FRANK FELLONE, aka the Drivetime Mahatma to Arkansas drivers, turns out a must-read column every Saturday about traffic laws, street and highway improvements, streets and highways that need improving, and . . . well, anything else that might interest the state’s motoring public.
In addition to a lot of information, his column offers a light touch-and Lord knows anybody who drives in Arkansas needs a sense of humor. And enough sense to be on constant guard out there. Lest we forget, as we often do, anybody who climbs behind the wheel is putting himself at risk. Every mobile minute. And even standing still. Driving has become such daily routine for most of us, it’s easy to forget we’re directing lots of metal and horsepower at considerable velocity every time we back out of the driveway.
But last Saturday, the Mahatma scootched over to make room for a Valued Correspondent known only as Susan who had an unusual problem: She’d fallen in love with a big rock. (We don’t choose these things; they just happen to us.) And not just any big rock but the one at the new interchange of Interstates 430 and 630 in Little Rock.
“I’m enamored of the big rock,” Susan began her letter to the Mahatma, and, like any woman in love, the first thing she wanted to do was change her beloved. How? “Why not turn it into a work of art like Mount Rushmore?” she suggested. “We could have local stoneworkers sculpt the likeness of famous Arkansas politicians like Faubus and Rockefeller” on it.
Why not, indeed? Don’t their portraits face each other at the state Capitol on opposite sides of one of its corridors? Or at least they did last time we took notice on the way to watch the sausage-that is, legislation-being made. Talk about a cordon sanitaire. A nice wide one is only prudent where those two now historical figures are involved; it’s hard to think of two more different political types. No prudent citizen might want to risk the spontaneous combustion if those two graven images shared the same big rock. Arkansas was just big enough to hold both of them.
We’d nominate our own Arkansas political leader to put on the rock if we could think of one who wouldn’t be controversial, but (a) we couldn’t, and (b) if we could, why honor a leader so inoffensive he never did anything to draw criticism? That’s not a leader but a nonentity. And there are some things that even a rock might not put up with,especially one with a lot of character of its own. Yes, Mr. Big Rock may be the strong, silent type not given to idle chatter, but we wouldn’t push him too far.
The same thought may have occurred to Susan, for no sooner had she made the suggestion about honoring Messrs. Faubus and Rockefeller than she began expressing reservations: “OK, politicians might be controversial,” she conceded. There’s no might-be to it. Even if these two choices represent a balanced slate. Like fire and water.
IT TOOK Susan little time to go looking for a less contentious figure to adorn her love. “An easier choice,” she suggested, would be to carve the face of Frank Broyles into the rock. After all, who could object to honoring a demigod in these football-mad latitudes? Although surely somebody would, Arkies/Arkansans/Arkansawyers being a notoriously contentious lot. We can’t even agree on what to call ourselves, let alone on the momentous question of whether the University of Arkansas and Arkansas State should meet on the gridiron. Some things are even more important than politics inthis all too Natural State.
Before she could be stopped, Susan was off and running with suggestions about which foundations might agree to finance which carvings to decorate the big rock in Little Rock: the Rockefeller Foundation? the Razorback one?
Conscientious as ever, the Mahatma checked out the possibility of decorating the rock with the state highway department, which proved as imaginative as ever. To sum up its reaction to the idea: No Way. Its planners still haven’t gotten over the hullabaloo that erupted when it was suggested that the historic Broadway Bridge connecting the two Little Rocks be replaced by a great landmark (a “signature” bridge) comparable to the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, or at least be preserved.
Instead, the highway department has chosen to replace the old Broadway Bridge with some standard design more likely to just fade into the background. Why risk distinction? As usual, the department displayed about as much imagination and innovation as, well, a big rock.
But be comforted, Dear Susan, by the thought that the greatest loves may be those that go unfulfilled, like Dante and Beatrice or Romeo Montague and that Capulet girl. In their way, such liaisons may prove more enduring than just another rocky romance.
Editorial, Pages 16 on 07/27/2013