The businessman in seat 9D on a Boston-to-Chicago flight is not a happy traveler. Explaining to his seatmate in 9E that he recently took a new job in suburban Chicago after a lifetime on the East Coast, he says glumly, "I don't think I'm cut out for the Midwest."
And why not? asks 9E, a Midwesterner by birth. Well, he replies, the landscape is so flat. And the people are so polite - sometimes too polite, y'know? He says he misses the "edge" that Easterners often project.
Polite was undoubtedly what President Clinton's national security advisers were expecting when they scheduled a town hall meeting on Iraq in Columbus, Ohio, last week. As Secretary of State Madeleine Albright told the audience, "We are very pleased to be here in America's heartland."
Yet polite is hardly the word that describes the jeers of student protesters attending the event. With their chants and heckles, they served as a vocal, visible reminder that the so-called heartland is anything but monolithic or predictable in its attitudes. Stereotype us, the dissenters seemed to say, at your peril.
Heartland has become an overworked word, rarely used by Midwesterners but beloved by visiting reporters and politicians. They like the way its warm and fuzzy sound masks what they really mean: hinterland. It is a euphemism favored by those who see the nation's midsection as a bucolic American Siberia - a nice place to pass through on the way to either coast, but not a place you'd really want to live.
The Midwest is the nation's Nostalgia Belt. As developers bulldoze more and more farmland into strip malls and subdivisions, and as the sprawling region increasingly comes to resemble the rest of the country in its diversity and sophistication, promoters and detractors alike assiduously cultivate a hayseed image of cornfields and cows, barns and bib overalls.