Since 1998 - Historical and Genealogical
Resources
for the Upper New River Valley of North Carolina and Virginia
These materials have been made available by the courtesy of the Historical Society of Southwest Virginia and Rhonda Robertson.
INDIANS KILL THE PHILLIPS FAMILY
BACK HOME TO GUESSES STATION
MEMORIES OF CLINTWOOD DURING THE
DEPRESSION
A WAY OF LIFE
DAUGHTER OF DORCHESTER (Life in the Coal
Camps)
EARLY METHODIST MISSION WORK IN BUCHANAN COUNTY,
VIRGINIA
The first inkling I received of this incident was in a conversation with an 82-year-old lady. One Sunday near Dungannon, in Scott County, Virginia, she told me that she could remember hearing her grandmother tell of a family being killed near the river at Dungannon. All of the family except a little boy who crawled under a bed was killed. She could not remember even the name of the family slain and I sort of stored the story in the back of my mind thinking that nothing would ever come of it, since one cannot do research without having names.
Nothing of a personal nature has been found concerning this family who were very early settlers in that section of Scott County, just up the river from the present village of Dungannon. Only the name of the family is known. What the Christian name of the wife and five children who were slain was, is not known.
The Phillips family had settled early near the island in Clinch River, and up river from the ford which in those days was known by its original name of Hunter's Ford. Two land grants entered in the records of old Fincastle County locates the Phillips settlement, and the first reads as follows:
Surveyed for Phillip Phillips, 320 acres of land lying in Fincastle County, on the north side of an island in Clinch River...bounded as follows: Beginning at a double sugar sapling at the lower point of the island, thence up the south side thereof to the upper point and across to the mainland, thence up the river according to its several courses, etc., etc., to pointers on the bank just below the mouth of a gut. (In early days a stream was called a gut. This was the stream that ran out of Hunters Valley by Osborne's Store and emptied in Clinch River.)
This tract was surveyed on the 31st of March, 1774, (the first surveys ever made on the Clinch River and surveyed by Captain Daniel Smith), but the entry does not give a settlement date as some of the early surveys did. How long the Phillips family had lived on the survey before this date is not known.
To further pinpoint the Phillips settlement, an entry made on August 9, 1781 in Washington County, Virginia, surveyed for Martin Duncan, heir at law to John Duncan, deceased, (the John Duncan killed by Indians at Moore's Fort in 1774), reads as follows:
...that Martin Duncan, heir at law to John Duncan, deceased, is entitled to 400 acres of land by settlement made in the year 1772, (the year John Duncan settled), lying in the County of Washington, on the north side of Clinch River, known by the name of Hunter's Ford, a little below Phillip Phillips...
Mrs. Samuel Scott who lived on the Clinch for eight years, with her father, John McCorkle, prior to her removal to Kentucky about 1784, related the following story to the Rev. John Shane, years later, in Jessamine County, Kentucky:
We moved to Clinch at Moore's Fort. Was wintering at our place eight (8) miles off from the fort and about a half mile from the river. One Phillips family was killed between us and the river - near to the river. Mamma was gone up with a neighbor, Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore, (either Charles or Robert Kilgore) to Castlewood, near the fort to buy some sheep at a sale. He (Phillips) was away in North Carolina at the time. One boy escaped. I think by crawling under the bed. All the rest of the family were killed. About two years after this we moved over to the Holston to get rid of the Indians. Had lived on the Clinch eight (8) years. Went to the Holston to get ready to come to Kentucky. (Draper MSS 11 CC 224)
It was 1780 that Mrs. Scott's family moved over to the Holston River and her father, John McCorkle died on July 12, 1780, while they were in Houston's Fort on Big Moccasin Creek. In her narrative Mrs. Scott tells of her father buying land for which he never got a title or deed. To further locate the site of the Phillips massacre and to verify Mrs. Scott's story, this interesting entry comes from the Russell County, Virginia, Land Survey Book No. 1, page 203.
Surveyed 19 September 1794, for Joseph McCorkle, heir-at-law to John McCorkle, deceased, 320 acres of land by virtue of a certificate from the Commissioners of the District of Washington and Montgomery counties and agreeable to an act of the Assembly entitled "An Act for Adjusting and settling claims to unpatented lands under the present and former governments previous to the establishment of the Commonwealth's Land Offices, lying Russell County, near Hunter's Valley on the waters of Staunton's Creek, and on the slopes of Buckner's Ridge.
The above entry locates the land upon which Mrs. Scott's family must have lived during their stay on the Clinch. It will be noted that Stanton's Creek empties into the Clinch near Gray's Island and Buckner's Ridge and Hunter's Valley lie to the north of the island. Mrs. Scott says they lived about a mile from the river and that the Phillips family was killed between them and the river "near to the river."
The second direct reference to the killing of the Phillips family comes from the pension statement of Alexander Ritchie, Jr. whose home was on the south side of Clinch River near Gray's Island, where the Ritchie family had settled in the year 1772. He states:
That he moved from the fort (Blackmore's) in the fall of 1778 to his father's plantation where he continued to live until the 12th day of March, (1779) the next ensuing, and early in the morning of the 12th the news reached this applicant that the Indians had broken out and had killed six (6) persons belonging to the family of a man by the name of Phillips.
Ritchie gives the number killed in this family, but no names, and by his statement the killing must have occurred on the evening of the 11th of March or early morning of the 12th of March, 1779. At this time Alexander Ritchie, Jr., was serving in the frontier militia. His pension statement was filed in Claiborne County, Tennessee, 26th of April 1836.
Pages 2 to 4
Almost everyone I know has some place they will always refer to as "Back Home". I was born in Coeburn some 70 years ago, lived my boyhood years there, stubbed my bare toes it seems on every sand rock in the vicinity, and played in the murky waters of Little Tom's Creek from its mouth in the lower end of Coeburn to Banner. It is only natural for me to claim it as my "Back Home", and I believe entitles me to make a nostalgic visit, and reflect on some of the interesting people and early events of this place that was once called Guesses Station. We are all blessed with the God-given gift of memory. With it one can return to those exciting carefree days of childhood that were full of love, taffy pulls, molasses stir-off's, new shoes for Easter, and an orange at Christmastime. As years pass, I find I return to those pleasant thoughts of "back home" more and more often.
Located at the confluence of Little Tom's Creek and Big Tom's Creek and about a mile east of where, as one, they empty into Guest's River. This as an ideal site for the settlement which was established here. Surrounded by vast timber acreage, the mountains sitting on seam after seam of valuable coal, our forefathers recognized it as a perfect place to put down roots, raise their families, and plan for the future.
As to where the name Guest's Station came from, has been, and still is a poser for local historians. The first Post Office established at Guest's Station was January 8, 1850, this was prior to the formation of Wise County, and the first Post Office was shown to be in Russell County with William Gibson as was shown to be in Russell County with William Gibson as Postmaster. Wise County was formed in 1856 from Russell, Lee and Scott counties, so, we must assume there was a Guest's Station before there was a Wise County. This first office was discontinued December 26, 1866, re-established, this time in Wise County, October 29, 1867; Jonas Powers; Postmaster, again discontinued September 15, 1868 and again it re-established August 26, 1869. Why it was discontinued so many times, I just don't know. The name was changed to Coeburn, March 14, 1892. Named for W. W. Coe of the Norfolk & Western Railroad, and Judge W. E. Burns of Lebanon, Virginia.
Please note, Guest's Station was spelled with an apostrophe 'S' as in the possessive case, early settlers always referred to it as Guesses Station. Land they bought and sold is recorded as being at or near Guesses Station, other official registrations show the same. In the early days Court Clerks, recorders, and/or census takers, usually wrote the name of a person or place the way it sounded when spoken, it is easy to see why Guest with an apostrophe 'S' would come out as "Guesses."
