THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 8, 1995 TAG: 9510080035
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A2 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: EDITOR'S NOTEBOOK
SOURCE: Cole C. Campbell, Editor
DATELINE: SUFFOLK LENGTH: Medium: 77 lines
At the Suffolk Peanut Fest Saturday, before the rain, girls in cheerleader uniforms swept past men in mechanic's coveralls. Folks wore T-shirts and windbreakers blazoned with the names of volunteer fire departments or softball teams or employers.
Blondes strolled past redheads and alongside brunettes. There were blacks and whites and Asian Americans, toddlers and teenagers and parents and grandparents, singles and couples and nuclear families and extended families.
There were men with beards and men without, men with beer bellies and men without. There were women with sparkles and women without, women with bangles and women without.
There were people with special roles, judging by the squawks of the walkie-talkies or the rumbling purr of the John Deere gad-about vehicles or the thundering challenge of the sales pitch extolling the reasons you should ride the Grave Digger monster truck.
And there was ersatz royalty, including a king, queen, knight and squire in medieval garb who strolled the festival grounds. The 1995 Peanut Fest Queen, Lisa Pearce, and her court swirled along the craft, commercial and civic booths, including the curious juxtaposition of a pro-Confederacy exhibit and the Tidewater Chapter of the National Organization of Women.
Mostly, though, there were people of every station in life spending some time together.
Common interests may have narrowed the range of people who made up the 2,000 bird watchers expected to participate this weekend in the third annual Eastern Shore Birding Festival, as well as those drawn to the Children's Festival at Town Point Park in Norfolk. But both groups also represent a large cross-section of people.
And all three gatherings are manifestations of what historian David Nasaw calls the ``third sphere of everyday life'' and what sociologist Ray Oldenburg calls ``the third place,'' gathering spots outside of home and work.
In ``Going Out: The Rise and Fall of Public Amusements,'' Nasaw argues that the dance craze of the 1920s served a larger democratic function.
``The dance halls and palaces provided their patrons with the sense that they were part of a larger social whole, a new public of pleasure seekers that cut across all social divisions.''
In last Sunday's Washington Post, Mark Gauvreau Judge cited these authors to expound upon what he, at age 30, discovered when he started swing dancing two Saturday nights a month at the Spanish Ballroom just outside Washington.
``Because the ballroom draws large and diverse crowds, I made friendships with people who I never would have met cocooning at home or at a happy hour with people from work. These were people of all different ages who were much wealthier or poorer than me, people who had different life experiences and histories and lived in parts of town where I had never been.''
Much contemporary writing about third places focuses on formal associations, as in this analysis by Sara M. Evans and Harry C. Boyte in ``Free Spaces: The Sources of Democratic Change in America'':
``Free spaces are settings between private lives and large-scale institutions where ordinary citizens can act with dignity, independence and vision. These are, in the main, voluntary forms of association with a relatively open and participatory character - many religious organizations, clubs, self-help and mutual aid societies, reform groups, neighborhood, civic and ethnic groups, and . . . associations grounded in the fabric of community life.''
Formal or informal, this is a useful reminder to those of us in journalism. While the printed word is, as social philosopher John Dewey noted, ``a precondition of the creation of a true public,'' it's not sufficient. People also must engage each other in conversation about issues and values to bring a public world to life.
And that requires getting together to talk, not just at City Hall but also at dance halls and peanut fests.
In his own modest way, P Nutty - the festival's mascot - is as much a democratic icon as Uncle Sam.
Does it follow that peanut-butter sculpture is a democratic art? by CNB