GARY HOLLOW MEMORIES
	Gary Hollow Memories ...Copyright 2004 Buddy French...

GARY HOLLOW MEMORIES
	...

I have many wonderful memories of growing up in Gary Hollow during the 40's, 50's and early 1960's and I'm sure many of my friends that lived in Blackwolf, Pageton, Anawalt, Jenkinjones and Leckie feel the same way.

We've read stories about the destitute existence of life in an Appalachian coal camp, usually written by someone that never lived a day there. I'm not saying it was perfect, but most of us probably have many more good memories than bad ones.

All coal camps are not created equal and fortunately, I think McDowell County had some of the better built and maintained communities. I feel so privileged to have been a part of a unique culture that is now sadly lost to history, but can forever live on in our memories. The following contains a few facts and some memories of growing up there, so come on Coaldiggers and we'll take a little trip down memory lane. Let's climb aboard the "Time Machine Transporter" and buckle your seat belts and hang on for the ride of your life. The transporter starts out slowly, but as it gains speed, the years begin to blaze by as the calendar rolls backward through the 1990's, 1988, 1987 and to 1986, when U. S. Steel's mines were still operating. As its speed increases, the years continue to roll backward and another chapter of history sadly comes to an end as Gary High School closes out its illustrious history with the graduating class of 1978. The Coaldiggers would now become the Golden Knights as Gary and Welch come together to form the new Mount View High School.

The years continue to click off to 1972 and 1971, when the Coal Company still owned the homes in Gary. We now see those memorable years of 1970 and 1966 when the Coaldiggers were state AA football champs and we were all so proud.

With a terrific roar, the time machine accelerates to its top speed as we feel the G-forces holding us glued to our seats. Now the year 1962 has arrived and I see myself with all my classmates at our graduation dance at the Gary Country Club.

With a terrific roar, the time machine accelerates to its top speed as we feel the G-forces holding us glued to our seats. Now the year 1962 has arrived and I see myself with all my classmates at our graduation dance at the Gary Country Club.

Quickly, 1960 rolls around and teenagers head out of Gary Hollow in droves on Saturday morning going to the Record Hop at the Pocahontas Theatre in Welch. We see the girls riding to Welch with their parents or friends, but the normal mode of transportation for most of us guys was to hitch hike. Can you even begin to imagine hitch hiking anywhere today?

The Time Machine Transporter zooms along and quickly arrives in those fabulous 1950's. Do you remember 1958 and the McDowell County Centennial and the wooden nickels that one could actually spend anywhere in the county? Our dad's grew beards for the Centennial and were referred to as "Brothers of the Brush".

As the time machine begins to slow, it's May 1957 and springtime has arrived in all its glory, along with the carnival, as Thomas Joy Land Shows set up at the Gary No. 10 ball park. What about those trips to Linkous Park swimming pool in Welch on those hot summer days. And of course who could ever forget Elvis and the birth of "Rock and Roll". Do you remember those fantastic dances at the Memorial Building in Welch and at the Elbert dance hall on Friday nights after the football games? How about those pegged pant legs and flat top haircuts combed back into a "DA" that was so popular with the guys.

It's 1956 and I bet you girls remember those pajama party sleepovers where you all stayed up until those unheard of hours like twelve midnight, giggling and talking about the guys at school you'd like to date. Television signed off with the National Anthem and came on the next morning with a test pattern that we somehow found fascinating as we sat and stared at it until the regular programming began. Sleigh riding was the favorite winter sport. It seemed there was never a shortage of snow or a steep hillside to sleigh ride down in those McDowell County hollows. Large bonfires were built to huddle around for warmth and parents often joined their children for a night of sleigh riding on the weekends.

Times were good and we see those "I Like Ike" bumper stickers as the 1956 presidential race heats up. The coal industry is booming and coal miners are headed to Welch to buy new cars. Best described as two-ton masses of steel and chrome, a new automobile embodied the American dream. They zoomed down the highway with the aerodynamics of a giant brick, but boy did they have class! The time machine slows even more as we come upon 1952 and 1951 and as we head into Welch, the traffic lines start at Coney Island on payday weekend as people crowd into town to shop. Some ride those old blue and white buses operated by the Consolidated Bus Line, frequently having to stand in the isle because all the seats are filled.

The sidewalks on McDowell Street are literally packed with a mass of humanity as people swarm into G. C. Murphy's, J. C. Penney's, the Flat Iron Drug Store, King Cut Rate, Franklins Dairy Bar and many other stores. The sleek Powhatan Arrow, with passenger cars filled to capacity, pulls into Welch. Hissing exhaust vents along its sides send out blast of snow white steam as puffs of black coal smoke swirl up into the air above its smokestack.

Back in Gary it's now 1950. We have slowed to a creep as we pass over an Italian lady's house in No. 6 Hollow. The wonderful aroma of homemade bread being baked fills the air as she slides the loaves from a large brick oven in her back yard. Television has not yet arrived in Gary and people listen to the radio as Lowell Thomas reports the news. On Saturday night we listen to the "Shadow", a mystery drama that keeps us gathered around the radio, leaning forward to the edge of our seat in an almost breathless state.