My great-grandfather, John May moved from Pike County, Kentucky in the late 1800's, bought land and settled a little south of Guest's Station. The section known as Maytown was named for him, likewise, my grandfather Sturgill moved from Pike County, Kentucky to Guest's Station in 1890, bought land, and his, as well as the John May purchase are both recorded as being at or near Guesses Station.
The river we know as Guest River, when spoken of was always Guesses River. Even today people living along the river speak of it as Guesses River.
I agree fully with Emory L. Hamilton and the late Luther F. Addington in their research concerning Christopher Gist, (see Frontier Forts, Historical Sketches No. 4, Page 18, also Historical Sketches, No. 5, Page 26) and that the settlement was not named for Gist. Had they (the early settlers) wanted to honor Gist, why call the settlement Guest?
So much for the name of the place, let's take a nostalgic stroll, look at some of the make-up of my "Back Home", and meet some of the colorful and interesting people who came to Coeburn seeking adventure, opportunity, a better life, and better things.
Along the entire two blocks of our town ran wooden sidewalks two feet high, the business places likewise, were built high off the ground. This was done as an effort to prevent flooding. It seemed about every time it rained the creeks got out of bounds and flooded the entire town. The street was a dirt road, in summer it would be dry and dusty, except when the summer rains would come, then the dust would turn to mud. In winter it would become a two-track, snowy quagmire just the width of a farmers wagon. The road to Norton followed Front Street to the Miners Bank, made a right turn, went one block to Second Street, then left and meandered along the lower edge of cemetery hill, it crossed the railroad tracks about three hundred yards north of the present crossing, after crossing the tracks turned north, crossed Big Tom's Creek, then left by the old Coeburn Hospital, turning and twisting finally into Maytown, across Guest's River into Riverview, after several turns it crossed the river and the railroad tracks, thence down Bruce Straight to Norton. The road west in its present location was built through the bottoms in the mid-twenties, dirt for the fills was taken from the hill where the furniture store and the Masonic lodge buildings now stand.
The road from Coeburn to St. Paul and eastward was a long circular round-about route, to the forks of the road, through the Crab Orchard community, down dry fork creek, thence over Big Bull Hill and Whetstone Mountain to St. Paul. There was no road east of Banner except a narrow wagon trail that followed the creek bed down Bull Run, in places it was impassable even with a wagon. The first road built on this route was by prison labor in the 1920's. It was during my early years the roads and streets were first paved, or hard-surfaced, as it were.
Coeburn became a boisterous trading and shopping center for a large area, including Scott and Dickenson Counties, as well as the vast number of miners who were pouring into the vicinity, much like the days of the western gold rushes. On Saturdays when they would converge on the town to celebrate and whoop it up a little, an occasional Saturday night brawl was not uncommon.
One of the first things I remember when I first saw the light of day in Coeburn, was the old Livery Stable and Blacksmith shop, it was located just east of the bridge (or where the bridge is now) to Dungannon, between the road and Little Tom's Creek.
Owned and operated by Tom B. Estes, who had come to Coeburn from Halifax County, Virginia in the early 1890's, a kind soft spoken gentleman, with a slight touch of the east Virginia dialect, a fine businessman, a man of high ideals and principles. In the years I knew Mr. Estes I never heard him speak harshly to or about anyone or anything.
At the time Coeburn was a cross-roads, to the north, was the vast area of Dickenson County, to the south, Scott County. With the coming of the trains, the Coeburn gateway was the best access route to these areas.
My father, a lover of horses was a liveryman or driver for Mr. Estes. I recall salesman or 'drummers' as they were then called, would come by train to Coeburn and engage a buggy, hack, surry, or whatever kind of horse-drawn vehicle was required, to transport their enormous sample cases over the back roads of the territory to be covered. With my father as driver and guide, they would be gone for two or three weeks making the necessary calls. Wherever night came upon them, they would seek lodging from the farmer or merchant who was closest. Stabling for the horses was also required. I remember my father telling many interesting stories concerning these trips into this wild country. Once I heard him tell of a certain rural boarding-house where he and his traveling companion (the salesman) were staying. The management had a wire about shoulder high, that ran from the front door of the house to the door of the outhouse. This was in case one of the guests got the urge during the night, all he or she had to do was follow the wire there and back. Everyone knows how dark it can get out in the country, and outdoor plumbing was all there was. Almost everyone made their own 'moonshine' and anyone staying the night would be invited to have a drink with the host.
Because each carried a different line of merchandise, the transportation of these salesman was an ongoing business for the livery stable, and required several drivers and other employees. The people of the villages and at the country stores looked forward to the visits of the salesman and his driver, they were the media for news of the outside.
At the time the only way to travel, unless by rail was by horse-drawn vehicles or on horseback. At the Estes Livery Stable horses could be rented for any purpose, from plowing your garden to taking your girl for a buggy ride in the country, and you didn't have to worry about keeping both hands on the steering wheel, the horse could find his way home even on the darkest night. It was not long however, before automobiles began to appear on the rough dirt roads and the old livery stable was definitely on the way to extinction. Yet it was several years before the automobile and truck took the place of the horse and wagon. It was still 'old dobbin' who had to carry the mail, deliver the goods to stock the stores. He delivered ice, milk, and groceries door to door. He tilled the soil and furnished the motive power to reap the harvest, he pulled the road scrapers and dump wagons that built the roads and railroads that was to carry the cars, trucks, and trains which was to spell the end of his usefulness. True the horse's mode of travel and his work was slow, but it was sure, and no form of horsepower has ever proven more reliable or dependable.
After closing of the Livery Stable the Estes family established Estes Hardware Company, with Mr. Tom as a kind of senior advisor until his death. In later years they also owned and operated Estes Funeral Home. Both businesses served the people of Coeburn and surrounding area for many years. To me, the name Estes will always be synonymous with Guest's Station or Coeburn.
I vividly recall the influenza epidemic which took so many lives. Later, I heard my mother speak of Dr. Pierce, our family doctor. I do know he made his calls in a horse-drawn buggy - in memory I hear his horses hooves in the muddy street as he approached our house. Fortunately we all survived, but I do know we were all ill at the same time.
Then came World War I, and business was booming. "King Coal" was very much in demand. In addition to the large coal operations at Tom's Creek and Banner, the hills and mountains surrounding Coeburn contained thousands of tons of the "black stuff" just waiting to be brought to the surface. Alec Dixon and Sam Horne were among the first wagon-mine operators in Coeburn. They opened a number of small mines in the vicinity, and with horses and wagons hauled the coal to railroad cars placed on sidings at Coeburn. The coal was shoveled by hand at least four times in the process. First it was loaded into mine cars brought to the surface, then loaded in the wagons, hauled to Coeburn, shoveled from the wagons to boxcars, in the boxcars were youngsters to shovel the coal to the ends of the cars. Since employed in this "throwing back coal". It was a lot of hard work, (as it was called) was necessary to get sufficient tonnage in the car. I assume boxcars were used due to the demand for hopper or coal cars by the larger coal operations. Rev. B. Homer Harvey, now 82 years old, was a small boy at the time and employed in this "throwing back coal." It was a lot of hard work, but every one was making money and living "high on the hog", as the old saying goes. My father drove one of the wagons for the above operation, and continued to deliver and supply coal by horse and wagon to homes, schools, churches, and other local domestic markets long after the War.
One could not speak or write of Coeburn without thinking of one of its most colorful merchants: J. L. "Dot" Addington. Mr. Addington came from Scott County in the early days of Coeburn and established the Addington Mercantile Company. His place of business stood on the corner of Front Street facing what was later called Grand Street. It started from an humble beginning of a few pairs of overalls and a scanty stock of other wearing apparel, plus a few grocery items and grew to be one of the largest retail outlets in Coeburn. Mr. Addington was large man, a jovial, happy-go-lucky type of person with a booming laugh, he loved to see his place of business filled with prospective buyers. He would go through the store and in a loud voice call out, "Sell 'em, sell 'em, if you can't sell 'em, throw 'em out the window." I for one thought of Mr. Addington as a likeable businessman who liked to transact a lot of business, just for the love of activity. There was always a crowd of loafers around the old pot-bellied stove. One could never forget the smell of the store, the odor or kerosene, the open pickle barrel, coffee, spices, and salted mackerel all co-mingled to create a smell like nothing else in the whole wide world. About all groceries were in bulk form, and were bagged or wrapped and weighed at the time of sale, everything was tied by twine string which hung from a large ball over the counter.
