee County Board of Public Instruction sets policy for a school system in which there remain two school complexes-the larger in the northern end of the county in Lizbeth and the smaller in the southern end of the county in Jordan-expressing the latent animosities between the county regions. At one time schools received support from local communities organized as special tax districts. These districts maintained their own school buildings and paid teachers at a rate set personally by the local district school magistrates. In 1918 the county was divided into twentyfour separate districts. At that time county school superintendent J. W. O'Hara noted: Our out-buildings are all in very good shape. . . One special tax district has voted compulsory school attendance, but it is not successful. The law is too indefinite and has too many loopholes whereby it can be gotten out of. (in Florida Dept. of Education, September, 1967, pp. 99-100) In 1932 superintendent W. T. Newsome reported that the number of white schools in the county had dropped from sixty-six in 1924 to twenty-seven and that there remained twenty-six black schools. Black schools of the day cost about $8.75 per child for the school year; white schools cost upwards of $30.00 per child . for an equivalent period (Newsome, 1932) . Today the state constitution charges the five-member county school board with policy direction for the local school system. The board is assisted by a full-time administrator, the

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144 TABLE 10 REVENUES AND SELECTED EXPENDITURES 1973-74 APALACHEE COUNTY SCHOOL SYSTEM

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145 Superintendent of Public Instruction, whose powers have grown immeasurably since the years of the previous school-related quotations. Board members, although voted on at large, must reside within the district they represent (the same districts used to elect county commissioners, which penetrating the city of Lizbeth, divide it into quarters joining at town center; hence the at-large member of the city council). Like commissioners, board members receive a salary of approximately $7,500 per year. The Governor of the state appoints persons to fill vacancies on this board as he does with vacancies on other county-wide boards and commissions. The school board derives authority from and is responsible to the State Department of Education and the voters of the county. Lines of responsibility tie the municipal level directly to the state legislature, bypassing the county. The legislature charters municipalities separately, individually, which maintain corporate sovereignty at the will of that body. Cities and towns tax for expenditures authorized in their charter, basically public works and public safety. Article VIII, Sec. 2(a), of the state constitution states: "Municipalities maybe established or abolished and their charters amended pursuant to general or special law." Five-member city councils oversee the two municipalities of Apalachee County (a formerly important town east of Lizbeth surrendered its charter in the early 1930s) : Lizbeth and Jordan.

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146 Municipal residents vote on councilmen at large, though four of them must stand for office as representatives of the districts where they reside; the fifth may live anywhere in the city. The councilmen and the elected Lizbeth mayor receive a stipend for their part-time work. The Mayor of Lizbeth operates from a "weak" position, with direct power only over personnel appointments: the mayor makes the official appointment and the council approves or disapproves. In other matters of official business the mayor may recommend to the council, but he has no vote. Like the mayor, the elective City Clerk and Police Chief may reside anywhere within the city limits. A city administrator oversees day-to-day municipal operations with a director of public works. The small Jordan city government lacks a city administrator. Table 11 presents per-capita revenue and expense figures for Lizbeth and Jordan, contrasting them with average state-wide figures for municipalities of 5,000 to 20,000. At the time the State Department of Administration compiled these figures, 390 municipalities held charters in Florida. All data come from 1971 statistics, when Lizbeth and Jordan reported 6,830 and 820 inhabitants, respectively. Table 12 reports Lizbeth's revenues and expenses in detail. This information was taken from the annual audits of Lizbeth's accounts. When on July 27, 1974, the Apalachee County Supervisor of Elections announced that 8,982 people were certified as voters

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147

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148 TABLE 11 REVENUES PER CAPITA BY SOURCE, BONDED INDEBTEDNESS, AND EXPENDITURES: LIZBETH, JORDAN, FLORIDA MUNICIPALITIES OF 5,000-20,000 INHABITANTS ITEM

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149 TABLE 12 LIZBETH REVENUES AND EXPENSES

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150 in the county, requirements for certification to vote in public elections were: an attained age of eighteen years, official residency in the county, and a completed registration with the Supervisor of Elections. Blacks represent 23.53 percent of the 1970 population census in Apalachee County (3,662 of 15,559 people), but only 13.96 percent of the 1974 registered county voters (1,254 of 8,982 people). No other ethnic minority is significant in /the county or the area (see Table 13). Allowing for slippage because of the comparison of 1970 census figures with 1974 registration figures, the gap between potential black electorate and registered black electorate is significant. The fact of black underrepresentation at the Apalachee polls is perhaps best explained by the following reasons (not necessarily in this order) : -' : 1. A regional tradition of excluding blacks from voting (Key, 1950) • 2. A local tendency to resist change in caste-related matters. 3. Evidence that many black men adopt a subsistence strategy based on seasonal itinerance in agriculture because of the lack of local -jobs. 4. Inability of blacks to exercise selfcontrol over on-the-job time, traditionally a white-collar prerogative, in the local range of caste-typed un/semiskilled jobs.

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151

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152 The Democratic Party is the party of choice of 95 percent of these 8,982 registered voters, and a survey of the files of the Supervisor of Elections 1914-1940 (inclusive) revealed the information in Table 14. The Democratic Party has not always so dominated in the South. In the early nineteenth century strong Whig influence prevailed within the cavalier tradition, the "broadcloth" element (blackbelt planters and urban merchants and bankers) and the mountaineers of the southern highlands: it is precisely these elements that have budded in the twentieth Century as the organized Republican opposition, overlooking the centurylong heritage of Southern Negro Republicanism. This systematic neglect has caused the Negro voting registrants of the 1960s and 1970s to enter the Democratic camp. Although the county has voted for the Republican candidate for President of the United States a number of times since Eisenhower broke that barrier, dominance of the local Democrats has only lately been challenged. The growing Republican influence in urbanized south Florida and perhaps the legacy of nineteenth-century whiggery have promoted formation of a Young Republicans organization in Apalachee County. This club now boasts twenty or so active members--not one of whom is black, but all of whom belong to the downtown county seat businessbanking category--and the support of innumerable "closet Republicans" (registered Democrats who prefer not to bring their public

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153 TABLE 14 TOTAL APALACHEE COUNTY REGISTRATION 1914-1940 (inclusive) REGISTRANTS NUMBER PERCENT Black White Total 137 7,148 7,285 02 98 100 Democrat Black White Total 7 7,136 7,143 01 99 98 Republican Black White Total 130 12 142 92 08 02

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154 party affiliation in line with their private sympathies because of fear of public reaction to such an act) , such as the town bank owners and some wealthy merchants. \/ . 0. Key wrote that in Southern towns, "One never knows who is and who is not a Republican"; (1950, p. 277). The local party branches do not have well-developed ideologies or political programs. The Democratic Party maintains an overwhelming majority by presenting itself as The Forty; the party of the common man, the independent small farmer and businessman. Democrats tend to ignore Republicans altogether. The Republicans do not so much offer a positive self-image as attack prevailing local philosophies which Democrats have supported generally and traditionally. Republicans accuse the Democrats of liberalism, of swinging to "the left"--toward "socialism"--and claim that only Republicans are truly conservative and patriotic. As we shall. see, the widely reputed solidarity of the 3 Southern Democratic party is fictitious. The rigid solidarity of the South, according to a common and persistent opinion, downgraded issues and programs, encouraged a politics of personalities, gave rise to demagogues, fostered neglect and nonvoting, and reduced the region's influence in both national parties. (Tindall, 1972, p. 24) 3 Will Rogers is reported to have said "I am a member of no organized political party. I am a Democrat" (in Tindall, 1972, p. 23).

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155 This quotation suggests a primary cause--lack of a two-party system--for a set of regional characteristics, all of which presumably are empirically verifiable. But the cause itself is neither necessary nor sufficient to account for the results appended. One must examine locallevel politics in the context of regional social systems, as here, to make valid hypotheses about what accounts for the observed characteristics. We shall return to these points later, but we make here the following suggestions: that at the local level "issues and programs" have always been less important in U.S. politics than "personalities" and that "neglect and nonvoting," if more pronounced in the South than in other U.S. regions, relates to the caste disenfranchisement of the black person and to a regional social system (townmancountryman) which allows wide power differentials to exist between the politically active "courthouse clique" and the electorate at large. In this section we shall consider selected descriptive elements of the electoral process in Apalachee County: sex, caste, occupation, finances expended in winning office, and mean length of tenure in office. These elements characterize incumbency in the offices in the structure of governance. Officeholding is generally but not exclusively a male preserve, and examination of the exceptions to this general rule reveals a situational pattern for recruitment to office native to the area:

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156 1. Mayor of Lizbeth: One woman, elected on her own, held this office for two nonconsecutive terms in the 1920s and 1930s. 2. Property Appraiser (Tax Assessor): One woman held this office, appointed at the death of her elected husband. She subsequently won reelection on her own. 3. Superintendent of Public Instruction: One woman was appointed to fill the remaining term of her husband, who took military leave during the Second World War. When an incumbent of the late 1950s died in office, the vacancy was fiTSt tendered to the man's wife, who refused it. :j 4. Supervisor of Elections: A woman won this office in the late 1960s and has since accomplished reelection.'* 5. Tax Collector: A woman served one year when her husband took military leave Of the 67 county Supervisors of Elections in Florida in 1974, 49 were women. A north Florida supervisor explained to me that a high incidence of the male incumbents of this position were cripples and that one of them was a midget confined to a wheel chair. This reminds us what William Faulkner wrote about politics: . . . one of the foundation rocks of our national character itself. Which is the premise that politics and political office are not and never have been the method and means by which we can govern ourselves in peace and dignity and honor and security, but instead are our national refuge for our incompetents who have failed at every other occupation by means of which they might make a living for themselves and their families; and whom as a result we would have to feed and clothe and shelter out of our own private purses and means . The surest way to be elected to office in America is to have fathered seven or eight children and then lost your arm or leg in a sawmill accident: both of which--the reckless optimism which begot seven or eight children

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157 during the Second World War, but she did not win reelection. Another woman was appointed upon the death of the incumbent in the late 1950s and has since won reelection. The pattern revealed in these cases is the following: death or military leave removes an incumbent male and tenure remaining is offered to the spouse living in the community. An instance of recruitment to office following death according to this pattern took place, in 1975, when the wife of a deceased school board member was offered the appointment. Only after she declined were others considered. Then the local supporters of the Governor (who would ultimately make the official appointment) considered the sons of the deceased. This informal group (whom we shall consider) found the oldest son wanting because he operated a liquor store in a neighboring county. They recommended and the appointment fell to the second son, a young military retiree and farmer. Thereupon the oldest son moved out of the state. Throughout the time between the death of the incumbent and the appointment of the second son, local whites believed that the state chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) was pressuring the with nothing to feed them by but a sawmill, and the incredible ineptitude which would put an arm or a leg in range of a moving saw--should already have damned you from any form of public trust. (Faulkner, 1955, pp. 310-11)

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158 Governor to appoint a black person to the vacancy. Not only would accepting the NAACP recommendation have broken the tradition of excluding the black caste from local office, it would have violated the locally traditional pattern for filling such vacancies. The appointment devolved from wife to son, suggesting the hypothesis that locals, who call the pattern a "courtesy," view some offices as affairs between family and community rather than strictly between electorate and contestants. Otherwise the rational choice for appointment would be the man who ran second to the deceased incumbent in the previous election or a close crony of the Governor's supporters. Not only are women generally proscribed from the Apalachee political arena, but blacks stand scarce chance of sharing the public spotlight of political office. Of the 296 terms of office listed in Table 15, none were held by nonwhites. Only within the last ten years have nonwhites run for local office. Next we examine the occupations of the Apalachee officeholders during my visit to Apalachee County (1974-1975): Lizbeth city council: Two merchants Retired merchant School principal Grocer Retired politician (local) Retired corporation executive (mayor) County commission: Two timber middlemen Big farmer Retired grocer Appliance repairman--small farmer Merchant (Jordan)

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159

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16Q Hospital trustees: School board: Lawyer-gentleman farmer Retired businessman: Chairman, County Democratic Executive Committee Lawyer Retired businessman Newspaper owner: Ex-vice-president of Jordan State Bank (Jordan) Commercial oil distributor Big farmer Building contractor Veterinarian Industrial foreman Poultry farmer Newspaper owner: Ex-vice-president of Jordan State Bank (Jordan) Farmer-banker (Jordan) The office held is itself a prize and a beacon leading toward other prizes and spoils in the value arena of politics; thus competition for office should vary directly with expected return from victory, and one index of competition should be financial resources expended in its pursuit. Table 16 reports contributions to and expenditures from the "campaign treasury" of candi5 dates for five local offices in the 1974 election year. Of the thirteen entrants in the five races studied, nine reported no source of financial contributions other than their 5 These figures come from the candidates' financial disclosure statements held in the office of the Clerk of the Circuit Court and required by state statute. As with other figures copied from official documents, one may with some justification doubt the strict accuracy of the statements there recorded. I report the figures without placing full confidence in them and have made an effort to supplement them with information from other sources.

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161 TABLE 16 CAMPAIGN FUNDING 1974 CONTRIBUTIONS EXPENDITURES OUTCOME Office

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162 own pocketbook. In the three small contributions by others the money came principally from close relatives who value support of kinsmen as a personal obligation. One countrywoman said: "Well, the Sheriff dropped by to ask me and the husband to vote for him if we could. I had to tell him no, cause [the challenger] was my close kin and I felt I had to support him. But that didn't mean I didn't like him [the Sheriff]." Personality prompts the unusual case of a candidate receiving substantial support from others, as happened in a school board race wherein the victorious candidate received 63 percent of his finances from others. Here the well-qualified, highly respected victor entered the race late when it appeared that the only entrant (and hence the winner by default) would be a man whom most locals considered incompetent although "a. likeable enough fellow." The following story told me by a countryman illustrates personality politics: The countryman and several relatives had parked their pick-up truck at the Lizbeth drive-in hamburger stand when this man [the loser in the race considered] stuck his head in the open window and asked them to vote . for him. The man said that he wanted to get on the school board so he could straighten out some of those folks who already sat on it. It just so happened that two of those folks on the school board were related to these country people and they promptly told the man "where to go." Another fact speaking from these figures suggests that candidates for a salaried local office spend the equivalent of

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163 only 10 percent of one year's salary to get elected. This figure contrasts markedly with state and national campaign spending, wherein candidates expend many times over the salary to be had from office because they receive great financial! , support from others. One might suspect that the candidates of Apalachee County falsely report their finances. However, I do not think such a suspicion correct, for none reported widely divergent figures; of thirteen candidates, not all would use the same formula for underreporting, and no candidate accused another of falsifying the report. The people may believe the output from a dollar contribution is low--except for the salary to the officeholder--too low generally to risk a public investment in one candidate. The single exception and reasons for it have been noted. Hence, the natives make two statements. (1) The spoils advantage that an officeholder can make available to his supporters compared to those he would and probably would make available even to nonsupporters; is relatively slight — that the political field verges on spoils bankruptcy. (2) In an area where "everyone is related to everyone else" and where people believe political spoils small, few people risk alienating intimates of the opposed faction. The payoff from remaining uninvolved exceeds the payoff of active , involvement except for the dominant town-based factions. In this chapter we have considered the system and structure of governance in Apalachee County, the structure of roles as a

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164 formally established and accepted institutional set which purports to allocate values authoritatively— to decide who gets what, when, and how. Then we turned to the electoral frameworkthe voters of the county and associations of voters in organized political parties and clubs--and finally to the electoral process — standing for office and a description of those selected (caste, sex, occupation, and tenure). In Chapter 7 we shall consider the organization of political prizes available to actors in the Apalachee political arena.

