Semi-sentimental parting shots
by Adrienne Martini
We got off on a weird foot, Knoxville and I. One of the first pieces of mail I ever received here was from a local theater owner who objected to my review of his show. Which was fine. I like getting mail and everyone is entitled to his or her opinion.
Had the letter stopped there, all would have been peachy. But it didn't; it descended into a two-page tirade about my professionalism and credentials—two things that I'd never before been called upon to defend—then spiraled off into name calling. I'd never before had someone call me a cunt, to be honest, and it stung like hell.
It wasn't what I expected. Before I moved here, everyone assured me that Knoxville was a wonderful place, full of friendly folks and near the much-beloved Smokies. And that's true, to an extent. But what continually gets glossed over is how deeply suspicious East Tennesseans still are of outsiders, especially those with college degrees and opinions who have the nerve to be female. Knoxville is a bitch of a place to live if you aren't from around here.
For all of that baggage, however, this is a great town. Knoxville is where I both lost and found myself. This is where my baby spent her first years, in a little house on a wonderful street. My friends here are amazing, and have unselfishly given much more to us than they have received. I will miss so much of Knoxville when I go—and by the time this hits print, I'll already be gone.
For the better part of a year now, we've been trying to get closer to family. In July, it looked like it wasn't going to happen. Then, it did. He'll be the technical director for the SUNY school in Oneonta, New York. I'll be teaching a couple of classes there and writing a book. When it all fell together, it did so suddenly. I wanted to make my exit one like former editor Jesse Mayshark's, a six month-long affair where I went to lots of parties. Instead, I'm running around like a woman being chased by hornets.
There's no time, really, for a proper good-bye. But we never really got around to a proper hello, either, so this seems only fitting. When I first started at the Pulse, I learned to temper everything I wanted to say so as not to encourage more people to call me names. Now—a few years older and with a much thicker skin—I just don't have the drive I once did. It is best that I go now. Younger, hungrier folks are out there, nipping at my heels, just like I nipped at those of my predecessors.
Still, there are some things I've been meaning to tell you. The time is well past ripe. The opinions expressed below are mine and mine alone—not the Pulse's, not the editor's, not the sales staff's. Direct your ire at me, not them. As always, my email address is [email protected].
Onward—
 If you're willing to settle for good-enough, you'll get it every time. It doesn't matter if you're talking about city government or your newspaper. If Knoxville ever wants to pull itself out of its inferiority pity-party, Knoxvillians need to demand excellence from those in power. It's time for this city to live up to its potential.
For too long, this city has been run based on who people know rather than what they know. When you know you'll get certain things because of who your daddy is, there is little motivation to earn them as well. "From whom much is given, much is expected," JFK once opined. He's right.
There was a guy out in Lenoir City who used to send me carefully typed Bible verses every week. Two years ago, he stopped. Perhaps he just decided I was beyond help and turned his focus to a more responsive sinner. But I worry about him and hope he's OK.
Never before have I lived someplace so bloomin' scenic. And never before have I lived in a community that seemed so hell-bent on crapping it up. Even Texas—a state known for its reckless disregard of laws—had less litter and billboards on the roads (heck, they even have fewer new roads). Quit tossing stuff out of your car, already.
All of the city's problems can't be solved by a few guys from somewhere else who want to build a big tourist attraction with your tax dollars. How many times does this have to be re-demonstrated before folks admit that meaningful change, like salvation, takes place slowly, one small epiphany at a time?
Despite their assurances otherwise, a dozen rich white guys run Knoxville. They have no reason to change this, nor admit that it is true. It's not necessarily a bad thing, except when it is.
A couple of homilies that still resonate here: Actions always speak louder than words. Be the change you want to see in the world. A fool and his money are easily parted.
Call out pompous blowhards at every opportunity and make them accountable. Hallerin Hilton Hill should be the first given this treatment. Doug Mason should be next.
Capitalize on the magnificence that is the Sunsphere. Celebrate these sorts of serendipitous confluences at every opportunity because these are the sorts of things that make a place unique and wonderful. Quirks are what will save every city from the homogenization of America. Knoxville is no different.
To rip off Garrison Keillor and Webb Wilder: Be well. Do good work. Keep in touch. And wear glasses if you need them.
It's been a long, strange trip, y'all—but what worthwhile endeavor isn't?
Cheers.
August 28, 2003 Vol. 13, No. 35
© 2003 Metro Pulse
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