2009 Tallahassee Film Festival

Thank you, Tallahassee for honoring us with the Audience Award at the 2009 Tallahassee Film Festival. This glass trophy goes a long way towards validating a little movie fueled by big dreams. The Purple State project presumes that two friends airing their differences across the religious and political divide could be of interest to others. John Marks and I even dared to consider it entertaining. And for one glorious weekend, Tallahassee agreed. We got prime newspaper coverage in the Tallahassee Democrat. We even got to see our movie on an IMAX screen (thanks to Gil and Gail at Ziffer-Stansberry!).

Purple State of Mind in IMAX

What a marvelous reminder of the enduring charms of Southern hospitality.
We were driven down tree-lined canopy roads to Bradley’s Country Store.

Canopy road, Tallahassee, Florida

We sampled Bradley’s homemade sausage and stocked up on their signature grits. Nothing better than sipping a Dr. Pepper and eating a moon pie in a rocking chair.

Rockin’ chairs at Bradley’s Country Store

But I write to thank you Tallahassee for so much more. Lea Marshall found our little movie through a Google search. And Liz Herbert Joyner found in our project a catalyst for her our effort to chase windmills—the Village Square. Liz and Lea may come from opposite sides of the political spectrum. But as citizens (and parents), they’re equally concerned about our civic discourse.

Lea and Liz and the Village Square

Will their children inherit an endless shouting match, characterized by slander, half truths and more than mud slinging? Both the Village Square and the Purple State of Mind project hope not. One hundred fifty people joined us for dinner, an old fashioned town hall meeting, where John and I shared our story and invited Tallahassee to bare its collective soul. It was a marvelous evening of questions and answers, faith and doubt, renewing our bonds as Americans committed to the (un)common good. Bravo to Liz and her amazing team of board members and volunteers!

Purple State at the Village Square, Tallahassee

As Florida’s state capital, Tallahassee is no stranger to political wrangling. The gory battle over the 2000 presidential election turned all eyes on the Sunshine State. Florida didn’t necessarily like what it saw of itself, of America, of both political parties. HBO’s haunting film, Recount, offers a colorful blow-by-blow of the grudge match.

Almost a decade after that contentious election, state legislators face an equally ugly task—crafting a budget that will get them reelected. Faced with hundreds of millions of dollars of shortfall, lawmakers are considering substantial cuts to education. Tallahassee universities like Florida State and Florida A & M fear where the hatchet may fall. Whole departments, majors and satellite campuses may be shut down.

The Purple State project touched down on a community in crisis (or at least, a crossroads). John Marks and I were each invited to speak at St. John’s Episcopal Church as part of their ‘Metanoia’ series. “Metanoia” is a fancy Greek word to describe a turning point (whether for an individual or a community). St. John’s evidently faced their own turning point when half their congregation walked out over issues of homosexuality and church authority. Those “left behind” by the schism carry on, bruised but unbowed. How poignant for John Marks and I to talk about our divergent paths. Our two roads diverged at Davidson College. But we retraced those steps in a historic church that knows far too much about crossroads.

The Village Square at St. John’s Episcopal Church

I love Tallahassee because I am a native of the Sunshine State. I was born in Fort Lauderdale and grew up playing under palm trees. But even forty years ago, my parents were concerned about the quality of life in South Florida. Could kids still be kids surrounded by frat parties and a perpetual Spring Break? My family relocated to the friendly confines of Charlotte, North Carolina. We left Florida to the uneasy mix of natives, immigrants, and retirees. Now, my father is one of those retirees. He has moved to The Villages in Central Florida, were they have free concerts for the residents every night of the week. He was kind enough to meet me in Tallahassee, to sit in on our public debates.

The Detweilers: father and son

What John Marks and I found at the Tallahassee Film Festival, at the Village Square, and at St. John’s Episcopal Church was remarkable hospitality. We found people eager to connect, quick to converse, full of laughter. We connected over fried grit cakes, foot-long sausages and oysters on the half shell. We saw them dance and jam and sing at the Bradfordville Blues Club. Sarasota Slim and Nitro allowed the locals to blow their blues away at least for one evening.

Phillip “Nitro” Bozeman and Sarasota Slim

But the city still carries considerable burdens. Parishioners at St. John’s connected with my wife’s successful battle with Hodgkins lymphoma. An active Jewish community wrestles with the overwhelming Christian presence on civic life. Parents rooted in the permissive sixties attempted to understand the conservatism arising from their newly born again son. Proud professors at Florida A & M who hosted our screening undoubtedly struggled with a city still remarkably divided along racial lines. Tallahassee proved small enough and their problems visible enough to actually air our differences.

John Marks and I were touched and inspired by so many stories, by so many conversations. Even at the airport, on my way back to Los Angeles, a woman asked, “Pardon me—didn’t I see you in a Purple State of Mind?” She had come to the screening on Saturday. She brought along her daughter and a foreign exchange student. Her daughter was recently accepted at USC, so I had an opportunity to alleviate some of her anxiety about the massive City of Angels. She talked about the need for more civility. We recognized the precarious nature of America’s economic, social, and spiritual health. She revealed her roots in Sri Lanka. That lovely island has been wracked by civil war, by bloody battles between Singhalese and Tamils. The cultural and religious war waged by Buddhists and Muslims pails in comparison to our American divide. But it offers a cautionary tale. A wondrous week in Tallahassee confirmed what my Purple State partner has rightly observed: the culture war is a luxury we can no longer afford.

Purple State at the 2009 Tallahassee Film Festival