Mr. Addington was a lay minister of the Baptist faith and was held in high esteem by the people of Coeburn and surrounding area. I can see him now as he would come out on the street to make his weather predictions. He prided himself in being able to forecast the weather. He would call out the impending weather to the loafers who always occupied the benches across the street. A lot of times he would be asked what could be expected weatherwise. As a lad I worked a lot for Mr. Addington around his home. His wife was an angel of a person. She would always make it possible for me to get whatever book I might need for my school week. My duties were to tend the garde, keep coal in the basement for the furnace, keep the coal skuttles full at the back door for cooking, see that the grass was cut, and other odd jobs that would come up from time to time. For all this I received sufficient funds to buy my pencils and tablets, or whatever else I might need to further my studies. If I could roll back the yeas I would certainly thank Mr. and Mrs. Addington for the lesson they taught me; that whatever we want, we must work for.
In the mid-twenties the Addington Mercantile Company burned to the ground, along with the entire block, however, Mr. Addington was not daunted in his effort to serve his customers. He immediately built on the same spot and started all over again. At his death his business covered the whole block with three entrances from the street.
In the early years there were (in addition to the above) many spectacular fires in Coeburn. One of the most talked of took place before I was born; the burning of the "Rolling Mill". A huge mill belonging to J. L. Addington, for grinding corn and other grains for livestock feed, as well as flour and meal for bread. It was located just south of the railroad tracks on the same spot where Mr. Addington later erected a large warehouse, which he used as a wholesale outlet.
Rev. B. Homer Harvey, who grew up in Coeburn, witnessed this fire and gave me the following: (quote), "I was a lad of about ten, and we lived just across the road from the 'Rolling Mill'. I had been working over in town, setting tenpins in the bowling alley. At about 10:30 p.m. another lad and myself were on the way home, when we saw the blazes coming out of the large building. I remember it was very well indeed because the fire spread to our house and it too was destroyed. It was the biggest and hottest fire I had ever seen." (end quote)
Another pioneer in the store business was Peery Brothers on Front Street, run by Mr. B. Y. Peery and his brother, D. C. Peery. Their store, unlike the Addington Mercantile Company, catered primarily to the grocery and meat trade; however some dry goods and a few pairs of shoes were carried. The Peery's operated this store for many years; then they, like the Addington Mercantile Company before them, burned in another of Coeburn's big fires. This time the fire consumed Peery Brothers and several other businesses including Estes Hardware. B. Y. Peery built a two-story brick building in its place, restocked and was back in business in a short time. One side of this new building was a restaurant and the entire upstairs, a hotel, run by Walter Wyatt. B. Y. remained in the business until the early forties. In the meantime, D. C. moved to Roanoke, VA. B. Y. eventually entered the coal business; then he too left Coeburn. Later I read that he was listed as a millionaire.
The Ashworth family were also early settlers of the Coeburn area. Floyd A. Ashworth came to Wise County from Bland County in the 1860's and ran a boarding house at Tacoma. His lines for the N & W Railroad. In a letter written by J. W. Ashworth he tells of his work and some of his experiences while with the railroad, his salary was $40.00 per month, (big money for that period). The Ashworth's later moved to Coeburn, and F. A. opened a shoe shop on Second Street. It was always a pleasure to watch Grandpa Ashworth (as everyone called him), work on a pair of shoes. All the work was done by hand. When finished, the shoes were like new.
After J. W. Ashworth completed his work with the railroad, he went into business as a photographer and photo finisher. His first studio was on Second Street. It was destroyed by fire in 1920. He rebuilt on Grand Street and was there as long as he continued in business. His work as a photographer and portrait finisher are still very much in evidence around the country and stand as a monument to his skill and ingenuity.
Children of Mr. & Mrs. J. W. Ashworth I remember best was a daughter, Lucille Ashworth Kilgore, who taught school at Coeburn many years. A son, John W. "Bill", Jr., who played end on some of Coeburn High School's great football teams of the early years. In later years, he became a specialist in his chosen field, medicine, and served in some of the greatest hospitals of the U. S. During World War II, he served with the U. S. Medical Corps in the Pacific theater.
I can never forget the many kindnesses shown me by Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Ashworth and the entire family. They are as fresh in my memory as they were some sixty odd years ago. I sincerely feel it was the goodness of people like the Ashworths that influenced my life.
J. D. Clay, one of Coeburn's most successful businessmen came to Guest's Station in the early 1890's, as a surveyor with an engineering firm hired by the Norfolk and Western Railroad to survey the line from Coeburn to Tom's Creek. Finding no place to live in Coeburn, he lived with the Ashworths who ran a boarding house about five miles west of Coeburn at Tacoma. The only transportation to get to work was to ride the train to Coeburn in the mornings, and back to Tacoma on the evening train.
After he finished his work with the railroad, Mr. Clay moved to Coeburn in what was called the "Brown House," this was a kind of dwelling made up of apartments and located just south of the railroad tracks, near what I remember as the Kennedy place. Later, he lived and reared his family in a large white house, just north of the Methodist Church on the hill overlooking Coeburn.
One of Mr. Clay's first ventures into the business world was a small store on what is now called Grand Street. Using this as a base of operations, he contracted for railroad car lots of building material and other goods, which he resold to markets in the Clintwood and surrounding area. The merchandise was transported to the sites by horse drawn wagons.
After several successful enterprises, he established the Coeburn Grocery Company, which grew to be one of the largest wholesale grocers in the entire area employing a large number of traveling salesmen, drivers, and warehousemen. It served the needs of merchants for miles in all directions.
The building itself sat astride Little Tom's Creek at the west end of town, and extended to the railroad sidings for easy access in unloading railroad cars of feed, hay, grain, foodstuff, and other commodities. It was erected on the site of an old 'stave mill' which had also been the property of Mr. Clay, but was destroyed by fire previously.
As a youngster, I recall Mr. Clay working the town himself. Taking orders from the local merchants, a large handsome friendly man, with his order book tucked under his arm, he walked, his head held high, and with a military bearing, there was that 'something' about Mr. Clay one could not help but notice. Surely, it was men like J. D. Clay that helped carve from the wilderness the thriving community, which is now Coeburn.
M. D. Clay, now 92, oldest son of J. D. Clay, born while his parents resided in the 'brown house', (mentioned above), attended the first school in Coeburn which was held in one room of an old building in the same block as Addington Mercantile Company. There were two classes, a curtain was hung to separate the room in order for both classes to be taught simultaneously, this was circa 1900. The following year, classes were moved to the little Presbyterian Church building on what is now Second Street, (across from the Quillen home).
These served as the only school Coeburn had until the old two-story school building was erected on the hill in 1904. Then on a Sunday afternoon in the mid-twenties, it burned to the ground. (At that time, my class was in the old building and my books were destroyed, I felt my greatest loss was my Civil War scrap-book, RLS).
M. D. worked for his father at Coeburn Grocery as a traveling salesman. His mode of travel was on horseback, regardless of weather, the grocery salesman like the mailman had to go.
He was the first man in Coeburn to own an automobile, (an Overland). He purchased the car in Bristol and it had to be shipped by rail, via Radford to Bluefield, thence down Clinch Valley to Coeburn. The only road between Coeburn and Bristol at the time, was for horse drawn freight wagons, and this only at certain times of the year. In later years, M. D. established the local agency for the 'Star and Overland' automobiles.
