Friday afternoon Adrine Younger welcomed me into her tidy kitchen and offered me a glass of tea and a piece of Italian cream cake. The grandmother and widowed mother of five lives in a pleasant one-story farmhouse about a mile down a gravel road that bears the family name. I had come to talk politics.
Something her son-in-law, Michael Neese, had said a few days earlier prompted the visit. Tuesday evening Michael and I were sitting in a hall at the courthouse as the boxes from various precincts were being brought in. Michael’s brother-in-law, Chuck Younger, was in a run-off with Bobby Patrick for the state senate seat vacated by the death of Terry Brown.
We were chatting, catching up. Michael and my brother Stephen were running buddies years ago. Where’s the rest of the Younger family, I asked.
“Oh, they’re out at Bebe’s, Lisa’s mother’s,” Michael said. Then, after a pause: “She’s hasn’t lost one yet, knock on wood.”
Charles Younger was elected justice of the peace in 1964. Every four years since, Adrine Younger has had a husband or child campaigning for office in Lowndes County. Her son’s just-completed race makes it 14 campaigns. That’s a lot of pots of soup and skillets of cornbread (election-night fare for the family while waiting on the vote count).
“It dawned on me when I was going through some old campaign literature the other day that we have been doing this for 50 years,” Younger said. “It’s been a blessing; it’s been our livelihood.
“Tom Whitaker’s father died [the then justice of the peace]. We were trying to raise five children; Charles was milking cows and was a substitute mail carrier. We needed groceries.”
We’re sitting in her kitchen; I had declined the pie and tea.
For that first campaign, the Youngers went door-to-door, leaving a handwritten note for away-from-home voters. One bit of Younger memorabilia Adrine was able to unearth was a liberty bell cut out of white construction paper. Handwritten at the top is “Equal justice for all.” That is followed by, “I’m sorry I missed you. Your vote and influence will be greatly appreciated,” and then at the bottom, “Check Charles.”
“We hung those on doorknobs using yellow yarn,” Adrine said.
In the days after the election, Youngers would occasionally see one of their “Liberty Bells” dangling from a supporter’s rear-view mirror.
In 1980 when then Chancery Clerk David Shelton left the office to run for public service commissioner, Charles Younger ran for the office. He had formidable opponents, former State Senator Bill Burgin and Tommy Johnson.
During his 20 years as chancery clerk, Younger had the pleasure of working with a young woman Shelton had hired, Lisa Neese. When poor health forced him to step down in 2004, Lisa ran for the office and has had a lock on it since. Lisa, of course, is Charles’ daughter.
When asked the secret of the staying power of those office holders who win year after year — her daughter, Lisa, a prime example — Adrine is quick with an answer, the obvious answer — “they love people and they politic year-round. Lisa goes to Steens (a community potluck) every month, to Caledonia Day; the other day she was at Artesia Day. Lisa loves people.”
When son Chuck made it known he wanted to seek the District 17 Senate seat, it threw the family for a loop.
“I never dreamed he was interested,” Adrine said.
As it happens Chuck had been thinking about running for office for 12 years.
Lisa floated the idea past some of her courthouse confidants.
Supervisor President Harry Sanders offered a characteristically blunt assessment: “The Kennedys did it. Why can’t y’all do it?”
The “Younger machine” kicked into gear.
Adrine provided sage advice and helped with the wording of newspaper ads. Chuck’s daughter JoAnna set up a Facebook page and a website — a new twist for the family.
Otherwise Adrine Younger and her family implemented the tried and true.
“I wrote personal letters to my precious friends,” she said.
No phone banks for a Younger campaign.
“I don’t want anybody bothering me when I’m eating with my family,” Adrine explains.
The Youngers left 3,000 rack cards on doorknobs. Affixed to each was a handwritten note. The candidate had wanted to send out 5,000 glossy direct-mail pieces. The mother told her son they would end up in 5,000 trashcans. The candidate listened to his mother.
“I just use common sense, what appeals to me,” Adrine says.
As for the payoff for her wise counsel during this most recent campaign: “I’ve gotten a lot of kisses on the cheek from him.”
And for Adrine Younger that is plenty enough.
Birney Imes III is the immediate past publisher of The Dispatch.
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