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Oral History Project - Forren, Robert 1980 Part 1
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These interviews are presented here in their original form, unmodified, in an effort to preserve and share the history of our park and its surrounding area. The memories, comments, and viewpoints shared by interviewees in the materials of the New River Gorge Oral History Project and related documents do not represent the viewpoints of the National Park Service.
Interview # NRCJNPP 008
File # NRGNPP 008-T
TAPE EIGHT
Mr. Robert L. "Bob" Forren Interviewer:
Paul J. Nyden
Beckley, WV 25801
September 24 and 25, 1980
PN: Maybe you could start off by mentioning again when you were born.
RF: I was born in 1907, 1907 in Monroe County. But in 1909, my father came to the coal fields. First came to Harvey, West Virginia which is located in Fayette County. And about 1911, we went to a little mining camp which has long been abandoned, which was known as Dunglen Mountain, which was operated by William Diggins, which was a part of the old McKe11 lease. Now that's, that's a lot of history to that McKe11 lease. Then we stayed there, my father mined there until 1915. We left there and we went to Lookout, mining camp, another mining camp in Fayette County, which is approximately six mile from the New River gorge. And we stayed there. Then in 1919, my father began, which I was at the age of 12, my father begin to take me in the mines on Saturdays and during school vacation, for at that time we only had what was known as a six— month period of school. And immediately after school was adjourned for the summer, why then all the boys —- 11, 12, 13, 14 years old in these mining camps, why, they first begin, began to get their taste of coal mining. And it was mostly loading coal with their father. But then I went back to school, and I did not take a steady job in the coal mines had until 1900 and, April of 1922. I finished school in March, finished free school in March, and went to school and then went on in 1922 and went to work —— trapping in the coal mine, that was opening and closing doors, ventilating doors, where the mules could get through. And I, I did that for a dollar a day, which was ten hours a day. We had to work ten hours a day at that time. And that was immediately after the union had lost everything they had, in 1921, of course. And there was a lot of bitterness by the coal operators. Some of them had not been organized at that time in the New River field. And it so happened that I first went to work in what was known as a scab mine; it had not been organized.
PN: Which mine was that?
RF: Lookout.
PN: Lookout?
RF: Lookout mine. It was known as the Bloom Coal and Coke Company. And it was the Dianne Mine; they owned two mines at that time. And they were never, they were never organized up through the latter teens; and they were not organized until the organization came back in 1930. In 1922, 1 started driving a mule then, after my experience as a trapper. Then I drove a mule until 1924, and got a leg broke. I got it caught in between a mine post and a coal car. And was off for about seventy—some days before I was able to go back to work. I went back at that time as a coal loader. And then in 1925, I had advanced far enough in knowledge to my thinking that I decided I'd take out on my own. So I went to Elver ton Mine, was at that time owned by the Branch Coal and Coke Company . And it was a non—union mine, of course. For we had no non—union mines in, in the New River field from 21 until 1933.
PN: There was no union mine?
RF: No union mine; we had no union mine left. And so I loaded coal there at Elverton for two months, and left there and went back to Lookout and went back to work in the mine with my father. I have often made this statement, and there is so much truth in it. Back in the early, latter teens and early twenties, when a man went to work on a coal—company job, naturally when he first went to work he had no money. The company gave him his tools — his axe and his auger, tamping bar, needle, and shovel and pick. And they were charged to him. And he paid then, the first month that, he paid for those tools the first month that he worked. And he had moved into a coal company house, and the rent was set by the coal company. And as his children came into this world, I've often made this statement, they were born in this world in a coal company house. They were rocked in a cradle that belonged to the coal company. They were delivered by a coal company doctor. When they become of age, they went to school in a school that was owned and, or built, it was built by the coal company. The teachers were more or less hired by the coal company. And after they came out of what little schooling they were able to get, why then they went back to work for the coal company. And in the event of death, why the casket that they were buried in was furnished by the coal company. They were hauled to the old coal company graveyard, in a coal company wagon, buried in a coal company casket in a coal company grave— yard. And it's surprising to know, the old boys that's sleeping up [and] down New River today, that a lot of people doesn't have the knowledge as to where those graveyards are. I can go to graveyards today, that a very few people that knows where there at today.
