When Rascal Flatts released the song “Mayberry” in 2002 they struck a chord that is universal in our modern culture: our desperate need to slow down, find peace, and be known. So that when they sing the chorus, multitudes of us listening consciously or unconsciously say, “me too.”

I miss Mayberry
Sittin’ on the porch drinking ice cold cherry coke
Where everything is black and white
Pickin’ on the six string
People pass by and you call them by their first name
Watchin’ the clouds roll by

Nostalgic? Of course. A bit unrealistic? Sure. But do we long for it? Most DO indeed.

You don’t have to be familiar with Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs to know that safety, belonging, being loved and known are crucial to human beings.

That’s why, a couple of weeks in advance of my 70th birthday, my family surprised me with a short trip to Mt. Airy, NC last week to see the hometown of Andy Griffith, the true setting for the fictional town of Mayberry. (It turns out, initially unbeknown to Andy, there was an actual Mayberry in nearby VA, but I digress). In truth, the setting and even the characters and some of the stories in the make believe town were based on Andy’s friends and life in Mt. Airy.

One way to an American born baby boomer’s heart is to put him in an early 1960s black & white squad car in Andy’s hometown and have him hear that distinctive whine of the police siren; so much fun. Of course, much of what you see on the T.V. show was filmed in California, but in Mt. Airy you can eat lunch where Andy used to eat as a young man (at Snappy’s Lunch), and have your hair cut in the real Floyd’s barbershop while listening to Floyd’s 78 year old son, Bill, tell stories from the past. The original barber chairs and cash register are intact.

We stayed in an airbnb in nearby Ararat, VA, secluded in the woods and pastureland, beside a river; the fall leaves were blazing with color and the nights and early mornings were cool and damp with dew; it was idyllic. Like Mayberry.

What do you feel when you begin a movie on your television and you see the caption: BASED ON A TRUE STORY? That always intrigues me; I like to watch, read, or listen to TRUE stories about REAL people. Fantasy is great, but truthfully . . . there’s even a bit of fantasy in TRUE stories, too, isn’t there? Most fiction is based on reality anyway (except for Kafkaesque tales, of course), and with non-fiction we expect reality. In fact, the source of our storytelling, literature and film is often true stories. It’s why we can relate to them.

The characters, places, and events in the Andy Griffith show were often based on true stories, many from Andy’s own life in that little town of Mt. Airy. But then, if you starred in a story about yourself, don’t you think you’d draw from the persons and events in your past? Sure you would! In fact, you do that even without the cameras rolling.

It seems to me that the characters we meet early in life set the cast for our life’s story. That’s not to say you don’t come to know anyone other than folks in those early years; rather, you find new friends and associates that mirror those original folks. It’s almost as if you interpret every new fact in light of the old familiar faces. And if someone truly different comes along you either don’t think they’re for real, or you force them into a mold familiar to you. Or . . . you add them to the cast.

So Wally was real, Floyd was real, Hollywood coming to a small town to film was real, etc.

What we love about Mayberry is the familiarity, the safety and comfort of a place where people are known; where the town drunk is familiar, the officers of the law are familiar, the barber, fix-it man, postman, mayor and county clerk are all familiar.

But what difference does it really make? Do I truly need to know my neighbors? Why can’t I just keep to myself, and have others do the same? We’re all so very different, aren’t we? Our culture is multifarious; it’s not possible to truly relate to everyone.

Is this what we’ve come to in our advanced, civilized, sophisticated American way? Rubbish!

Surrounded by a loving wife, my children, my son-in-law, my grandchildren, and two good friends (in other words, familiar faces) I experienced the safety and comfort that allowed me to relax, be myself, enjoy a new place and even some new faces in that little town. It was unforgettable.

I miss Mayberry. And whether you know it or not . . . I think you do, too.