Cultural Practices of the Heartland

By Andy Crawford

Deep within the suburban jungle of Cincinnati, a monster has emerged, bursting out of the Rumpke Sanitary Landfill. Taking its name from its birthplace, Rumpke is a thousand feet tall, has revolting personal habits, and might be vaguely familiar to readers, considering his orange-tinged hair and proportionally tiny hands. What do Americans do when such a creature appears, lumbers around at random, and occasionally defiles a local landmark? For millions, the choice is obvious – worship it.

New York journalist Fred Millard is assigned to report on the exploits of the monster, his bizarre fandom, and the ludicrous internet conspiracy theories that have caught fire since his appearance. Fred quickly learns that the absurdity of Rumpke’s fandom leads to more serious consequences than mere internet hysteria – when serious illness starts to spread in those closest to the monster, its biggest fans refuse to follow the government’s guidance of masking and social distancing, worsening the outbreak. And most appalling of all, one conspiracy theory inspires a violent mob to assemble in Washington, DC and assault a federal building, with deadly results.

A funhouse-mirror reflection of modern American politics, CULTURAL PRACTICES OF THE HEARTLAND is a sci-fi tinged political satire novel. It was written for all of us who are exhausted, baffled, and even terrified by the insanity of American politics in recent times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andy Crawford
• Release date: Jun 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215503553

Andy Crawford

Andy Crawford loves Korean food. He likes pizza too. He probably won't say no to burritos. Or chicken. For steak, he prefers a ribeye, medium rare. Or a cheesesteak. Actually, he'll be fine with any steak. Even swordfish steaks.He also loves oysters.

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CULTURAL PRACTICES OF THE HEARTLAND

Andy Crawford

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Copyright 2023 by Andy Crawford

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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other titles by Andy Crawford:

Sailor of the Skysea

The Pen is Mightier

Untethered (short story)

Spindown

This is a work of fiction, coming entirely from the author's imagination. Some locations portrayed are real places, but all characters and events are entirely fictional.

For Aaron

CHAPTER ONE

I first saw the monster on the approach to Cincinnati. In person, at least – it had been front-page news since it emerged from the Rumpke Sanitary Landfill in southeastern Ohio two months ago. From ten thousand feet, Rumpke (as the monster had been dubbed) didn’t look so big, just a greenish-brown sort of blob on the landscape, with a hint of muddy orange around its head. Its movements were slow enough to be imperceptible. And if we hadn’t been notified by the captain that it was visible out the window, I might not have even noticed it as separate from the brownish-green landscape of southern Ohio.

My first stop was the landfill itself, on the outskirts of Cincinnati. Strip malls, Walmart Supercenters, home improvement stores, and car dealerships dominated the area. A nasty odor announced it a half-mile before my cab reached the overhead sign, RUMPKE in big red letters, with arrows directing the various types of landfill drop-offs they accepted. A hasty ticket counter had been set up in recent weeks, charging gawkers and journalists like me ten bucks to see a massive, putrid hole in the ground, plus an off-limits government dig site in one corner, conspicuously covered with a huge white tent. A gawker asked if we could get up close, but the feds had declared the site off-limits until they verified it was safe.

The exit wound of Rumpke’s emergence had mostly collapsed in on itself, leaving a wide, concave mass of busted rubble and refuse that glistened in the sun. I asked the guide about that shine – It’s Rumpke. He leaves it on everything he touches. I was shocked to discover that this ‘sheen’ had been called ‘Essence of Rumpke’ and was available for sale at fifteen dollars per ounce in the gift kiosk (in sealed plastic jars, which I later learned was due to the stench), along with dozens of other hastily prepared Rumpke-themed baubles and knickknacks. I browsed for a few minutes, and there was a theme to the goods available – they all had that look of having been prepared in someone’s basement, probably in the last few weeks.

After clawing his way out of the landfill, Rumpke, apparently frightened of the city and loud noises, made his way eastward and was currently lazing about in a state park a few dozen miles east of Cincinnati. My editor had booked me on a shuttle, which turned out to be a tour bus full of Rumpkers, as the monster’s burgeoning fan base was known. Quite conveniently, it had a loading stop at the landfill, and I wasn’t the only one who boarded. My seatmate was a chatty retired foreman at a snack food plant named Carl. He was wearing a hat I’d soon be very familiar with – a similar muddy-orange color to the fur, foliage, or whatever it was that covered most of Rumpke’s head. It bore the initials RIRA, which Carl explained stood for Rumpke is Restoring America. I asked him what led him here.

Oh, it was the Pyle Center, for sure, he said. He smiled when I asked him to explain. In Wilmington. First week or two, I was just staring at the TV like everyone else – what the hell was this thing? Where’d it come from? But then it got to Wilmington and stepped on the Pyle Center.

I recalled this from the background material – the Pyle Center, a part of the Wilmington College campus, was one of the handfuls of architectural casualties of Rumpke’s travels around southwestern Ohio. Luckily, his movements were so slow that, as big as he was, the authorities were almost always able to warn and evacuate those in his path. The official casualty count so far was less than twenty, most of whom were daredevils who had defied official directions.

And guess what was in the Pyle Center? continued Carl. The Office of Diversity and Inclusion. He snorted. The commies. They never went away.

Carl eyed my press badge, and I could tell he was enjoying my discomfort. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, he said, but Rumpke stands with us. He’s as tired of this social justice crap as I am. I’ll tell you what, I hadn’t been to church in years, but after the Pyle Center, I’ve been going twice a week, and I know I’m not the only one.