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CHAPTER 7" . POLITICAL PRIZES Our path through Part II has brought us to a consideration of the prizes, demonstrable and speculative, available to political actors in Apalachee County. We began by setting the moiety structure, the competition of townmen and countrymen, and we moved to the structure of formal, normalized competition. We now focus on prizes derivative of successful activity in the political arena of periodic, normalized encounters. Following this chapter we will examine a set of cases of political competition of both periodic and nonperiodic (crisis) nature. The most obvious prize gained by victory in the political arena, elective office, can be held by only a handful of people at any one time: County level =17 Municipal level =14 These figures fluctuate over time because of governmental reorganizations. Additional offices such as state's attorney, State Representative, and State Senator occasionally fall to Apalachee natives, and while these offices have significant local impact, their effective constituency lives in a multicounty area. But office, the chief prize in and of itself, confers little except 165

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166 salary. Office is a key which unlocks a storehouse of potentialities for the officeholder and his supporters. Holding office confers one prize directly--salary. However, though hospital trustee positions do not pay, and city council positions pay roughly half that of the school board and the county commission (about $8,000.00). A ready local slander alleges that a candidate stands for office because he needs the salary. This motivation violates the normative images of office as a "sacred" public trust and of duty as custody of the public good. The allegation juxtaposes onto the image of office the image of the money economy, where one measures success, the good businessman, with a profit-and-loss balance sheet: one maximizes gains and minimizes losses; buys low and: sells high. The normative ideal portrays the public servant as one "sacrificing" his time and energy, often neglecting his own affairs; mentioning salary suggests the pragmatic image of a man trafficking in the public trust--turning activity in the semi-sacred political sphere to secular private ends. People rarely impute the office-for-profit theme in Apalachee County, but if the office-seeker is an outsider, natives bar no holds, for this situation violates the local norm of politics as an intimate form of competition among friends, relatives, and neighbors, all localists. When the Apalachee county commission hired a building inspector in 1975, they hired a marginally qualified "good old boy" sponsored by one of the commissioners, rejecting several highly qualified candidates who they suggested might not "get on with" (relate well to) locals.

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167 Since the natives are familists, this office-for-profit allegation suggests that the office-seeker or -holder was otherwise hard pressed to support his family in an acceptable manner, a locally dangerous imputation, because the reputation of being a "good provider" magnifies one's political image. The public tends to surround the politician in office with an aura of celebrity, worshipping in the officeholder the fact and necessity of hard work; lackadaisically feeding at the public trough would be a form of cruel self-mockery not to be endured. The quest for patronage in jobs is a basic organizing principle in Apalachee County politics. In a rural area experiencing out-migration because of lack of jobs, a political appointment genuinely blesses one not inclined to migrate. The Comprehensive Development Plan for Lizbeth (Florida Development Commission, 1963) expected that this out-migration would continue, especially among hlacks^as their "traditional" areas of employment (agricultural labor, sawmilling, turpentining) evaporated. Locals readily admit that politicians "used to" intervene directly in job placement, and though they claim this almost never happens today, the evidence indicates otherwise. Under the old county school system dozens of community "tax district" officials appointed, released, and set the salaries of teachers and administrators. Today locals with influence wield their powers when necessary to procure school jobs for relatives and block appointments at will, although the employment system

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168 ostensibly fulfills the requirements of a "rational bureaucracy"-hiring and promoting based on objective examinations. Regard the following case from Apalachee County: Family X and Family Y, both large families with members living in town and in the country, consider themselves related and between them have two members on the school board. Phyllis, a college graduate and member of Family Y, negotiates for an uncertain job out of the county. The week before the local schools open in August, this family member remains without a job. The anxious family pressures its relatives on the school board who, with the assistance of the school administration (which these extended families have supported for office) , create a new position at the last moment and offer it to Phyllis. Phyllis holds the new position for one week and is notified that the out-of-county job will be made available. Phyllis resigns the school job and leaves the county. The board and administration abolish the new position. As a political prize, job patronage is a double-edged sword. There are always fewer jobs than job seekers, and because the nature of local politics is intimate competition confined within an arena of neighbors and relatives, any allocation of such a prize disappoints more job seekers than it pleases. Because of the evolving nature of the local sociopolitical system, the observable use of job patronage as a political resource is on the decline. In "the old days" neighbors and relatives were generally the same, and election to office from a district meant directly representing the electors of that district. Today the cohesiveness of county neighborhoods is much

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169 diluted, and county officials are elected by all county voters , representing a district more in name than in fact. A prize (or an "issue" tangential to many prizes) much considered in its general absence is "progress" and "economic/ community development." Development per se does not generate opposition, but natives reckon that development may spur a growth that will run counter to the values of localism and familism. Growth would open the county to nonnatives (perhaps to "Yankees" and to the twentieth-century Yankee, the south Floridian) and nonkindred. The frightening, ambiguous quality of development is that once begun, it may multiply beyond the ability of Apalacheans to assimilate foreigners into local life-styles. Predictably, the prize of "progress" figures prominently in local encounters, the two dominant factions opposing each other in sentiments about the issue. "Development" has long been the announced goal of the State Bank-Chamber of Commerce faction, representing the "mainstream American" life-styles.. The County Bank faction opposes growth, preferring a "simpler" life-style based on yeoman virtues of familism, individualism, localism, and 1 personalism. Office confers celebrity upon the holder, public recognition. Upon assuming office, "my cousin Joe" takes on a new role and social personality as "my cousin Joe the commissioner." This As we shall see in Chapter 8, the shibboleth of "progress" was dangled before the electorate to draw attention from the central issues of the wet-dry election of 1973.

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170 matrix of roles is recognized wherever its incumbent goes. A former county commissioner declined to seek reelection in 1974 because, in his words, he was tired of all the complaints and phone calls he received at every hour about "every little thing people could think of to pester me with." Celebrity also allows the officeholder to identify his person with the role: "We could always tell newcomers that if they didn't know the public prosecutor, just to go up to the court room and look for the man with the red bow tie and red socks. That's him!" Further public office and position may derive from office. Officials often serve as directors of local banks, honorary chairmen of fund-raising drives, members of local "investigative" committees, as ready speechmakers for local activities and clubs, and in a multitude of other capacities. The Apalachee public expects that some officials will serve in these capacities and requires a performance. Failure to perform brings censure, and success, some small acclaim. This much of the strategy of office, then, can be likened to a game: the official must judge demands, must accept some, and must take a position of leadership. Failure to perform may reduce political capital and assure opposition to the incumbent in the next election year. Officeholders participate in this web of politically secondary positions, depending upon their relations in county social systems. Elected officials who relate to the State Bank faction, representing the townman value and club-oriented relational systems,

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171 tend to participate much more heavily in this web of secondary positions. Those who do not participate either fail to relate to the State Bank faction or do relate occupationally and socially within the town-country system. Consequently, the most active participants are: The Lizbeth mayor (a retired corporation executive and staunch leader in the State Bank faction) A county commissioner (a timber middleman and director of the State Bank) A hospital trustee (a Lizbeth lawyer-gentleman farmer and director of the State Bank) Three school board members (a Lizbeth building contractor, brother to the hospital trustee above; a Jordan newspaper owner and exofficer of the Jordan Bank; a farmer-bankeroutsider Republican and director of the Jordan Bank) Each of the three county banks has ex-officeholders or incumbents on their boards of directors, nine of thirty-two positions, and all of the officials served on the boards during an active portion of their office. An asterisk (*) denotes that directorship preceded election to public office: The Jordan Bank *One former county school board member and the only Republican to win election to an Apalachee County office since Reconstruction: a millionaire farmer-cattleman and exbanker from south Florida

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172 *Two former Jordan town councilmen, both long-term bank officers and stockholders The County Bank of Lizbeth One former sheriff of the county who is a wealthy timber middleman from Lizbeth The State Bank of Lizbeth *One member of the county hospital trustees who is an in-law of the bank's founding family One recent ex-chairman of the county commission who is a wealthy Lizbeth timber middleman One recent ex-State Representative who is a former Lizbeth grocer Although these board members serve without pay, logically it must be assumed that they exchange service for preferential treatment and some influence in local affairs and bank policies. In an agricultural county where yearly indebtedness of countrymen (on whom the county bases its income) to lending institutions is routine, this influence should not be underestimated. Holding a directorship confers public celebrity, increasing the politician's image as a person able to confer privileges or open avenues to privilege, even though real power is exercised by the bank owners. While an observable tendency for opposing political factions to bank at separate institutions remains (the County Bank attracting the broker and countryman set and the State Bank attracting the business-associational set) , the politician-director is expected to intercede with bank officers

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173 for his political faction. Probably, however, requests for personal assistance of this sort far outweigh any candidate's ability to stretch his political credit, and the process carries the seeds of its own eventual defeat: the more one intercedes, the more one is asked to intercede; the more one must fail, the lower one's credit must fall. It should be no surprise then that eight of the nine politician -directors are members of the State Bank faction (which includes the Jordan Bank group) . Politician-directors of the County Bank are more closely tied to the values and relations of the townman-countryman system of annual indebtedness. They would have more requests to intercede, since this system emphasizes personalistic relations, and their failure rate would consequently be greater. Thus, they would meet neither the countryman's nor the lending institution's expectations. Politiciandirectors of the State Bank, however, are free to call upon a morality higher than persons, the "objective" business ethic: hence a refusal or a failure to help is "nothing personal, you understand," just business as usual. The role of the politician as nexus of communication is a foundation block of the political institution, meaning that an elected official must "get around" in the county. Office allows and requires heightened communication to maintain political credit and to renew the spoils available to the officeholder and his faction. For example:

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174 During a school board meeting in 1975, the superintendent mentioned that a stand of pines on school property should be let out for bids from local timber dealers interested in cutting and selling them. One board member remarked that a Lizbeth timber dealer and member of the county commission had already approached him with an offer of $500 for the trees. Another member interrupted, smiling cynically, "Why those trees are worth two thousand dollars. Do you think he can afford it?" The informal approach was not accepted. Two points emerge from this anecdote: (1) The commissioner knew of the maturity and approaching sale of the trees and made an early move toward their purchase before the information became public. (2) The low offering price indicated to the board that the commissioner planned to derive a high profit from the timeliness of the information, not the office per se, for the board members ridiculed the amount of the offer, not its legitimacy. Except in extreme situations natives do not use the communications media as a resource for political profit (except in the ritual pre-election advertisements), personal slander, or muckraking, because private networks of communication are far more trustworthy, intimate, effective, and exclusive. Airing a story in public allows for uncertainty and manifold unknowable consequences, among them nontraditional interference by outside agencies or individuals. Also, publicizing county problems suggests that locals lack the ability and the unity solve and settle them, violating the ethic of localism; an especially humiliating

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175 action to locals who feel that they compete with surrounding counties. For example: When the county commissioners fired a nonelective county departmental head in 1973, they did so at the end of a special meeting called for an unrelated and unimportant purpose. They had apparently adjourned, and as soon as the reporters from the two Lizbeth newspapers vacated the room, the board quietly voted 3-2 to fire the man. As if on a prearranged signal, they officially adjourned without ceremony or comment. This matter only came to the attention of the public through the surprised outcries of the nonnative ex-departmental head. In this arrangement, the News Leader, the "establishment," older newspaper acquiesces; the "other" newspaper, the Herald, an upstart in business of but half a dozen years, does not. Consequently the Herald runs on a shoestring for want of local advertising support--including official patronage in the form of mandatory public announcements. Owners and employees of the older paper, which dates from the turn of the century, gather and process information, making it available only to the courthouse clique of downtown business interests. The News Leader publishes the past and the innocuous, information already available to the public. Office confers a limited measure of protection to the incumbent, protection not of a physical but of a spiritual and moral nature. When an official "took to drink" a few years ago, this habit destroyed his political credit in the county, and he did

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176 not run for reelection. Today it is muttered, "He couldn't be elected dog catcher now." A related case involved an official who "kept a woman on the side," a woman not his wife. Many believe that his accidental death followed a late-night rendezvous with his lover. Although Apalacheans widely condemned the actions of these men as scandalous, no mention of their situations ever made the newspapers or radio, no opponent ever spoke to the situations directly. Given the intricacy and intimacy of the informal networks of communication in Apalachee County, the communications media are unnecessary, indeed are provoking, with this kind of news. Accusations relating officeholders to pragmatic prizes to be had by manipulation of office in Apalachee County spring from the legendary county bolito ("numbers") operation. In the early 1950s writer-journalist William Bradford Huie visited Lizbeth to gather information for a book dealing with the bolito racket in the county (Huie, 1956). He suggested that wealthy, well-connected, local white people backed the game, making enormous profits in this manner: Each working day Sam's "writers" made their rounds. For each player the "writer" wrote a number, scribbling the number on two pieces of paper-one piece for the player, one for the "writer." Each player bet from five cents to ten dollars on his number. Later that day, in a semipublic place, the "banker" collected all the money, the "wheel" was spun, the winning numbers were determined; after which the winning numbers were posted in "jooks"

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177 and in several business establishments. The "banker" gave the "writers" the money to pay off the winners or "hitters." (Huie, 1956, p. 50) 2 Another of the recurring allegations made relates white office-holders to ownership of land, and this, like the allegation that people seek office because they need the salary, begs a substantiation difficult to come by. Having been burned once (by Huie), locals refuse to discuss the question. However, a black Lizbeth tradesman and a black Apalachee farmer together told the following story about an ex-Sheriff (this position figures more often in southern and local stories relating to pragmatic use of office for personal gain than all other local offices combined) : This Sheriff is the "daddy" to all his "chirrens" (children) in Apalachee County, especially to his black children. He's so nice he would open the county jail over the Christmas holidays, sending everybody home for a few days. He declined to run for a second term because he 2 This book remains a thorn in Apalachee County's side. Some claim that it lies outright, some that it tells the truth, but none are neutral. The first time I looked for it in the public library in Lizbeth, the librarians" assured me that it simply was out and, no, I could not reserve it. When I returned to look for it later, they wanted to know who I was and why I wanted the book, and only the personal intervention of the library director procured it for me. They said they did not lend the book to "just anyone" because many of the people and families mentioned still live in town. Had I not been careful to avoid the subject almost altogether, this specter could have seriously inhibited my field work.