NOTE: It was a great honor and wonderful experience for me to visit M. D. Clay and his daughter, Marjorie. He told me many interesting stories of the early days of Coeburn and the Clay family. I only wish time and space would permit a more detailed account. At 92, Mr. Clay is a remarkable man. He leads an active life as a businessman and gentleman farmer. He could easily be taken for a man of about 60 or 65 years. I will always be eternally grateful for his assistance. RLS
Thoughts of my boyhood in Coeburn would have to include Charlie Gillespie. He was a go-getter all the years I knew him. My first recollection was when I was about 9 or 10 years old. He had a restaurant just west of Peery Brothers on Front Street. A small window opened on the sidewalk and hamburgers could be purchased without entering the building. In my 70 odd years, there has never been hamburgers that tasted as good as those, McDonald's notwithstanding. I believe this restaurant was destroyed in the same fire that burned Peery Brothers and the Estes Hardware.
Mr. Gillespie, along with his partner, Raymond Addington, another old-time groceryman, owned and operated the A & G Grocery for many years. The first A & G Grocery was located about midway between the R. V. Wohlford Drug Store building and Peery Brothers. Another of Coeburn's numerous fires consumed it and all the buildings between it and the Wohlford building.
Raymond Addington in the earlier years worked at the old Addington Mercantile Company as a store clerk. Raymond passed away a few years ago. He was one of the last old-time store owners of my boyhood days.
One other institution that goes back through the years and bears mentioning is the Coeburn Masonic Lodge, chartered December 17, 1891. Its mailing address was Guest's Station, and it showed membership of eight. The following year, 1892, its address had changed to Coeburn with a membership of 35. Many of the area's outstanding citizens were members of this fraternity.
Who could ever forget John Lytz, Coeburn's First Mayor and "man about town" his booming "howdy neighbor", and friendly smile. Truly, Mr. Lytz was a key figure int he formation of our "Back Home". Looking back over the years I think he could have been elected to any office he chose.
From Scott County, Virginia two early pioneers of Coeburn were the Lay brothers. W. P. and J. P. They conducted a large hardware and supply business in downtown Coeburn. In the early twenties they erected two of the finest homes in Coeburn of that period. The houses still stand on the right and just west of the Baptist Church. The Lay's were people of high ideals and proved themselves an asset to the town of Coeburn. Their business like so many others was a victim of one of Coeburn's big fires. This one destroyed almost the entire block from what was the First National Bank on the east to the old Miner's Bank on the west. There was a large number of businesses in this block including the A & P Store.
My old "hometown" was well blest with the best in medical care. I recall Doctor G. W. Dingus, a small familiar figure with his little black satchel walking from town to his home in South Coeburn. It would be impossible to even hazard a guess at the number of babies delivered by Dr. Dingus.
Coeburn had Dr. I. E. Wolfe, a well-known man of medicine. There was a family practitioner by the name of Banner, also a Dr. Addington. But certainly, the one I was most familiar with was Dr. Joe B. Wolfe, a great humanitarian, a man devoted to his profession, a man who served tirelessly during the lean years of the depression when people had little or nothing to pay for the care received. It seemed compensation played a very small part in Dr. Joe Wolfe's lief. Those that needed medical care got it regardless of the ability to pay. House calls were made in spite of weather or time of day or night. Dr. Joe Wolfe headed the staff of the old Coeburn Hospital. My "Back Home" lost one of its best friends with the passing of Dr. Joe B. Wolfe.
Many of the old stores and shops I have forgotten, a few I do recall: Bryson and Son, next door to the Miner's Bank, Bob Carico's clothing store, one called the Miner's Store, Teper Brothers clothing store. A Mr. Surface ran a furniture store on one of the side streets. There is one however, I will never forget. The R. V. Wohlford Drug Store, with its big marble soda fountain, the big brass 'spittoon', the mosaic tile floor, its old wire chairs and glass-topped tables. This is where my lady would stop and sit for a cold drink, a little chit-chat, and listen to some of the latest waltz's and foxtrot's on the old hand-wound gramophone that played the big thick records, a little scratchy perhaps, but no one noticed. For the day and age, it was beautiful.
I was about three or four and with an older member of the family when I saw my first movie, an old silent film, (that was all there was) at the old Star theater, operated by John Steele and his sons after him. I don't recall the name of the picture, I do remember however, a serial was playing and one of the stars was "Elmo the Mighty", as the chapter came to an end the bad guys had him all tied up and he was hanging head down over an open water well. As a youngster, I worried how he would get out of the mess he was in. I don't remember ever seeing the next chapter, so I can't say how "Elmo" got out of his predicament. It took me several years to figure how these big pictures moved on the wall.
I can still remember the excitement and thrill of the Fourth of July celebrations we had in the early days. They were held in the bottom just west of the railroad tracks to Tom's Creek about where the three-way intersection is now located. There was always a carnival, everyone had horses and there would be races as well as other horse and rider competition. There would usually be a brass band, a baseball game. Once the Redman Lodge members dressed up in their Indian regalia and staged a simulated raid on the white settlers. To me as a youngster, this was the real thing. To add to it all a man ascended in a hot air balloon as a finale to an exciting day.
It has been over fifty years since I lived in Coeburn, it seems so long ago and far away, most of the people I knew are gone. They were the carefree years of my infancy, boyhood, and youth. They were the years spent with my mother and father, brothers and sisters. I have traveled extensively throughout the land, seen many sights, all big, beautiful and strange. But a feeling of belonging helps create a sort of spiritual glow over my "back home" that sets it apart from the rest of the world.
NOTE: My sincere thanks and appreciation to the following: Emory L. Hamilton, Rev. B. Homer Harvey, Dr. John W. "Bill" Ashworth, Beverly M. Estes, again to M. D. Clay, and all who offered or gave assistance.
Pages 4 to 16
This speech was originally given at the 41st Anniversary Ladies' Night Meeting of the Clintwood Kiwanis Club held at the Wise Inn in September 1978. It was repeated at the Spring Meeting of the Southwest Virginia Historical Society in Clintwood, March 30, 1985.
It is a singular pleasure for me to be addressing the Clintwood Kiwanis Club at the Ladies' Night celebration of its 41st Anniversary. It is my old home club which I joined in 1946 and served as president in 1950. I see a lot of familiar faces here tonight and, in my mind's eye, a number of empty chairs once occupied by those members who have gone on.
I wish to thank the club for the invitation to speak here tonight, and it will be doubly pleasurable since it marks my first appearance as Lt. Governor for the 8th Division of the Capital District of Kiwanis. I also wish to thank the redoubtable Victor Molinary for so persuasively relaying that invitation to me.
After I had committed myself to making this talk, I suddenly realized that I was confronted by a problem: What was I to talk about? After almost a week had passed and I still had no answer, I was beginning to feel something closely akin to panic. However, just a few days before the meeting an idea came to me - and it occurred in a peculiar way.
Thought processes sometimes work in strange ways, and the idea was triggered by - and you aren't going to believe this - hamburger. I had gone with my wife Gertrude to one of Abingdon's supermarkets and while she shopped I wandered down the length of the meat case, my mouth watering, and I came to the ground beef, the hamburger. When I saw the price I staggered back in disbelief. It was $1.59 a pound! (You must remember this occurred in 1978 when inflation was at its peak).
Instantly, the memory of another time flashed through my mind, the recollection of an incident which occurred many, many years ago, an incident that also involved hamburger. Then, I remembered something that had happened more recently, and those two memories gave me the idea I had been searching for.
About three years before that, a young man who was a student at Virginia Highlands Community College in Abingdon called me and wanted to know if he could interview me on my memories of the Great Depression. He explained that he was doing a paper on that period. Why he picked me, I don't know, unless he thought I was the only person in town old enough to remember the Depression. At any rate, he came to the house with his tape recorder and we talked for the better part of an hour.
After he left I had the feeling he was somewhat disappointed with my memories of that period. I had not stood in a breadline, and I had not gone hungry. I had not attempted to jump from a tall building because I had gone broke, and I was not bitter because the Depression had denied me the opportunities that young people of today take for granted.
