Phillips 66, of course. It's hand-painted on a piece of cardboard and tacked to a tree, a rare sign of life, or afterlife, in one of the deadest parts of America. I'm on State Route 66 in Kentucky, which has nothing to do with America's mythical main street. Dug in 1946, paved in 1975, S.R. 66 is a 36-mile twist that feels 100 miles long through three of the poorest counties in the nation. Like U.S. 66, it takes you back in time.
Poverty sells only in the right context.
By the time Lyndon Johnson declared war on poverty, the New Deal had already won the battle for most. Only the fresh memories of what had been survived lingered to fund the compassion of save-Appalachia programs, but not for long. The majority of Americans today don't know anyone who is poor and so find it easier to judge those who are, and either fault them or forget them. That, too, is understandable. Americans are not an ungenerous people.