Sometime probably early in college, I was helping a friend move a heavy piece of furniture. “Oh sure,” he laughed as we squeezed the desk through a doorway, “give me the Arkansas end!”
“What’s the Arkansas end?”
“You know – big shirt, small hat? Not too bright, lots of brawn? Give the heavy end to the guy from Arkansas.”
Surely my understanding of anything Arkansas, including where it was, was next to nothing at that time (a fine product of this country’s educational emphasis on geography) but I liked the down-home-ism and I’ve remembered it ever since. It’s also reasonable to say that it probably shaped my view of Arkansas from that time on. In context, it was a self-deprecating jab by a native son, but my friend’s joke was about the extent of what I associated with the state for a long time to come. Years later, I attended a potluck to which a woman from Arkansas brought macaroni and cheese studded with hotdog rounds and topped with crushed cornflakes. And therein laid what I knew about Arkansas: beefy dimwits and bad food.
I sincerely hope that in general I’m not that simplistic. But I didn’t have anything else on which to base a perception. Those were my only references.
And how frightening is that.
One of my favorite books I almost didn’t get through in the last couple of years is economist David Kahneman’s Thinking, Fast and Slow. It’s incredibly well-crafted but very densely academic so it’s not a light read. But the findings are fascinating and very crudely summarized by saying, if you think you’re a free agent, if you believe you control your behaviors and reactions to your world, if you feel you are not influenced by deep bias you never knew you had — think again.
It should serve as a wake-up call to me how surprised by, envious of, swept up in, and reluctant to leave the state of Arkansas I’ve been over the past month. I’ve seen gorgeous landscapes, climbed steep, sticky sandstone, ridden some of the best-built mountain bike trails I’ve been on. I’ve seen a huge collection of American art, eaten delicious Thai food and, an important marker, enjoyed killer coffee in independent cafes equal to any in Colorado.
There’ve been grim scenes, too — true backwoods areas where people are living in poverty and squalor, seemingly cut off from a modern world. In 2016, Donald Trump garnered 60% of the Arkansas vote, and Republican propaganda posters plaster over run-down, ghosted towns with zero resemblance to “great again.” Confederate flags flutter in yards here and there.
It’s also hard to forget certain realities. Arkansas did in recent history give us Governor and would-be presidential candidate Mike Huckabee, opposer of abortion, same-sex marriage and adoption, evolution denier, and author of such twaddle as his 2015 book, God, Guns, Grits, and Gravy (not linked because you shouldn’t waste your time). In turn, Huckabee gave us Sarah Huckabee Sanders, the Trump administration’s press secretary who lied bald-faced to the public again and again to defend the indefensible.
So there’s that.
But this is less about politics than about prejudice, and Arkansas has graciously shown me mine. The people of this state have been courteous, enthusiastic, kind. Hip young people here are as hip as they are anywhere, and with better hair. I could do without the ubiquitous smoking, but I like the craft beer movement and the massive investment (ridiculous) in trails and art in Bentonville and surrounding communities.
I texted one of my best friends – a big-hat, non-smoking Arkansan living in Salida and another dismantler of my prejudice – to ask why Bentonville was so cool. He texted back: W-A-L-M-A-R-T.
This is a weird truth and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Let me admit right here that I am not a big fan of Walmart and I don’t patronize it unless I really have no other choice. To me, it’s the supreme example of a business built on some of the worst aspects of capitalism and human behavior, namely catering to an addiction to low prices before any other consideration. It’s understandable, but it encourages among suppliers all over the world a race to the bottom that destroys the concept of quality, not to mention the environment. There’s also Walmart’s dismal record in the area of the Equal Pay Act and Title VII of the Civil Rights Act, both of which make discrimination against female workers illegal. Right now there are hundreds of women across the nation filing lawsuits against the retail giant for being paid less than their male counterparts for the same work, and for a consistent pattern of a woman’s inability to advance within company ranks.
So there’s that.
Let me admit right here, too, that I took thorough advantage of and enjoyed (whooping, grinning, giggling enjoyed) the mountain bike trails in the Bentonville area. The sheer number of them fogs the mind, but the quality and maintenance and thought behind these trails blows the mind. One local figured it cost about a million dollars a mile for building and upkeep. And there are 300 miles of trail here, brought to you (mostly) by the heirs to the Walmart fortune. The two Walton brothers happen to be cyclists. Their sister was an artist, and she spent her money on a gorgeous museum with one of the finest collections of American art in the world. The Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art is free to anyone, open until 10 pm, and peopled with friendly locals happy to point you to the best exhibits and tell you all about them. (They’ll also point you to the flow trails that loop around the outside of the entire museum.) The locals are obviously proud. They should be proud. It’s an amazing center of community.
What does it mean when a town is built upon or at least rejuvenated by the pet passions of a few very wealthy family members? To me, it’s undoubtedly strange – yet on the list of things these Arkansas natives might’ve spent their money on (imagine a town surrounded by firing ranges or private golf courses), trail infrastructure and free art aren’t so bad. I’ll endure a bit of my own hypocrisy to partake in those things I have in common with the family Amato mistakenly calls the Walmarts.
So here’s to travel and direct experience, the enemies of bias and misinformation. Parents, load your kids up and head straight to wherever it is you’re sure you have no business going. And to Arkansas, I apologize. I’ll never tease you again about small hats or cornflakes because I love you now. I’ll be back.
Until then – Woo! Pig! Sooie!