Those two incidents, as I have said, triggered the idea for the subject of the talk - a nostalgic trip back through time to my home town, Clintwood. Sure, I remember the Depression. Show me someone my age who doesn't. But time has a way of blunting the sharp edges of reality and erasing the memory of unpleasant things, and perhaps my impressions of that period are not quite as harsh as they should be.
My first impulse was to ask the young man, "What Depression? What Depression in Clintwood?" We people in Clintwood and Dickenson County had always been poor when measured against the economic status of those who inhabited other part of the nation. We gouged our living from hardscrabble farms, we dug coal for 15 cents a ton, we cut timber for 20 cents an hour, and we searched for "sang" in the fall when the berries were red. The Depression to us was something that was happening in the big industrial cities, something that was talked about in the newspapers and on the radio, something that was reducing the rest of the country to the economic level that had been ours since our first memories.
I have indicated that Clintwood was relatively untouched by that economic disaster, but that is not entirely true. The stock market crash in 1929 is said to have started that worldwide economic collapse. But to us, Wall Street was some vague, faraway place that was somehow sinful and, if we thought about it at all, we felt something akin to pleasure that those greedy money-changers had at last received their just dues. In 1931, however, the effects did reach us. Our only bank closed.
Many people lost their savings, and some who were rather heavily indebted to the bank found their homes and other property in jeopardy as efforts were made to straighten out the institution's affairs. Incredibly, however, for this latter group, a slow-moving Federal Bureau, for perhaps the first time in history, came to their aid. The Reconstruction Finance Corporation, which had taken over the responsibility of liquidating the bank's assets, took a great many years to complete the job, and by that time improvement in the economy allowed most of these people to pay off their indebtedness and save their homes.
Except for that incident, we in Clintwood went on as usual. No, not as usual, because in my memory at least, it grew better. There seemed to be a return to the old basics, a return to the spirit of pioneer helpfulness, a bonding together for mutual aid. Better roads, the telephone, the radio had brought a certain degree of sophistication to our people, and with it a modicum of self-interest and selfishness that was unnatural to a town which owed its very existence to the spirit of helpfulness and shared experiences that had characterized the pioneers. In fact, we were still not far away from that pioneer era.
Those Depression Years brought us together, brought us back to a simple, fundamental way of life and made us a community again. There was some money still circulating - the teachers were employed, the mines were working a couple of days a week, and w. M. Ritter's Lumber operation still furnished employment for a number of people. The pay these people received was, by today's standards, a mere pittance, but the money filtered down through the population to the point where just about everyone had a little to spend.
We developed warm relationships with our fellows, and also a strong spirit of neighborliness, of shared burdens and concern for the welfare of those around us. There was poverty, but poverty had always been there. There were fewer opportunities for higher education for our young people, but that too was not a strange condition in our town.
My impression of the Clintwood of that period are those of a quiet, sleeping little town in which there was no actual hunger, no cases of desperate need, and, above all, no fear or panic. People went through the days and weeks and months as usual, finding a little job here, a bigger job there, always seeming to get enough food and clothing for their families.
And there were even amusements. At Bill McFall's Drug Store there was a penny pinball machine that seemed to always have players around it, and the proceeds from it paid Bill Mac's light bill. There were movies three times a week, clean movies with Hollywood's top stars. It didn't matter that they were two or three years old, they were new to us. And on occasion the Barter Theatre would bring a play to the high school auditorium, and many of those players rose to the top in the entertainment industry. Then there was radio, and it was the golden age of that medium. I would like for you who can remember those days to compare what we heard then to the torrents of inane and tasteless stupidity that pour from our television sets today.
One could walk down Main Street, meet with friends and rehash last night's radio programs, stop at Bill Mac's, the unofficial social center of the town, and drink a five-cent Coke, or go on down to George's Restaurant and get a hamburger for a dime. Then you could join the group of men who lolled in the shade around Courthouse Square. They came to the early morning and sat until noon when they went home for their lunch, then returned at 1:00 o'clock to resume their rest.
I recall on day I was sitting with them and when the Courthouse clock struck 12 noon, Henry Shortt, along with the rest of us, got up and dusted off the seat of his pants and said, to no one in particular, "I hope my wife has got some good soup beans and corn bread for dinner. I'm gittin' so damned tired of that old ham and steak and chicken all the time." There were very few cars on the street, although the price of gasoline was only 16 cents a gallon, and about the only noise you heard was a juke box in George's Restaurant blaring out some plaintive ditty about the heartbreak of an untrue love.
Now, this group of men who loitered around Court House Square was officially known as "The Sons of Rest", an organization founded by the one and only Bud Jones. Bud was a beloved and admirable whittler who would bring a small piece of dry cedar wood with him each morning, and by late afternoon when he went home, he would leave the town a present of knee-deep pile of shavings on the sidewalk. The Courthouse janitor saved them to start fires in the furnace during the winter months.
Bud, the son of a judge, had been a timber cruiser and had served the county as Deputy Clerk, but when all the timber had been cruised and the clerk's office had changed hands he had no alternative but to retire which, I might add, he did with admirable grace. However, Bud did gain immortality - of a sort.
For many, many years there had been a persistent rumor in Dickenson County that a man who lived in the Breaks area had killed a fellow named Ale Artrip and burned his body in a brush pile. However, no trace was ever found of the remains and a case could not be brought against him.
Several years later, the Breaks man died, and a few years after that Ale Artrip turned up in Clintwood alive and well. He spent two weeks in town telling enthralled crowds on the street how he had been shot by this man then dumped into a shallow hole which was then covered by brush and set afire.
His assailant left the scene and a little later, Ale said, the heat from the fire brought him back to consciousness and he managed to crawl away and start making his way up the road. Just as he was about ready to pass out again, he met the Rev. Ruel Pritchett, a highly esteemed minister of the Church of the Brethren, who took him to his home where he and his wife nursed Ale back to health. As soon as he could travel, Ale headed for West Virginia where he lived until he learned that his assailant was dead.
Mayno Sutherland, who had worked as a writer for the New York Times, was fascinated by the story so he wrote it and sent it to that newspaper. The Times brought it right away and then wired Mayno saying they wanted a picture of Artrip. By that time, though, Ale had gone back to West Virginia, so Mayno started digging through piles of old photographs in various homes around town and finally came up with one of Bud Jones on a horse, a picture that had been made in 1912. He sent it in, and Bud got his picture in the New York Times, even though he was identified in the caption as Ale Artrip.
During this period a new family moved to Clintwood. The name Helmick - John Helmick, his wife and their son Arthur. No one ever knew where they came from nor why, but they made a living of sorts doing odd jobs for people in town. John was an illiterate blowhard and the Sons of Rest, who promptly rechristened him "Shagnasty", took him to their bosom. Many Clintwood people will recall that it was Shagnasty who claimed, among other incredible achievements, to be the man who drove the last spike in the construction of Natural Bridge.
Arthur, who was in his early twenties, did yard work for Mayno who one day, while cleaning out his clothes closet, came across an old tuxedo he had worn in the days when he was a New York dude. He gave it to Arthur, and the very next Sunday morning, here he came up the street, resplendent in that tuxedo, escorting his girlfriend to church. A few years later the Helmicks disappeared just as quietly and mysteriously as they had come.
Now, I would like to interject a little note in memory of an old and valued friend who has passed on - Judge E. J. Sutherland. I'm sure that many of you have, as I have done, on coming out of the movie theater after the last show, looked up at the Courthouse to see the lighted window of his office. There, he toiled far into the night, night after night, preserving the priceless record of our heritage. Dear, dedicated, wise and gentle E. J.! Generations to come will bless his name.
Looking back through time and unashamed nostalgia, I see those years as an era of almost divine simplicity, of a closeness to people that I have not experienced since. There was a magic about it that even now, in this age of vulgar materialism, lifts the spirit and intoxicates the heart. It was a time when the spirit of compassionate humanity rose above the selfishness and greed that is inherent in all of us.