Where do you think he’s headed now? I asked him.

Only Rumpke knows that. He laughed. Wish he’d head east to show those assholes in Washington what they’re worth, but he looks to be going south, and there are plenty of college towns that way. Hope he steps on those ivory towers.

From my research beforehand, I’d learned that the Pyle Center was a turning point for the Rumpke fandom. Message boards for conspiracy-types and disaffected cultural conservatives had latched onto the flattening of the Pyle Center and its supposed woke liberal symbolism as a sign from God that Rumpke was on their side. And Republican politicians across the country, who earlier had been insisting the monster needed to be destroyed by the military before it caused any more damage, had become suspiciously silent. A colleague of mine in DC later told me that the party bigwigs were in meetings late into the night, trying to figure out the political ramifications and whether eliminating the monster by force could backfire among their base.

I made a snap decision and changed my plans – instead of going straight to the monster, I’d go check out the site of this turning point. I spoke to the driver and got off at a stop near Bethesda North Hospital, switching to a taxi to take me to Wilmington.

The driver was a friendly man named Jorge who couldn’t stop marveling about Rumpke. He brings good business, he said. So many tourists, so many going back and forth, all flying into Cincinnati.

What about the buildings he steps on?

He’s crazy, sure. It’s crazy, no doubt. He laughed. Only in America!

He asked me if I’d like to hear the radio, and I asked him to tune into the public radio station. They were in the middle of an interview with an author from Georgia, R. J. Lance, who’d recently gained some national recognition for his book Redneck Requiem: A Chronicle of Culture and Family at a Crossroads, which attempted to explain, through personal anecdotes, the decline of optimism and economic viability in America’s heartland.

"So, what is it about Rumpke?" asked the radio interviewer. The attention is understandable, but I’ve found the adoration he seems to be getting just unfathomable.

"It’s complicated. But I think the best analogy is drugs. Who gets on drugs? In my experience, it’s folks who are already suffering. I think the pain for, let me call them my people – small-town American whites – has gotten worse lately, and it comes from many places. Some of it is about money, as the manufacturing that provided so many steady jobs have downsized or altogether vanished. Some of it is the physical change of communities, as the mom-and-pop stores that once made American towns beautiful and vibrant gave way to cash-for-gold stores and payday lenders. Some of it is about the destruction of families, as rising divorce rates demonstrate homes that are just as devastated as factories. Some of it is politics, as Americans watch from afar the federal government that never tries to speak to them, and does not act in their interests, and doesn’t even function. And some of it is cultural, from the real feelings of humiliation of losing wars fought by our children to the sense that some fall behind only because others get to leap ahead."

"So if that explains, at least to some degree, why they’re suffering and why they feel they need something to latch onto, why Rumpke?"

"There’s a few things. And before I get into it, let me make it clear that Rumpke is terrible. This is a walking toxic waste nightmare, crushing property and livelihoods, and inevitably he’s going to cause more suffering, whether from blundering into something really, really important, or because his effluence will cause cancer or whatever. But this is why I think they’re latching onto him: firstly, we can’t look away – that’s one thing. Rumpke demands our attention. And I think most important of all, the elites hate him. The big talking heads in the media are obviously terrified and want the government to euthanize him or whatever, or at least contain him where he can’t do any more damage. And I think that gets to something deep within my people – anger at the elites. The elites are scared of Rumpke, and anything that scares the elites must be a good thing. Maybe it sounds crazy, but there is real grievance there, and I don’t think it’s illegitimate. The elites really have screwed over so many of us and have gotten really rich at the expense of small towns. That doesn’t justify the worst of all this nonsense – the conspiracy theories and whatnot –but I think it explains a big part of it. Rumpke’s enemies are our enemies, and sometimes that’s what feels most important."

It took a few minutes and some cell phone navigating. But Jorge was able to drop me off right by the safety barriers around the remnants of the Pyle Center at Wilmington College. Aside from the rubble, the campus looked more like a high school than a college – nondescript, with low brick buildings, wide parking lots, and only a few sparsely forested areas. I’d found a YouTube video, apparently from a bystander, of the destruction – shaky footage of Rumpke’s enormous foot coming down; the Pyle Center stood no chance. There was also news footage from a helicopter following the creature; Rumpke simply ambled from the outskirts of Wilmington through the campus and then turned south about a mile east. Aside from the Pyle Center, there wasn’t that much major damage–it looked like simple bad luck.

The Pyle Center’s offices had been moved to a nearby building, now packed to the gills. I asked around for the new Office of Diversity and Inclusion location and was directed to a crowded room with wall-to-wall cubicles. Navigating the little maze, I finally met Dr. George Thompson, an older Black man in a suit and thick glasses.

I introduced myself and asked about the incident.

We knew it was coming hours before, he said. The whole campus had been evacuated. Just bad luck he stepped on my building.

Has your department suffered?

Well, I wear two hats – history professor and this job. And frankly, it didn’t do much to affect either. My office was in Pyle, but I’d already gotten out my computer and everything else important. Now it’s just a bit crowded. We have space in other buildings for our meetings.

Have you heard about the online reaction? The Pyle Center has become kind of a rallying cry for the biggest fans of Rumpke.

His laugh was low and rich. "Ridiculous, isn’t it? We got donations pouring in at the same time the internet crazies latched onto us. And the campus rallied around us. I got a half-dozen laptop donations when I didn’t need a single one. I’ve had to borrow