Coal Camps And The Lost Civilization Of The New River Gorge By Buddy French

By the turn of the century, the railroad had enabled coal tipples to spring up on both sides of the river throughout the gorge, with each mining operation having a cluster of company houses built around them.  The average coal camp population numbered about two or three hundred.  In many instances, you would not lose sight of the camp you were leaving, before arriving at the next one.  At its peak, the railroad operated at least seventeen train stations and was the lifeblood of the New River Gorge.           One of the most famous places in the gorge today is the old abandoned town of Thurmond and in its early days, it was said to be the only town in America that had no roads or streets.  The only access was by rail.  Thurmond itself was not a coal camp, but a railroad town and distribution point.           Although widely accepted that its population never exceeded five hundred people, by year’s end in 1910, Thurmond was the largest railroad center on the entire C & O line.  That year saw tens of thousands of new emigrants and native born Americans arriving and passing through its depot, most in search of job opportunities in the local mining industry.  This created a tremendous boom throughout the gorge.  Freight shipments to the area mines and goods for their company stores accounted for 4.8 million dollars in revenue for the railroad that year.  Thurmond was inundated with many surrounding coal camps, numbering more than fifty at one point.  They had very colorful names such as Red Ash, Rush Run, Nuttallburg, Ajax, Seldom Seen, Coal Run, Elverton, Fire Creek, Browns and Kay Moor, just to name a few.           Even though secluded by its rugged terrain, the New River Gorge continued to grow and reached its high point of development in the 1920's.  It was a busy and thriving place to live, with a population of over five thousand people, but two factors weighed heavily in its demise; the development of more profitable coalfields on the nearby plateau and the crash of the stock market with its ensuing depression in the 1930's.                   On my last trip to the gorge, I first decided to visit Thurmond.  After exiting U. S. Rt. 19 at Glen Jean, the one lane road passed through several small coal camps littered with worked out coal mines.  It ran parallel to Dunloop Creek and an old C & O Railroad branch line as it dove ever deeper down the narrow valley toward the gorge.  Tall timber obscured the midday sun and dense mountain laurel covered the steep hillsides and I began to notice that distinct smell of the cool mountain air.  After traveling four or five miles I finally arrived at the banks of New River where a railroad trestle crossed to the other side.  It had been widened just enough on one side to permit one-way vehicle traffic.  From my studies, I had learned that this side of the river was known as Southside.

When I crossed over the bridge and entered the old ghost town of Thurmond, on the north side of the river, it was truly like passing through a time tunnel.  While standing in front of the train station and looking down the street at all the abandoned buildings, the town seemed to come to life once more.  My mind's eye could see hundreds of people getting off one of the fourteen regularly scheduled passenger trains that stopped here each day.  I walked down the narrow avenue between the tracks and buildings and peered into the empty storefronts that were once bustling with customer’s one hundred years ago.  As I walked a little further I came to the National Bank of Thurmond.  When I cleaned a spot on the window and looked inside, it appeared the employees just walked out one day, left the large bank vault door standing open and never came back.  Thurmond is now part of the New River Gorge National Park System and is being preserved for those who might want to come and take a wonderful nostalgic trip back into history.                                                                                                                                                                                     The famous Dunglen Hotel, located across the river at Southside, was once listed in Ripley's Believe It or Not for housing a poker game that ran continuously for 14 years.  It offered everything from poker to roulette.  The Dunglen was a large three-and-a-half story structure with one hundred guestrooms and attracted the rich and wealthy upper class.  Its rooms averaged $2.50 a night, far more than what the average coalminer could afford.  The first floor offered amenities such as a grocery store, dry goods store, drugstore, shoe shop, bank and even a mortuary.            The Dunglen contained a spectacular ballroom and brought in an orchestra that catered to important social events and political conventions.  A private elevated walkway was constructed from the end of the railroad bridge to the veranda enclosing the second floor of the hotel.  Because of its extravagant accommodations the Dunglen soon became nicknamed 'Little Monte Carlo'.  Unfortunately this magnificent structure was destroyed by fire in 1930.           Southside also had a notorious section known as “Balahac” and was well known for its gambling and prostitution.  It was considered the "Dodge City" of the East with its abundance of hard liquor, gambling and "Red Light" district for the working class people.  Several infamous establishments such as the Bear Wallow Saloon, Stackalee Dive and Dance Hall, South Side Saloon and the Black Hawk Saloon were eagerly awaiting to relieve the coal miner of his hard earned money.  According to a report published in 1912, the Stackalee dance hall was a well-known establishment for short skirt dancing like the "bug" and "Get Over, Sal."  It was also said to be a house of ill repute with five to ten ladies of the night working full time.

