Down South, Buchanan’s a Good Ol’ Boy

Decked out like the Marlboro man in a black hat and cowboy garb a few days ago in Arizona, Patrick J. Buchanan has a new image in the Deep South, both in style and substance sounding like the good ol’ boy of the Grand Old Party.

Trolling for votes in today’s South Carolina primary, Buchanan has adopted the argot of the region, dropping his “g’s” and stretching his syllables.

More important, he has drawn upon that vernacular to rouse his mostly white audiences with issues that stir the unreconstructed Confederate heart.

For example, he has strongly endorsed the idea of South Carolina keeping the Confederate flag on its Capitol, a tradition that offends many African Americans who see in it an implicit defense of the antebellum South with its black slaves and white landowners.

Buchanan also has been a strong defender of the all-male cadet corps at The Citadel, a military college--where the first female cadet, Shannon Faulkner, dropped out shortly after she arrived last August.

“We want a president who will stand up for The Citadel, who will not run away from people attacking the battle flag and saying we got to surrender our traditions,” Buchanan said as he campaigned Friday.

Despite polls showing Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole with a strong lead going into today’s contest, Buchanan is banking on his version of a Southern strategy to pay off.

“I think we’re gonna win,” Buchanan told a group of about 75 partisans standing in the rain near the Charleston airport. “That’s why they’re all shook up in Washington. They haven’t been so shook up in Washington, D.C., since they heard Stonewall Jackson was 30 miles down the road and headin’ their way.”

With its heritage of embracing both the social conservatisim and economic populism that form the core of Buchanan’s message, the South should be fertile territory for him. It also has become crucial; the momentum he gained following his win in the New Hampshire primary Feb. 20 was stymied when Steve Forbes won Tuesday’s Arizona vote, and Buchanan needs a victory soon.

In recognition of the region’s importance to him, Buchanan said Friday that if he did not win South Carolina, he would shift his hopes to Georgia and then Florida, both of which hold primaries within the next 10 days.

“We’ve got to start winning somewhere,” he acknowledged to a cluster of reporters at his hotel.

Although it makes sense for him to adopt a “down home” touch in the region--to “set the hay down where the goats can get it,” as the South’s politicians are wont to say--Buchanan may be courting trouble with voters elsewhere.

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He is not the Western yahoo who sought to woo Arizonans, nor is he a redneck cornpone. A sophisticated, native Washingtonian who lives in the posh suburb of McLean, Va., Buchanan’s urban tastes run to chardonnay and Grand Marnier souffle.

His Southern pitch and tone seem strongest when he talks about gut-level issues that ignite some of the South’s oldest angers.

Discussing the efforts to remove the Confederate flag, he says: “I don’t understand it. My great-grandfathers fought for the Confederacy and I’m proud of ‘em. One died at Vicksburg. The other was captured by Uncle Billy Sherman [famed Union Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman] outside of Atlanta. And they fought under that flag and died under it and fought for what? The ashes of their fathers and the temples of their gods. That’s what they’ve always fought for. And that’s our heritage. We’ve got to respect all peoples’ heritage.”

It is such comments that make it easier for his opponents to tar him as a “white man’s candidate.” At a press briefing late Friday, Buchanan said he was upset that an unknown group of people were calling South Carolina voters and asking them to vote for Buchanan “because we can finally get a white supremacist in the White House.”

Buchanan said he did not know who was making the “phony” calls.

Still, his courting of the South continues. At rallies, his accent remains noticeably different as the word “live” takes on more than one syllable or he uses “y’all” as a standard part of his speech.

At an airport rally in Florence, he told the story about how a cat was “sleepin’ on the porch” when little dogs came by with their “yap-yap-yap. And then big dog came by and didn’t say anything, but that cat was on top of the car. He knew he was serious.

“Well,” Buchanan laughed. “I’m the big dawg that’s comin’ into the neighborhood. This is serious. This one bites.”