By Manuel Roig-Franzia
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, September 1, 2002; Page A03

WEST COLUMBIA, S.C. -- A lot of people here who want the South to change used to go to Maurice Bessinger's Piggie Park barbecue, even though the restaurant's owner is obsessed with the past.

They looked beyond the thicket of Confederate battle flags and the literature condemning the Civil War as "The War of Northern Aggression" because they craved Bessinger's tangy mustard sauce, a syrupy concoction unique to South Carolina. But many finally had enough -- and decided to stay away for good -- when Bessinger started making favorable comments about slavery two years ago, remarks that he says were taken out of context.

Now South Carolina's only Fortune 500 company -- the giant SCANA electric and gas corporation -- has also turned away from Bessinger, banning employees from parking company trucks at his nine restaurants. The quietly initiated ban was disclosed last month by the State newspaper, which also reported that SCANA was prohibiting employees from parking personal cars with Confederate flag bumper stickers in the company's lot.

What ensued was an uproar that reveals much about the remarkable emotional reach of Confederate symbols in this state, which two years ago became the last in the nation to remove the Southern Cross battle flag from its Capitol dome. The dust-up also has pushed the flag debate squarely into the private sector, expanding beyond the confines of government buildings.

One of the state's most powerful lawmakers threatened to wipe away SCANA's state-sanctioned monopoly, a move that could have crippled a publicly traded company with more than $3 billion a year in revenue. Flag supporters marched in front of SCANA headquarters. Activists on both sides of the flag debate swung into crisis mode.

"That just hit me as a basic slap at free speech and freedom of expression," said state Sen. Glenn McConnell, a Charleston Republican who owns a Civil War memorabilia store and is widely cited as one of the state's most influential legislators. "What they're doing is discriminating against a man's business because of his political beliefs. . . . You're getting on a slippery slope."

SCANA contributed to the chaos by sending conflicting signals. Company officials suggested the bumper sticker ban was in effect; the company's chief executive -- Bill Timmerman -- said the opposite. In a letter to McConnell, Timmerman said his great-grandfather fought for the Confederacy.

Almost everyone was confused.

Ultimately, SCANA announced a mushy compromise: Cars with Confederate flag bumper stickers are all right in the company lot, while anyone driving a company truck can eat at Bessinger's restaurants, but cannot park in his lots.

It was a classic example of botched crisis management, said Terence Shimp, chairman of the marketing department at the University of South Carolina.

"What SCANA has accomplished is to anger everyone . . . pro-flag, anti-flag . . . freedom-of-speech advocates," Shimp said. "I can't imagine anybody who feels good about SCANA."

Some here, including NAACP officials, wonder whether SCANA's actions might have something to do with 13 discrimination lawsuits filed against the company by black employees, who allege decades of harassment. The lawsuits tell of nooses being left on trucks and of white workers handing a derogatory poem to black employees.

SCANA has denied allegations that it did not take appropriate action, and company spokeswoman Cathy Love said executives strive for a "fair and equitable" workplace.

In the meantime, Bessinger -- not one to shy from a fight -- has reacted to SCANA's moves with characteristic flair. He announced that any SCANA employee brave enough to park a company truck in his lot eats free. Employees who drove their own cars, but show proof they work at SCANA, get a 50 percent discount.

He placed a sign reading "Welcome SCE&G employees," a reference to SCANA's electric and gas company, in front of his restaurant in West Columbia. The discounts are costing him $3,000 a week, Bessinger, 72, said during an interview at his Piggie Park corporate office.

"It seems like everyone wants to pick on Maurice," he said. "They're all in bed with the NAACP. They fold and give them everything they want and that's what's wrong with the country today. . . . What the government and the big corporations have done is take the place of God. I say to hell with them."

All the fuss spurred Denise Castro, a 17-year-old senior at B.C. High School in West Columbia, to go to Maurice's one recent evening.

"I was just saying, 'I want to go support the rebel flag,' " she said after downing a "Little Joe" basket of barbecued pork, hush puppies and cole slaw.

Two years ago, Bessinger was something of a national phenomenon with millions in annual sales when the State columnist John Monk revealed the restaurateur was selling religious tracts, written by Pastor John Weaver, that said blacks "blessed the Lord for allowing them to be enslaved and sent to America." Monk quoted Bessinger saying: "If the Bible teaches that there is biblical slavery, then one must accept that or be against God."

Bessinger was condemned by black leaders, and his sauces were pulled from 3,000 stores, including major chains, such as Wal-Mart Stores Inc., Winn-Dixie Stores and Piggly Wiggly Co. The grocery store boycott, which is still in place, costs him $5 million a year, Bessinger said, though he still supplies military bases in the state.

Conversations with Bessinger tend to veer inexorably to the Civil War. He calls the conflict an illegal war and says Abraham Lincoln began a process of destroying the Constitution by eroding states' rights that continues today. But he bristles at any mention of slavery, saying he has been wrongly labeled.

"I'm against slavery," Bessinger said. "Anybody who says he's for slavery is either stupid or a liar."

Bessinger doesn't stock Weaver's "Biblical View of Slavery Tract" anymore, but he does sell one of the pastor's tomes about the Confederate flag. One passage says: "If you want to hate a flag today, how about hating the Muslim flag because even today the Muslims are still involved in slavery."

African Americans in Columbia have a hard time reconciling Bessinger's attempts to distance himself from pro-slavery remarks with his previous comments or with his onetime association with segregationist groups.

"Until Maurice's stand on the flag -- and a lot of other issues -- until that was publicly known, a lot of black folks enjoyed his barbecue," said Richard Shell, who owns Bert's Grill in predominantly black north Columbia.

Coastal Carolina College professor Charles Joyner was a student in the 1960s when lawsuits were filed to integrate Piggie Park. Years later, he became a regular and a fan of Bessinger's sauce -- that is, until all the slavery talk.

"I used to take every visiting black scholar, liberal or radical," Joyner said. "I miss it. But I wouldn't step foot in it now."