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178 couldn't stand to arrest any of his children. Why, he got rich being nice to people! If you needed money, you could go to him for it and not worry that he would ask you for its return. A year might go by, and one day he'd be there asking could you help him out because he was really in a jam-up-mess and needed money. Well, if you didn't have any money, he'd just take a little something as "security," like the deed to your property. In this way he amassed lots of land. Why, he'd be so nice that when patroling the county looking for criminals, he'd drop in on old "widder wimmin" (widows) to see if they were all right, because he had heard a "panter" (panther) screaming out there the other night and just wanted to stop and make sure. . . . Then somehow the old lady would find herself rocking from the front porch of a shack on a quarteracre lot in the black quarters in Lizbeth, without having to be responsible for the upkeep on that forty acres or so she had in the country after her husband died. Yessir, he 'came rich bein' nice to people. Whether these pragmatic prizes are included in the county spoils system at this time is difficult to determine. A survey of the county Land Ownership Atlas (Smedley, 1970) did not reveal a single officeholder or recent past officeholder with 1,000+ acres of land, the principal of the previous story included. There are, nevertheless, several ways to skirt this fact. Registered continuous ownership includes the duty of paying taxes on the land, an onerous problem that one local family with 15,000+ acres has alleviated by incorporating much of the family holdings. Also, rapid turnover, acquisition and quick sale for profit, would not appear in the records, based on 1969 data. .Another alleged possibility is that officeholders hold legal

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179 title to the land while collecting a monthly fee from tenants who believe they are purchasing the land over time and who must then pay the property taxes. The tenants never succeed in paying the note. It is not a concluded certainty that officeholders and their political factions indulge in these pragmatic prizes, bolito and land fraud, or if they do, what the extent of the payoffs are, but a generalized local belief persists that such activities do exist. Mechanisms and relational networks which would make these prizes available and inviting to officeholders capable of manipulating them do exist. The extremely lucrative nature of these activities, principally indulged in by the white caste and usually at the expense of the black caste, makes them alluring, and the system does not well protect the black caste from such exploitation. Thus, any consideration of prizes derivative from entering the political arena would.be remiss without discussing these pragmatic, if illegal and semi-legal, possibilities. Countrymen think of road paving and maintenance funds disbursed by the county commission as a principal prize to be derived from that political field. Commissioners set road work priorities, each in his own district by dividing the budget allocation among districts. Although the county governments collect taxes from urban residents, commissioners believe urban road maintenance a responsibility of the respective cith council and only pave extra-urban roads. Records of the county road

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180 department furnished information on district allocations (see Table 17). TABLE 17 APALACHEE COUNTY ROAD AND BRIDGE EXPENDITURES BY DISTRICT Feb 73-Jan 74 $ Expended Manhours Feb 74 -Jan 75 $ Expended Manhours 39,913 159,139 157,844 169,120 179,373 4,635 6,272 12,627 14,195 12,551 79,311 112,908 150,992 109,246 147,525 5,540 ' 8,470 12,805 9,824 11,840 Table 18 gives relative rank orders of the districts compared on four indices: area, population, money expended in each of the two years reported above (mean) , and manhours expended in the two reported years (mean) .

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181 Table 18 seriously questions the assumption that commissioners regard aggregate road funds and materials as political spoils. Compared to area rank orderings, District 3 captures more than its share of the spoils, and District 4 slightly less. Compared on a population basis, wider discrepancies exist: Districts 1, 2, and 4 capture less than their share while Districts 3 and 5 capture far more. Interestingly, the commissioner mentioned frequently as able to talk other commissioners out of their road and bridge allocations, because he was a "smart" man, the commissioner from District 4, captured less than his district's due, on the basis of both area and population indices, during the very years that he wielded widest influence on the commission. The position in Table 18 of District 5, the Jordan area, also indicates that aggregate road funds do not figure prominently as spoils. A traditional opposition exists between the Lizbeth .3 northern area and the Jordon southern area, as we have said. Nevertheless, District 5, largest in area and smallest in population, appears to routinely capture a far greater share of the road funds than its voting power could claim. Perhaps an independent and locally powerful Jordan Bank and this bank's ties to the State Bank of Lizbeth give the area more political strength than it could otherwise claim. 3 Jordan and Lizbeth are 25 miles apart. The telephone book lists the schools in Lizbeth under "Apalachee County Schools," but lists the schools in Jordan under "Jordan High School." Officials voice this opposition when arguing over the distribution of spoils (such as parceling out shares of bus transportation to respective area schools) .

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182 These considerations lead to the hypothesis that today public expenditures between districts depend more on extant topographical and geological conditions and size of area than the relative political influence of the commissioners and their factions. Although the commissioner generally assumed the "weakest" politically captured the least road funds, his district had the smallest area. Thus, no final judgement can be made in this case without longterm analysis of road-funding patterns. Despite the lack of conclusive evidence about aggregate district road expenditures as spoils, it is certain that commissioners have direct influence over distribution of funds within their respective districts, in which case they act as sole allocators. Commissioners once interfered daily in the activities of the road department, hiring and firing on their own and directing work personally, but this practice has declined markedly in recent years as political returns from such activity have diminished. Even today, though, the commissioner from District 5 personally directs the road crew in that end of the county, claiming that the distance between Lizbeth and Jordan prohibits the daily return of employees and equipment to the county equipment compound in Lizbeth. Now that countrymen use motorized vehicles with the same frequency as townmen, now that the horse and wagon have disappeared from country lanes, a muddy road hinders but does not halt the work. In an era of air conditioning, television, and telephone,, countrymen use the front porch rocking chairs less

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183 for relaxation and interaction-dust from unpaved country roads irritates and is a nuisance, but it no longer stifles social intercourse. Still, natives note that paved roads lead to the isolated homes of ex-commissioners and their cronies: roads branch off to their small country churches and then halt, occasionally detouring around the front yard of some popular countryman. A county commissioner remarked wryly, that if he did nothing else constructive in office, he would at least have the road to his country home paved. Not all listeners heard this remark with humor, for the practice is believed widespread among commissioners from the country. Too, the officeholder flaunted his power to a public relatively helpless to imitate or hinder. The public display of this power offended many listeners who would have objected far less to his paving the road and not so exposing his action. His behavior openly expressed power differentials that the lingering egalitarian social ethic, derivative of the cracker-calvinist social tradition, would repudiate. In Chapter 6 we discussed the social origins of the dominant Lizbeth factions—representatives of a cleavage between moieties in the Apalachee county-community cultural tradition between townmen and countrymen. The County Bank served as a focus for factions derivative of the countrymen, yeoman-dirt farmer collective; the State Bank was a rallying point for a clique of townmen from which factions rose to engage in political action.

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184 This chapter concerned the set of political prizes derivative of a competition scheduled and normalized in the Apalachee political arena. We have examined: elective office, salary, job patronage, "progress," celebrity, community activities, secondary offices and positions, communication, relations to the media, protection, and the pragmatic prizes-profit from bolito operations and land dealings. Thus, we have moved from the more demonstrable prizes to the more speculative prizes--from holding office to legally marginal activities. Certain of these prizes are not strictly personal but accrue to factions or cliques: "progress," communication, and perhaps the pragmatic prizes. In this chapter we have also examined the participation of officeholders in the set of prizes sketched, because all holders of public office do not automatically receive these prizes. In Chapter 8 we shall examine cases of conflict in the political arena of the Apalachee countycommunity. First, we discuss the scheduled, normalized competitions centering on the prizes sketched in this chapter. Then we briefly reexamine .the extraordinary contest we have called A Community Event (the wetdry referendum) . At stake in this abnormal contest was a prize more significant than the spoils of office--at stake was the tradition of leadership of the countrymen and the accepted -\y. valuation of the countryman's life-style.

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CHAPTER 8 POLITICAL ENCOUNTERS In this chapter we examine spheres of political influence and activity by studying a set of contests for political office and by evaluating the wet-dry encounter we have already described in part. Bailey (1969) described an encounter as a political situation wherein antagonistic groups publicly agree on an assessment of strengths and rankings. Groups play out encounters within a game; in a fight groups seek to overturn the game itself and establish a new set of rules for political competition altogether. While the contests for office were encounters pure and simple, the wet-dry election verged on a fight because one faction sought to impose, not only its will in the particular case, but also, as a rider to the issue, its program for general community restructuring. In sum we shall examine these events as rituals in the political life of Apalachee County. Each of the boards and commissions of Apalachee County may be understood as separate fields of sociopolitical activity with their own sets of actors and systems of recruitment and influence. The Lizbeth city council and the county hospital trustees tend to respond to townmen and the State Bank clique; members of both participate in the townman life-styles. We 185

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186 would expect this response of the City Councils of Lizbeth and Jordan but not necessarily of the hospital trustees. Their activity we may view as a form of highly ritualized display by the well-connected (each member is appointed directly by the Governor of Florida) , consistent with the downtown associational complex. The county commission and the county school board, on the other hand, tend to respond to the initiative of the County Bank; their members tend to partic2 ipate in the life-style of the countrymen:. One cannot understand the whole of the political system by investigating any one governmental structure or any single organization or institution in this case, because the whole, the county-community, consists of a set of nonhomogenous subfields. Lizbeth politics is not wholly clarified by an examination of county school board policies and procedures. In this section we consider texts of radio announcements which advertised candidates for office in three political fields in 1974; state legislature, county school board, and county commission. We shall look for clues which publicize Were these positions elected, they would rapidly be included in the countryman system -if a salary were paid. The well-to-do would neither stand for office nor win election if salaries were paid. 2 Available evidence suggests that politics within the Jordan area breaks along lines similar to those within Lizbeth, the controlling hand held by the Jordan State Bank faction.

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187 value attachments and relate candidates to particular reference and interest groups --townmen and/or countrymen. In the race for State Representative, District 13, three men stood for office in 1974, each represented by the radio advertisements quoted below: This is [Alpha], candidate for State Representative, District 13. I was born and raised in [Apalachee County], Florida, attended public schools in [Apalachee County]. My background is primarily agriculture. I do have a degree in government from the University of Florida. We in north Florida have a history and a tradition of being a fighting people. We are being pressured constantly from south Florida legislatures (sic) who in turn try to provide solutions for north Florida problems. It is not working. Ladies and gentlemen, send [Alpha]^ a fighter to Tallahassee September 10. Thank you. Hello, I am [Beta], your candidate for House of Representatives, District 13. I was raised on a farm, have operated several successful businesses, served as county commissioner four years and Clerk of the Circuit Court twelve years. I am a Baptist, a Mason, and a Shriner; against the state interfering with county and city government. Vote for the man who is qualified, experienced, and aggressive--[Beta] . Thank you. We are now living in a time in which rural Florida is fast losing its voice in state government. With each passing year the Big Bend and Panhandle areas of the state send fewer and fewer representatives to the legislature. As a consequence, the people's influence there is lessened. In such a time, the representatives sent from our area must

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not be newcomers. Rather, we need a voice of experience whose name is already known and whose word is respected by those who will share in the processes of decisionmaking. Put a man with proven capability in the House. Reelect [Gamma] your State Representative, District 13. Each of the candidates in this race made a personal plea to the voters, verbalizing their loyalties and identities. They raised the old sectional issue of localism--north Florida versus south Florida. The challengers, Alpha and Beta, praise and identify with the tradition of fierce cracker individualism. The two challengers identify their roots, claiming native-son status: Both identify with agriculture, and Beta, an. old hand at local level politics in Apalachee County, recognizes the town-country split and strives to please both sides. The victor, Alpha, had the support of the County Bank of Lizbeth, while the incumbent, Gamma, was a member of the board of directors of the State Bank. Gamma used the principle of localism subtly and from a different perspective, for his pitch stressed longevity and reminds of the advertisements of the State Bank from 1916, wherein only "time tried, true and safe men" served as directors. In a race for a seat on the Apalachee County school board, two men stood for office in 1974. Epsilon, the: incumbent, deposited his campaign funds at the County Bank and won handily, taking ten of the thirteen county precincts. As a countryman,

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189 part-time farmer, and veterinarian, Epsilon carried most of the rural areas with ease. His largest margin came from the Jordan district, which Delta had especially singled out in an advertisement. This is [Delta], candidate for school board, District : .X . I am the owner of [Delta's business 1 and Delta's business 2 in Lizbeth]. I am married--married to the former . We have five children: three graduated from Apalachee High School. We have one in the [elementary] grades and one in the [middle] grades in our public schools. Having children in our public schools, I have a very keen interest in our schools in [Apalachee] County. I promise I will work hard to give the school children the best education possible for our tax dollars. I feel that the school board should always back up principals and teachers where they are carrying out their duties. I feel with my business experience I am qualified to make a good school board member. I will do everything I can for the vo-tech schools. Many of our people are not fortunate enough to be able to attend college. With this school in our community they can receive a trade and help them to make a living better. I am running my own campaign. I will always be open for suggestions, but I will not have to contact anyone for my final decisions when it comes time to vote. In the last few weeks we have heard a lot about the buildings and the programs that has (sic) been made in [Apalachee] County. I would like to point out to you the $87,000 was spent at the middle school was a state grant. .The $420,000 that was spent at the vo-tech school also was a state grant. The only local money that was spent on any of these improvements was $290,000 spent at the Jordan High School. The total amount that was spent at Jordan was $350,000, approximately $52,000 received from the state capital outlay fund. So you see, my friends, it would have made no difference who was your school board member. We would have received this money for this

