Summer Vacation 4

Boy, 12, Rolls, Falls 600 Feet

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What I did on my Summer Vacation

By David L. Green

Part IV

A few seconds earlier, my Dad turned around and said “Where’s David?”

Danny answered, “I don’t know, he was here just a second ago.”

You can imagine the horror that hits a parent when they realize their child has just fallen over the side of a mountain and that the chances of surviving a fall like that are very slim, indeed. Horror!

Dad immediately put Danny, the oldest of the group, in charge.

“Get them back to the road and back to the house. Tell them what happened and call for help. Go!”

My father started down the side of the mountain in a zigzag pattern using whatever trees or vegetation he could find to steady himself to keep from falling.

He had grown up on this mountain. He had worked the coalmines and hunted game on this mountain but presently found himself in a strange, horrifying place.

The late afternoon sun had not dipped behind the mountains yet. As I woke up, the sun was bright and warm on my face and I could hear my father calling my name.

It was, again, surreal, I didn’t feel mangled. I realized that I was sitting in an upright position as if I had just come to sit down and rest for a while - except for all of the loose rock lying on and around me – very dusty, as I recall. I didn’t feel the need to get up or go to my father but, instead, called out to him. “Dad, hey, Dad, I’m over here. “

I had no sense or recollection of what had just happened to me and felt, strangely… relaxed.

My father was half out of his mind with grief and overwhelmed to have found me at all, much less, miracle of miracles, alive! I’m sure it never occurred to him that I might have been seriously injured because he just knelt down and, with his back to me said, “Here, just put your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you out of here.”

It seemed like a fine plan to me so I just did what he said.

 When he tried to pick me up, the flash of pain was beyond belief and I passed out.

The next thing I remember was looking up into the faces of my uncles, my father, and a couple of the ‘Bishop boys’, my grandmother’s neighbors. I was on some sort of stretcher and they were working very hard to hold me up and try to keep their footing at the same time.

Someone had brought a blanket and my father had cut two small trees with his pocket knife and rolled them up in the blanket to make a bed. And these men were trying to hold on to that thing while trying to navigate some very steep and treacherous ground.

 It seems that I had come to rest only about 100 yards from the river bank. But the ground was so steep that the only way they could walk was for one man to step down on one side then one on the other and the end of the gurney was handed to them so the next pair could step down. It was a very slow, tedious process.

Luckily, the river was low enough that time of year that a shallow crossing could be made just a few yards from Grandma’s house.

 By this time, the whole community was aware of the accident and somewhere, someone had brought a proper rolling, collapsible stretcher.

The next memory I have is being lifted into the back of my father’s station wagon, seeing women standing there with hankies and tears in their eyes. I watched the headliner move past me as the stretcher was rolled into place.

The next flash of memory was a few hours later in the hospital hallway with my father talking to me. But in the mean time, I was taken to an upscale clinic where I was refused admittance because my family did not have medical insurance at the time.

Next, I was taken to Welch General Hospital where no questions were asked. Instead, I was rushed to the emergency room and what clothing still remained on my body was cut away and I was prepared for surgery.

Back in the hallway I remember my father asking me with tears in his eyes, “David, if you die here tonight, are you prepared to go to heaven?”

“Yes, of course, I am, Dad.” Church was a very big part of our lives and I had given my heart to God at an early age.

 I remember thinking, “What an odd question to ask.” I obviously had no clue just how dire a situation I was in and just assumed that I was going to be fine.

The next flash I remember was a big, round, pale green light above my body. There were people wearing masks and someone was trying to force some kind of thing over my face. I could smell the noxious gas coming from it as they were telling me to relax and breathe deeply.

“Screw that! Get that thing away from me!”

They told me it took 6 men to hold me down until the ether took it’s effect. ( I love that part of the story!)

Summer vacation Part 3

Boy, 12, Rolls, Falls 600 Feet

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What I did on my Summer Vacation

By David L. Green
Part III

Strip mining was a terrible thing. Many of the mountains in my home state and other places around the country were scarred for decades. It involved digging into the side of the mountain to get to the coal. The dirt, rocks and slate that were useless were then summarily dumped over the side of the hill and just left there. Eventually nature caught up and trees and bushes grew into the loose mixture and covered the awful scars that were left.