Then Franklin Roosevelt began his measures designed to end the Great Depression. His first budget calling for funds to implement his program was, as I recall, an unheard-of five billion dollars. Newspapers used tons of newsprint and radio commentators spent hours trying to tell us just how much five billion dollars amounted to. If it were in silver dollars, they said, it would make a stack that would reach to the moon and back. Just compare that budget with our present one that calls for expenditures of almost a trillion dollars.
WPA projects sprang up like mushrooms in Clintwood and over the county and people were working, some of them for the first time. I heard more than one man say he was making more money than he had ever made in his life.
Then began an era of prosperity, a prosperity such as we in Dickenson County had never before known. Everyone who wanted a job had one, and those who couldn't work or wouldn't work found a financial haven in something called "Relief". Looming on the horizon were the gathering clouds of World War II, and many of our people left Clintwood to work in defense plants. Others joined the armed services.
The war brought an end to the measures the president had set in motion to relieve the Depression and, following the end of that conflict, the world, the nation, the state and county - and Clintwood - would never be the same. The simplicity of life, the ancient verities, that brief upsurge of human compassion were gone forever.
I began to notice a change in our people. They became more self-centered, more absorbed in making a buck while the making was good, and less and less interested in the affairs of their neighbors and the community. Gone was the closeness and the deep humanity that had characterized the Depression years.
That period of economic recovery before the war also brought an unwelcome visitor with whom we are now all too familiar - inflation. And now we get back to the hamburger. I recall that one evening a group of us were standing on the corner talking over the affairs of the nation, and George Waddell joined us. In a little while someone started complaining that prices of everything were skyrocketing. Then George spoke up. "I'll say they are," he said. "I've never seen the beat in all my life. I've just come from the store, and do you know that the price of hamburger has gone up to twelve cents a pound!"
Now, economists can pinpoint the very day the Great Depression began; That Black Thursday in October, 1929, when the stock market crashed - and for Clintwood the day the bank closed. But can any one of them say there was a certain day when it ended? I doubt if they would dare try. But to me the curtain fell on that era of simplicity and sharing, of unselfishness and human kindness that age of innocence, if you will - the day George Waddell discovered that the price of a pound of hamburger had gone up to twelve cents.
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The Fraternity of Ancient Free and Accepted Masons is the oldest, largest and most widely known fraternal organization in the world.
Volumes have been written about it yet, too many. Freemasonry remains a mystery.
This article is an attempt to relate a few facts that will be informative to all and correct a few misconceptions.
Historians trace Freemasonry to the Tenth Century, B.C. during the building of King Solomon's Temple. Records reveal that Freemasonry was introduced into England in 674A.D.
Freemasonry is directly descended from associations of operative masons, the Cathedral builders of the Middle Ages, who traveled through Europe employing the secrets and skills of their crafts.
In the 17th Century, when Cathedral building was on the decline many guilds of Stone Masons, known as "Operative Masons" or "Free-Masons", started to accept as members those who were not members of the Masons' craft, calling them "Speculative Masons" or Accepted Masons.
It was from these groups comprised mostly of "Adopted or Accepted Masons", that symbolic Masonry or Freemasonry as we know it today, had its beginning.
In 1717 four Lodges of Freemasons' meeting in London, England formed the first Grand Lodge.
This first Grand Lodge chartered Symbolic Lodges and Provincial Grand Lodges in many countries, including the United States.
A Deputation as Provincial Grand Master of New England was issued to Henry Price on April 30, 1733, by Viscount Montague Grand Master of England. On July 30th of the same year, Price organized a Provincial Grand Lodge embracing the New England Colonies of America. For more than forty years he was actively devoted to the Promotion of Freemasonry in the American Colonies. The success of his labors and those with him is evident from the fact that nearly all the leaders of the American Revolution were Prominent Masons. Beginning with the English government.
Signers of the Declaration of Independence who were Freemasons number 24 of the 56 whose names appear at the end of this immortal document.
Those who made great and lasting contributions to the establishment of our government numbered many Freemasons in their ranks. Some of the Philosophies of Masonry are to be found in the Constitution of the United States. The Preamble of the Constitution, and the first Ten Amendments, which are known as the "Bill of Rights", which have been in force since December 15, 1791.
The writing of the Constitution was a matter which occupied considerable time. They met behind closed doors for three and a half months. The authors were thorough as is evident because of the few amendments offered in more than a century and three quarters.
The basis of the Constitution was the "Virginia Plan," and this was offered and championed by Edmund Randolph, then Governor and Grand Master of Masons in Virginia.
The Virginia Plan represented the wishes of the large states, and it called for a stronger central government. The members of the House of Representatives were based on population.
Fourteen Presidents of the United States are known to have been Freemasons. Three of these deserve mentioning for what they did as Freemasons.
George Washington is the only mason to have served as President of the United States and Master of his Lodge simultaneously. Washington was a Virginia mason and the Lodge which he served as worshipful Master was a Virginia Lodge Alexandria No. 22. He also served as worshipful Master of Alexandria Lodge No. 39 in Pennsylvania for 32 months while he was President of the United States.
On September 18, 1793, Washington laid the corner stone of the United States Capitol with Masonic ceremonies. On this occasion he was acting as Grand Master of Maryland. Washington's pride in Freemasonry is to be seen in the many occasions on which he mingled with his brethren both before and during the war for Independence and during his later life. When he died in 1799 the Brethren of Alexandria Lodge No. 22 conducted the funeral rites. Until he died Washington remained a member of his mother Lodge at Fredericksburg, VA. He was initiated an Entered Apprentice on November 4, 1752; passed to the Degree of Fellow Craft March 3, 1753 - and raised to the sublime Degree of Master Mason August 4, 1753.
In the Northern States an Anti-Masonic Party was formed which, for a few years, became almost the only opponent of the Democratic Party. In 1832 the Anti-Masonic Party nominated William Wirt as its candidate for the Presidency, but he was defeated, along with the Whig candidate, Henry Clay by Andrew Jackson who was a lawyer by profession, a soldier by choice, a politician by force and a Mason of his own freewill and accord.
Harry Truman was once asked if being elected President of the United States was the greatest honor he had ever received to which he replied, "No." He was then asked, what was the greatest honor? He replied, "being elected Grand Master of Masons of the State of Missouri."
In the United States, there are 49 Grand Lodges. They include 48 states and the District of Columbia. Hawaii is under the Grand Lodge of California and Alaska the Grand Lodge of Washington.
The Grand Lodge is the administrative authority in its territory, known as Jurisdiction. Under the Grand Lodge of Virginia there are 58 masonic districts and 369 symbolic Lodges or Blue Lodges as it is commonly known.
It is the symbolic lodges that issues petitions for membership, acts on Petitions and confers the three symbolic degrees, known as the Entered Apprentice, Fellow Craft and Master Mason Degrees.
A man becomes a Freemason through his own volition. No one is asked to join his ranks. When a man seeks admission to a symbolic lodge it is of his own free will and accord. The choice is his.
One of the customs of Freemasonry is not to solicit members. One seeking admission must have a desire and must request a petition form from one whom he believes to be a Mason.
The petitioner must be recommended by two members of a Masonic Lodge and pass a unanimous ballot. The petitioner must be 21 years of age, mentally and physically competent, of good moral character and believe in the existence of a Supreme being.
Contrary to what many believe, Freemasonry is not a secret society. It does not hide its existence or its membership.
It is true that we have modes of recognition, rites and ceremonies with which the world is not acquainted. In this regard, all human groups and institutions have private affairs. For instance, families have discussions on subjects which do not, and should not concern their neighbors.
Freemasonry is not a religion even though it is religious in character.
It does not pretend to take the place of religion nor serve as a substitute for the religious beliefs of its members.
Freemasonry accepts men found to be worthy regardless of religious convictions.
The title worshipful Master is used in a lodge and some people think that a person is worshiped. The title does not denote a Supreme being or Lordship, and no one is worshiped. It is an Old English title and means "Honorable Master," another connotation is teacher and director of a Lodge.