Then in nineteen hundred—, I continued on in the mines until 1929, and I got a leg, another leg broke. I left there and went to New York. I was In New York in 1929 when the stock market crash came. I was fortunate enough to find a job. I had had some know— ledge due to my father's previous knowledge of painting. And I worked in New York for about three months until the crash come in October, in '29. And then about November, due to the fact that there were no work whatsoever,
I was able to pawn a watch that had [been] given to me by my father, and wired home for four more dollars in order to pay my transportation back home . I came back to Elver ton, went back to work in the coal mines at one and two days a month. That were all we were operating. There was no money, no one had money. What little work you had was traded up in the coal company store for food. And then in 1933, why we were able to organize again. And some of the coal companies were very, very objective to this. Most all the organizing was done in some of the deep, dark hollows surrounding those coal camps, and most of the time in the wee hours of the morning. And it was rather pathetic to watch some of the old boys bringing in their nickels and dimes, and coal company scrip — to trade to some merchant around some of the little adjoining towns for about 30 cents off a dollar in order to get enough money to buy their union charter. And a charter cost 20 dollars at that time. Then things began to pick up again in the mining camps. We had the National Recovery Act, the Blue Eagle. And it did seem like, with the ten years of my experience, that there was more patriotism and more good will shown amongst the coal miners than there had been for the previous ten years of my mining. And I mentioned a while ago, at that time on the New River gorge, we had around 25 to 30 operating coal camps. Each and every one of the coal camps were, was more or less owned by various coal companies. Only two mines on New River at that time which was known, known as Caperton, Southside Caper ton and Brooklyn and Rush Run —— was owned by Caperton interests. And those Caperton interests were formal, formerly in Monroe County. And they had, they had been much better to our people during the previous ten years of non—union; they had shown more respect and much more compassion than any other coal, coal operators up and down New River. I, mines operated up and down the river, they begin, oh yes, Nuttallburg Mine at one time was bought out by the Ford interests. They operated it for about six or seven years. And then they, they sold again back to the Maryland—New River Company .
PN: What, the Maryland—New River?
RF : The Maryland—New River Company, yes. And they continued to operate that mine until it was closed. But at the time that Ford Motor Company came in there and bought this mine, wages went up to six dollars a day. But the other mines, surrounding mines about everywhere else in the field was only paying around two—and—a—half to three—twenty. But after a short period of operation by the Ford Motor Company, it was impossible to buy a job there. They were not selective toward their men at all; they were very considerate that way. But there were just too many men trying to get on for that type of wage. And then in 1928, just previous to the Presidential election the year that Cal Coolidge, the second, after Coolidge had filled out Warren G. Harding's time —— why they was, due to some manipulations somewhere, there was quite an increase in wages come along about the last of September in 1927. That lasted, at a rate of five—and—a—half to six dollars—and—a—half a day, for driving a mule, operating a motor and a coal—cutting machine, and laying track; that lasted in about 85% of our mines up until just about a week after the election. And then the wages fell to back to where they was in ‘27 and stayed that way until we began to have an increase in '33, ‘34. Coal at that time, most of the companies was paying anywhere from 27 to 35 cents a ton for a ton of coal. And due to the conditions up and down the river, the normal amount would be around five to six and seven ton per day. We did have some of the old boys that were maybe stronger, and working condition was better In their place, that possibly could average ten ton a day, for as much as a month which gave them around three dollars and a half a day, which was a big salary in their estimation, or a big wage.
PN: You were talking about the 1920s before, though, when the union had been destroyed in 1919 and didn't come back till 1933. In your experience, did the miners often talk about the union during the twenties?
RF: It was, it was discussed where it was absolutely known that there was no company suck around, that's what the men. But anytime there's a coal company management was informed that there was even knowledge of it being discussed, that man left the next day. He didn't stay on that job.
PN: If they thought that you were [pro—union], you were just kicked out of them?
