That’s Arkansas, all right

Here’s what a sense of place is all about

— THEY SAY Southerners have a sense of place, and Arkansans/ Arkansawyers/Arkies are no exception to that rule. But just what is a sense of place? The concept can be hard to define, even impossible to put into exact words.

But you know it when you see it, feel it, can almost taste it. You know it when you come back to some places after being away even a short time.

A sense of place involves a lot more than a place; it’s a sense of people. For it is people who make a place, not just the landscape. People certainly make Arkansas what it is: not just a state but a state of mind.

Arkansas may be divided into quite different, even contrasting regions, but it is held together by its singular people. Varied as they may be, they somehow manage to be the same. Maybe that’s what anthropologists mean by sharing a culture. A common culture, uncommon as it is.

Who in Fayetteville up in the hills does not have some connection to people down in the Delta? And who in Texarkana is not linked in some way to folks clear across the state? Whether it’s by family, business or shared experience, like rooting for the Razorbacks or having gone to the same law school.

Piney woods and rolling hills may give way to bottomlands and hardwoods, the Ozarks may subside into alluvial plains, but people hold it all together. Different climates, different geology, different flora and fauna maybe, but the same state and much the same culture, however colorful the variations. Yes, a sense of place is hard to put into words, but impossible not to feel.

You know what we mean, at least if you’re reading these words in Arkansas and don’t have to have it explained to you, the way sociologists feel obliged to explain what everybody in the group they’re studying already knows without having to be told. People know some things instinctively. The way you do family.

There are certain relationships, and truths, that are just understood in these blessed latitudes. Relationships and truths that, like the soil, are ever fecund. And ever worthy of appreciation.

ALL OF which brings us to, of all things, the Pro Football Hall of Fame. That estimable institution now has a couple of new additions from Arkansas, one each out of Wilson and Pine Bluff, locales where the sense of place is so strong you can luxuriate in it. As usual, it’s intertwined with a sense of family. As was clear from the celebratory remarks made by these new Hall of Famers on their induction.

Not that these gentlemen weren’t already famous in Arkansas and far beyond, too. But in Arkansas, they’re homeboys. Their names are landmarks. Just drive down Cortez Kennedy Avenue in Wilson, Ark., pausing at Rivercrest High School. Well before Seahawks fans in Seattle had ever heard his name, Cortez Kennedy had led his high school football team to a championship season (13-0).

As a defensive lineman, Cortez Kennedy was anything but, well, defensive. Nobody—nothing—got past him. Or as teammate Eugene Robinson recalled, “He was an absolute beast.” In Mr. Kennedy’s highly specialized field, that may be the highest of compliments.

Eugene Robinson, free safety, elaborated on his teammate’s formidable virtues: “He stopped the trap. He stopped the counter-play. He was always in somebody’s backfield.” And in their face. No wonder his teammates, whether in high school or college or the NFL, loved him. And those he sacked—they were Legion—respected him. Or had better.

So when Cortez Kennedy got up to accept his latest honor at the Hall of Fame banquet the other night, whom does he talk about? Lots of folks—coaches, teammates, all those who helped him and lent him their strength. But what impressed most, what came across as most Arkansas, were his words about his mother, who must be a well of tough love. And how he came to understand just how much she loved him: “You cared about me as a son [rather] than a football player. I love you so much.”

Moms are like that. They never give up on us, or trying to teach us. Not just their hearts but their priorities are in the right place, usually home. And when a son shows he’s finally understood what’s important . . . . That’s part of what a sense of place is, too—a place in the family.

AS FOR Willie Roaf, the other Arkansas pick for the Hall of Fame this year, his road can’t have been easy. If you think it’s tough growing up in a less than perfect family, just try growing up in a perfect one. Talk about great expectations. How possibly meet what is expected of a Roaf in Pine Bluff, Ark.? There were those just about perfect sisters ahead of Willie at Pine Bluff High. His dad remains a model in every way, especially when it comes to giving his son utter support. And unconditional yet calm love. Season after season, game after game, through every crisis, every test, every triumph.

Talk about both patience and pride. Let’s just say that Dr. Roaf has to be about the most patient man ever to serve on Pine Bluff’s school board. Year after year, he listened—not just heard, but listened—to every protest, grievance, comment and complaint. And when everybody at the board meeting was talked out, Cliff Roaf was still not listened out. Talk about good training for fatherhood.

ALL IN ALL, that’s a mighty hard act to follow. And yet Willie Roaf did. Followed and more, which was why he was standing there on a star-studded Saturday night being inducted into the Hall of Fame and talking about . . . his mother. That would be Andree Roaf, the Hon. Andree Roaf, late of the Arkansas Supreme Court—his guide, teacher, disciplinarian, counselor-at-law, and, oh, yes, grammarian. She’s gone now, but of course, being Andree Roaf, not gone. Moms never leave us.

Back home, young Willie Roaf was known affectionately—always affectionately, sir!—to his classmates at Pine Bluff High as Meat Roaf. As an offensive tackle (that job description may be the only thing offensive about this gentle giant) he would go on to become the toast of the Saints and all of New Orleens-Land-of-Dreems.

Somewhere along the line, literally, he would also play in 11 Pro Bowls, be named the NFC’s Offensive Lineman of the Year a couple of years, and to the NFL’s All-Decade Team for more than one decade. But this night, as he entered pro football’s Hall of Fame, he approached a different kind of bench to make his plea:

“To my mother, the Honorable Judge Roaf, looking down on this ceremony, no, Mom, I did not become a doctor, a lawyer or a brain surgeon. But I did become a Pro Football Hall of Famer, and I know you’re proud of me. That’s what matters to me the most.”

That’s what we mean by a sense of place, at least of this place called Arkansas, and by the sense of family that goes with it.

Thank you for reminding all of us of all that, Messrs. Roaf and Kennedy, gentlemen both, sons both.

Editorial, Pages 72 on 08/12/2012

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