Philip Rucker of The Washington Post was in South Carolina this past week examining the political landscape in the wake of 2nd District Congressman Joe Wilson’s “You lie!” controversy. His Orangeburg-datelined report appeared in the Sept. 22 Post. It is reprinted here with special permission.

The Bolen and Elmore homes, three blocks apart in opposite directions off Columbia Road in Orangeburg, could not seem more alike. Both are simple brick ranch-style houses occupied by retired couples, the men former police officers, who spend hours a day in dark dens where cigarette smoke wafts beneath the whirl of ceiling fans.

Inside the hush of these rooms, however, their differences become clear. Columbia Road is a long and narrow country highway that serves as the border between the congressional districts of Rep. Joe Wilson, a white Republican who heckled President Barack Obama during a speech, and Rep. James E. Clyburn, Capitol Hill’s top-ranking black Democrat, who led the House vote to punish Wilson for it.

Along Columbia Road, and throughout Wilson’s and Clyburn’s districts, race has long been an inescapable topic of debate. And as Wilson’s outburst brought the issue back to the surface, residents here voiced both divergent and hardened opinions. Their emotions are raw, even if cloaked in Southern gentility and graciousness.

The Bolens have seven antique miniature wooden grandfather clocks hanging on their wall. Their den is decorated with metal trinkets and classic Coca-Cola memorabilia. They said they could not bring themselves to watch Obama’s health care address on their 60-inch Magnavox because they think he is a liar. They live west of Columbia Road, in an area represented by Wilson, and they are white.

“Joe Wilson apologized to the president, and the president accepted it. My God, give me a break. I’m sick of this racism stuff,” said Barbara Bolen, 66, a retired textile factory manager. “Oh, and Jimmy Carter! I’m so mad about him calling it racism. I think that’s awful.”

The Elmores have a portrait of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. hanging on their wall. Their den is sprinkled with Obama campaign souvenirs, including a card that reads, “Yes We Did.” They watched the president’s speech together, but they have grown disillusioned, saying the election of the first African-American president has not transcended racial divisions, pointing to a summer of loud and angry opposition to Obama. They live east of Columbia Road, an area represented by Clyburn, and they are black.

“Everybody tries to say that it’s merely because of the health care, but there is some underlying, you know, racism,” said Joseph Elmore, 66. “The South has its way of covering up racism. They’re not used to a black man running America. They’re not used to a black man wielding that kind of power. You had 43 presidents who were white, and now you have a black one.”

More than two dozen Orangeburg residents interviewed here last week — white and black, rich and poor, doctors and lawyers, and plumbers and biscuit bakers — had varying opinions about the role of race in the opposition to Obama. Many were outspoken and shared the views of the Bolens or the Elmores, but some offered more nuanced thoughts.

Orangeburg lies at the heart of the Old South, a working-class, well-educated and heavily Democratic city in the South Carolina Midlands. Blacks outnumber whites by about 2 to 1, and the subject of race still hovers over the sleepy historic downtown, where a monument to Confederate soldiers stands. In 1968, police here fired into a crowd of demonstrators protesting a segregated bowling alley, killing three unarmed black men and wounding 27 others in what became known as the Orangeburg Massacre.

But the city, home to two historically black colleges, has a youthful energy and is attracting businesses. At a fundraiser for the local technical college one evening, many of Orangeburg’s well-to-do shushed away questions about race as they sipped fine wine and nibbled on scallops and lamb chops.

“I’ve known Joe for a long time, and I do not think there was any racism involved,” said Brad Hutto, 52, a lawyer and Democratic state senator who is white, but is supported by both black and white voters.

But Linda Blume whispered in a corner that racist sentiments bubble up when she and other white women play bridge twice a month.