This gorge was one of those sites where several feet of loose rocks were just laying where they had been dumped.  You can imagine what it was like with layer upon layer of flat rock just laying loose on the steep slope there.

As I entered the gorge, the rocks beneath my feet started to slip and slide over the loose rocks below. The faster I tried to move the faster the rocks would slide.

There is a theory that if you’re slipping downhill, you should reverse your direction and start running uphill. I tried that with no effect – I just continued to slip and slide more quickly downhill.

My next thought was to sit down and spread out to try and catch more real estate and thereby slow my fall. All this did was to help me catch the very lip at the end of the slide for a brief second before tumbling into open space.

The next few minutes seemed like a lifetime passing in only a few seconds – if that makes any sense at all.

From this point on, I have only flashes of memory, bits here and there that I have pieced together with the stories I was told by others who were there.

I must have already hit the bottom of the first cliff (of the three cliffs I rolled over) because, as I rolled, I remember looking up only to see the side of the mountain going round and round. This part became a nightmare that haunted me for years.

Being caught in an unbelievable, surrealistic situation you find yourself or, at least, I found myself, literally saying out loud, “What is happening to me?”

Of course, the answer was painfully obvious. So I determined that I had to do something to stop this roll.

As I rolled, I could look downhill every few frames in this horror film. Below me, I saw a small tree that was in my direct path.

“That’s it! I have to catch that little tree and I’ll be fine.”

I realized that I would have to catch that tree to have any chance of stopping my roll towards what I was convinced would be a painful death.

I actually did it! I actually timed it perfectly so that I grabbed the yearling as I barreled past it. Amazing!

Unfortunately, the next thing I remember is indelibly burned into my memory: I saw my hand in front of my face, as the rest of the world spun wildly beyond, firmly grasping the tree and the roots of that tree clearly at the bottom of my fist.

Great … just great.

Summer vacation Part 2

Boy, 12, Rolls, Falls 600 Feet

-or-

What I did on my Summer Vacation

By David L. Green
Part II

We crossed the old concrete bridge, across some coal flats and started our ascent up the old coal road. The trip to the top was uneventful, as I recall, with only a few stops to look at an animal or plant or rock.  We were always fascinated with the little sea creatures that were captured and forever entombed in the rocks that made up the mountains. 

Once at the homestead it was good to see the old place still standing but it showed the neglect of time and wear. The old well was still there and we could have pulled a bucket of fresh spring water. Well, that is, if we had a bucket … and some rope.

The apple trees (that we used to climb into to eat green apples until we were sick) were gone and the hedges of berry bushes were grown over and grandma’s flowers and garden had long since gone to dust. But the air was still as clean and clear and fresh as I remembered. The streams that we stopped by were still as cold and clean as ever and the water tasted wonderful. There’s just something about drinking from fresh mountain stream.

On the way back we had stopped for something. I think one of my brothers had become ill or something. I suppose it could have had something to do with all the gunpowder we had handled the night before. But most likely it was something he had eaten.

For whatever reason, we were stopped on a narrow part of the road on what amounted to a wide ledge. During this break in the action, my cousin Danny, who probably had a huge firecracker in his pocket, decided to go down into a narrow gorge.

Danny, always the adventurous one, invited me into the gorge. Keep in mind, Danny had been born and raised in these same mountains his whole life and was more comfortable than the rest of us “lowlanders”.

I refused the offer but Danny would not be dissuaded. “Come on down! You’ll be fine.”

After a few rounds of that debate and not wanting to be ‘shown up’ by my cousin, I decided to join him in the gorge.

“O.K., but if I die, I’ll never speak to you again.” I said, using a popular phrase of the time. Unfortunately, that was the last thing that anyone would hear me say.

Summer Vacation - Part I

Boy, 12, Rolls, Falls 600 Feet

-or-

What I did on my Summer Vacation

By David L. Green

Hurray! The 4^th of July!

 This holiday started just like so many before it. Little did I know that this one was going to change my life.

Around the 4^th of July every year as many of the families that could - would converge in the valley below Mohegan Hollow at my grandmother’s house outside Welch, West Virginia.  It would be a grand reunion and the summer celebration of America’s Independence with hotdogs and watermelons and all the trimmings.

