Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, January 18, 1993 TAG: 9301180106
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A1 EDITION: METRO NOTE: BELOW
SOURCE: DWAYNE YANCEY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: MADISON LENGTH: Long
TOWN'S RED, WHITE AND BLUE WISH FALLS BY WAYSIDE
Bill Clinton broke a little town's heart Sunday morning.The folks of this farming community in the foothills of the Blue Ridge had spent a week getting ready for Clinton's Charlottesville-to-Washington bus trip to roll through.
They knew he wasn't scheduled to stop. But what, they wondered, if they put on a big show for him by the roadside? One with homemade signs, a high school marching band, American flags flying proud, and hundreds of people lining U.S. 29 in front of Madison County High School? Wouldn't that be the very picture of Americana? Wouldn't that be impossible for the young president-to-be to resist, especially after he's made such a big deal about keeping in touch with ordinary people? Wouldn't a quick stop to say "howdy" be just the kind of tone he'd want to strike on his way to the White House?
The people of Madison got their answer Sunday morning. It was no.
In the time it takes to shout "Here they come!," Clinton's bus convoy blew past in a blur of flashing blue lights and state police sirens. The band barely had time to strike up "Grand Old Flag" before he was gone.
Oh, sure, Clinton noticed. As his bus roared by, the loudspeakers rigged up on the roof blared "Thank 2-line reefer will go here. A10 you, thank you" in the hoarse whisper we've come to expect.
But that was it.
"Like a freight train passing a bum," muttered one man over and over. "Like a freight train passing a bum."
It had seemed such a far-fetched notion at first, then it had come to seem so inevitable.
Last Monday morning, government teacher Gary Hollins was summoned to the office of principal Colin Owens. "He was smiling, so I knew everything was OK," Hollins said.
Some townspeople had wanted to know if there was anything the school could do to organize a little show of support for the new president. Madison County is about as Republican as you can get, but its patriotism runs as strong and pure as the streams gushing down out of the mountains.
"I didn't vote for him," declared substitute teacher Sandra Clore, "but now he's president and I'm going to support him."
So cheerleaders spent the week painting signs. The band rehearsed. Calls were made to trip organizers to find out what kind of arrangements the school should make just in case Clinton ordered the bus to pull over. Plenty of parking space? No problem. We'll rope off the roadside. A platform to speak from? Two 18-wheelers with flat beds were rounded up to serve as a makeshift stage.
Students commandeered the school's phones to call radio stations to enlist their help in rustling up a crowd. Their enthusiasm was contagious. Next thing you know, it seemed everybody in the county wanted to do something to help.
The World of Miniature Horses, a roadside tourist attraction, offered to bring some of its tiny livestock decked out in red, white and blue hats. The A.E. Clore furniture company donated two footstools that the principal could present as gifts to the Clintons. Even Eddins Ford, its owner a die-hard Republican, agreed to post a hand-lettered "See You at Madison County H.S." sign on its lot at the edge of town.
"His daughter made the sign, so we used a little arm twisting," Hollins joked.
But not much.
Madison had gone mad about Clinton.
Maybe, just maybe, folks thought, they really could persuade Clinton to stop. By week's end, the word started to filter in, from local Democrats, from state troopers, from who knows where: The Clinton people know about Madison. A Madison stop is under consideration. A Madison stop is high on the list.
Come Sunday morning, Madison bustled with the commotion of a county fair.
The Pig & Steak restaurant opened early so folks headed to the school could stop by for coffee. Oliver Utz and Louis Graves were up by dawn's early light, planting flags along the roadside on behalf of the Madison County Memorial and Flag Committee. Utz wielded a sledgehammer, clinking a metal spike into the dirt to make the hole. Then Graves drove in the standard, making sure it was lined up just so.
Utz, between sledgehammer swings, admitted he didn't think his labors would do much. "Little place like this? He'll go by here like a breeze."
Of course, farmers are pessimistic sorts by nature. The hundreds of folks rolling onto the school grounds were convinced Clinton would stop. Just in case the president-elect was wavering, they brought all kinds of totems to get his attention.
David and Sheila Dennis chained their dog Buffy to the fence, so they could use their hands to wave a big Arkansas flag.
The Frank boys, 11-year-old Nathan and 8-year-old Wesley, jointly held up a homemade sign: "Stop and Shake Hands with Another Future President."
That meant Nathan, who says he wants to clean up the environment and help the poor.
"He's talked about being president off and on since he was little," his mother said.
"And ordering around everybody. Like me!" his little brother added, helpfully. Wesley doesn't share his brother's lofty aspirations. "I don't want to do all the paperwork," he said.
Further down the line stood the Pinkard family, who came all the way from Lynchburg equipped with a morning's worth of animal crackers and their own batch of signs. Being from Tennessee originally, theirs were aimed mostly toward Vice President-elect Al Gore.
"Go Gore!" read 11-year-old Katie's.
"Tipper is Tops," proclaimed 9-year-old Megan's.
And 8-year-old Joseph's sign? "Chelsea is Cute."
Who's idea was that? Joseph frowned and pointed an accusing finger toward his father. "Don't blame me," the kid protested. On the back, he'd scribbled his own juvenile opinion of Chelsea's cuteness: "Not!"
At 10:15, a helicopter whirred overhead. A blue light was spotted flashing on the horizon, and the expectant crowd surged closer to the roadside, holding their banners high.
Then, whoosh!
The crowd's life seemed sucked away in the back draft. By the time the last of the six press buses whizzed by, some folks were already wilting away.
In the hallway afterward, Hollins tried to console his disappointed students. "We gave it our best shot. You're still part of history and you did something patriotic and that's what's important."
Merri Dormer, who plays flute in the band, tried to find a bright spot: "Somebody said they saw Gore waving."
Thank goodness her mother brought her camcorder. "We'll go home and put the videotape on pause."