It's now 1949 and Gary High School is nearly bursting at the seams, as the hallways are so crowded that when the bell rings there's barely time to get to your next class. The powerful Coaldigger football team would enjoy four straight years of unparalleled success and become one of the dominant teams in southern West Virginia.

Now it's 1948, 1947, 1946 and finally the Time Machine Transporter grinds to a stop in 1945. World War II is over and at last the world is at peace. With some having been gone for three and four years, military men began to pour back into Gary wearing their dress uniforms and black shiny shoes. Nothing can ever describe the euphoria those mothers and wives felt as their sons and husbands stepped off the buses and into the arms of their loved ones. And with that, we see the beginning of the "baby boomer" generation. At this point I wish, as many of you might, that I could just stay for a while, but memories are there to be visited and not dwelled upon. Just remember that your memories can never be taken away from you and money can never buy them. So climb back aboard the Transporter, Coaldiggers, and buckle your seat belts again. We can always come back for another visit and the ride is free. I hope you've enjoyed our little trip down memory lane and maybe we'll see you somewhere back in the future.

Melvin "Buddy" French Class of 1962 Copyright 2004 budm16@juno.com

Thanks goes to Buddy French for permission to use his memories of Gary Hollow... bssims

MEMORIES OF A COAL CAMP CHILDHOOD
	by Phylenia French.... My Daddy was a bone picker.

At least, that is what he was known as in the West Virginia coalfields in the late 1930s. A bone picker was the worker who separated rock from the actual coal. His time spent in and around the mines eventually killed him. He got black lung and died, and in his daughter's eyes, 80 plus years was still too young.

Lying in his hospital bed with an oxygen tube connected to his nostrils, daddy still enjoyed telling stories from his work experiences in the coalfields. I gathered extra nuggets of useful information for my manuscript which was in the developing stage.

He came to Coalwood, West Virginia, in 1939 to work for Carter Coal Co., which eventually became Olga Coal Co. He told me he was paid $4.46 a day and his first job was removing rock from the coal as it came off the tipple conveyor belt. He also worked as a brakeman and motorman on the rail cars that rode down into the deep mines. He eventually became a skilled welder, a job he practiced until he retired around 1980.

In spite of the sentence pronounced upon them, the men who entered the mines for a livelihood developed a strong devotion and love for the land and the mountains where ribbons of black gold promised prosperity.

The demand for miners depended on the prosperity of the coal company that was in operation at a particular place and time. Men moved from camp to camp to support their families. This is the reason my family made several moves within the camps

Though I was very young when we lived in Bottom Creek, West Virginia. I vividly recall one of our neighbors; a Hungarian man named John, who had only one arm. When we spoke of him, we addressed him as "One Arm John". In today's society this would be forbidden, but at that time, we made that type of reference just to identify a person, not to be critical or demeaning.

My memory of John seems to be a reflection only of his solitary life. I do not remember his mingling much with the people of the camp, consequently we didn't learn much about his family. Sifting through my memory, I see a lone, short man topped off with a black beret that crowned his face of orange peel skin and a prominent, bulbous nose. His long sleeved shirts always had one arm folded in half and pinned to his shoulder.

I remember watching the ice truck pull up in front of his house and the driver, using very large tongs, lifted out a gigantic cube of ice and carried it to his back porch, where he placed it in the bottom of a wooden ice box.

The fact that John was our next door neighbor allowed me to observe differences in others which I might otherwise have missed. I treasure the knowledge I gained as we lived in different camps early in my life.

When I was only five years old, I loved to jump rope, but seeking a challenge, I thought it would be interesting to see if I could run and jump rope at the same time. Well, I fell flat on my face in the middle of the asphalt road and lay open a nasty gash in my forehead.

I was actually scared (for some reason), to go home to be checked, so I ran under a neighbor's porch, who, when she saw my plight, took me by the hand and walked me home with blood streaming down my face.

My mother was so hysterical, she jumped the fence to go across the road and ask someone to take me to the company doctor. We must not have owned a car at that time and because the tipple where my dad worked was in walking distance of our house it must not have been necessary. I don't remember who drove me to the doctor, (I believe it was my uncle's brother-in-law), but my office visit required extended time because the gash in my forehead demanded stitches. When it came time to have the stitches removed from my head, I remember my dad walking me down the road, across the railroad tracks through all the slack from the tipple, and up a hill to Doc Ficken's office which was situated in a large, rambling house. The visit was short because the doctor only needed to remove the stitches and pronounce me healed, so Dad and I left the doctor's office with me bearing the reward of one lollipop for cooperating.

I spent most of my childhood in Maitland, a camp situated about two miles from Welch City limits. From Route 52, a bridge crossed Elkhorn Creek and led into the camp. There was a "colored" church at the end of the bridge and during summertime meetings, when the door was left ajar, singing, shoutin' and rejoicing echoed in the distance.