I have vivid memories of my Dad and his brothers shooting at the bats that would come out around dusk. They weren’t using guns, oh, no. They would use “Roman Candles”. It was a time for fireworks, after all.

The colorful fiery balls would fly in all directions and with all their skills and with all the, doubtless, hundreds of shots fired, I don’t remember them ever hitting a single bat. But they had great fun trying to bring down the flying critters and acting like crazy little boys again. Shades of their childhood, I’m sure.

Beside the traditions of that summer event there was another that we would always keep. You see, my grandparents raised their family up on mountain – “up the holler’ “ - and I can still remember visiting them when they lived up there but that’s a story for another time. After the kids had all moved out and there weren’t so many hands to keep the place up, they moved down to the valley just across the river.

So it became a tradition that every year we would make the trek up the old, washed out coal mine road to the top of the hollow to visit the old homestead and the well that my Father had dug for his Mom.  

This year was no different. The night before, a bunch of us cousins had taken the powder out of several firecrackers, (did I mention the 4^th of July?), and build one huge firecracker that we planned to explode once we were up on the mountain. That way everyone in the valley would hear it.

And so it was that on the morning of the 3^rd of July, 1965 we gathered the group that would make the climb. My Dad would be the adult in charge, my cousins, Danny (the local boy), Alan (living then in Central Florida), myself and my two younger brothers, Tim and Larry (from Orlando) and, I think there may have been a couple of other cousins from Kentucky with us.

Peg leg, coins and taffy for the kids

Garnette Remembers Her Grandma and Grandpa French

James French (1884-1972) and Catherine “Dollie” Oiler French (1886-1965)

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Peg leg, coins and taffy for the kids

His name was James but everyone knew him as "Jim". He had a peg leg because once, while trying to jump on a moving train to catch a ride to Welch, he fell and lost his leg when the train ran over it. Jumping trains was a common form of transportation in those days as most people did not have a car or a horse.

He always saved his change. His joy was, on the weekend, he would sit near the roadside in front of his home with the change in a pan. When the children would come around, he would let them pick 3 or 4 coins to keep. He would tell them to pick what they wanted or needed. They would never take the dimes but would take the pennies and nickels instead because they were bigger.  So he never ran out of change because he could cash in the dimes that the children left, for nickels and pennies for the next weekend. The children would hug him and maybe even get to touch his wooden peg leg. They were very sympathetic to him because of the tragic loss of his leg. He did this every Saturday morning that I can remember.
Grandma French would occasionally make taffy and would invite all the local kids to come and help (some of the adults wanted to help as well). They would tug and pull the taffy as it cooled from the stove and the more they worked it, the more solid it would become and when the batch was done, they could all take some home with them.
These are things that the couple did as they aged to keep in touch and to help the children in the neighborhood.  Such was their generosity and kindness.
I think this had much to do with the compassion for children that developed in me as I watched and learned this from my grandparents.

-This from a conversation with his granddaughter, Garnette French Green

*1920 Census  Jackson, Ohio shows James as Coal miner and Dollie Keeping house

** As I was growing up, my parents were always active with the youth of the church that so much a part or our lives. There was always some event or party or an outing that was coming up. Now, thinking back, I can hardly remember a time that this was not so. And now I can see where this all started with my Mom watching her grandparents helping the children in their neighborhood.