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190 improvement anyway. Also the two and a quarter million to bi--uh for a new-primary-school will be a state grant also, (sic) I would appreciate your vote on September the 10th. Thank you. Delta's opponent, the incumbent, replied with only the following: I am [Epsilon], candidate for reelection to the [Apalachee] County School board, District X . If you are interested in a man that will work and act in a responsible manner on your school board, then vote for and reelect [Epsilon] on September the 10th. Delta reiterated: I am [Delta], candidate for--uh--school board, District X . I've been living in this county for 26 years and I would appreciate the opportunity of serving you as your school board member. In traveling over this county, I find that the people is most interested in the discipline in our schools and on our buses. If I am elected your school board member, I will cooperate with other members and the superintendent to devise some means-way--eh--and ways of doing something about this situation. I will appreciate your vote and support on September the 10th. Thank you. Delta, the challenger in this race, initially established his identity as a familist by identifying his wife and children. He did not hesitate to identify with the business community and deposited his campaign funds with the State Bank. Delta stressed his independence and came as close as anyone in the local races to opening objective "issues" (an occurrence rare in local elections, where the only issues--and those

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191 never publicly attacked or discussed--are-usually the personality and family of other candidates), although the depth of analysis was minimal and served only to emphasize the local divisions in the county. Delta polled best in the areas of the county that tended to go wet in the elections of 1967 and 1973 Everyone in the county knew that Epsilon was a familist. Indeed, people occasionally accused his large country family of treating the school system as a private employment preserve for the case of job procurement for a marginally employed family member, see Chapter 7. In the other race for a school board vacancy in 1974 the first woman to be elected to the school board in its history beat two men. This woman deposited at the County Bank, and the two men, one the incumbent, deposited at the State Bank. In a race for a seat on the Apalachee county commission, six men vied for office. Please help reelect [Zeta] county commissioner, District X . [Zeta] promises the same aggressive action in working for you, the people, as he has during the past four years. Keep -a hard working man in office. Reelect [Zeta], county commissioner, District X . I am [Eta], candidate for county commissioner for District X . I have lived in [Apalachee] County all of my life except for two years in the Army Medical Corps. I am a graduate of [Apalachee]: High School. I am married to the former . We have three

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192 sons which are also graduates-of [Apalachee] High: _, , and . I have been a member of our local National Guard unit for the past twenty three years. I am employed at the [Apalachee] County Hospital and have worked there for the past twenty one years. I am running for this office on my own. I am not being sponsored by any club, organization, or individual. If elected, I will not be everyone, but I will be one. I cannot do everything, but I can and will do one part. Your vote and support on September 10th will be appreciated. Thank you. To all of my supporters, I am grateful for all of your efforts in the first primary. I need your continued support. To those that did not vote for me or do not know me, I am a 36-year-old native of [Apalachee] County. I am a .mature and responsible person. My wife and I have two children, ages six and eight. I am a home-owner and a taxpayer. Along with farming, I own and operate a successful sales and service business. I became a candidate for this office, with only one intent and purpose and that is, to work and help plan for a better [Apalachee] County. I need your vote on October the 1st. [Advertisement for Theta] Thank you friends, I am [Iota], and I am-uh--running for county commission, District X . I was born and raised in [Apalachee] County and I am a lifetime a--farmer in the [Fair Hope] community. I am married and have two sons, and , and one daughter, . [son] is--the Air Force in Germany. I am a member of the [Fair Hope] Methodist Church, a member of the Masonic lodge, a member of the [Jordan] Sportman Club (sic), a member of the Lion Club, and also member of the Cattle Association. I am a World War II vet. On September 10th your vote and support will be a deep--appreciature (sic). Thank you.

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193 I am [Kappa], and I would like to serve as your county commissioner from District X . Most of you people know me and what I stand for. I've worked for the good of the farmer:, and businessman for the past twenty eight years and intend to continue to do so. I'm in favor of improvement in our recreation for the young and for the old, better roads and other improvements needed in a growing [Apalachee] County; :and I think this can be accomplished without any increase in. taxes. I'm aware of the impending influence of industrial and population growth and the effect of our county's economy and will do my best to take advantage of the good therein, while making every--ehh--every effort to prevent any objectionable after-effects on our environment. When elected, I will curtail my farming to enable me to have time for the county commission business. I solicit your vote and support October the 1st. Thank you. I am [Lambda], running for your county commissioner, District X . [Apalachee] County presently has facilities that could serve both the youth and the elderly. Let's use these facilities. With a little common sense and proper management these facilities can be' used to their fullest potential. This would benefit the entire county. I stand for new ideas~ strong leadership, and a workable government. A vote for [Lambda] is a vote for better government in [Apalachee] County. Now remember: "Make [Dan] your man in District X , because I want to work f**You!" Thank you. In these advertisements for county commission we find the same primary themes and avoidance of "issues" or personal attacks that we found earlier in advertisements for state legislature and school board. Candidates emphasize localist ties, stressing that they have lived in Apalachee County "all my life" or "for the past twenty eight years" thereby replicating the advertising of downtown businesses who promote

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194 faith in their business "maturity" and "sound judgment", by flaunting duration of tenure. Intensity of tenure also seems to be a factor. A number of candidates have remarked on their hard work in various community activities, church groups, and men's clubs. This acknowledgement is a ritual homage to the townspeople involved in the downtown associational complex. Candidates often mention military service, a patriotic localism adjunct to the theme of provincial localism. Where possible, candidates note their dual ties to the business and farming worlds, emphasizing that their business ventures were "successful" and neglecting to more than mention their farming interests. This may indicate that these candidates had names, identities, and reputations already known in the countryman's world and they needed the attention of townmen. Lambda, a school teacher recently moved to Apalachee County from a state in the northern United States was oriented to issues rather than to developing his public personality, and he lost heavily in the first primary, September 10th. . By appealing to "common sense and proper judgment" he offended more than he attracted, by implying that voters had used poor judgment in the past in sending candidates to office and thereby lacked common sense. His appeal to "new ideas, strong leadership, and a workable government" carried him well in the five precincts that split Lizbeth, for in these precincts he ran a very strong third in this four-way race: in the eight rural precincts he ran a poor fourth. Lambda

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195 tended to poll best in areas where the State Bank faction scored heavily during the wet-dry referendum: areas inhabited principally by townspeople. The majority of electors simply did not believe the quoted advertisement by Kappa. Not only did he engage in a major farming operation, he actively served as a member of the board of directors of the local Production Credit Association (discussed in Copter 6). No one in the electorate accused Kappa of willful deception, except perhaps self-deception; rather they said simply, "He doesn't have time." They elected Theta, a young appliance repairman who called himself a part-time farmer. Both Of these men deposited campaign funds in the County Bank. Too, Kappa hit on dangerous themes when he mentioned impending growth and development; natives project a healthy skepticism toward such growth and do not favor it. Kappa appeared to look positively at the possibility and to be currying the favor of the pro-"growth and development" State Bank clique. In the first primary. Kappa carried one precinct, Jordan; Theta carried twelve. In the second primary Kappa carried. lone third of the votes. In contract to the electoral contests discussed above, we turn again to a brief consideration of the wet-dry referendum. While we shall look for similar structuring elements in this referendum, we shall contrast this nonperiodic event to the periodic electoral contests.

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196 The Constitution of Florida empowers county governments to establish regulations on the sale of alcoholic beverages, and there remain ten Florida counties, all in north Florida, considered "dry." Local option on the legality or prohibition of the sale of intoxicating liquors, wines or beers shall be preserved to each county. The status of a county with respect thereto shall be changed only by vote of the electors in a special election called upon the petition of twenty-five percent of the electors of the county, and not sooner than two years after an earlier election on the same question. (Constitution of the State of Florida, Article VIII, Sec. 5, "Local Option") t This special provision stems from the idea that "The most profitable parts of the economy; are probably those that deal with liquor" (Morris § Hess, 1975, p. 63). Apalachee is a dry county, although it has not always been so. Natives mention that in earlier years the. Sheriff regularly destroyed illegal "moonshine" distilling operations (for corn liquor) in the county, and indeed some brag a little "shine" can be had today by knowing "the right people." But Apalachee they say never made shine like Baker County to the east, the regional "moonshin'e capital." Baker, on the edge of the Okefenokee Swamp, afforded miles of waterway mazes and hundreds of secluded swamp islands, an ecological habitat nearly impossible for police to control and much different from Apalachee 's rolling pine barrens. Apalachee

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197 has had several "wet" periods and people reminisce about the days of the downtown bars--about finding drunks on the street during the daytime. Townmen complain about the obviousness of liquor and of the intoxicated on the one hand and on the other hand about the mounting fortune that a set of twin brothers were making by owning the downtown liquor licenses (as if the people of Lizbeth participated in an "image of limited good"; see Foster, 1965). Drinking alcoholic beverages introduces a high potential for behavioral ambiguity into social settings, and social categories carefully define the social context specific to the respective category. Thus, overall regulation of this behavior can be seen as a political value allocation. Countrymen tend to view drinking as behavior appropriate in male adolescent peer groups; among mature cronies while hunting and fishing; or among small knots of men secretively passing bottles outside social events wherein countrywomen organize and orchestrate activity. For townspeople, drinking alcoholic beverages is an activity participated in by both sexes and is defined in part by associational ties. Certain of the private, town-based associations sanction, even promote, liquor, and the "country club set," the downtown group of town nabobs, participates. In the half-dozen beer bars and "jooks" around Lizbeth sit the poorer countrymen who work at jobs in town and on their small farms. Blacks and whites do not mix in area bars. The clientele of black bars tends to be more

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198 diversified than the clientele of white bars. The "mainstream Americans" or "middle classes" of Lizbeth and Jordan tend to be teetotalers in public. Apalachee cannot be considered absolutely dry, however. The majority of groceries (except the smallest neighborhood stores) sell beer Monday through Saturday. Otherwise, no liquor can legally be sold within the limits of the county (including wine, although people use a fine local variety of grape, the scuppernong, in homemade wine). People generally acknowledge that traditional "runners," such as the local taxi operators, sell "hard Liquor" to those whom they trust, and several years ago local police arrested a taxi operator for "bootlegging" whisky, hauling it in from surrounding counties and selling it secretly in Apalachee County. At that time the bootlegger simply paid a small misdemeanor fine and continued his operation after a decent wait--or so locals suggest. Since then the law has changed making the repetition of such an offense a felony punishable by a fine and a prison sentence; none:. has been arrested for this offense since the law changed. Despite public disavowal of liquor it remains available privately. Habituees of the beer bars and jooks sip occasionally from paper Dixie cups which the barmaid brings from a back or a side room. Middle-class lodge members take guests to the downtown lodge hall, making no secret of the fact that they serve liquor by the drink across the bar.

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199 The contradictions in local liquor attitudes vex newcomers, especially if they come from a wet county (a county in which there are few or no restrictions on the sale of alcoholic beverages). Newcomers claim that locals "drink wet and vote dry" in the occasional public referendum to change the county from dry to wet. The people of Apalachee County decided to "go dry" in the late 1940's, but there have been several efforts to change that, the latest in 1967 and 1973. Apalacheans voted as follows: Date

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200

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201 As I have mentioned, the established Lizbeth News-Leader remained neutral--even mildly pro-wet. The local owner-publisher of the established paper sat as a prominent member in the generally pro-wet State Bank faction. Twenty years ago another researcher in Apalachee County, here for journalistic rather than scholarly research, had referred to this man as "community minded" and "progressive" (see Huie, 1956). This neutralist stance maintained a necessary public front, a polite fiction, in this county where 85+ percent of the population attends Baptist churches which serve grape juice as sacramental wine, but it fooled no. one (was perhaps not meant to "fool" anyone but to help maintain that public surface of undivided local sympathies) as a defensive editorial in September proved: You disagree with the contents of our editor rials, we disagree with your tactics and are appalled by your Christianity. In fact, if you insist on making this a Religious or Biblical issue, we have followed the teachings of Jesus Christ more so than YOU, our anonymous one. We have no reason to feel remorse or guilt for anything that has been said in public or in this paper. Have you guilt? We have never asked for approval or agreement with personal views, but respect for what we believe in. Such beliefs, which are based on educational, Religious, and personal factors, do not make one less of a Christian, but more. (Editorial, Lizbeth News-Leader^ September 27, 1973, p. 2A) The wets organized under the rubric Committee for Legal Control and the drys as the United Drys. Few in the county would object to "legal control" of liquor per se. Since

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202 all liquor production, distribution, and marketing and much of the public and private consumption is controlled everywhere in the United States, the term legal control is a legal fiction. It implies that the state of affairs that exists is illegal and/or out of control, an implication made manifest in the committee's advertisements: DRY IS A LIE There is no such Thing As A Dry County It's a Bootlegger's Paradise Technically no other legal -state than "legal control" can exist. So, while the name wets offended many would-be supporters, most viewed "legal control" neutrally, even positively. The name united drys offended none of the drys either, but they did not take umbrage at the epithet a dry when the term was used to connote backwardness and ignorance and provincialism by the wets. Further, use of the word united expressed organized resistance, and before great pro-wet publicity, this symbolized activity directed to meet the wet threat. The drys denied the opposition the moral advantage of a name change, continuing to refer to them as the wets and thus keeping the nature of the issue-as-challenge before the public. The wets wanted to keep the issue a matter of economics and legality, even of morality, localism, and democracy.

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203 Their advertisements used the motto: "Keep those trade dollars at home--Promote Apalachee County." The chairman of the Apalachee County Committee for Legal Control wrote the following in an advertisement paid for by his committee. First, to those who say "We like it as it is", let me say "I don't" and feel the majority of people in [Apalachee] County feel the same way. I feel now and always have, that the lie of being dry (meaning sale) compromises the integrity of every citizen in [Apalachee] County, be they an elected official, farmer, merchant, employee, minister, law enforcement officer, or retiree. Further, that we live in a Country where our differences are settled amicably at the ballot box. Secondly, I believe that in [Apalachee] County, 1973, we cannot escape the reality that alcoholic beverage is a commodity woven into the social and economic fabric of all America, from the raw agriculture products, through processing, distribution and consumption. Out of 67 counties in Florida, there are only ten "dry" at this time. These ten are Calhoun, Gadsden, Hardee, Lafayette, Liberty, Madison, Santa Rosa, [Apalachee], Wakulla, and Washington, with an average per capita income, according to the latest census figures of only $1,939. The remaining 57 counties have 97% of the people with an average per capita income of $2,574. In voting on October 16th, to place the sale of alcoholic beverage under legal control, on a population basis, there will be only six quota licenses for all of [Apalachee] County. I believe that a merchant with a license to sell alcoholic beverages with an investment in a buildi-ng, fixtures and inventory, will be far more cooperative with our citizenry and law enforcement officers than those with licenses in neighboring counties or the bootlegger, in abiding by the laws relating to minors and habitual drunkards. We have proof on every hand that Florida's Legal Control Law has worked for forty years. . . is working now. . . and will continue to work.