Freemasonry dictates to no man as to his beliefs, either religious or secular. It seeks no advantage for its members through business or politics. Freemasonry is not a forum for discussion on partisan affairs.
Freemasonry is not an insurance or beneficial society. It is not organized for profit, however, the charity and services rendered are beyond measure. The contributions are made to distressed Master Masons, their widows and orphans and to Masonic Homes.
What is Freemasonry? It is kindness in the home, honesty in business, courtesy in society, fairness in work, pity and concern for the unfortunate, resistance toward evil, help for the weak, forgiveness for the penitent, love for one another, and above all reverence and love for God. Freemasonry is many things, but most of all, Freemasonry is a way of life.
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In a letter to Bill Porter of Coeburn, VA dated June 17, 1985, she writes:
I lived my first 18 years in the Dorchester coal camp. My mother still lives in the area, in Wise. She called me and told me about your ad asking for accounts of living in coal camps. I wrote the enclosed to the Virginia State Literary Contest and won first prize in the essay division. Mr. (Luther) Addington had me write it and put in the union trouble. My parents, however, told me not to mention the union because, at the time, Daddy still worked in Dorchester and feelings were still harsh. When I won the contest, I was afraid to show my parents this essay and they didn't read this until 15 years later. It is OK by now to share it with others.
I graduated from Kelly High School, went on to college and got a B. S. in Math and am a senior systems specialist with DuPont and live in Charlotte. Growing up in a coal camp is a wonderful heritage which I treasure and am proud to be a "daughter of Dorchester."(Daughter of "Pod" Woods).
Written in the Fall of 1960 or Early Spring of 1961
I was born in the little coal camp of Dorchester in southwestern Virginia. I grew up there and still live there. The mines and the smoky coke yard to do not stand out in my childhood memories especially - I just always took them for granted. They were as common as our house and yard to me.
When I was about three or four years old, Daddy started taking me with him to ventilate the coke ovens. He was one of the masons then, and his job ventilating meant that he went around to each coke oven and daubed mud in a little hole which had been left at the top so that the oven would draw properly.
He would let me play in the sandhouse where tons and tons of sand were stored to make cement with. One afternoon I disobeyed Daddy's orders and went exploring. I climbed up on some boxes and grabbed for a high wire that looked like it would be fun to swing on. I missed the hold and my fingers barely touched the wire. The next thing I knew I was lying on the ground a couple of feet away with my head apparently going around.
I looked about to see what had knocked me down, but no one was in sight. I set off to find Daddy. "He would find whoever it was and punish him." I saw Daddy standing on top of the ovens at the far end of the battery. Without hesitation, I climbed up the ladder which leaned against the wall that enclosed a double row of ovens. Then I started down the lorry track between the rows of fiery ovens.
Daddy saw me coming and hurried to me. He led me down to the ground and scolded me for leaving the sandhouse and coming on top of the ovens. When I told him what had happened, his face turned pale and he asked me which particular wire I had touched. When I told him, he grabbed me up close to him and held me for a long time. I didn't understand what the matter was, but I did want him to punish whoever had knocked me down. He quietly explained to me that I had touched a high voltage wire that carried the motor into the mines. If I had caught that wire...well, anyway I had better never touch again things I didn't know about.
I thought that Daddy would not let me go with him to work after that, but he did. He must have thought I could learn from experience. I could. I became a common sight, running at his heels as he went to the coke yard, machine shop, tipple, and mines.
Daddy let me go to the mouth of the mines and play on the mantrip as it waited between shifts, but he never let me go inside the mine no matter how hard I begged. That was because miners have a superstition that if a woman goes inside a mine, ill luck will befall them. If Daddy had let me go in, the next shift probably wouldn't have worked.
One night Daddy got a phone call from Mr. Nichols, the coke yard foreman, asking him to come over to his house. I tagged along behind as usual.
Mr. Nichols lived in the big clubhouse. It wasn't really a clubhouse nor had it ever been one; everyone just called it that. It was the biggest house in the camp, even bigger than the superintendent's. At one time it had been a privately owned rooming house, but now it had been cut up into apartments by the company.
Mrs. Nichols showed us to Mr. Nichols' bedroom. He had had a heart attack and hadn't worked in over a week. I remember sitting very quietly beside his bed as he told Daddy that he had decided to move to Florida and was appointing Daddy as his successor as coke boss.
Daddy hurried home to tell Mother. They seemed very excited, though I couldn't understand why.
Not long after that, I started to school. We have just about the best small school in the county. Only children of employees go to it, because only employees are allowed to live in the camp. Our school used to be a hospital, but when the old school burned and fewer people got sick, the change was made. The first day, one of the older boys playing ball broke a window. The principal sent a boy up to the supply house to get a new one. The company keeps the school repaired and sees that there are always sufficient teachers and supplies.
As I walked up the path to the school, I wondered at the huge stones that had been arranged to make the paths and frame the flower gardens. Daddy had been one of the boys who helped carry the stones when they converted the hospital to a school. I didn't appreciate the neatness and cleanness of our school then, but I did in later years. The rocks were always in place, leaves were raked, play equipment was kept up, and never was there any trash on the ground. The building was also always as clean as the grounds.
One day Daddy announced at supper that the coke company had decided to terminate their contract with the union. I didn't understand the meaning of this, but I knew by the looks on mother's and daddy's faces that it was not good. Mother had a long talk with me and told me that no matter what was said to me I must never say or do anything to aggravate the trouble. I said that I wouldn't, but I had no idea what she meant.
The next morning, Mother and I stood at the living room window and watched Daddy drive to work. Men were picketing all around the store and bridge and in front of the house. I later found out that all the bosses were armed and expecting trouble, but none occurred.
Before I started to school that morning, I saw something that impressed upon me the seriousness of the situation. There was a loaded and cocked gun leaving against the wall behind the door in the living room. This meant to me that everyone was expecting trouble.
I tried to recall what I knew about unions, but the only thing I could recall was one time asking Mother for money to buy ice cream with an hearing her tell me that we had little money because the union was striking. Years later, I found out the reason for this strike. Daddy had picked up a hose and carried it to a water hydrant to put on a "hot car." The union claimed that Daddy, as a boss with a salary, had deprived some workmen of their wages.
That day at school, I realized the only friends I had left were the other company children. The others would not come near us, but stood off in a group and yelled, "Scab! Scab!" at us. I wanted to turn around and yell back, but I remembered what Mother had said, and restrained myself.
All the union families stopped coming to church, and now only company families attended. We would find "Scab" scratched into the wood or painted on the church.
Finally, the men had the coke yard ready to ship coke and coal. Non-union workmen brought in a small, old steam engine to get the cars into line for loading and shipping coke.
The day arrived when the diesel was to come after the loaded cars. Mother and I wanted the whole morning, but it never came. Daddy, very weary, came to dinner and told us what had happened.
The union had moved their picket line to the railroad crossing at the end of the camp. The diesel had come to that picket line, then backed up and left. The railroad union didn't allow the diesel to infringe on the picket lines of another union. If it could be proved that they had moved their picket lines just to stop the train, then the coke company could get an injunction against the pickets and cause them to move to within so many feet of the coke yard, but the coke company could not prove it.
One night the next week, while the union was having a meeting, the coke company called the railroad company and told them to send the diesel over. As soon as the diesel blew for the crossing, men came pouring from the nearby union hall, carrying their pennants and banners. Come of the smarter ones yelled for them to come back, but it was too late. This proved that they were picketing here only to stop the train! The coke company got the injunction the next day, and shipped its first coke and coal out in four months.
Daddy and about seven other men were running the coke yard single handed. The mines were closed down and all the coal was trucked in from nearby strip mines. All the men would help put the coal through the tipple, a processing plant where the coal is washed and crushed. Daddy then ran to the lorry along the top of the ovens and filled them with coal. After the coal burned to coke, another man pulled it out with the coke machine. The hot, silvery-colored coke went up a conveyor belt and was dumped into a washing railroad car. Sometimes the coke is so hot that it sets the car on fire. This becomes a "hot car."
