That video on my last post brings to mind the farcical instance in which Sen. Glenn McConnell decided to switch to a nylon Confederate flag on the State House grounds.

Here’s what I wrote about that at the time:

These colors don’t run, but they’re made of the same stuff as pantyhose

By Brad Warthen
Editorial Page Editor

Oh, I wish I was in the land of nylon;
Old times there are not . . .

* . . to pile on?
* . . four miles on?
* . . a trial run?

Help me. I’m trying to adjust to an entirely new conception of the Old South, and it’s not easy.

It turns out that, contrary to popular misconceptions that it was technologically disadvantaged, the Confederacy was way ahead of its times – at least in the production of synthetic fabrics. There’s no other way to explain the fact that some of the foremost keepers of the Confederate flame – including at least one real stickler for authenticity – have insisted that the cotton flag flying behind the soldier monument on the State House grounds be replaced with a banner of nylon.

Sen. Glenn McConnell owns a Civil War memorabilia shop in Charleston, and is known for three great passions: the South Carolina Senate, Civil War battle re-enactments and the Confederate submarine Hunley. This is a man reputed to own and frequently wear more than a dozen different, meticulously accurate, Confederate and Union uniforms.

To the best of my knowledge, not one is made of nylon.

And yet he thought it best to replace the cotton flag with a nylon one for a couple of reasons. One was that the cotton one didn’t fly as well in the breeze. I’ll come back to that. The other was that the colors on the cotton flag ran in the rain. “You get pink stars and everything,” he told The State‘s Valerie Bauerlein. “We shouldn’t be flying a flag like that.”

“We shouldn’t be flying a flag like that.” That sounds like what I used to say about another Confederate flag that used to fly over our State House. You remember that flag. It went up in 1962, ostensibly to commemorate the centennial of the war, and failed to come down in 1965.

That flag had a lot of problems, not least of which being the fact that it was absurd to fly a relic of history over our present-day seat of government. It wasn’t even an accurate relic. It wasn’t square, like the flag that most South Carolinians fought under with the Army of Northern Virginia. It was rectangular – like the battle flag of the Army of the Tennessee, or the Confederate naval jack. Or the “Rebel Flag” that was so popular among white supremacists through much of the 20th century.

So, after years of arguing, we South Carolinians came up with a compromise that fell far short of pleasing everybody, but which at least made some sense: We would fly a scrupulously accurate Army of Northern Virginia flag behind the monument on the State House grounds honoring all the South Carolinians who fought and died for the Confederacy.

No, the bill authorizing the change said nothing about cotton. It didn’t have to. But everyone had reasons to assume it would be.

The actual flags issued to Confederate soldiers to carry into battle were made of cotton bunting. If cotton was good enough for them, why isn’t it good enough for latter-day Confederate wannabes?

The flag that flew over the State House all of those years with the approval of Sen. McConnell and others was made of the same stuff. If it was good enough to fly there for 38 years, why isn’t it good enough now?

Does it really matter whether the flag is made of cotton or nylon? Maybe not. But you would think it would, for two reasons. The first is that some participants in the debate who wanted no flag on the grounds gave in to this compromise because they had been assured quietly that an authentic flag would not be too conspicuous; it would only wave in the strongest of winds.

The second is that it is completely ridiculous to say you can better honor those who fought for the land of cotton with a nylon flag, which once again calls into question the motives of those who have advocated flying the banner: Is it really about honoring ancestors, or is it about defiantly waving a red flag in the faces of people who don’t want to see it?

Sen. John Courson is another “War Between the States” enthusiast. He was also the chief author of the 1994 Heritage Act, which was the basis for the compromise of 2000.

He said he recalls no “specific discussion” in 2000 as to what the flag would be made of, but adds that “I assumed when I drafted the Heritage Act that we’d use a cotton bunting flag.” Over the six years it took to settle this issue, he took an authentic Army of Northern Virginia flag from his office to many meetings on the issue, to show what he had in mind. What was that flag made of? “It was absolutely cotton,” he said.

I asked him whether he wanted to see a nylon flag flying at that monument. “No,” he said. He had a number of good reasons, chief among them the fact that he has respect for the war dead and for history, and, “Cotton is authentic.”

Besides, he said, “I’m a Southerner; I like cotton.”

Precisely.

That column ran on Dec. 9, 2001. Yes, in the months following the Sept. 11 attacks on this country, as Americans were fighting in Afghanistan, Sen. McConnell was obsessing over whether the Confederate battle flag flew visibly enough on our Capitol lawn, and whether the stars were pink.

By the way, Sen. Courson had good reason to oppose this move. He was indeed very invested in the idea that the flag would be made of a heavy cotton fabric, and not only for reasons of historical accuracy. In the days leading up to the now-infamous compromise of 2000, he led me out onto the State House grounds one bright afternoon and directed my attention to the monument, where the flag would go. He asked me to imagine a flag that was sufficiently heavy that it would be visible only in the strongest of winds. It wouldn’t be in anyone’s face. It would just be a historically accurate tribute to war dead. Most of the time, no one would realize what it was if they didn’t already know.

Sen. Courson kept his word on that. But others had other things on their minds. Such, on occasion, is the honor of would-be Confederate gentlemen.

And if the gentleman wishes to seek satisfaction, his seconds can find me at my club on almost any weekday morning.

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