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204 Of course, there are provisions for special licenses to Motels and Hotels having 100 rooms, and restaurants with seating capacity of at least 150 people, which also derive at least 51% of its income from the sale of food. In my opinion these licenses recognize another reality that should be considered and that is, alcoholic beverages have become so enmeshed with our food and lodging industries that our "lie of being dry" denies the visiting and traveling public a commodity to which they have become accustomed. That this results each week in the loss of an undetermined amount of trade dollars to our neighboring counties is unquestioned. Ask any businessman where the salesmen, buyers, examiners, auditors, manufacturer's representatives spend the night. The majority will tell you someplace other than [Lizbeth or Jordan] . That we thus lose the additional trade dollar of gasoline purchases and the morning meals is obvious. Let's quit kidding ourselves, there is no such thing as a "dry county". Alcoholic Beverages are sold and consumed in [Apalachee] County, so let's place it under legal control. Here and elsewhere wets urged the Apalacheans to "get on the bandwagon" and to "face the facts," suggesting that the act of voting dry would violate the very moral principles for so doing, principles the wets also claimed to share (opposing while refusing to sunder the ties of community fellowship). The wets implied that to vote dry would be not only "old fashioned" but reactionary as well. The wets dangled a higher standard of living before the eyes of readers, although no causative correlation can be found between a higher standard of living (a greater average percapita income) and living in a wet county. The strongest

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205 pitch, that more dollars spent in retail establishments in the county would benefit all the people of the county, is a most dubious assertion and certainly, from the point of view of the State Bank faction, a self-serving ethic. When three Lizbeth preachers and a vice president of the County Bank formed the United Drys, they accepted the proffered encounter of behalf of the community. The two elder preachers headed downtown "First" churches. The third had led a large Lizbeth Baptist church before being swept up in a fundamentalist pentacostalism (laying on of hands, speaking in tongues) expressing extreme individualism and spontaneity, whereupon the church dismissed him and he formed a small splinter Baptist church. Unfortugfitely for the wets, the active involvement of community preachers insured that the election would turn on other evaluative accounts than simple economics. The wets worked diligently to keep moral and religious overtones outside the acceptable issue arena. The established newspaper wrote: ". . .if you insist on making this a Religious or Biblical issue. . . ." (italics mine). Area peachers made free use .of their pulpits, however, and as economics has often come under their purview (tithing, rendering to Caesar and to God, the widow's mite), the wets should not have expected (and perhaps truly did not) that they would do otherwise. Preachers in Apalachee society have license to initiate to audiences from their raised pulpits, and congregations expect the church to be the "head of the community."

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206 Not only did religion and morals become involved, but in keeping with Apalachee political traditions, personalities entered the picture. The profit motives of the wet's leader became public rather late in the campaign, and although no one publicly accused the chairman of concealing the fact that he personally expected a handy profit from the change in county status, his public confirmation of what had been privately whispered for weeks seemed damning. It seemed that he had been forced into the admission. This development legitimately allowed people to focus on the personalities of the wets and to speculate about the honesty of their motives. Thus it sparked interest because here was something the people understood and could relate to: a man would make "an immense profit" selling land to a big outside motel chain if the county went wet. Given, as we have suggested before, the tendency for natives to look at the gains of others through the spectacles of an Apalachee version of "limited good," the development only hurt the cause of the wets. The drys capitalized on this theme, noting: WHO BENEFITS FROM LIQUOR? Former State Beverage Director, Don Meiklejohn, told the United Drys six years ago that a license which costs $600 in [Apalachee] County was worth at least $20,000. If it was worth that much then, what is it worth today? In Brevard County a license was bought for $1,800 and sold for $67,000. NO WONDER SOME FOLKS WANT TO GO WET!

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207 (segment of advertisement from the Lizbeth News Leader, September 27, 1973, p. The wets, realizing the sum total of influence and value pressure these local ministers could bring to bear, waxed bitter toward the end of the campaign and remain quietly so today. Their last advertisements lampooned "the Preachers" whom they accused of gaining support through intimidation, the specifics of the allegation remaining vague at best. The only club "the Preachers" might have been able to use, according to their own admission, was personal disapproval. Such disapproval however, carries great symbolic weight in Apalachee County, where late-arriving tradesmen and merchants are still warned to join the First Baptist Church if they wish to succeed in business. Wets claim (correctly I think) they would have won the contest if "the Preachers" had not "interfered." A recent state law demanded that wets and drys (in ;this~ case) file financial disclosure statements with the Clerk of the Circuit Court in the Apalachee County Courthouse. These records, open to public inspection, included the names of all contributors and the amounts of their donations. After a month of initial campaigning, the Lizbeth Herald published the list of wet contributors, a stroke of political genius. The editor of the paper later claimed that this caused the flow of contributions to the wets to "dry up." This editor, of course, favored the drys. Because Apalachee politics,

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208 personalist in principle, had rarely called names publicly and had never called them in the public media, this move was unexpected by the wets and functionally enlarged the political arena in a manner that the wets were prohibited from using as the publicly defined "antagonists" in the election. Late in the campaign, the wets' chairman noted that he donated $500 personally to the fray. One speculates that he acted as a conduit for the funds of others. In this way the wets would have enlarged the arena on their own behalf in a manner impossible to document because it was proscribed by law, even an admittedly weak (unenforceable) law. Normatively, the wets denied this practice just as the drys denied accepting big money from outside liquor interests who preferred the county dry because they could make large profits on liquor sold at inflated prices at county-line places of business. Pragmatically it would have made good business sense for both sides to have followed these practices. The financial disclosure statements do reveal, as we would expect, that the wets deposited their campaign funds in the State Bank of Lizbeth and the drys deposited their funds in the County Bank. The statements further revealed the following:

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209 .; Number of Largest Single Average Total Faction Contributors Contribution Contribution Contributions Drys 93 $200 $ 26.90 $2,502* Wets 24 $500 $108.33 $3,027 _ $418 available to the wets derived from excess funds collected during the 1967 election. Given the number of contributors: and the average size of the donations, one is forced to believe that the drys' base of support was much wider than that of the wets. There is the possibility that the drys recruited more fervent support than the wets and that the threat of public disclosure and censure did indeed prohibit locals from donating to the wets. In this chapter we have examined two sets of local events: the first set consisted of evidence from a routine electoral campaign for public offices in 1974, and the second, an unusual 1973 encounter to decide the county's official policy toward local sale of liquor. In the routine elections antagonists attempted to identify with both community moieties (townman and countryman) without bringing them into overt opposition. Factions played no role in these encounters, which were contested well within established rules of the game. Candidates promoted themselves through personal networks and through their families. In routine encounters no one challenged structuring principles.

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210 The 1973 community liquor referendum was a higher order encounter than the elections for local offices. In the wet-dry encounter antagonists identified with one particular moiety by opposing the other. Only in the crisis of this referendum did factions emerge from the moieties to carry on an encounter which narrowly missed rising to the level of a fight, wherein rules of the game would themselves have been at issue. The liquor interests challenged community valuation of the principle of "progress" and the political superiority of the countryman faction. Factions rose as:a higher order response to a threat to the game rules of handling encounters routine to the community way of life. Men working in factions intensified and channeled action and interaction; they heightened awareness of community symbols while monopolizing authoritative use of those symbols in the contested encounter. In Chapter 9 we shall locate common and unusual structuring themes in the two events. We will connect the events to the thread of social history traced in Part I and with the sketched structure of governance.

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CHAPTER 9 POLITICAL RESOLUTION Our discussion thus far has brought us to a point of evaluation. In Part I we suggested that the effective human community was the entire county, not just the city or its rural hinterland of dispersed hamlets and isolated farmsteads; that within this community a set of cultural traditions live on, socially compatible but antagonistic with each other. In Part II thus far we have suggested that the prevailing social subsystems of the county (town and country) both structured interaction in the local political arena and underlay the separate factions in the wet-dry election. The essence of the political activities discussed may be understood as an interactional system of competing moieties and individuals which exists in a dynamic equilibrium over time. The wet-dry referendum we have interpreted as a struggle for dominance between urban and rural moieties in the Apalachee county-community, and the individual contests for office, as scheduled tests of strength between community subsystems. The wet -dry encounter was a convulsive readjustment between systems in competitive equilibrium, and the 1974 elections were part of a routinized system for allowing minute adjustments 211

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212 in the system over time. If successful, the minute adjustments help minimize the number, uncertainty and intensity of major readjustments. First, was this community wet-dry decision "political'.'? We have interpreted political widely as a class of interaction and activity distinguished in events involving choosing among alternatives about public allocation of values: prizes and symbols of prizes. In this sense the wet-dry encounter studied in Chapter 7 constituted a basic public political decision about values as prescriptions for an acceptable lifestyle. Liquor symbolized a deeper-felt threat to the natives of the county than a simple change in public drinking behavior (even ardent drys claim that the county will never have a decent motel or restaurant until the county "goes wet") . We define this encounter political because it forced the people of the community to choose, in the most definitive sense, sides in a value dispute and in more than a value dispute. The encounter was also a fight for dominance between moieties in structural and symbolic opposition: a fight for community leadership. The dry faction, assisted by the County Bank, represented the interactional patterns, activity forms, and value structure characteristic of the countrymen's subsystem, founded on egalitarianism, familism (extended), localism, and personalism. The wet faction, part of the State Bank clique, embodied the townman life-style, whose suggested structuring principles have been familism (nuclear), hierarchy in organizations, and "progress."

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213 Were the wets and drys truly represented by factions? The people of Apalachee County overwhelmingly join only one political party, the Democratic. The Republicans, though present and represented by a small and tight-knit organization in Lizbeth, do not influence matters below the state level and indeed have little impact in Apalachee County at or above that level. One would thus think that divisions of party members contesting for prizes and spoils were factions, by definition, and perhaps so, but only in the sense of that term used by Bailey (1969) for instance. His view of factions as divisive elements in intraparty conflicts, by definition, leads to a false identity of ends and means in the study of political systems as definition (categorization) rather than discrimination of political process. V. 0. Key's classic study of politics in the South (1950) fell into this trap when he discussed Florida, "unbossed and unled": "Campaigns are fought between what appear to be new factions formed around new candidates for each campaign. They are essentially personal factions in contrast with the institutionalized factions of an organized politics" (Key, 1950, p. 101). When the county votes Republican, as it did in the November 1972 presidential general election (voting for Nixon, the Republican, over the Democrat, McGovern) , the Democratic candidate has somehow disqualified himself by carrying a liberal or Yankee image. Even in these times the Lizbeth organization exerts a minimal influence, as the results of the election show the electors voting against more than voting for.

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214 Here we have wished a better scalpel than Key's for the groups that we have called factions. Consequently we have used Nichols' (1973; in Banton 3 196Z) development of the concept because it allowed us to use faction as a stepping stone into the interdynamics of local political systems (especially systems threatened with change, such as the Apalachee system), while side-stepping the cumbersome and unenlightening analysis of party politics. Nichols' analysis of factions as "conflict groups" allows us to see the chairman of the wets, a local gentleman farmer, as a pragmatic leader (focused on evaluation of costs and benefits), not a normative leader (oriented to the rules of the game and the "public good"), a man whose prescription for winning the struggle was not generated from his inherent dynamism or any claim to charisma: he called himself a "one-man committee." The leader of the wets mobilized the latent energies of an ongoing clique while remaining part of that group. Mobilization on the liquor issue by the State Bank clique 2 carried a heavy transactional load: members expected to reap financial profit from successful involvement in the venture. 2 Transactional relationships are based on calculated exchange and mutual reckoning of gains and losses involved in that exchange: financial assistance may be exchanged for a promise of future support to enable the follower to bid on a lucrative liquor license if the faction is victorious. This type of relationship carries no further commitment beyond the specified exchange.

