The Death Of Dale Earnhardt And The Two Cultures Of America

Growing up in the Midwest, I've always been aware that for most people in the media, there are two America's.

First, there are the two coasts: supposedly hipper, smarter, more liberal. If you live in New York City, Los Angeles or any of the other major coastal areas, you're just assumed to be somehow more educated, a better person. You're less prejudiced, and far more open to other cultures, other races, other experiences.

And then there's middle America. The old show business joke is that the Midwest is what you fly over on your way from one coast to another. And for many people in the media, that attitude is more than a punchline--it's an unspoken philosophy. America's heartland is primarily filled with yahoo's. Trailer trash, rednecks, the under-educated unwashed. Middle America is the land of Jerry Springer and 40oz bottles of Miller beer.

And that attitude has never been more apparent than in the past week, as I've watched the major media outlets covering the death of NASCAR legend Dale Earnhardt. From Dan Rather to the local TV anchors, those in the media seem perplexed by the entire experience. Reporters recount the grieving of fans and the effect on the industry as if they're covering some oddly endearing foreign cultural ritual. "Think of Dale Earnhardt as being the Michael Jordan of racing, " said one CBS reporter I watched. "He was their Elvis, their Tiger Woods."

But those comments only reinforce the feelings I experience every day. The biggest gap in America isn't political, or religious, or racial. It's cultural. And in that battle, most of Middle America is fighting the perception that "Hee Haw" wasn't a television show, it was a documentary.

Dale Earnhardt wasn't just a familiar face to the same people who think Jeff Foxworthy is a comedy genius. In fact a recent survey showed that 90% of all Americans recognized his name, And whether or not you followed his career (I didn't), his story is the story of America. Most of us didn't attend an Ivy League school or marry a super model. We grew up struggling, devoted our lives to bettering ourselves and raising a family.

Earnhardt was a ninth-grade dropout who once worked as a factory welder before he became a full-time driver. He struggled to pay his bills, feed his family. More than once, he recounted the story of coming home from one race to find the only groceries in the kitchen cabinets were a couple of cans of beans.

And yet, like many Americans, he rose above his birthright. He was a deceptively bright businessman, with a net worth in the hundreds of millions of dollars. And much of that was unrelated to his race earnings. Forbes Magazine recently ranked his financial empire as the fifth-biggest in all of sports, and most credit that success to Earnhardt's business acumen and his unrelenting need to succeed.

Earnhardt's death wasn't a shock because he represented some Jordan-esque super driver. Or because his fans just weren't sophisticated enough to appreciate someone more intellectual worthy. His death hurts because he represents the dream that most Americans hold dear.

He was a business success, with a happy marriage to a woman who shared not just his personal life, but his professional success. She helped build his empire, as did his children. Earnhardt represented a dream that seems almost naive to those who have forgotten where they came from.

Earnhardt was just a simple man, doing the best he knew how to do. And for those of us getting by day-to-day, that's all we can really ask for.

A life worth dying for.