RF: That's right. And if even two or three/ discussed it in or around their working place in the mine the day before, they all three left there the next day. It was not allowed to be discussed whatsoever. And they had what was known at that time as coal company guards, and what we call coal company thugs. Those coal company guards and coal company thugs often walked the little roads in front of the homes at night to see that there was no visitation between the neighbors. And they attended their church services to see that they were, did not conjugate [sic] wheresoever.
PN: Really?
RF: And if there was one or two that come into the coal, two or three that gathered around the coal company store, maybe to discuss their personal working conditions, this coal company thug immediately come up and told them to disperse immediately. It was not allowed.
PN: So you couldn't even visit your next—door neighbor?
RF: No, no, no, no, you could not visit your next—door neighbor. No, you could not visit your next—door neighbor. No siree.
PN: Just thinking about the way your, you know, your life was at that period of time, and how it changed when the union came back, could you discuss some of the differences between living in a coal town and working in a mine under non—union conditions and union conditions?
RF: You take back at, during that period of time, a coal company home had nothing in our home. We had two or three old iron beds. And the table that we eat off of was made by our fathers. And you had one or two chairs. And you had what was known as stools, or powder kegs, and things like that to set around the table, eat your meal. Of course, you had a cook—stove and that was all you had at home. You had nothing else. There's nothing to compare with the home today, and what it was at that time. Now I was one of 11 children, and 1 was a little more fortunate, our family was a little more fortunate than some of the boys in, than some of the other families in the coal camp . For my father was a pretty good stonemason, and he was a pretty good brickmason, and he was a pretty good painter, and a fairly decent carpenter. And when he wasn't working —— Oh Lord! —— wasn't working at that particular time, why he was able to maybe throughout some adjoining camps or something, to pick him up a day's work at something else. We had just a little bit more food.
[At this point, a truck drove up to deliver a new stove to Mr. Forren's home, so the interview was interrupted and begun again on the following morning.]
PN: Yesterday we were just, or you were making some comments about the difference between life after the union came in. And I wanted to ask you two or three more questions about that. What, if you think about how life was for the women that lived in the coal towns and the coal camps, do you see any differences for them after the union came in and the mines were re— organized, and before when there was no union?
RF: Oh yes. There's one of the greatest difference in the world. It's not within my vocabulary to describe to you the difference in the mothers and the wives in the homes in the, our coal camps previous to the organization. I made this statement on several occasions, that back in the nineteen hundred and latter twenties and early part of thirties, it so happened that every so often I was able to come into Beckley for various little things. But you could stand on the streets in Beckley, and you could point out each and every coal miner and his wife that came up that street. You generally a old coal miner with an old patched pair of overalls on, which was common attire at that time. And the wife, she had generally an old patched, faded calico dress. But thank God now, since the union come in, it is so different from what it was. You take in our homes today, they have every type of appliance that other homes, other types of professions have, or business have, or labor has. They have their Cadillacs; they have their Lincolns. And that gener—, goes back to, well, from the forties you could begin to see this. You could see this improvement In their, their lives. They begin to attend churches moreso; they were dressed better; their children were dressed better. We had better schools; we had better everything.
Our union did not only apply to the conditions in our individual coal camps. It applied to the conditions in the other types of business in the field. For as we spent our money, which we were then, had access to which we didn't have previous; we just spent coal company scrip or nothing; we were told what we could do. Then after that, why the living conditions, well you seen the mothers going into the beauty shops; you seen them in much better dress; and conditions was far better for a mother or a wife of a coal miner beginning in ‘40 than what it was previous to that time.
PN: How about the food that the children had? Or the whole family, but how about the way the children ate? Were there any differences there?
RF: I would say without exaggeration that in the twenties, latter twenties, up until after the organization come in, that oatmeal was the breakfast in a coal camp. It and fried potatoes, and generally what we called as fatback for the miner. There was only enough of that meat for the miner; very seldom did the children did the children ever had [sic] that kind of meat. It was just not there. The wages did not give them enough to provide for the family. They had their coffee, of course; that was one of the main part of the meal. But their dinner and so on, we often hear this statement made beans was a miner's delight. That was always served oncet and twicet a day. always served oncet and twicet a day. And along with this beans and fatback, there was an enormous lot of bean soup. There was an enormous lot of cornbread eat at that time. It was cheaper to buy cornmeal than it was to buy flour.
