MONROEVILLE—The little Alabama city looks exactly like Maycomb, that town Harper Lee imagines in To Kill a Mockingbird. The courthouse, made famous by Gregory Peck in the film adaptation of the book, still stands white in the afternoon glare. From its steps, the whole downtown is visible: insurance agencies, cafés, and the farm supply store.
And on the day of the Republican primary runoff, it’s especially easy to remember the mad dog scene from Harper’s book. The rabid animal appears. The nearly-blind Atticus Finch reluctantly drops it with one shot from his neighbor’s rifle. And the curious Scout is repeatedly told to stay away because the diseased dog is “as dangerous dead as alive.”
The whole thing would make a decent gimmick for the race now that all the others are used up. Depending on perspective, one could paint the establishment operatives backing incumbent Sen. Luther Strange or the insurgents supporting Judge Roy Moore as dangerous and feral politicos. Except that’d be completely disconnected from reality.
Thirty-five miles from Interstate-65, the city dubbed the “literary capitol of Alabama” is an hour-and-a-half drive South from Montgomery and three hours from Birmingham. A testament to “the small-town middle-class southern life” immortalized by Lee, Monroeville exists as an oddly pleasant oasis apart from the savagery currently ripping apart Alabama’s GOP.
In two hours, I talk to twelve voters. Five vote Strange. Four go for Moore. Two remain undecided. One elderly gentleman won’t say anything about politics (he insists on driving me to see Lee’s cemetery instead, which is unusual but a kind gesture). All exude a dignity not disturbed by the firebombing in the north.
Lucy Collinson is one of the voters that hasn’t made up her mind A volunteer at the immaculately preserved courthouse she agrees with both Luther Strange and Roy Moore. “I hate to say this,” she says as we climb to the courtroom on the second story, “but I’m still divided.”
Collinson keeps going between morality and money. Her case for the religious Moore is that “the country has lost its moral compass.” Her case for Strange is that the surrounding counties “have been absolutely decimated and have some of the highest unemployment rates in the state.” Collinson struggling to choose between a religious reawakening and economic redevelopment. She only has three hours to decide. The polls close at 7:00 p.m.
Mary and Jack Whetstone still talk like teenagers, often finishing each other’s sentences in a not-cliché way. Walking out of the National Guard Armory that’s doubling as a polling station today, they’ve made their decision but they’re not exactly happy about it.
Mrs. Whetstone: Anytime we have an election it’s important to vote.
Mr. Whetstone: It’s how we control things a little bit.
Mrs. Whetstone: A very little bit. We don’t always have the candidates we’d like to vote for…
Mr. Whetstone: The choice of the two were okay. Both qualified in certain respects and both had negative points. Made it difficult for me. I already had my quarter out to flip it. But she said ‘no, no I’ll vote for you.” Like as if I really have a say so! We’ve been married but 63 years…
Mrs. Whetstone: One of the candidates rode to the election on his horse and I thought well I really don’t want our senator to ride up into the Capitol on his horse, so I didn’t vote for him.
Mr. Whetstone: But the other was bought and paid for a different way.
The Whetstones admit they would’ve much rather seen Rep. Mo Brooks, R-Ala. on the ballot. Absent that option, they say they decided together to cast their votes for Strange, in part because of Moore’s equestrian habits.
Just outside of town, Debbie Ricketts is waiting to close shop before heading to the polls. She owns a place near the highway called Big D’s Butts N’ Stuff. (The name is ridiculous — the barbeque, absolutely delicious.)
“I’m going to vote for Judge Roy Moore,” she says while holding a baby with one hand and ringing up customers with the other.
“Mainly it’s because he supports the Ten Commandments.” Ricketts continues. “Anyone who can follow Christian values while they’re in office, well, I think I need to stand behind them.”
All of them can’t be happy with the result. Some of the dozen will be disappointed with the night’s results. But none of them will begrudge any of the others’ supporters at the end of the night. Maybe the winner and the loser of the election should take a trip here.
Philip Wegmann is a commentary writer for the Washington Examiner.