Soon the coke company's workers were getting along well enough to start hiring men. Unemployment was high at the time, and men didn't care if the mine was unionized or not so long as they could find work. Some of the union men began dropping out and asking to be hired again. In their way of looking at it, the union might have a point, but why stand in the cold trying to prove it while their wives and children were starving and work was so near?
The next month the company made its first profit in a long time. Profit had been eaten up by union royalties on the coke shipped out. The union had lost the fight!
The remaining union men were given notice to move out of company houses. They left, telling of wonderful jobs waiting for them and the loads of money they were going to make. Almost everyone of them now is barely making a living for his family at unskilled jobs. They all knew only mining and coking coal and none ever worked at other jobs.
As things improved, Daddy and the others topped carrying their guns, and the gun disappeared from behind our door. They had all been sworn in as deputy sheriffs when the contract had been terminated, but now they could relax.
Daddy was promoted to general coke foreman and with it came a house in the bosses' row. This was a row of houses up on the hill between the church and the school. They were the best houses next to the superintendent's. On the next row of houses, at the base of the hill, the under bosses and the office and store workers live. The houses are smaller and cheaper near the border of the camp. The ones on the fringe of the camp don't have running water or inside bathrooms; only the bosses' houses have furnaces. All of these are kept in repair by the coke company.
The commissary stands in the hollow almost in the center of the camp. In it is the post office, grocery store, dry good store, restaurant, and offices (including the payroll office). There used to be a script office, too, but when our policeman was caught stealing and selling script, the use of script was discontinued. Now we have a policeman and no script.
The men still can trade on their next half month's pay in the store and the amount is taken out of their pay in the office. The same thing is done with medical care. The company hires a doctor who came to an office beside the store everyday. Instead of the men's paying him, he turns their names into the office, and his fee is taken out of their pay.
Slowly, Dorchester has improved until it is the best coal camp in Wise County. Workers there get the best wages, hospitalization, and houses. It also has the most coke ovens with two batteries of double rows. The Coke Company has even built a private lake and recreation area. It is a two acre lake with a beach, bathhouses, and fishing facilities, picnic and camping area, and the lake is an area for the boy scouts.
Dorchester has grown and the Coke Company officials are trying out new ideas. Officials have bought the patent on a new, continuous process, rotary coke ovens. Daddy now spends most of his time experimenting with this oven.
The processed coke is shipped to distant points all over the country to be used in the manufacture of steel and chemicals.
Church attendance in Dorchester is building up from the low it hit during the union trouble. The company has brought in ministers and helped repair the church. There is only one church in the camp, and it is a community one. So many denominations are represented among the workers that no one denomination would last long. Recreation facilities are poor at the present, but the church is doing much in that area. We often have church socials with everyone meeting at the schoolhouse and eating, playing games, and doing folk dances. The church has also started a youth group for the teenagers of the community. A boy scout cabin and baseball field have been built by the company.
Life in coal camps is about like life anywhere else, except for things like the little of fear that goes through everyone when the electricity goes out. A power failure could well mean that there has been trouble in the mines because of the large amounts of power usage by them. If there ever is an accident and someone is killed, no one works for the rest of that day; and on the day of the funeral most of the men attend.
We, in Dorchester, are all like one big family with everyone working together. This is more evident than ever when disaster strikes. If something happens to just one family, like their house burning down, everyone chips in what money, clothes, and furniture he can spare. Usually the whole house is furnished just out of what people give.
Life in a coal camp has its own special charm and memories; I am glad to be a part of it.
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When Miss Orba Rogers came to the Garden area of Buchanan County as a rural worker from Sarasota, Florida in September, 1937, she was admonished by the Rev. L. D. Pierce, the Presiding Elder of the Methodist Church's Tazewell District:
"When you get over in Buchanan County don't stay up all night and sleep all day. Go to bed and get up with the people!"
"And, young Lady, don't let the mountains get you down. Keep your perspective. Remember, when you face those tall mountains that seem to shut you off from the world, that there are people on the other side of them."
Miss Rogers spent her first weekend with Mrs. L. A. Tynes in Tazewell, who was then president of the Woman's Missionary Society of the Holston Conference. She gave Miss Rogers general instructions. She was to work with the young Methodist minister, Mr. Ollie Elkins, to build up the young church for a greater future, and to work with women and children.
After a ride through Short's Gap and the winding, torturous route of Highway 460 she was introduced to mountain travel.
That night she slept in a tiny room up under the eaves on the top floor of the Oakwood Smokeless Coal Company Clubhouse.
She drew these early conclusions, or impressions. No matter where one chanced to be, he would find to his right a mountain, and to his left another, and out in front still another, but only seemingly, for in reality, it is only an extension of the nearby range. Between the ranges he would find three things; a narrow valley, a stream, and a roadway of sorts, and usually a branch, or spur, of the Norfolk & Western Railroad.
The Oakwood Bottom then had no houses - only a row of locust trees. On the first day, she visited the Lone Wolf Store and boardinghouse combination, constructed of logs, just west of the mouth of Garden Creek. There she met three people already endeared to the community people through their work at the Triangle Mountain Institute. They were Mr. and Mrs. Love Wolfe, and Mrs. Wolfe's sister, Miss Wagner.
Old timers stated that, years ago children were taught to read and write in the small building of the Jerusalem Primitive Baptist Church, located in the lowland near Page, at the time known as Monk's. Mrs. Donna hale of Oakwood, has a picture of the one-room school at Hanger, which she said was taken in 1915, and one of a group of people near the Vance School above Mt. Hebron, made about the same time. There was a one room school at Rowe, known as Street School. Those early schools were built about the time large lumber companies came into the area to cut the virgin timber. Lumbering figured largely in the development of educational opportunities in the area. It was Mr. C. W. Boyd, a lumberman of Tazewell, and part owner of the Hardwood Lumber Company, who enlisted the help of the Holston Methodist Conference in establishing a boarding school on Garden Creek.
The school opened in a tar paper shack left by the White Oak Lumber Company. Teachers came from out of the state, and pupils from everywhere. Many paid for their board and keep with barter from their small farms. They conducted a summer camp called Camp Pocahontas. The money paid by the campers helped to pay for supplies needed for the next season.
The school soon outgrew these quarters and moved into a beautiful brick building erected by the Conference on a 150 acre tract, given by Mr. Boyd. The brick building burned in 1932 and the community was again without a high school.
Paul Brown of Drill, gave them a building which local workmen carefully razed, reclaiming even the nails, for replacement of the burned building. Alumni donated the windows and joined other groups in fund-raising projects to buy additional supplies.
In 1937, at the request of the Methodist Conference, the school was taken over by the Buchanan County School Board, and became the Garden High School. However, the Methodist organizations of Tazewell still retain great interest in the Garden projects.
New efforts of the workers realized their dreams in the establishment of the Garden Creek Community Center, adjacent to the former T. M. I. Campus. The handsome $78,000 structure, built of native stone, was dedicated in October 1953. At that time Miss Verdi Anderson and Miss Barbara Conklin were the workers. But the Center program, including kindergarten, Brownies, Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts, with both recreational programs and church-centered activities, were begun several years before the community built T. M. I.
In 1960, the building was sold and nothing is left except a foundation. From T. M. I. has evolved much of the church, school and community leadership through the years. Many of its graduates have gone on to institutions of higher learning, and become educational and church leaders.
As for Miss Rogers, she later became Mrs. Earl Simpson and spent many years as a teacher in the Garden High School and worker in the local Methodist Church. (The writer had the privilege of teaching in the system with Mrs. Simpson at the Garden School for two terms, and had her daughter, Earline in her physical education class during the term.) Mr. Simpson passed away some years ago, and Obra is retired, yet no grass has grown under her feet. She has continued her church work and writes frequent columns for the local newspaper, The Virginia Mountaineer.
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