Dixie Carter died last night and I did not.Yeah.
Well, I have been accused of being self-absorbed and I just have to say, yes. Yes I am.
But honestly, I am so very sorry that Dixie Carter died. Her husband, the inimitable Hal Holbrook, released a statement saying that this is a personal family tragedy and I do certainly respect that but I would just like to take a moment and give credit where credit is due. And that woman, especially in her role in Designing Women, was a role model to me.
When I heard about her death this morning on NPR while I was getting the Mississippi Mud Cake ready to go into the oven which I am taking to the ashes-scattering ceremony this afternoon for my friend Jan's daddy, they ran that wonderful quote from the show about how This is the south. We don't hide our crazy people here in the south. We put them in the living room for everyone to see.
Or something very much like that. I remember that episode. That show covered everything from race relations in the south to body image to AIDS to sexism to single-parenting to the humiliation of getting your skirt back stuck in your pantyhose and walking down a runway unaware that your ass is showing to all and everyone.
One time back in the olden days, I was out with Mr. Moon and one of my brothers and he told me some things that my stepfather had done to him as a child and that ripped it. For some reason, none of the terrible things the stepfather had done to me had been enough to make me confront him because, well, I am probably still, to this day, terrified of him, but when I heard that he had done THAT to my baby brother, well.
I got up from my seat in the restaurant we were in and, this being pre-cellphone days, I asked the owner of the restaurant if I could make a long-distance call in his office.
"Sure," he said and with my brother in tow, I called information, got the asshole's number and called him. I lit into him like a bad boy with a string of firecrackers. I didn't give him a chance to speak. I just let it all out. And I realized, halfway through my tirade, that I sounded JUST LIKE JULIA SUGARBAKER and that made me so happy.
When I finally wound down, the stepfather said, "Mary, you don't sound like yourself."
"Ha!" I thought. And then I proceeded to tell him that if he ever touched another child in his life I would hunt him down and personally kill him.
Still sounding like Julia Sugarbaker, I am sure.
Ah. To find out that I had a Julia Sugarbaker inside of me was an amazing thing. Speak the truth and fear no man! said Stephen Gaskin. Tell the truth and shame the devil! Julia Sugarbaker would have said.
And I did both. And somehow, Dixie Carter gave me the courage.
Who knows how these things happen? I don't.
And I don't know much about the woman frankly, besides the fact that she was beautiful, a fine actress and seemed to have a loving marriage. Wikipedia says she was a Republican with Libertarian leanings who supported the gay community.
I don't know. But I do know that she, as her character, Julia Sugarbaker, gave me a voice that I needed one night and I brazenly stole without even thinking about it. And for that I love her.
Rest in peace, Ms. Dixie. You were a beauty queen and a beauty. You had a name we hardly ever hear any more but it suited you with that hard "D", that two quick slashes of an "X".
And if I ever need to speak a hard truth again (and you know I will and so will you), I might straighten my spine, raise my chin, cross one fine leg over another and find that once again your voice will be the one to come out of me, southern accent and all. Like I said, I never met you and I sure don't know you and for all I know, you may have voted for George Bush twice. But I do know that as an actress, you gave such voice to your character that it lives on in me.
And probably plenty of other women, too.
We all die but not all of us are going to leave our voices behind for others to use when they need them. You did. And I thank-you for that.
And I'll probably thank-you when I'm old and crazy and my kids don't put me away in the attic but set me proudly on the front porch where crazy old Southern women belong. I'm sorry you didn't live long enough to enjoy that particular pleasure. But I would not be surprised if, when I am sitting on the porch, probably tied to a rocking chair so I don't get up and wander away, that I'll rant and rave and yell at children and dogs as they pass by my house and the voice coming out of me will sound a lot like yours would have if you had lived long enough to do that very same thing.
God, I hope so.
Gives me something to look forward to.
Thank-you, Ms. Dixie. Now go on, I'm sure you have a few things to say wherever it is you are.
Say it. Lift your chin and say it. Wish I could hear what it is you're saying. It would be interesting, to say the least. And I sure would like to hear that voice one more time.
Well. There is YouTube.
Mmmmm.
Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the voice.
I promise I'll only use it when I need it. And I'll always give you credit.