“Although they won’t admit it, I really think it’s prejudice in Orangeburg — prejudice against blacks,” said Blume, 63, who owns an entertainment booking agency and said she supported Obama. “They’re all doctors’ wives and old Orangeburg society people. They’re all good women, but you can’t mention anything about Obama or they go crazy. They have fear of outside elements, fear of the unknown, fear of their world changing.”

At South Carolina State University, one of Orangeburg’s historically black institutions, political scientist Willie Legette said: “I think people are being dishonest if they don’t acknowledge that this is to a large degree about race. But what can you do about it?”

South Carolina has been symbolic in this age of Obama, representing both the hope of moving beyond race in the nation and a test of how hard that can be. This is where Obama soared to victory in the Democratic primary with a coalition of black and white voters, defeating Hillary Rodham Clinton by 29 percentage points. It is also where former President Bill Clinton made remarks about Obama that many — including Clyburn — believed were racially charged.

But Obama lost South Carolina in the general election, and since then, the Palmetto State has emerged as a hostile check on the new administration’s ambition. The governor was the most vocal critic of the economic stimulus package, and one of the state’s U.S. senators suggested that health care reform could be the president’s “Waterloo.”

Obama’s election alone “will not take us to a post-racial society,” Clyburn said in an interview. “I think that it’s a step in that direction, but my Lord, there’s a long ways to go. One election cannot erase the long, sordid history of race that we have in this country.”

Longtime Democratic state Rep. Gilda Cobb-Hunter, who is black, said the euphoria African-Americans felt about Obama’s election has ebbed. “There was this inference that America had arrived because we elected a person of color as president, but what is incredibly clear is all is not right with the world,” she said.

Some residents voiced deep suspicions of Obama and fear about the broadening reach of federal government, and dismissed talk that their opposition may be laced with racism as nonsense.

“I don’t think much of him,” said Henry Bozard, 83, a retired air-conditioning worker who joined his wife and daughter for the $6.85 baked chicken lunch special at Mama’s Kountry Kookin’. “It’s not because he’s black. I’ve got nothing against a black man. He’s nothing but a big liar who runs his mouth and can’t do nothing right.”

Bozard, who is white, continued: “Joe Wilson is the only one who has a backbone. He called Obama a liar, and he is a liar.”

“Joe Wilson was speaking for me,” said Judi Hagan, 56, the restaurant’s owner, who also is white. “I don’t like what President Obama is trying to do. But it’s not a racist thing. No, no, no. We have lots of black customers. It’s not like we only serve the whites.”

Two miles up the road, at the Brown Derby, another Southern cafeteria, opinions were vastly different. Owner Daisy Brown Orr, 65, said she is disillusioned by what she considers racist attacks on Obama. She leaned across the table and told of growing up as an African-American here. Her mother would force her and her siblings to stay quiet after dusk on Saturdays, when Ku Klux Klan members would ride through their neighborhood.

Change, she said, has been too slow.

“I knew [Obama] couldn’t turn things around instantaneously,” she said. “I knew there were still racists in the closet. I knew that there would still be people out to get him.”

Back along Columbia Road, dozens of ranch-style houses like the Bolens’ and the Elmores’ are tucked off the main street, behind grassy driveways and Baptist churches. On one side are Clyburn’s constituents; on the other, Wilson’s.

“Joe Wilson was expressing what his constituents think,” Joseph Elmore said. “His white constituents are probably saying, ‘Hey, anything being done is not appropriate for us because he’s black’. . . . But the people over there, I don’t think all of them echo his beliefs.”

Barbara Bolen sat on a folding chair in her carport, smoking a Seneca beneath an American flag and wind chimes. She said she takes offense at the assumption that because she is a white Southerner her opposition to a black president is rooted in racism.

“I’ve worked with the blacks all my life,” Bolen said. “I’m not a racist. When I go to the grocery store, I talk to the blacks. When I was at the Wal-Mart the other day at 6 in the morning, I saw a black I knew and hugged him.”

“Ohhh, don’t bring up racism,” she said. “It bothers me.”

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