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215 A subgroup of the clique organized itself as a faction in order to pursue an issue-specific conflict. When the conflict was resolved, the political nature of the subgroup subsided but did not pass out of existence, for the nature of the group was defined by numerous relations tying its members together. One of these relations is a shared political interest (there are members of the group from both political parties). Considering the United Drys, we may genuinely re/er to them as a faction, though we will have some difficulty in discussing them in either of the two senses of the work commented on already. To properly understand the drys, we must also evaluate the leader-follower relation--a relation quite different from that of the wets. The dry leadership committee consisted of three ministers and a vice president of the County Bank. We safely see the bank vice president as the personal representative of the bank owner who lived in Lizbeth and who energetically (if quietly) supported the drys. This bank owner does not identify with the Lizbeth "upper crust"; he wears rough work clothes and drives an older car of distinctly "middle-class" vintage. Locals, however, refer to him, his children, and their families as the county's wealthiest inhabitants. The specter of this bank owner arises in all local discussions about county "decision-makers" or county "power structure." Apalacheans carry his image as the man whose assent is most heeded for success in any public venture. While the chairman

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216 of the county commission regularly visits his office, the bank owner operates as a forceful power broker rather than a de facto decision-maker cautioning rather than vetoing, suggesting rather than demanding. The bank owner has immense credit resources to lend relative to any individual citizen in the county. The form of his relation to those citizens replicates that of the tobacco warehouse owner, the old cotton broker, and the crossroads general store owner. In this system townmen acted as creditors and themselves did not enter the annual credit cycle as borrowers. Countrymen, however, approached bank owners in a system wherein they needed credit every year to make a crop, especially for great quantities of fertilizer for the sandy Apalachee soils. First, farmers needed guano for the cotton, and now they need nitrogen for the tobacco and lime for the peanuts, except in the southen end of the county where lime is plentiful. The bank owner lives from the fees for services; he grows wealthy from the interest repaid on his loan of credit. Each year the countryman must wrestle with the knowledge that the creditor may decide not to make the loan available. Occasionally a crop fails and bank notes cannot be met. In this situation a deferred note means continued solvency and perseverance in a preferred life-style. Were repayment on the note demanded, a family would be forced to alter its subsistence strategy, at least taking on a part-time salaried position for one of its members-probably the male, for among

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217 the small to medium country farmers, the female usually already has some job in the county seat. At worst the family would be forced to migrate, giving up its country life altogether. Even a part-time job alters the countryman's lifestyle considerably, for it demands that he surrender his halfyear-farming/half-year-hunting-and-fishing ideal, thus withdrawing substantially from a network of relations organized about the labor-sharing and the hunting-fishing complexes, derivatives of the yeoman-dirt farmer and cracker traditions. At this point in the credit system the principle of "personalism" regulates the nature of the relation of power between lender and borrower. The alternative to default involves a loyalty complex "up" in exchange for continued credit loyalty "down." To maintain the system in the long run, the flow of local resources up must somewhat exceed the flow down. . The inequality is the basis of the system, but a too great flow up would ruin the exchange and precipitate the collapse of the townman-countryman pattern of relations. Loyalty "up" means that secondary goods and services (e.g., accepting political advice, doing "favors" of a personal nature, and supporting the .creditor's community projects and policies) temporarily take the place of the primary credit repayment and help assure continued future credit. ' Why should the credit lender not foreclose in these cases? As bank owner, the credit lender facilitates a continual flow of exchanges through his institution. Were the flow inhibited,

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218 the bank owner and his immediate family would not personally be threatened with ruin, but the thousands of transactions which the bank handles and which define the bank itself would teeter on the brink of collapse, pushed there by the uncertainty and insecurity of hundreds of other persons akin to the foreclosed in situation as well as kinship. Foreclosure (area bank owners boast of their efforts in assisting local borrowers on the verge of financial disaster) is an act of transactional finality. In the long run the instiution benefits not from amassing wealth by foreclosures, but from extending overdue notes and translating the credit dependency to secondary areas. Thus extentions maintain or even heighten interaction, rather than diminishing it. The life of the community depends upon faith in the viability of these credit exchanges. The high credit rating of the County Bank (to a lesser extent the State Bank) forces its officers to moderate their business tactics and their methods of influence, because credit rests on finance and faith. Demands and vetoes emanating publicly from the bank grossly violate the personalist and egalitarian form of relations of the countryman's life-style. The very acuteness of the power disparity between the bank and any individual or any other local organization somewhat reduces the bank's options, because any display of power is highly visible in this small county. The banker must on occasion act with an authoritative finality to maintain the spectrum of his capabilities, but he must not flaunt his

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219 power by doing so too openly. Power there"by reduces to a potential--a threat overlain by faith in the promise that it will rarely be exercised. Indeed, in political disputes wherein the owner of the County Bank has become publicly and energetically involved, his record of success is a poor one. The differences between the institutions of the County Bank and the State Bank of Lizbeth stem from the nature of their connections to the dependent network of secondary credit loyalties. Nonlocal businessmen who delegate certain authorities to local managers within strict policy guidelines own the State Bank. The County Bank's owners live in and participate in the local community, setting their own .policies. The State Bank struggles to convert community relations to its "business" and "progress" image, ostensibly transacting in nonpersonalist profit-and-loss terms. This ethic must translate the language of localism, familism, and personalism into the terms of "community development" by publicly eschewing this secondary network by working in the open in a "businesslike" manner. The County Bank struggles to adapt its practices to the extant community system of relations hence the projected "friendly folks" image of the inside creditor. The County Bank thus frees itself to convert its capital into multiple informal credit relations which act as capital multipliers to its basic stock: the greater the involvement, the greater the commitment to involvement. Small but critical investments at

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220 moments of high stress carry sentimental loads not easilydischarged by simple loan repayment. The wet-dry issue was a political struggle, and the two sides were represented by factions for the duration, but now we must ask whether or not at issue was the baton de commandment symbolizing undisputed community leadership. This returns us to Bailey's definitions of "encounter" versus "fight" (1969). He said that in encounters, persons struggled for leadership positions, sides generally agreeing upon rules to be followed and the manner and date of deciding winners and losers. He saw fights, on the other hand, as no-holds-barred contests in which not only leadership but the basic game itself was at stake. The County Bank has long maintained a position of leadership, although this position has been threatened since the .. 1967 wet-dry election. The narrowness of the 1967 loss (50.6%-49.4%), however, left the State Bank clique feeling that the results were inconclusive and that its program verged on success. Thus, the faction representative of the State Bank clique waited five years, until it believed success certain, before again challenging the County Bank and losing, to its great surprise, and by an even larger margin than previously (53.6%-46.4%) . Victory in the wet-dry election could have visibly and dramatically illustrated a change in leadership if followed up by the townmen of the State Bank clique.

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221 To seize the reins of community leadership, the State Bank clique needed to demonstrate that it could initiate activity and interaction for the people of the community as a whole. It succeeded in a remarkable way, unleashing emotions and intensifying interactions to a crisis pitch; hence the aforementioned need to resort to the realm of sacred writings to dampen the generated fervor. The clique marked itself again as a viable contender in the county power arena, but perhaps one not to be trusted if implementation of its program would lead to such outbursts. In the second grab for victory the State Bank needed desperately to win because another unsuccessful attempt would consume political capital faster than it could be created. Apalacheans would not soon be ready to follow the lead of the State Bank-Chamber of Commerce clique in political adventures. Thus it was to the felt advantage of the State Bank to throw all its available credit into the fray. The factions involved in the wet-dry election of 1973 represented the socio-economic-political systems competing for dominance in Apalachee County and because of kindred socioeconomic structures, probably in much of the north Florida area. The present power of the County Bank, though disputed, is acknowledged. When an ex-Governor of Georgia and the current area State Representative graced the opening of the 1975 Apalachee County Fair and Livestock Show in November, the cultural apex of the year's activities in the townmancountryman system, a vice president' of the County Bank escorted

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222 them. When a U. S. Senator from Florida spoke to a Lizbeth men's club in 1975, another vice president of the County Bank escorted him. By calling upon ties outside the community, by bringing representatives of higher order systems of power into the local community and then controlling their visits, the County Bank demonstrates its influence and continued relational dominance in the townman-countryman system. Apalachee County lacked the plantation aristocrats who acted as social and economic creditors elsewhere in the South, so its banks formed from a combination of naval stores capitalists and the village nabob class (which Tindall (1972) considered the banker-merchant-lawyer-doctor-farmer or the small-town rich-man class). The naval stores capitalist participated in three interactional sets: as subordinate to outside purchasers of his raw extracts, as an equal with his predominantly outside associational fellows, and as a paternalistic superordinate to inner-county clients and dependents. Because his profits derived from a captive labor source, usually secluded deep in the woods, where the county seat legal system did not reach, he needed the protection of the politics of paternalist to cover for his extralegal activities (and generally extramoral--for even those who believed that the Creator put the black people on earth for the whites to work drew the line short of working them to death). Through interaction couched in paternalism the turpentiner could reconcile his superordinate position in the system with the

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223 fiercely held individualist ethic of the area's countrypeople (because the majority of his workers were blacks, the caste system permitted his ascendancy "naturally"). Cotton brokers, tobacco warehouse owners, and others who act as middlemen between local producers and outside processors act in roughly the same manner and for roughly the same reasons. The extent of their personal power derived from these positions depends upon their personal abilities and the ability of the boundaries of their brokerage activities to include quasi-legal and extralegal maneuvers. These creditors always operated as power brokers and still maintain this tradition. Thus, we see the County Bank of Lizbeth as the lineal descendant of the conservatively traditional power brokerage relation. Owners have preserved the egalitarian life-style of the town man -countryman system founded as it was on a patronclient relation to credit and expressed in the value system of localism, familism, and personalism--which between individuals grossly unequal in influence amounted to paternalism. The political field of the county commission most closely expresses these values and follows these forms of interaction in its activities. The school board next most closely follows these forms and values, although its interaction modulates through the person of a full-time superintendent (head administrator) elected on his own and not directly responsible to the board. A second element modulating school board activity is the presence of town women, women of the "town nabob" class who tend

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224 to feel and act superior to most members of the board. In the home these women oversee socialization and the cohesiveness of the family unit (Kimball & Pearsall, 1954). The activity of the school board combines the best of both ritual worlds for them: the drudgery of caring for children vividly offset by the community display functions of the club. Townspeople in the townmancountryman system found pathways to mobility few and generally blocked to them. The broker set controlled the system, and the only alternative to penurious 3 and precarious independence was clientage. A rare individual could capitalize on weaknesses in the structure to vault into higher status: a lumber company bookkeeper did so in Apalachee County, eventually coming to own a local bank, but this example was the rarity rather than the rule. Indeed, a town ethic suggesting that if brokers per se were not immoral, they were at least amoral hindered mobility through brokerage itself. A wealthy area turpentiner told me that many area residents privately considered him and his occupation immoral. Two historical accidents of the early twentieth century aided the Lizbeth townspeople in their quest for higher status: the dominant brokerage families failed to perpetuate themselves, and the county's income base shifted. The wealthiest brokers failed at "dynastic marriage," dispersing their 3 Thus many small towns in the area have at least two of every shop; one set for each of the dominant brokerage factions.

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225 properties rather than concentrating them. This process of dispersion and dissolution characterizes current families of area bank owners; family members have generally not married wealth. But there is no conscious or unconscious social strategy in Apalachee County paralleling the "dynastic marriage" systems of old elites anxious to pass on a patrimony; there are no old elites. Neither is there a genuine matrimonial strategy in this community. Townspeople with some claim to social aspiration emphasize both length of residence and business service and business continuity through a socially secure lineage. Successes at mobility based on lineage status are few, as the lack of planting aristocrats allows for no movement into an upper crust. This lack withdraws an absolute index of social achievement and status necessary for the measurement of one's own status. One may be superior or not, but by what margin is the most important question. The boll weevil ruined area cotton in the mid-1920s, and the demise of turpentining followed by the 1940s. Therefore the relational forms based on these activities withered, and the county opened to new subsistence patterns. With the older brokerage families dying or withdrawing, the townspeople realized an opportunity to capitalize on a leadership vacuum when they saw it: When the [Apalachee] County Chamber of Commerce holds its next annual meeting and receives the report on accomplishments during the year that report will not list the number

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226 of inches of free publicity obtained, the number of ^booster' items the Secretary has wormed into the columns of the press without cost, or the number of advertisements inserted in the northern newspapers and magazines. The report will inform the membership that the Chamber has located somewhere around 1,000 new residents in the county during the year and that the head of every family is a dirt farmer. During the ninety days ending February 23 the [Apalachee] Chamber had brought 101 farmers and their families into the county and put them on the land-the newcomers totalled 702 persons. It is one of the most remarkable examples of colonization work ever witnessed in the South and the thing that makes the feat still more noteworthy is the fact that the Chamber had spent less than $1,000 in carrying on the work up to February 23. At a trivial cost a sum which many Florida cities have expended on a single booster advertisement, it has increased the county's population by 702 persons, and every one of them out of swaddling clothes is a worker. It all came about when the [Apalachee] Chamber decided last fall it was about time to utilize some of its many thousands of acres of idle but fertile soil. [Apalachee] always has produced an excellent grade of bright leaf tobacco and it was determined to go after tobacco farmers. About the time the crop in the Carolinas and Virginia was in last fall Clarence Williams, Secretary of the [Apalachee] Chamber, took a couple of weeks off and made a motor trip through that territory. Unlike the majority of missionaries in alien country, Williams did little more on this trip than meet farmers and talk to them about [Apalachee] county (sic) . Several weeks after returning home he notified a few farmers in the Lake City, South Carolina, district, that the [Apalachee] Chamber proposed to bring some of them to Florida on a sight-seeing trip. The Chamber rounded up a bus which once had been used to haul prospects to a now defunct town lot proposition, and with Williams aboard as chaperone, sent it to South Carolina. Williams had little trouble finding forty farmers who had no

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227 objection to a free trip to Florida, and in a few days the bus returned to [Lizbeth] with the party of sightseers. The [Lizbeth] Rotary and Kiwanis Clubs and the Chamber took charge of the visitors and they were shown every nook and cranny of the county. Then they were hauled back home. Some of them beat the bus back to [Lizbeth], and brought with them their families and all of their worldly possessions. They wrote back to friends and the friends came down, then friends of the friends got the fever and the disease crossed into North Carolina and into Virginia. Where it will end no one knows, but more than 700 newcomers already are in [Apalachee] and more are coming. (Florida Chamber of Commerce, 1927, pp. 1-2) Lacking a heritage of propertied classes with which to identify, the mobility-stymied commercial interests of Lizbeth found themselves perfectly suited to the shameless Babbitry rampant during the last quarter of the nineteenth and the first quarter of the twentieth centuries, of which Sinclair Lewis wrote. These commercial interests espoused enterprise, social Darwinism's justification for their grasp for power. The 1927 farm colonization effort strove to import a following and seize the initiative from the temporarily helpless local powers of that time, who relied on cotton and naval stores financial backing. This colonization effort ultimately failed to embellish the following of the Chamber of Commerce-commercial faction in the county, for the dirt farmers were eventually absorbed into the way of life of the Apalachee dirt farmers. Descendents of the colonization effort who remain in farming in the county tend to be partial to the County

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228 Bank and its political orientation. Businessmen still used "enterprise" as a justification three and a half decades later during the wet-dry election, calling it "progress" and "community development." The challenge that the commercial interests issued to the established noncommercial brokerage class involved its own irony. The town businessman, despairing of entering high status through individual inheritance or amassing great properties, proposed climbing to power and prestige through collective efforts "in organizations such as the Chamber of Commerce, Rotary, and the Women's Club: a new mode of seizing and holding wealth and prestige. All the while they held strong to a "free enterprise" ethic wherein one got to heaven on one's own ability. These townspeople thus sought to redefine brokerage for Apalachee County in their own terms. Eventually this effort led to a number of encounters like the 1973 wet-dry election between factions representative of the two systems. Brokerage had previously related subsistence systems based on cotton and naval stores to the international economy through the wealth and power of local individuals. The merchants actively promoted tobacco and wanted to install themselves as a brokerage class mediating between inside and outside through associations. But because tobacco culture rested on the same fundamental relationships as cotton culture (see diagram below), these efforts met with limited success.