The Balahac section of Southside had little law enforcement, but Thurmond was under a different jurisdiction and completely the opposite.  Unfortunately for Thurmond’s reputation, most people considered it and Southside one in the same.  Thurmond had its own Wyatt Earp style police chief who could keep people in line.  His name was Harrison Ash and his six foot four, two hundred and seventy-five-pound presence could put the fear of God into anyone that crossed his path.  For some of those who did not fear him, they were recorded as one of the seven notches filed on the barrel of his Colt revolver.                      After visiting Thurmond, I proceeded back up Dunloop Creek to Glen Jean.  I then followed U. S. Rt. 19 to Fayetteville and started my search for the old abandoned coalmine at Kay Moor.  Just before arriving at the world famous New River Gorge Bridge, I turned off onto old state route 82, which takes you under the bridge and down into the gorge.  Driving this road was truly an adventure in itself.  The walls of the gorge are nearly vertical and in places the road was one lane wide and literally carved out of the cliff.  I was absolutely astonished when I looked up at the bridge.  With it being 876 feet above the New River and 3,030 feet long, it’s the second highest bridge in the United States and the longest single arch span bridge in the world.            About halfway down into the gorge, I came to a wide sweeping curve where I saw a sign that read Kay Moor Trail.  At that point I parked my car and started out the trailhead and almost immediately came to a wooden footbridge that crossed Wolfe Creek.  It was a large, swiftly running creek, full to its banks with the spring run-off.  The color of the water was a beautiful shade of turquoise as it roared down the steep ravine beneath the bridge.  When I crossed the creek, the trail took a steep turn, angling up and around the side of the mountain.  I soon came to a small stream of cold, crystal clear mountain water cascading onto the side of the trail from the hillside above.  After going a couple of hundred feet up the trail it leveled off nicely and made a sharp turn to the right.  At that point it became a very pleasant hike as the trail ran parallel to the New River some five to six hundred feet below.                                                                                                                              It was a beautiful spring day in early April with the temperature probably approaching seventy degrees.  The sky was bright blue and not a cloud in sight.  The small green buds had only begun to appear on the trees, allowing an unobstructed view of the river up and down the gorge.  After reaching about the halfway point of the two-mile hike to Kay Moor, the tranquility of the trail was shattered.  I was startled by what sounded like wild animals fighting, just over the hill below the trail.  My first instinct was to run, but I hesitantly peeked over the hillside.

To my amazement, I saw two large groundhogs in a ferocious fight.  Upon seeing me, they were just as frightened and immediately went in separate directions and I continued on my way.  I began to hear the roar of water above the sound of the river below and as I gazed across the gorge, a waterfall came into view.  It was a spectacular sight, as the whitewater appeared to fall twenty to thirty feet, before crashing onto the rocks below.           Finally I arrived at the first opening of the Kay Moor mine where I found the partial remains of a brick building.  From my own experience working in a coalmine, I recognized this as a fan house, used for ventilating the mine.  A little further along the trail stood another building which appeared to be an electric substation for the mine.  Just beyond it was the heart of the mining complex where the tipple headhouse, mine office, powder house and other mine related structures remained.  The headhouse was a large wooden structure that acted as a coal bin where the mine cars dumped their coal when they exited the mine.  Just behind the headhouse were two mine portals, both with large iron gates blocking their entrance.  I approached one of the portals and stared into the darkness of the tunnel.  The familiar damp, musty smell of the mine air brought a flood of memories back to me.  I remember all too well working in a low seam coal mine and looking for what we called a "glory hole".  It was simply a place where the rock and slate had fallen from the mine roof, creating a cavity in which you could stand upright and straighten your back.  Oh, it was a glorious feeling to be able to stand up!  But I had worked in forty-eight inch coal and this seam couldn't be more than about thirty-four inches in height. Only on the main haul-way where they mined two or three feet of rock above the coal seam for haulage height, would one be able to stand up.            Coal cars called “monitors,” were loaded at the bottom side of the headhouse.  A large steel cable was then used to lower them down the 1,000 foot long incline track to the tipple, which was 560 feet in elevation below the mine portals.  A few feet beyond the headhouse I found another incline track.  It also utilized a cable car and transported miners and supplies up and down the incline between the mine and tipple and was referred to as the mountain haulage.  The incline also went to the top of the mountain and was the only means of transportation between the bottom and top of the gorge for the people living here.  Slowly and carefully, I began making my way down the track, with the angle being so steep that the railroad ties literally became a stairway by which to walk down.  The long trip down the steep grade was well worth the quivering that I felt in my legs, because upon arriving at the tipple, it was by far the most impressive structure here.  After all these years,