Re-examining My Family Tree

Greetings dear friends and family,

I apologize for my recent absence. Issues at the workplace coupled with ... shall we say ... some ... accounting irregularities ... at our companies office have taken my attention and pulled me away from my obligations here.
As I started back to work here, I came across a message on my Ancestry.com page. As I looked into that, I came across a document that caused me to doubt the research I had felt was rather solid.
 It seems that a Stephen Green b. ca. 1776 left England (Yorkshire) with seven - count 'em - seven brothers to immigrate to Yancy Co. N. C. according to this account. Admittedly, this was produced in 1991 from a story that was told (presumably) by a descendant of Stephen to his daughter.
They were supposed to have arrived in abt. 1792.
Now you would think that a family group that large would be a pretty big deal and there would be some record of it somewhere. I have found that in Yancy Co. there are several families of Green(e)s that were living there around that time but nothing really to tie them together.
I have come across a few references to this same story and a Greene or two on ships lists here and there but nothing this big anywhere.
The frustrating thing is that this story and my family tree agree on Stephen Green (1776) had a son, Joshua, b. ca. 1792 who was married to Elizabeth Mullins (Sparks?), b. ca. 1805 who had a daughter, Mary Polly.
The problem is that the Stephen I show as the father of Joshua was born in N.C. and the closest relative he has from England is Thomas "The Seagull" Green who was born on the voyage from England. Could I be following the wrong line?
As always, the search for the truth goes on and, I am beginning to feel - never ends - As always, I will keep you posted.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..." Dore - Finding Nemo

Precious Memories

Notes from conversation with Garnette Green early 2010

Grandpa (Cecil) French was a member of the Baptist Church after they had moved to Twin Branch (from ASCO hollow). [Atlantic Smokeless Coal Co.] The company store was between home and church.

He was impressed with this little Baptist church. His family tried to talk him into attending a church that was closer. There was something special about this church. Once he had made up his mind, he would not be swayed.

One day he announced that he had been saved and was going to be baptized at the Pineville Baptist church. So they gathered the whole family and walked over the mountain to see Cecil get baptized in the creek.

It seems there was a bend in the creek that made for a deep hole that was big enough for swimming. When a big rain would come and the hole was deep enough, they would gather the church down by the swimming hole for the service.

Mom still remembers taking the shoes off her little feet and nervously trying to make her way down the narrow, stony path that led to the river bank and people behind her coaxing her to move along “It’s OK, just keep moving, Garnette.”

Grandma Bishop [Garnette’s gma] would come calling my grandma, “Ethel”, from around the bend you could hear them coming.

“Could Garnette go with me and Margaret?” (Margaret worked at McDowell Co. Board of Education and married Louis Handson?).  Mom believed that she was a safety measure.  

“If someone saw the two older women with a child then no one would bother them.” So she was often asked to go along.

She loved attending Sunday school and church. Sunday was her favorite day of the week and she always looked forward to going to church. [I think it was the music that so fascinated her.]

Grandma Bishop had a beautiful garden that Mom loved to walk through and play in.  Mom remembers her making the best salmon patty’s in the afternoons.

One day Margaret and Stella came to ask Grandma French (Mom’s Mom) if Garnette could go with them to the movies. “It’s a wonderful movie, everyone is talking about it. They say you’ve got to see this movie.”

And so, with her Mom’s permission, my Mom walked with her aunts over the mountain 8 miles to the town of Davie to see the new movie “Gone with the Wind”.

Mom’s Aunt Bertha married Wesley Perkins. They must have done pretty well for themselves as they have the distinction of the first family in ASCO hollow to own an automobile.

Every Saturday they would ask Mom to watch the children (she was very much in demand as a babysitter – well known and trusted). She would watch over the children so that Berthie and Wes would take her Mom and Dad (Cecil and Ethel) into the town of Davie for weekly groceries. The Company store was OK for necessities but for real groceries, you had to go into town.

She wanted to prove that she could do a good job so that one day she could go into town with them.

Mom loved these afternoons watching the kids because she got to listen to the radio on the porch and swing in the garden. It was there that she heard and fell in love with Country music but especially the Bluegrass music. She loved Bluegass music.

She remembers pushing the garden swing as high as she could get it to go while listening to the music and watching the kids run and play and throw stones into the creek. These are among her dearest memories.

The kids would beg their Mom to let Garnette stay and at least have dinner with them. They would plead, “Please don’t send her home”, even though home was just a short walk away.

One of her fondest memories was her 13^th birthday. That day her father took her on a very special adventure. They boarded a bus in Twin Branch for her very first bus ride into the town of Welch where he treated her to a movie and bought her a new dress at the dress shop. And, I believe, there was some ice cream involved as well.

She cried as she told me that was the most wonderful gift … a day with her father… as Daddy’s favorite.

I think every kid should have that feeling at least once in their life.

Thank you, Mom, for sharing these wonderful memories with us.