Postcard: Southern man

LYNCHBURG, Tenn. - Within the opening 90 minutes of my first foray into the Volunteer State I was called "hon," "honey," "love," "dear," "baby" and "darlin'," served grits at a late-night diner that even a greasy spoon would be embarrassed to be in, and saw a miniature Confederate flag.

Welcome to the South, y'all.

As first impressions go, it felt like I'd stepped off the airplane and into a bad "Saturday Night Live" skit. But, it was late (after midnight local time), I'd just flown Kalispell to Salt Lake City to Cincinnati to Chattanooga (sitting behind Griz linebacker Shane MacIntyre's parents on the last two legs), and was really very hungry (not one of those flights offered anything more than a bag of pretzels).

So after finally getting something to eat across the street from my hotel, at a place called Waffle House where they pour extra grease on the hash browns and serve an oatmeal-like concoction that I would later find out was grits, and getting some sleep, I decided to try out Chattanooga anew.

It's a fine old city, who saw its peak in the early 1900s, but in a good way. A one-time passenger railway hub (yes, the famous Choo-Choo), Chattanooga was a commercial and social dynamo in its day.

Times (and preferred methods of transportation) change, and Chattanooga got bumped from the list of hot spots. Today, its future lies in its past. Rather than allowing an old, rich downtown to fall into disrepair, the city's keepers have preserved the famous train station (although it was allowed to become a hotel) and other remnants of the glory years.

A stroll through downtown is a walking tour of our nation's early years, including some of our more unpleasant memories.

Take a drive around the area and you can experience the natural beauty of southeast Tennessee, which is a lot like Montana's only with downsized mountains - Lookout Mountain and Signal Mountain, prominent players in Civil War battles, stand guard to the south and north of Chattanooga.

About an hour's drive to the west, which includes a brief dip into Georgia ("We're glad Georgia's on your mind," said a welcome sign) lies this sleepy burg in Moore County.

It's interesting to note that Moore County went dry in 1909, several years before prohibition, and remains so to this day, save for one caveat.

Here, in the freshness of a new day and no longer hungry, I got to know a bit more about the region, its history and its people, thanks to an hour-long walking tour of a national historic landmark.

At first, the Southern drawl can be off-putting. All the cutesy nicknames foisted upon strangers like "honey" and "darlin'" can make a person seem like a caricature of what a Southern person is supposed to sound like. But after a while, it becomes endearing, and you can't help but crack a smile at even the lamest jokes.

So after visiting with locals for the better part of an afternoon, that first impression of the South is replaced by a more complete view.

A part of the country that at one time didn't want to be a part anymore, withstood the crisis of secession, became a vital part of the nation's growth and now stands as a testament to the past.

By the way, that landmark I toured here? The Jack Daniel Distillery (big surprise, I know).

Yup, the only place in the world where Jack Daniel's is made is in a county that prohibits the sale of alcohol, except for one tiny store in the visitor's center that can sell commemorative bottles. That's what you call irony.

And as for the miniature Confederate flag?

Probably just an Ole Miss fan who wandered too far from home, because other than the one sticker on the one car, there has been no sign of the Stars and Bars.

Andrew Hinkelman is a sports writer for the Daily Inter Lake. He can be reached at hink@dailyinterlake.com