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229 ;(A) Grov

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230 Of course what Lewis wrote of the men's lodges holds for other men's clubs as well, although the recreational complex is much attenuated in Lizbeth. Women, too, hold social clubs in high esteem as community organizations; their frenzy of club-related activities rivals and usually surpasses, in fact, the activities of the men's clubs. The townspeople promote the system of voluntary associations for status derivation, for these clubs help them establish and then maintain "progressive" sets of norms. These clubs call themselves "community service organizations" and see their raison d'etre evolving from the townspeople's valuation of "progress" and statusgenerating activities and interactions. Hence, through these voluntary associations townspeople maintain some control over the social behavior of club members through censure and promotion of "acceptable" forms of interaction. Through connecting townspeople in networks of overlapping linkages (multiplex relations) these associations help integrate the overall town system of relations. It has been suggested that the socially graded voluntary association helps crystallize feelings for social class through interaction, internal strain to consensus, and the institutionalization of social differences (Little, 1965). The townspeople have sought, through political, economic, and social means to adapt the people of the countryside to a willing subordination to the principles that structure the life-style of the townmen (hierarchical relations in organizations):

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231 the seeds of dissension existed already in the town's felt superiority to countrypeople. In the country the dirt farmers split functionally on different man -land relations into big and small farmers and the cracker subsistence farmers, who do not depend upon the county credit system and participated marginally in the market economy. The credit crisis of the depression era tended to crush the small independent farmer, and if it did not, then migration of his children off the farm did in the post-World War II era of rising material expectations. As when the family-owned "Yankee City" factory switched to outside control (Warner, 1962), the decline of a countryman skills hierarchy associated with nonmechanized farming has aided the developing power of the town nabobs. Whereas young men once learned farming under the direct supervision of fathers, uncles., and cousins, expensive machinery made mandatory certain technical expertise which need not be learned through imitation, but at colleges of agriculture ("be got through book learning") or by direct instruction from industry representatives. As the laboring arm of the corporation chicken processor, the farmer secures an annual income but devolves in status from relative independence to direct clientage-dependency. A sign of the decline of the countrymans' system, then, is the demise of the age-grading system involved in farming: as one country boy said when speaking of country politics, "Used to be that whatever the old men said went. But that ain't so anymore."

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232 The 1974 contests for political office, contrast sharply with the events of the wet-dry election at the interactional level. These campaigns were conducted primarily by the office seekers themselves with assistance from their immediate families. Factional teams were not formed; "issues" were not raised; emotions were not stimulated. Office seekers identified their value attachments in advertisements and interactional affiliations in choosing an official depository for campaign funds. When community values were disregarded, local newspapers remarked on the lapses. When lack of generous local support, for instance, caused the local candidate to lose his bid for reelection to the State House of Representatives, the newspapers called special attention to the fact. The electorate responded to the 1974 contests by sending less than half their numbers to the polls. Indeed, fewer people voted in the first primary (4,690) or the second primary (4,105) in 1974 than in the liquor referendum of 1973 (4,814). As a consequence of the apathetic campaign and the unenthusiastic public response in this off-year election, the dominant countryman coalition captured all county offices. In the three school board races, the wife of an independent poultry raiser and part-time farmer beat a salaried Lizbeth employee; a member of the Jordan Bank clique beat an office seeker commonly regarded as incompetent; a veterinarian and part-time farmer beat a Lizbeth business entrepreneur. In the two races for county commission a pulpwood middleman narrowly defeated

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233 a salaried Lizbeth hospital technician; an appliance-repairman, part-time farmer beat a full-time farmer who sat on the board of directors of the Production Credit Association. In the race for State Representative a part-time farmer beat an incumbent businessman who sat on the board of directors of the State Bank of Lizbeth. Perhaps the townmen, rarely strong in races for county commission and county school board, had not sufficiently revived from their drubbing in the 1973 wet-dry encounter to again challenge the dominance of the countrymen. Most Apalacheans, however, considered the 1974 elections normal rather than unusual races for local office. These offices, except for the State Representative's chair, would routinely be available for challenge in four years. The office of State Representative would be available in only two years. Human systems are open, dynamic, and changing over time. The moiety organization discussed balances townmen and countrymen in structural and symbolic opposition. One half, the loose country coalition, relates to the yeoman-dirt farmer tradition. Countrymen tend to control the county commission and the school board in Apalachee County through a link to the County Bank. The other half is the courthouse clique of town nabobs. These downtown persons relate in a true group and tend to control the Lizbeth city council and the Apalachee hospital trustees through a link to the State Bank. This pattern is the prevailing balance in local officeholding.

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234 Scheduled elections periodically open the offices for competition. When offices fall vacant between scheduled contests, they are offered to a member of the family of the deceased. This practice avoids unscheduled conflict by translating moiety conflict to the state level for resolution (the Governor makes the official appointment) . Nonperiodic contests between the moieties can generate intense emotion, as the wet-dry contest did in 1973. This is not necessarily inevitable, however, because the wet-dry contest of 1967 was fought at a much lower pitch. Natives suggest though that the nonperiodic conflicts are generally bitter and hard-fought. While the electoral contests allow for minor readjustments in the balance of community power, contesting a few offices at a time, the wet-dry referendum proved a major rite of intensification (see Chapjie & Coo*£ 1942). At stake in 1973 was not only liquor but the dominant values and symbols of the more powerful moiety. Townmen insist that in rejecting liquor, the locals rejected "progress." During the electoral campaigns of 1974 interaction was heightened only by the candidates and their families. The voters of the .county remained unmoved. In the wet-dry referendum interaction was intensified to a high pitch of excitement: preachers lectured their congregations about the issue; factions organized and campaigned both personally and through the media.

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235 Unlike the electoral contests where all candidates give lip-service to community symbols and reaffirm them, the wet-dry contest called the symbols and their referents into question. The public challenge caused the people of the community to rally to respective moieties and to reaffirm commitments to customary behaviors, interactions, and values. This intensified interaction ultimately called more persons to choose sides than was normally the case in periodic elections. The aftermath of the 1973 and 1974 contests suggests that their natures were essentially different. Victorious office seekers tried to be "good winners": losers were urged not to be "sore losers." All contestants played by the "rules of the game." The wet-dry contest was settled only by reference to higher order symbols, those symbols of religion which transcend local disputes. The secular community was rent between the plow and the cash register but united by the cross.

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CHAPTER 10 CONCLUSION We began Part I by examining the social history of the . people of Apalachee County. Two facts appeared important as • the basis for later discussion: the generally poor quality of the soils in the community and the relative recency of permanent settlement of the area. The sandy soils of Apalachee County will not support the lush vegetation of subtropical Florida, and they require massive fertilization inputs for profitable agricultural outputs. This ecological factor may have influenced the tardy development of the region east of the Suwannee River, which remained without full community life until after the War Between the States. Both ecology and late settlement made the area unattractive for the incursion of a plantation complex, and the county was filled predominantly by smallscale independent farmers. The human basis for settlement in the historic era was a "cracker" population of subsistence farmers who expolited the natural flora and fauna of the area to supplement ..isolated farming operations. The crackers installed themselves in the Suwannee River Valley after 1800 and lived in backwoods homesteads and isolated rural neighborhoods. They valued independence 236

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237 and individualism, and their interactional repertoire outside their subsistence system did not include participation in the social or financial credit systems of the wider Apalachee community. Following the cracker subsistence farmers came a wave of yeoman farmers whose descendants still earn the majority of the county's basic income. These farmers participated in a "townman -countryman" social system, wherein a tension exists between the people of the county seat nexus and the people of the dispersed neighborhoods of the countryside. The basis of this tension lay in differing traditional life-styles. The formative principles of the countryman subsystem remain operative in the community: an extended familism which for countrymen involved cooperative agricultural labor sharing, cooperative hunting and fishing, and socializing as close kith and kin in rural neighborhoods; a fierce, egalitarian localism or factionalism within and unity directed without, against "south Floridians" and "Yankees;" and personalism which seeks to relate credit clients to patrons on an individual, personal basis, drawing both patron and client into an orbit of secondary credit relations outside the realm of finance. Before the turn of the twentieth century the credit function which tied the two community elements together was dispersed-storekeepers, turpentine and lumber camp operators, usurers, and big farmers all acted as paternalistic creditors. Only in the 1900s has credit been substantially driven toward consolidation

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238 by the chartering of downtown banks in the county seat and the satellite town in the country. These charters marked the beginning of the concentration of social as well as financial credit and the growing importance of the town nabob class. After initial settlement by yeoman-dirt farmer families migrating south through the pine barrens, the country's commercial complex grew rapidly based on wealth generated in extractive enterprises (turpentining and lumbering) and growth of long-staple cotton. Between the 1920s and 1950s this income base shifted to tobacco, diversified row crops, and a poultryhogs-cattle complex. Commercial lumbering of slash pine planf tations remains important. The townman life-style has grown in importance with the development of the commercial institution of the county seat and has elaborated in a social credit-sharing system based on interaction in a complex of town-based associations. This subsystem promotes a nuclear familism, a trust in hierarchy in organizations, and a belief in "progress and community development." The people of Apalachee County inherited the racial caste complex of the United States, and this system of relations has, since the founding of the county, tied the black people and the white people together in a conservative tradition of white superiority and black subordination. Evidence from the Apalachee community suggests, however, that this system has evolved more in the last quarter-century than in the first three quarter-

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239 centuries following the War Between the States. This system has evolved in the direction of a more unitary society. The governmental structure in Apalachee County is composed of two fundamental sets of units--county-wide and municipal. The responsibilities of the formally established commissions and councils lie peripheral to the realm of prizes to be gained from political activity. Because Apalachee is neither a populous nor a wealthy county, prizes as such derive more through the factional system of competition than through the formal possession of public office. Competing and cooperating town and country moieties exist in Apalachee County, both exclusive of overt participation of the black populace but tied to the dominant financial institutions of Lizbeth. The County Bank supports and represents the interactional and value systems of the countrymen, and the State Bank represents the townmen. These moieites spring directly from the social milieus represented in the histories of the twin traditions of the region: yeoman-dirt farmer and town nabob. The moieties are neither ephermeral nor nonissue oriented. They represent continuing social contradictions in the life of the people of the community. In the long run institutionalization along moiety lines may promote the organization of genuine two-party competition, because the seeds are present already: yeomanry populism as Democratic and town nabob whiggery as Republican. Lack of formal party competition may have caused former observers

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240 to fail to note the prior cultural antecedents of extant divisions in north Florida politics. As we have seen, Apalachee moieties represent the cultural traditions of the county-community, and political organization replicates the respective organization principles of those subsystems. We have distinguished two types of faction: the ephemeral interactional faction discussed in much of the literature on local-level politics and the structural faction which springs directly from contradictions in the social system which may be ignored or misrepresented by reigning party ideologies. It is a faction of this latter type which we have found to represent the countrymen in Apalachee County. Based on the evidence from this community study, we have not seen social disorganization or a "surrender to mass society" such as Vidich and Bensman (1958) witnessed in a New York township. Perhaps the mood of the social science community has changed since the. study was conducted twenty years ago. They found that the "controlling conditions" of local society were "centralization, bureaucratization, and dominance by largescale organizations" (Vidich § Bensman, 1958). While these conditioning elements are present in Apalachee County, they do not dominate the local social organization. Indeed, the county-community has tended to absorb new relational sets, incorporating them into extant patterns in the system. The native systems have remained viable and strong, though they have had to accommodate to the impositions of "mass society."

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241 Perhaps the town-country dynamic of the county-community, the internal dynamic expressed between county seat and rural neighborhoods, has proven more resistant or resilient as a social form to the advent of a "mass society" represented here by the townman system of social relations. The countycommunity has proven more resilient than the nucleated New England village community, wherein the essence of centralization was planted long ago. Perhaps "surrender to mass society" depends upon the social form of human community, if indeed there is any such thing. A good deal more research into the adaptiveness of American community forms is necessary before testable hypotheses about these variables can be formulated. I am led to suspect that the increasing centralization of bureaucratic functions such as banking and governance may increase the viability of neighborhood and community life. When the people sense that power over their destinies is being withdrawn further and further from their hands--as decisions about annual financial lending, upon which their subsistence depends, spiral from local to state to national levels--a parallel sense of the need to revitalize local life will swell. This growth will develop with the resurgence of such secondary systems as neighborhood lending institutions (replicating the country store's function in Apalachee County's early history). Important political decisions about local affairs will continue to be made outside the community, but the future of life in the human community is not necessarily bleak.

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242 The local life of neighborhood and community will survive "centralization, bureaucratization, and dominance by largescale organizations." Whether the county-community survives the twentieth century in its present form is not important. People adapt. The human community will absorb these changes as it has absorbed others of a dehumanizing nature, for it is the locus of the life of man.

