Essay on "The Life and Death of Cousin Lucius"
by Robert W. Watson
(3 November 2001)

For John Donald Wade, biography was the bridge that joined history with the literary. Wade's first publication, Augustus Baldwin Longstreet: A Study in the Development of Culture in the South, is about the famous Georgia jurist, who turned preacher. Longstreet was highly educated, was an editor, statesman, judge, and educator, but was best known as the South's first humourist. Wade himself spoke of his biography about Longstreet to be "an epitome in some sense, of American civilization."

Born in Marshallville, Georgia, Wade received his B.A. at the University of Georgia and his graduate degrees at Harvard and Columbia. As an educator, Wade taught literature at the University of Georgia and Vanderbilt. While at Vanderbilt in 1930, his biography about John Wesley was published. As a close friend to Wade, Donald Davidson believed that Wade's contribution to I'll Take My Stand, "The Life and Death of Cousin Lucius" represents a profound statement "of a culture and a man unwilling to compromise his integrity." But much more than an elaborate metaphor, "Cousin Lucius" is based on the life of Wade's Uncle Walter. The essay is indeed a masterpiece of storytelling, mixed with philosophical thought and spiritual discernment.

As a very young child, Cousin Lucius recalled his going with his father from South Carolina to Georgia, sometimes riding in the wagon, and sometimes on foot. The youngster remembered the slaves, the cotton bales, and the large train at a station. But later Cousin Lucius would think it odd that as soon as the railway line went further South, the small but prospering town that used to be the terminus near his father's plantation seemed to disappear immediately, "almost as suddenly as a blown bladder goes down, pricked." The young man remembered that there was a war, and with the war came women and children coming through their county, because their land was taken over by soldiers called Yankees. His young mind could not understand why men would kill men. Shooting a cow to eat it was something he could understand. "But after they shot a man they did not put him to any use at all." Yet, Cousin Lucius had heard the wiser men say that "soldiers were the noblest people in the world."

As the months of war went by, Cousin Lucius began to help a little in the garden. The boy learned that there were Yankees being held in a place called Andersonville. His mother and several slaves were harvesting baskets of vegetables to take to the prisoners there. Cousin Lucius asked why didn't they just shoot the Yankees, and his mother said "it would have been very un-Christian to shoot them, because these particular Yankees had surrendered, and it was one's duty to be kind to them." There was nothing else that Cousin Lucius remembered about the war except when the body of Cousin Edwin was brought to the house by two men. Poor Cousin Elvira just read a letter from Edwin telling her that he was fine. Now she saw that he was not fine, but dead. There was great sadness in the home that day: "How Cousin Elvira wept! He, too, wept bitterly, and the wagon men wept also."

After the war, an unwelcomed guest descended upon the land, whose name was "Hard Times." When Hard Times came to stay, Cousin Lucius was fourteen, and he went to a school in town run by some Yankees, by the name of Pixley. Soon after delivering another child, his mother died, an event Cousin Lucius believed would cause him to "burst with rage and sorrow." He somehow thought his mother would always be with him. Now she was gone, and Cousin Lucius vowed never to take anyone for granted from that moment forward. Because of the war, he learned "that things are not dependable." He began to study his father closer and began to think that his father was a better example to follow than even the Methodist preachers, who emphasised preaching.

When Cousin Lucius went to a Methodist college, he enjoyed the grand oaks, the white columns, and the disciplined life. As a student, he was introduced to Vergil, Horace, Cervantes, Shakespeare, and Byron. He participated with his fellows in debating issues, the grand and the ordinary. The greatest event for Cousin Lucius during his years in college was when he saw and heard Alexander H. Stephens. The ex-Vice President of the Confederacy was very feeble by this time, but nevertheless was truly a legend, and young men like Cousin Lucius "acknowledged the complexities of that legend when they attempted to follow it."

After graduating, Cousin Lucius went home only to be greeted by Hard Times. The small town had little employment available for a college graduate. Many of his classmates went to the cities and they prospered. However, Mr. Pixley, his old school teacher died, and Cousin Lucius decided to run the neighbourhood school and called it "Stephens Academy." The local children came to him, and he taught them: "If the children were amenable, he was pleased; if they were dull, he was resolute, unwilling to condemn them as worse than lazy." After teaching each day, he was always tired, and thought that maybe Hard Times would quietly leave. But he managed to organise a neighbourhood debating society and lending library that included the works of Shakespeare, Dickens, Eliot, and Scott. Cousin Lucius did his best to convince his neighbours "that without the testimony and the comment of such spirits on this life they would all find this life less invigorating." In spite of these obligations, Cousin Lucius found the time to court, and soon married a fine Southern lady.

Hard Times remained as a guest. The small farmers began to neglect their orchards and gardens in order to raise more cotton. But when more farmers raised cotton, the lower the price they would get for their labour. Cousin Lucius had his own little domain which was given to him by his father. He planted for his private use trees of pears and peaches and vineyards. The others did not. They concentrated on the "cash crop." Children were sent to colleges at great sacrifice to the parents, who had so little cash. Many of these children did not return, but stayed in the city--and prospered--like many of his classmates who went to the city. Many a temptation came his way through his friends who suggested that he was wasting away in the small town, and that his talents would be better used in the city. These suggestions were always made in a condescending tone and with a mocking pity. But Cousin Lucius stayed and chose to allow others to "wrestle with the large affairs" in the city.