PN: It was?
RF: Oh yes, yes, it was much cheaper to buy cornmeal than it was to buy flour. And then most all the coal miners, if it was possible, had their little vegetable patch in the summer. A lot of them were able to buy what we called a pig in the early spring and fatten it for a hog, for the homes, provide meat in the homes in the early part of the winter. Whether there was a little [or] large family, generally December, 15th of January, you done away, you done eaten the meat that had been provided by this manner. Then you went on the regular routine of food, that you was able to get from the company store, and provide work enough to get the scrip to buy it. Go ahead with your questions.
PN: When you lived in a town like Elverton, would you say that most of the miners had gardens in back of their houses?
RF: About 80% of the miners, no, maybe that's a little high. Let's say 60% of the miners had their little truck patch. But the coal company management told you where you could garden, where you could provide this little truck patch. Sometimes it would be as much as a mile, or a mile and a half away from home.
PN: So you had to walk from your house to fix your garden?
RF: That's right, that's right. And I have seen my father, and I have did it, I did it my own individual self, that when we would come home in the evenings from our work in the coal mines, that we would then put, eat our supper — not take our bath, but would eat our supper —— and go to the cornfield and hoe corn until nine and nine—thirty at night. And we also, in the fall, would do the same thing after we had cut our corn, and shucking our corn, and getting it ready to take to the barn. After, or mostly, they had cows around Lookout to provide their milk and so on. Up and down New River, they didn't have that; there was not provisions made in but a very, very few camps where they could keep a cow. That wasn't there.
PN: Did many people, though, you said they raised hogs?
RF: They was around, they was around 30—35% of the people raised hogs. And there was usually something else —— in raising a hog, the rest of the people in the camp would provide what we called refuge [sic] from the table, what we call "hog slop." And you could see the children, of the evening after they come home from school, visiting the different homes that did not have hogs, a' picking up the scraps from the tables and so on what few there were —
PN: To feed the hogs?
RF: What few there were, and the potato peelings, the apple peelings, and things like that, to bring home to the family that did have a hog. Or maybe two hogs, which would sell them, most always one.
PN: Another questions about the non—union conditions and the union condi— t ions. What did the union mean for the safety of the man that was working in the mines.
RF: Up until the union come in, we didn't have any safety. We only had at most of our mines at that time what was known as a mine foreman. He had supervision over the whole mine. And the mine foreman —— there were no section foremen —— up until up in the latter part of the twenties, our mines did not have a fire boss. Finally in the latter part of the twenties, the West Virginia passed a law that each and every company had to provide a fire boss. But the fire boss was not of, he was not, he was not a union man at that time. And he was mostly the relative of some of the companies to be that; it was an easier j ob. And only, mostly criticism then; at that time, it was not so much the safety of it; it was criticize the poor, old miner because he couldn't load another ton or two of coal, or getting his track straightened out where the cars wouldn't wreck, or providing additional timbers that may be for the safety of the miner . That was not always true. Most of the times, when they were driving their main entries, that they were, that they knew that they were going to have future work on ahead of them, why they did that for the, well, they're possibly two or three words you could use in regard to that. They did it, knowing the fact that this advanced entry was going to be in operation, four, five, six years maybe. And they wanted that not for the protection so much for the miner, but in order to hold that top up to providing trouble [sic] as they retreated on this part of the mine, you know. There were no, there were no provisions made for hard—shells; we used at that time, up till the latter part of the twenties, we used a soft hat.
PN: You did?
