Alabama’s reputation isn’t the best.

When I told my friends in Philadelphia in 1990 that I was moving to Alabama, one said, “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

When I decided to return to Alabama after retiring from my job in Cincinnati in 2011, someone said, “You lived there once---why would you ever want to go back?”

When I spent six weeks pastoring a church in Hawaii last summer and introduced myself as coming from Alabama, some of the congregation visibly winced, as if I’d said I carried a communicable disease.

I winced myself recently when I saw a cartoon picturing a road sign that read, “Welcome to Alabama. Turn clocks back one hundred years.”

I love living in Alabama, but I know where those people are coming from. We defended racial segregation long after everyone else had seen the cruelty of it. We tax the poor at a higher rate than the rich, then deny many of them access to healthcare. Our environmental protection laws are the weakest of any state. We incarcerate people for minor offenses and then forget about them. We are usually the last to accept change. Apart from football, when did we last make the national news for something positive?

The past few weeks haven’t helped. Most Americans now living don’t remember George Wallace’s “Segregation today! Segregation tomorrow! Segregation forever!” But just as Wallace was receding into history, Judge Roy Moore did a convincing Wallace impersonation on national television.

It’s not that Moore opposed same-sex marriage---a case can be made against that. It’s that he didn’t understand constitutional law. No one would care if I didn’t know constitutional law, but Roy Moore is chief justice of the Alabama Supreme Court!

So I understand why people elsewhere snicker at us. I don’t like it, but I understand it.

Nonetheless, my wife and I chose to return to Alabama in 2011 and if we had it to do over again, we’d choose Alabama again. We want to live here.

That’s because of the people---white and black, rich and poor, religious and secular, straight and gay, Republicans and Democrats. Alabamians are the most gracious and generous people we’ve ever known, and we’ve lived in a lot of places.

When we were considering our first move to Alabama in 1990, we met with the committee that was interviewing possible pastors for the church I eventually served here. At dinner, I was prepared to return thanks, as I’d done in countless other places. But no one asked me to pray. Instead, members of the committee prayed extemporaneously, for their church and for my family and me. Mostly, they gave thanks for blessings received.

After the interview, on the plane back to Philadelphia, my wife said, “I like these people.” I agreed. “What do you think?” I said. “I think we should go there if they want us,” my wife replied. We did and have never regretted it.

After arriving in Alabama, I found myself short of cash in the checkout line at the supermarket. The clerk said she couldn’t unring any of my purchases, so I asked her---and the people behind me in line---to wait while I ran to my car to look for more money. I returned still short of cash.

The woman behind me in line smiled and said, “That’s all right, Mister. I’ve got a little extra money this week. I’ll buy your groceries. I know you’d do the same for me.” She had three children in tow and a handful of food stamps. I said to myself, “I’m not in Philadelphia any more!”

I could tell many other such stories about the good people of Alabama. One on one, Alabamians are the best. I don’t understand how such gracious folk tolerate public officials who not only embarrass us but who treat the least of our citizens so harshly. There’s a disconnect here that someone else will have to explain.

I do what I can for justice, equality, and dignity for blacks, prisoners, gays, the poor, and others on whom Alabama’s hurtful laws weigh so heavily. I love our state. Let’s make it “Sweet Home Alabama” for all our people.

Richard H. Schmidt is a retired Episcopal priest, editor and author who lives in Fairhope. He can be reached at courier@gulfcoastnewspapers.com.