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APPENDIX

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APALACHEE COUNTY CALENDAR Jan New Year's Day Feb Ash Wednesday (Lenten season begins) Blooming: azalea, bridal wreath, and wisteria Mar Easter Blooming: lilies Pecan trees leaf out Spring: vernal equinox (21/22) Apr Passover (Nisan 15-22) City election primaries Blooming: wildf lowers May Emancipation Day (20th) Memorial Day City election finals Blooming: day lilies, gladiola's, magnolias, etc. Jun Summer solstice (21/22) r-l T3 o c Hunting Season Bear, deer, dove, turkey gobbler, k wild hog close Quail § squirrel close Jul Independence Day (4th) rt i—i Aug Sep Labor Day Autumnal equinox (22/23) Oct Halloween > Pecan trees begin to shed Fall wild flowers Nov Thanksgiving Day Election finals Dec Winter solstice (21/22) Christmas Dove opens Deer hound training month Bear, deer, quail, squirrel, turkey gobbler, S wild hog open 244

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245 AGRICULTURE AND HORTICULTURE* Jan Prepare for year's credit. Plant tobacco seed beds. Break corn lands (into February). Traditional for dropping calves. Giver queen bees honey (starts their egg laying) . Plant cauliflower, celery, mustard greens, onions, potatoes, and turnips . Feb 22d: Traditional date for planting watermelons (and on into March) Florida State Fair (Tampa) Plant collard greens, cucumbers, eggplant, endive-escarole, lettuce, parsley, peppers, tomatoes. Mar Procure credit for spring and summer Middle plant gladiolas and corn. Transplant tobacco from seed beds to fields. Plant lima/pole/snap beans, cantaloupe, sweet corn, okra, southern peas, sweet potatoes, summer spinach, squash. Apr Middle: Plant peanuts Late: Cultivating fields May Cultivating continues Middle: Wild berries Jun Cropping tobacco begins Middle: Plant sorghum and soybeans Late: Harvest watermelons Jul 4th: Traditional end of watermelon harvest Middle: Warehousing and auction of tobacco (till late August) Aug Harvest corn (continues till November depending upon variety planted), gladiolas, pears, and scuppernong grapes Peak loan period for banks Plant snap beans, broccoli, cauliflower, okra, onions, and turnips . Sep Harvest peanuts and pecans (pecans continue til late October) Banks review loans Plant beets, cabbage, carrots, lettuce, mustard and strawberry. Oct Harvest sorghum and soybeans Plant cabbage, radishes, and spinach Suwannee and Columbia Counties have fairs and livestock exhibitions

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246 Nov Plant winter rye (livestock forage) Traditional butchering of livestock with onset of cold weather North Florida Fair (Tallahassee) Dec Prepare tobacco seed beds *There is no absolute date for planting these vegetable crops and planting (and consequently harvesting) continues for months --except in mid-summer.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Aase, George, d, Associates, Inc. , 1977 "Feasibility Prospects for a Proposed Outdoor ". Recreational Development on the World Famous Suwannee River, At Suwannee Springs , Suwannee County, Florida." Tallahassee, Fla. Abbott, Merkt 5 Co. 1960 "Feasibility Survey, Suwannee River." The Florida Geological Survey Final Report. Jacksonville, Fla. Addison, William 1953 English Fairs and Markets. London: Batsford. Agee, James, § Walker Evans 1966 Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. New York: Ballantine, Alleger, Daniel 1974 Florida's Rural Land: How Its Ownership Is Distributed. Agricultural Experiment Station J Bulletin 766. Gainesville, Fla.: I.F.A.S., University of Florida. Anderson, Charles 1970 The Political Economy of Modern Spain. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. . 1971 Comparative Political Analysis. Comparative Politics (October) fll7-31. Arensberg, Conrad, § Solon T. Kimball 1940 Family and Community in Ireland. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. 1965 Culture and Community. New York: Harcourt Brace 5 World. 1968 Community Study: Retrospect and Prospect. American Journal of Sociology 73(6) :691-705. Associated Railway Land Department 1890 Sectional Map of Suwannee County, Florida, with Township Plats and Descriptive Notes. Buffalo, N.Y. 248

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249 Atkinson, Dorothy 1936 History of Suwannee County. Writers' Program for Florida. Balandier, Georges 1970 Political Anthropology. New York: Random House. Bailey, F. G. 1969 Strategems and Spoils: A Social Anthropology of Politics. New York: Schocken. Banton, Michael, ed. 1965 Political Systems and the Distribution of Power. New York: Tavistock. Barr, Dunlop 5 Associates, Inc. 1974 * Comprehensive Development Plan for Suwannee County, Florida. Tallahassee, Fla. Bell, Daniel 1960 The End of Ideology. New York: The Free Press. / Benet, Stephen Vincent 1942 John Brown's Body. New York: Farrar § Rinehart. Berreman, Gerald D. 1960-61 Caste in India and the United States. American Journal of Sociology 66:120-27. Bostwick, W. M. 1946 Suwannee County Development Plan, Suwannee County, Florida: A Suggested Future. Florida Power § Light Co . Cash, W. J. 1941 The Mind of the South. New York; Knopf, Chappie, Eliot, § Carleton Coon 1942 Principles of Anthropology... New York: PrenticeHall. .::::.L\-\C: .-/> -".'-.:.Clark, Terry N., ed. 1968 Community Structure and Decision-Making: Comparative Analysis. San Francisco: Chandler. Clubok, Alfred, John DeGrove, $ Charles Farris 1964 The Manipulated Negro Vote: Some Pre-Conditions and Consequences. The Journal of Politics 26(1) :112-29.

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250 Commerce, Chamber of, Live Oak and Suwannee County 1912 Live Oak and Suwannee County, Florida. Live Oak, Fla. Coser, Rose L. 1959 Some Social Functions of Laughter. Human Relations 12:171-82. Crews, Paul n.d. Brief Facts on Live Oak and Suwannee County, Florida. [1960] Live Oak, Fla.: Suwannee County Chamber: of Commerce. Dahl, Robert A. 1961 Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City. New Haven: Yale University Press. Davis, Allison, Burleigh Gardner, § Mary Gardner 1941 Deep South. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dollard, John 1937 Caste and Class in a Southern Town. Garden City: Doubleday. ? Easton, David 1953 The Political System. New York: Knopf. Eddleman, Bobby, § Benjamin Gorman 1972 An Allocation Model for Evaluating Public Service Investment and Financing Alternatives in MultiCounty Regions. Unpublished manuscript. Gainesville, Fla. Eisenstadt, S. N. 1959 Primitive Political Systems: A Preliminary Comparative Analysis, American Anthropologist 21:200-220, Fantus Factory Locating Service 1955 A Factual Economic Survey of Live Oak, Suwannee County, Florida. New York. Faulkner, William • 1929 Sartoris. New York: Random House. 1931 The Hamlet. New York: Random House. 1947 The Town. New York: Random House. 1955 The Mansion. New York: Random House. Florida, Chamber of Commerce of 1927 Inventory of Industrial Advantages: Suwannee County, Florida. Tallahassee, Fla.

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251 Florida, Chamber of Commerce of 1949 Suwannee County: Inventory of Industrial Advantages, 1960 Suwannee County: Inventory of Industrial Advantages, Florida. Department of Administration 1967 Research Report No. 55. Bureau of Research, Dept. of Education. Tallahassee, Fla. 1969 Research Report No. 74. Bureau of Research, Dept. of Education. Tallahassee, Fla. Florida. Department of Administration and the Florida League of Cities 1972 Revenue and Expenditure Data for City and County Governments. Tallahassee, Fla. Florida Development Commission 1963 Comprehensive Plan for Live Oak, Florida. 'Tallahassee, Fla. Florida, University of 1973 Florida Statistical Abstract 1973. Gainesville: University of Florida Press. Foster, George 1965 Peasant Society and the Image of Limited Good. American Anthropologist 67(2) :293-315. Gans, Herbert J. 1962 The Urban Villagers: Group and Class in the Life of Italian Americans. New York: The Free Press. Gluckman, Max, ed. 1962 Essays on the Ritual of Social Relations. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Griffin, John Howard 1960 Black Like Me. New York: Houghton Mifflin. Hamilton, E. K. . 1958 Suwannee County Centennial Program. Live Oak, Fla. Havard, William C. , ed. 1972 The Changing Politics of the South. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press. Hebel, Ianthe (Bond) n.d. Way Down Upon the Suwannee River. Daytona Beach, Fla. [1915]

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252 Hollingsworth, Harold M. , ed. 1970 Essays on Recent Southern Politics. Austin: University of Texas Press. Homans, George C. 1950 The Human Group. New York: Harcourt Brace § World. 1958 Social Behavior as Exchange. American Journal of Sociology 63(6):597-606. Huie, William Bradford 1956 Ruby McCollum: Woman in the Suwannee Jail. New York: Dutton. Hunter, Floyd 1953 Community Power Structure. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. 1959 Top Leadership, U.S.A. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Hurston, Zora Neale 1948 Seraph on the Suwannee. New York: Scribners 1 Kaucher, Dorothy 1972 The Suwannee. Lake Wales: Kirstein § Son. Kennedy, Stetson 1942 Palmetto Country. New York: Duell Sloan & Pearce. J(ey, V. 0., Jr. 1950 Southern Politics in State and Nation. New York: Knopf. Kimball, Solon T., £ Marion Pearsall 1954 The Talladega Story: A Study in Community Process. Montgomery: University of Alabama Press. Lewis, Sinclair 1922 Babbitt. New York: Harcourt Brace. Little, Kenneth 1965 African Urbanization, London; Oxford University Press, Lowry, Ritchie P. 1962 Who's Running This Town? Community Leadership and Social Change. New York: Harper S Row.

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253 McRee, Janice 1974 Study of Food Preservation Practices of Suwannee County Homemakers. Master of Science thesis. Tallahassee: Florida State University. Merton, Robert K. 1964 Social Theory and Social Structure. London; The Free Press. Mills, C. Wright 1956 The Power Elite, New York: Oxford University Press, Montgomery, Marion 1974 Fugitive. New York: Harper $ Row. Moore, G. Alexander 1973 Life Cycles in Atchalan: The Diverse Careers of Certain Guatemalans, New York: Teachers College Press, Columbia University. 1974 The Process of Urbanization in Madrid. Unpublished manuscript. Gainesville, Fla. Mori and, J. Kenneth, ed. 1971 The Not So Solid South: Anthropological Studies in a Regional Subculture. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Morris, David, § Karl Hess 1975 .". Neighborhood Power. Boston: Beacon Press. Mumford, Lewis 1961 The City in History. New York: Harcourt Brace § World. Murphy, Robert F. 1971 The Dialectics of Social Life: Alarms and Excursions in Anthropological Theory. New York: Basic Books. Neville, Gwen K. 1971 Annual Assemblages as Related to the Persistence of Cultural Patterns-An Anthropological Study of a Summer Community. Ph.D. dissertation. Gainesville: University of Florida. Newsome, W. T. 1932 Suggestions for Teachers and General Information on Suwannee County Public Schools. Live Oak, Fla.

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254 Nichols, George N., printer 1871 Description of the Climate, Soil and Products of Suwannee County, Florida. Savannah, Ga. Nichols, Ralph W. 1973 Social and Political Movements. Annual Review of Anthropology 2:63-84. Osterbind, Carter C. 1965 Economic Study of the Proposed Suwannee National Wild River: An Analysis of the Expected Effect of zi: the National River Proposal on the Suwannee River Basin Economy. Gainesville: Bureau of Economic and Business Research, University of Florida. Parks, Cynthia 1975 Give Them That Old-Time Religion. The Florida TimesUnion/Jacksonville Journal. Sunday, March 30, 1975. Patmos Church n.d. The Book of Patmos Church. Suwannee County, Fla. Pickard, Jerome 1972 Population in Appalacia and the United States: Year 2000. Appalacia 5(7):8-39. Pitt-Rivers, J. A. 1954 The People of the Sierra. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Polk, R. L., £ Co. 1927 Live Oak and Suwannee County Directory, 1926-1927. Jacksonville, Fla.: R. L. Polk. Powell, J. C. 1969 The American Siberia or Fourteen Years' Experience in a Southern Convict Camp. New York: Arno Press § The New York Times. Powers, Harris 1952 The Counties of Florida: No. 6-Suwannee. Suntime 3(5):5-8 (August 4 t 1952). Rawlings, Marjorie K. 1942 Cross Creek. New York: Scribners'. Romans, Bernard 1961 A Concise Natural History of East and West Florida. New Orleans: Pelican.

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255 Smedley, J. N., Publishers, Inc. 1970 Land Ownership Atlas, Suwannee County, Florida. Deland, Fla. Smith, Howard, § John Hampton. 1967 An Appraisal of Potential Outdoor Recreational Development, Suwannee County, Florida. Live Oak, Fla. Suwannee County Fair Association 1974 Premium List, Suwannee County Fair and Livestock Exhibition. Live Oak, Fla. Suwannee County. Tax Assessor. 1935 Atlas and Plat Book. Live Oak, Fla. Swartz, Marc, Victor: Turnery: § Arthur Tuden 1966 Political Anthropology. Chicago: Aldine. Thompson, Ralph B., ed. 1973 Florida Statistical Abstract 1973. Gainesville: University of 'Florida Press. TindalT, George 1972 The Disruption of the Solid South. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Tse-tung, Mao 1972 Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-tung. Peking: Foreign Language Press. U. S. Bureau of the Census 1961 U.S. Census of Agriculture: 1959. "Vol: viscounties, Part 29, Florida. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Govt. Print. Off. 1971 U.S. Census of Agriculture: 1969. Vol. I, Counties, Part 29, Florida. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Govt. Print. Off. U. S. Office of Economic Opportunity 1967 Community Profile Project: Suwannee County, Florida. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Govt. Print. Off. Vidich, Arthur, fi Joseph Bensman 1958 Small Town in Mass Society: Class, Power and Religion in a Rural Community. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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256 Wagley, Charles 1968 The Latin American Tradition. New York: Columbia University Press. Warner, Lloyd 1962 American Life: Dream and Reality. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Warren, Fuller 1949 How To Win in Politics. Tallahassee, Fla.: Peninsular. Welty, Eudora 1970 Losing Battles. New York: Random House. West, James 1945 Plainville, U.S.A. New York: Columbia University Press. Wirth, Louis 1938 Urbanism as a Way of Life. American Journal of Sociology 44(1) :l-24. Zarur, George de Cerqueira Leite 1975 Seafood Gatherers in Mullet Springs: Economic Rationality and the Social System. Ph.D. dissertation. Gainesville: University of Florida.

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Richard Wayne Sapp was born in South Bend, Indiana, on November 12, 1946. He received his public education in Fernandina Beach, Florida, and graduated from Fernandina Beach High School in 1964. Between 1964 and 1967 he studied at the U. S. Air Force Academy, Colorado. In 1967 he entered the U. S. Army and was assigned to duty in the Federal Republic of Germany from 1968 to 1970. He graduated with honors from the University of Florida, Gainesville, Florida, in 1971 with a bachelor's degree in anthropology. From 1971 until 1976 he followed a doctoral program at the University of Florida, which included an urban field school at the Catholic University in American in Washington, D. C. He began field work (in Apalachee County, Florida) in June, 1974. In February, 1976, he married Linda Kay Ratliff, a graduate student in French at the University of Florida. 257

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I certify that I have read this study and that in my opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. G. Alexander Moore, Jr,, Chairman Associate Professor of Anthropology I certify that I have read this study and that in my opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Solon T. Kimball Graduate Research Professor of Anthropology I certify that I have read this study and that in my opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Paul J. Doughty Professor of Anthropology I certify that I have read this study and that in my opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. . Carl Feiss Professor of Architecture and Urban Studies

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I certify I that I have read this study and that in my opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Alfred B. Clubok Professor of Political Science This dissertation was submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the Department of Anthropology in the College of Arts and Sciences and to the Graduate Council, and was accepted as partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. June, 1976 Dean, Graduate School

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UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA Mllllllillll 3 1262 08552 9658