Michelle Nunn is the scion of a political brand. A Democrat running in what is now a deeply Republican state, Nunn is squaring off against David Perdue, a GOP businessman, for an open U.S. Senate seat in Georgia. In a year when control of the Senate is in doubt, this contest, and others throughout the region, is of more than a parochial concern.

Nunn’s father, Sam, the longtime (1972-1997) U.S. Senator, built a nearly unassailable reputation as a centrist Democrat with deep expertise in foreign and military policy. Sam Nunn’s Senate career began at the end of the South’s civil rights tumult and ended at the beginning of Republican dominance in the region. His political savvy allowed him to withstand the racial complexities that fractured his own party while still remaining a palatable alternative to voters across the ideological spectrum. His daughter hopes to replicate that appeal, as detailed in a recent Washington Post profile, but her efforts take place in a province that bears little resemblance to the land her father once inhabited.

White Democrats in the South used to be as thick as the kudzu vine. Though it stretches the memories of many, white southerners made up the “solid South” that delivered the White House and control of Congress to the Democrats for more than half a century.

Southern Democrats were not simply reflections of the national party, they shaped it. These politicians also exercised an extreme influence within Congress. Given the region’s general lack of competitiveness from the 1890s through the 1970s, white men from the South, who were typically only challenged within primary elections, translated their growing seniority into leadership posts, including committee chairs. From these perches of influence, they were able to steer favorable bills through the legislative gauntlet while also killing ones they found disagreeable. This, more than anything, explains how so many civil rights initiatives born in Congress also died or were crippled there.

Because of the region’s partisan uniformity, southern politicians distinguished themselves not only through their positions, but their antics. They embraced nicknames like Fritz, Big Jim, and Pappy, or they heavily promoted given monikers such as Huey, Estes, and Strom. They wore coon-skin hats, greeted dignitaries in silk pajamas, and mounted the hustings to show off red suspenders so they might endear themselves to the region’s commonly uncommon man. Jimmie Davis, the singing governor of Louisiana, performed at campaign stops. He penned the immortal You are My Sunshine, which surely earned him a vote or two.

When faced with dramatic change in the 1960s and 1970s, these white Southern Democrats reacted in different ways. As African-Americans gained voting rights, and flooded their party, the existing politicians had choices to make. They could become Republicans (Strom Thurmond), moderate their positions in order to appeal to the new voters (Edwin Edwards), or they could degenerate into vicious racists to rally white bigots while discouraging African-Americans (Lester Maddox).

Regardless of their strategic decisions, Democrats in the South could not maintain their dominance. The Republican Party grew into not only a competitor, but, eventually, a successor. Republicans now largely control the South’s politics, though not uniformly. All of the states that once comprised the Confederacy (Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and Virginia) now sport GOP controlled state legislatures, while 9 of these 11 also have Republican governors (Arkansas and Virginia are the exceptions). At the presidential level, Republicans now own the region, though successful Democrats, like Clinton and Obama, have been able to win some Southern states–Florida, Virginia and North Carolina are now the most susceptible to such poaching.

Republican preeminence extends to U.S. House and Senate seats, of which Republicans control a majority. All House delegations are heavily Republican, but Senate seats paint a more competitive picture. Florida, North Carolina, Louisiana and Arkansas all have one Democrat and one Republican in the Senate, while Virginia has two Democrats.

Georgia, North Carolina, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Virginia all have Senate seats up for grabs this Fall. So, the question becomes, simply, will this election further Republican control or will we witness the maintenance of a Democrat beachhead? While the Virginia contest is safely Democrat, the remaining seats could go either direction.

Michelle Nunn is not the only notable offspring running this year. Mary Landrieu, the incumbent Democrat from Louisiana, is the daughter of Moon Landrieu, former judge, member of the Louisiana legislature, Mayor of New Orleans, and Secretary of Housing and Urban Development under President Jimmy Carter. The Landrieu name still resonates, and the fact Mary’s brother, Mitch, is New Orleans’ current mayor helps, but will it be enough for Mary to land another term? Landrieu, an oil and gas advocate, chairs the Senate Committee on Energy and Natural Resources. However, her desire to get the Keystone Pipeline approved has failed, which has not endeared her to constituents and some donors. As of now, it is safe to call the race a toss-up.

Mark Pryor, from Arkansas, is another Democrat attempting to hang on to a Senate seat in a state that looks increasingly Republican. First elected in 2002, Pryor’s seat appeared safe in 2008 when he was unchallenged by Republican opponents. Pryor’s father, David, also had an illustrious political career in Arkansas. He was elected to the U.S. House, served as Governor, and as a U.S. Senator for three terms. Mark Pryor faces Tom Cotton, a veteran and Harvard Law graduate, and a sitting member of the U.S. House. Given Arkansas’ recent partisan leanings, Cotton should have the edge here, but stranger things have happened.

In Louisiana, Arkansas, and Georgia, the bonds of loyalty will be stretched when voters cast their ballots in November. Party preferences have shifted in all three states, so based on pure numbers, Republicans ought to win the contests. But, the names of Nunn, Landrieu, and Pryor demand their own loyalty, and they recall a time when Democrats in the South represented a different sort of politician.

None of these candidates have the flamboyance of a Long, the credentials of a Russell, or the skill of a Johnson.  Michelle Nunn campaigns in conservative suits instead of suspenders. The faces and styles have changed, but so has the party the South once loomed over. The Democrats that oppressed African-Americans for a century have given way to a party that elected an African-American to the presidency–twice. No longer a scourge to minorities, if anything, the modern Democrats are defined by a coalition of minorities that are threatening to become a new kind of majority, one built on race, sexual freedom, and economic security. This new party, though, has struggled to appeal to moderate and conservative whites, especially men. Regardless of the outcomes, it is likely that on Nov. 4, when we begin to sift through the detritus, we will know a little more about the future of both the country and its most interesting region.