Cousin Lucius remembered when the local Methodist church presented his father a silver pitcher in recognition of his twenty-five years of faithful service to the church as Sunday School Superintendent. The gift was made at a tremendous sacrifice to those poor members of cruel want. Cousin Lucius was proud of the church members, and even prouder of his father. But twenty-five years later, the same church would forget that his father had served as its Sunday School Superintendent for fifty years. On this anniversary, there was no gift, no recognition, no thank-you. This neglect concerned Cousin Lucius, because it was a symptom of a sickness that the church refused to recognise. The church was no longer the centre of one's social life. For the church members who no longer suffered want, the church "had become simply the most available agent for their philanthropies." The rituals had no meaning for anyone, and the forms had become insipid. Regarding Southern religion, something was lost.

One day, Cousin Lucius was appalled that one of his little daughters used city as an adjective. Nouns are not to be used to modify other nouns. But far worse was the implication that city was good, and the opposite of city was bad. Has not history shown the downfall of great nations and empires when cities were promoted and farming was discouraged? But Cousin Lucius would be constantly countered with the question, "What does the past have to do with the present?" Some thought the only solution to forcing Hard Times to leave was "to adopt frankly the Northern way of life," while others believed joining the Populist Movement and forcing concessions at the expense of the urbanites would be the answer. But by this time, most of the newer generation had known only industrialisation, and thus believed that this was the normal way of life. He did not like industrialism, but he could not abide by the socialism of the Populist either. Cousin Lucius belonged to that vast number of unorganised people that belonged to neither camp. Regarding Southern politics, something was lost.

Then in 1890, one of the local farmers made a lot of money by selling his peach crop in New York. Suddenly, other farms were converted into peach orchards, and for awhile Hard Times left to find someone else to board with. Cousin Lucius loved walking in the glass covered orchards, and then the fragrance and sight of the beautiful blooms made his soul light. Maybe, just maybe the farmer could compromise with industrialism after all. But there were signs that suggested otherwise. Families began to buy frivolously. But Cousin Lucius could not blame this people who suffered so many years from want. Farmers began to mortgage their land in order to buy the latest equipment. The crates from two or three different brands would be shipped to market, even though the peaches came from the same orchard. Cousin Lucius always believed that a society was measured by the kind of men it produced. Regarding Southern integrity, something was lost.

It was a sad day when the community pressured Cousin Lucius to change his academy into a public school. He bowed to his neighbours, but not before he first explained his disappointment. Only through a classical education can man learn to be humane, and anything other than the teaching of the classics would have little value at all. It was this kind of education that leads young people toward the good life. But the people no longer wanted a good life for their children; they want the students to have a "good living." Of course, Cousin Lucius stated that if that is all they wanted, then why not have their children attend a business college? It would not do. The community wanted a school at public expense to train their children to get good jobs. Regarding Southern education, something was lost.

With money from the peaches coming in, a neighbourhood bank was established, and Cousin Lucius was asked to be the president, which he accepted. But he noticed "that money was like a narcotic that, once tasted, drives men to make any sacrifice in order to taste more of it." But his neighbours were feeling good about themselves. And why shouldn't they? "By the Eternal, these people were as good as any people anywhere, and it had not been right, he believed, nor in accord with the intent of God, for them to be always supplicants." Yet, Cousin Lucius keep money tight, even though he was pressured to loosen the credit. He was constantly reminded that the other nearby towns were experiencing a boom in building and expansion, but their little town was stagnant. Stagnant or not, Cousin Lucius believed that growth based on credit and a mortgage on the future was not at all healthy. His banking policies were vindicated when Hard Times returned as an unwanted guest again in 1919 with the failure of the peach crop. The little town survived while the other towns collapsed. However, farms that were mortgaged were lost, and neighbours were forced to move to the city. He saw his black neighbours, many with whom he grew up with, leave the town in order to move North to the cities. Regarding the Southern community, something was lost.

Cousin Lucius was always impatient with outsiders who claimed superior knowledge about how to solve the South's financial troubles. Inevitably, the self-proclaimed sages would state that the South needed to diversify her crops and not rely on cotton. But Cousin Lucius knew better. Indeed, in his county, there were four crops that were grown. No, rather there were five. This fifth crop however pained him greatly. Trees were now being cut down in order to supply the growing cities with lumber. With the destruction of the forests, Cousin Lucius knew that this signalled the complete addiction to money. His neighbours had plenty, but now the trees must go in order to buy, not necessities, but unnecessary things. Somehow Cousin Lucius believed that the value of those trees could never match the worthlessness of the things exchanged for them. More farms were foreclosed, and more neighbours moved to the cities. The land was now owned by outsiders, "whose grandfathers never owned a slave nor planted a pomegranate." Regarding the Southern land, something was lost.

We at the South have indeed lost a lot. It would not be so bad if we gained something in return. But what have we gained to replace our faith, our families, and our friends? Unless we soundly renounce the mood of these times, at the end of our lives, we will muster few memories, but countless regrets. It takes a unique kind of courage to go contrary to the flow of public opinion, to refuse the enticements of the professional politician, and to turn aside from the allurements of the corporate magnate. Every loss at the South has produced an evil consequence, and the cause of these losses can be traced to the very root of evil: the love of money. The slow, sensible development of a community has great benefits, but to artificially induce growth for the appearance of "progress" is wickedness. The South used to have something to give to the world. She was a model of plighted faith, of ancient honour, of strong communities, and a mature tradition based on the land. Unless there is a revival within our midst, the South will no longer have anything to offer to this world, a world that desperately needs hope and guidance. But we have lost our nation, our faith, our families, our communities, and soon our tradition.

How sad will be that day, when the last memory of the Confederate States of America is obliterated by a dollar bill. In that day, there will not even be Cousin Lucius's Negro foreman on the farm, who in grief and terror cried out, "Fo' God, I believe Mas' Lucius done dead!" To be sure, none will weep in that day. May God forgive us Southerners for squandering our priceless inheritance.