it appeared it might roar to life with the flip of a switch, filling railroad cars with its black gold.           The powerhouse, located near the tipple, was the source of electricity for the mine site and community.  Its walls appeared to be constructed entirely of riverbed rock, held together with mortar.  A few yards upstream from the tipple I discovered two large banks of well preserved coke ovens where coal was turned into coke for the iron ore works.            Kay Moor was one of the larger and more influential places to live and work in the gorge as far as coal camps go.  It had two separate communities, one at the top, near the rim of the gorge and the other at the bottom.  They were referred to as Kay Moor Top and Kay Moor Bottom.  The 1923 U. S. Coal Commissions report listed Kay Moor’s population at 560 men, women and children.  It was a “captive” operation when built and owned by the Low Moor Iron Company of Low Moor, Virginia.  Low Moor Iron sold Kay Moor in 1925 when their profits began to dwindle.  After being bought by the New River and Pocahontas Consolidated Coal and Coke Company it was no longer a captive operation.                Although the company store, houses, movie theater and churches had long since been gone, I was amazed at how much of the old mine site was still in tact.  It had begun operation in 1899 and shut down in 1962 when the mine worked out.  As I began making my way back up the track, the daunting task of ascending this 1000-foot stairway began to sink in.  Fortunately, the frequent rest stops gave me time to reflect on the past.  By the time I reached the top, a profound feeling of appreciation and respect had filled my heart and mind for the people that once inhabited the New River Gorge.              By today's standards the coalminer and his family endured many hardships and the coal company controlled almost every aspect of their lives.  But for them, living in a coal camp meant more than just a job.  It represented a simple and unpretentious life style where neighbors were more like family and the convenience of a nearby store, church and schoolhouse created a solid foundation for a close knit community.            For many of those who were born and raised in the gorge, their main goal in life was to move a little further up or down the river to a bigger and more stable coal company.  Success was often measured by living in a larger community that had three churches instead of one, a larger company store or a movie theater.  I know this to be true by my own experience of being born and raised in a coal camp at Gary, West Virginia.  I have nothing but wonderful memories about growing up there, but I will be the first to admit that times had gotten a lot better by the 1940’s and 50’s.  One must

understand that for those born in these coal camps, this was the only world they knew.           These were a hardy and industrious people who deserve more than what history has afforded them.  They are routinely scorned and ridiculed in some circles today for a living standard they had little or no control over. Seldom are they given credit for the sacrifice they made and the hardships they endured in producing fuel for the furnaces of industry.           Many of the people living today who were raised in these coal camps might tell you of tough times, but they will also tell you it was a good life in many ways.  Good, because these experiences taught them humility and instilled in them the values and responsibility learned from hard work, which helped create a strong bond and respect within the family and community.            While standing there at the mine entrance, my mind began to see images of how life must have been back then.  I could see men emerging from the mine portal at the end of the shift and their faces black with coal dust.  The gait of their step seemed to pick up a notch or two when they came into the warm rays of the evening sun.  One by one they reached up and turned off the carbide lamps mounted on their caps as they carried a round silver lunch pail with the other hand.  I could just imagine the laughter and conversation about the number of coal cars they loaded during the shift or an upcoming horseshoe tournament on the weekend.  Others probably looked forward to getting home to a good hot meal of cornbread, beans, potatoes and a Mason jar filled with ice cold buttermilk.           In my mind I could smell the aroma of home made bread being baked in the cook stove of one of the little company houses.  I could hear the coalminer saying grace as he asked God to bless the food and his family, as they sat down to a supper meal.  I could see the joy in a young boy’s eyes as his daddy brought home a new toy truck from the company store on payday.  I felt the pain and anguish in a mother's heart when she was given the news that her husband was crushed to death in a slate fall in the mine, the fate my own grandfather met.  This was the reality of life in a coal camp.           As I stood there and looked down into the gorge, there was no Kay Moor community remaining today, no children playing along the railroad track or riverbank, no coalminer's wives hanging out the Monday wash on the clothesline to dry.  Never again will coal come from the tipple, where it now stands with an eerie silence and as a haunting reminder of a by-gone era.  There’s no movie theater left where you could see the "Little Rascals" in a Saturday afternoon matinee for a quarter or people congregating on the company store steps on a warm summer evening, where only its foundation now remains.

The coal company abandoned the Kay Moor Bottom community in 1952, having those residents move to surrounding communities.  In April of 1960 a fire swept through the town, burning down what structures that had not already been torn down.            Today, those five thousand people that once inhabited the gorge have all but vanished and the company towns have passed quietly and unceremoniously into history.  For the most part it will be remembered simply as an era we passed through in the growth of this nation, but for those of us that lived and experienced it, we will know the real story of life in a coal camp.           In the early days, industry took a terrible toll on the beauty of this place, stripping the mountains bare of its virgin timber and leaving the scars of an abandoned mining industry on the walls of the gorge.  Today, nature has returned in all her grandeur and has almost completely reclaimed what man tried so hard to take away.  I'm torn between the return of its beauty and a simple and memorable way of life here that is lost forever, but let not those memories ever be forgotten.  Once again the New River Gorge is at peace with herself and is one of the most beautiful and isolated places in all of America.                                                                                                     Buddy French budm16@juno.com                                                       Copyright 1994                         I appreciate Melody Bragg’s efforts in writing the informative book, Legendary Thurmond, W.Va.---Dodge City of the East, because it sparked my interest for this area and was my source of historical information on Thurmond.           I would like to acknowledge all the information I gathered on Kay Moor from the stories, Mining Coal on the Slope of New River Gorge by Jack Bergstresser and The Town of Kay Moor by Sharon A. Brown, Ph.D., published in, Proceedings--New River Symposium 1987