RF: We used a soft hat, yea. And it was up in the latter part of the twenties and the very early part of the thirties before a majority of the mines went to what we called the head, or the electric light. We used a carbide light, yes, we used a carbide light. And it was, I 've seen my father in coal preparing to get ready to shoot down, that is where we could load it, after it had been machine cut; I've seen my father many a time take his carbide light, and stick it to auger holes and burn the gas out of them where we could charge that hole with powder, or montabel, or dynamite to blow that coal down where we could load it.* And further— more, on many and many an occasion, I've seen my father, and have did it myself, would have to take our Number Four Red—edge coal shovel, and fan it in a place to get the smoke out where we could get In to see, see to load our coal. And you breathed all them impurities. At no time in walking along the haulageway, at no time when you walked along that you weren't kicking up dust, unless you had to wade a water—hole, which it was very few provisions made to keep off the road unless, unless it created a problem for the company. Not to the men, but for the company.
*A cutting machine would undercut the coal face about six inches —— a process which had once been done simply by picks in order to facilitate shooting the coal down. If auger holes were drilled, filled with powder, and ignited without first being undercut, chunks of coal would fly out all over the place, instead of dropping down.
PN: How good care did the company take of the mules?
PN: Oh, they took much better care of the mules than they did men. I’ve often said, it's possibly a little exaggeration here on some of our part, but mine management, the stable boss, what we called a stable boss, he was always there of the evening. You had to, after you brought your mule out of the mine, he first took him to a place that had been provided by the company to wash him off. Then you took him on into the barn. You had to unharness this mule, you had to take the bridle off of him, and you had to put the halter on, and put him in the stall which had been assigned to that particular mule. Then the fire—, then the stable fore—, boss had, in the trough that had been provided for him, had generally put his corn, cracked corn or oats, and also his hay in what we, what was called the manger. And then of the morning, when the mule driver went back to get his mule, he was, he had to harness his mule, he had to put the bridle on the mule. And then often, if you had a new whip around your neck, often the stable boss would examine that whip to see if it was going to cut the skin or something on the mule where you used it that day. And if you crippled up a mule, which I did on two occasions; the fact of the matter is, on two occasions I was misfortunate enough to get my mule fouled so two of them were killed. And that there were often a lot of humiliation, as to why it was done, and so on and so forth. But when a coal miner was killed, he was brought outside. And if it was a mile, if he lived, his home was a mile away from the mine, why he generally was, most often was took In what we called the "dog house" that was provided around the mine. There he was washed and put under a blanket or something, and carried on a little stretcher to his home.
PN: The mule?
RF: No, the mine, [correcting himself] the man, the man. And he was carried to his home. And as I told you yesterday, there he was packed in ice and a casket was brought later. And he was put into this casket, and packed around with ice in quart and half—gallon fruit jars, and kept till the next day till he was hauled to the graveyard in a coal company wagon by a coal company team. And often there was one of the old boys that was a minister that was a coal miner, and he generally said last rite, or had the last rites for the old fellow. But the mules was, mules were provided, on the weekends, on Sundays —— which as you know, we always worked six days a week at that time —— and the mules were provided a nice, what we called a “mule lot.” At Sunday evenings then, why the, it was up to the stable boss to take those mules from the, from the, where they had spent the Sunday exercising and so on back to the barn.
PN: Take the mules out of an open field?
RF: Right, right, an open field for him, yea, where he could exercise. That was only, that's the only provision that was made more than the food. They were adequately fed. And in the noon, at noon at that time, why you had to, 12:00 or 12:30, 12:15 or 12: 30, you had to quit hauling coal with your mule, and take his bridle off, or take, take, unloose his bridle, and the bit from his mouth. And you always had to take in a little sack of corn or oats, every morning, when you, it was part of your, part of the mule driver's paraphenalia was his little bag with oats in it. I’ve often heard men, mule drivers, often heard men that was abused, really abused by management, mine foremen, for whipping a mule or cutting him with this whip we used rawhide whips at that time. And you, you had to be very angelic, and the mule drivers were mostly selected by the company. You, they had to know that you were pretty broad—minded in regard to taking care of that mule and treating him as a mule, I reckon you call it. [laughs]
PN: You were saying that your father was on the Armed March in 1921?
RF: Yes.
PN: Maybe you could say a few words about that. How old were you then, about 12?