As we sat in our porch swing up on the hill, we could hear the distant roar of the steam engine as its massive tons of metal vibrated against the tracks. With the approaching speed of the train, came the lonesome sound of its whistle echoing from the mountains. That sound, even today, seems to evoke a romantic longing in the soul... for the mountains, perhaps?

A brick post office building was located next to the railroad track. I remember seeing the heavy, canvas, mail bags being tossed from the train to the yard of the post office as the train raced by.

We walked through the camp on our return home from school; consequently we were apt to encounter an approaching train on the tracks we crossed to make our way up the hill to our house. We stood off a safe distance and waited as the train passed with heavy, black, sulfuric smoke billowing from its stack.

We knew not to look upward as the train sped by because the shower of cinders raining down upon our scalp could fill our eyes as well.

In Maitland, our closest neighbors and very dear friends were Sam and Dorothea, a black couple. Their dwelling, which sat against a dirt bank with a sloping front yard and a path leading to the porch steps, was a three room, roughly built, wooden structure heated by coal stoves. And, of course, there was the infamous outhouse.

My most vivid recollections of these folks are very warm and family-oriented. Sam, tall and stout with a gentle demeanor, worked for a local man who owned a small "punch" mine. I remember the kneepads he wore for his work in helping to dig the low coal from inside the mountains.

On occasions Sam was known to imbibe alcohol and, at times, a quart-sized jar with clear liquid would appear from nowhere. Those seemed to be the times his features were altered, when his nose turned scarlet and his face took on a shiny appearance.

And Dorothea, a short, pudgy woman, kept her hair in short braids pinned close to her scalp. Very rarely, she would visit a beautician to have her hair straightened and set in waves, which she said was done with a hot iron.

Through the wide gaps between her teeth, you could detect stains from the Big G snuff she packed inside her cheek. Dorothea was a free spirited woman. And we loved to tell her funny stories because her whole body quaked as she threw her head back and shrieked with laughter

There was a compassionate side to Sam and Dorothea as well. On the occasion of my brother's serious car accident, my mom and dad were called to the hospital at one o'clock in the morning and Dorothea willingly came to baby-sit with us while my parents drove the forty-five mile trip.

They had no children, so they treated my siblings and me as if we were their very own. Even though their house was only a three room dwelling, they kept two boarders, James "Hamp" Hamilton and Alexander "Zan" Joyce, who were equally friendly. As I recall, neither of them was married.

On July 4th holidays, Sam and Dorothea treated us generously to summer coolers like watermelon, ice cream and pop. In those days, money earned by the miners was used for bare necessities, so soda pop or ice cream was a welcomed luxury.

Socializing with our black friends was a rewarding experience, for we learned much about their ethnic background. One significant memory I have of Dorothea's resourcefulness involved her biscuit making. After heating an empty, Carnation milk can a few minutes on top of the cook stove, she would use a knife to knock the top off creating an excellent, biscuit cutter.

Dorothea's cooking was absolutely delicious too! In her coal-fired, antique cook stove, she made egg custard pies and biscuits that would rival any delicatessen. On occasion, we would stop at Dorothea's house when returning from school and we always hoped there would be leftover biscuits in the covered, oval shaped, blue enamel roaster which sat on the cabinet.

She enjoyed picking wild greens (dandelion, “creecy” and poke), in spring while they were tender. She always cooked them with fat meat and served them doused with vinegar. Dorothea was superstitious about some things. She said if you put your housecoat on backwards when you get out of bed, don't reverse it until noon. Also, if you spill salt, pick it up with the right hand and toss it across your left shoulder. Finally, you should leave the house through the same door you entered.

Sam and dad were such good friends and Sam proved his loyalty to their friendship when, on one occasion, our car caught fire on a cold morning when we were preparing to go to church. Dad had gone out, started the car and come back in the house to wait for it to warm. Without warning, the car caught fire and the smoke and flames could be seen from down the hill where Sam lived.

Knowing that my dad, exhausted from working the hoot owl shift would sometimes fall asleep in his car, Sam ran up the hill and jerked the car door open with flames leaping at him and shouted, "Ivo, are you in there!" He literally risked his life for my dad and I will always remember Sam as a hero. To say I am grateful to have grown up in a place where people so readily accepted one another would be putting it mildly. My childhood experiences in the coalfields not only enriched my life but I believe it prepared the way for me to be a responsible adult.

Phylenia French resides in Virginia, but was born and raised in the coal camps in southern West Virginia. She is a LPN. Phylenia has been published in the Charleston(WV) Daily Mail, The Roanoke Times, Blue Ridge Traditions and Appalachian Life magazine. The piece presented here is from, These Were My Mountains, Life in West Virginia Coal Camps, a manuscript yet to be published. Phylenia French presents readings to residents of retirement/extended care facilities. She presented a reading from her first book Homespun Yarns to an Elderhostel at VPI and has presented a program on Appalachian Culture to Adult Day Services participants. Contact Phylenia French at: phylenia1@juno.com Thanks to Phylenia French for permission to use her Memories of a Coal Canp Childhood. bssims

© 2002, Phylenia French, All Rights Reserved .