RF: No, I was 13 at that time. I was 13 when my dad left Lookout and went to Cabin Creek to join that march into Logan, yes. He was gone three during that time. That was the first time that any of us people around Fayette County had seen an airplane. For they had brought the airplanes in to, flown military planes in to assist in this March anyway, I mean assist the coal companies in this March. My dad laid in on Blair Mountain in Logan County and, for three days and three nights. And he took his rifle with him; it was a, I believe the caliber was what they called a 45—70. And brought it back; he had traded it, he had traded some apples and some potatoes and some other vegetable to another fellow, another coal miner there in the camp for this rifle, which he kept for probably eight or ten years till he traded it off for something else. But he brought it back.
PN: Hew did he hear about this? And how did all the miners come to go, where was it Marmet that they started at?
RF: We had, we only had one newspaper at that particular time, as I recall. That was the Cincinnati Post. As far back as I can remember, the Cincinnati Post was mostly delivered into these coal camps. In fact when I was a kid, I delivered the Cincinnati Post for two cents a copy.
PN: You did?
RF: Two cents a copy. And I 'd make maybe, in a month I 'd maybe make as much as 40 and 50 cents off of it. And there were no Sunday edition, or anything like that. But I'm, I'm sure that we learned at that time about this trouble through the Cincinnati Post. I don't remember the year that the Charleston Gazette become popular in West Virginia possibly previous to this date, but it was not in many of the coal camps to my knowledge. No other paper.
PN: So some of the miners were reading the papers, and that's why they went there?
RF: Yes, they informed, they informed other miners. Of course at that time, we knew our obligation to one another and, as the statment's often made, it didn't take much urging to do that, for our people knowed what hardships they had gone through, what sacrifices had been made, and were willing to go any— where to help conditions for their families, in any way, any type of sacrifice to be made, And there was a relationship at that time amongst the coal miners. In my estimation, [it] does not exist today. If someone got sick, which was a hardship at that time, if some coal miner got sick, or some member of his family, it was not unusual to see, to meet a neighbor on his way over to Mr. Jones's house. He had been hurt in the coal mines an arm broke or a leg broke —— but they were on their way over there with a, half a gallon of buttermilk, or a pound of butter, or a, some vegetables of some type; or if it was a child maybe It was a apple tart or a bag of popcorn that they had popped for him. And each and every coal camp had their little churches. And most of them where we had a number of colored, we had at that time, it was segregation, and they had little, the colored had their little church; and the white had their little church. Mostly always it was a Community Church. In some of our camps, we had the Baptist and the Methodist —— that was about the only two type of churches we had at that time. Once in a while, we had a Catholic church, but not of ten.
PN: Were the Catholic churches in any of the towns along New River?
RF: Let me see then, Mr. Nyden, I don 't, I think, no, not to my knowledge there was any of them. The only Catholic church that the boys used to go to on Sundays when it was possible to get there I 've seen them ride horses and mules to get there —— was the Catholic church at Scarbro.
PN: Scarbro?
RF : Yes. Oh yes, Winona had a Catholic church, yes, yes. Winona was a mining camp, and It was only a couple of mile up off of the river. And I don't remember a Catholic church at Thurmond. But I do know that Winona had one, and 1 remember the priest coming there often to hold his services. But they were a, there was a relation between people, and the relations was good between the colored and the white; even at that time, they were good. And you could, they mingled in the company stores and something else — they was, most of the coal miners drank at that time. If there was any corn whiskey in the country, why they'd find it some way, somehow, or some other. And a lot of their homes had their hornw—brew set every week for them. When Saturdays or Sundays come, why, they had their home—brew. And they often set down in a little party, and drank that five gallon of that home brew, that’s what they generally made. And maybe, in a few hours later, why they run out of this fivem they go over to Mr. Jones house and he had a brew set. And then they made another concoction that they called “Old Hen.
PN: Old Ham?
RF: Old Hen, h-e-n
PN: What was that?
RF: That was made out of raisins and meal. I’ve drank it but I’ve never seen any of it made.
PN: What was that, a whiskey?
RF: It was, it was not a whiskey, it was another beer. I don't know, it's more of a wine. And it 'd, it would knock hell out of you now, brother. You get that Old Hen going good. These home brews, these brews were set in under a cook stove, in a churn or a crock of some, five—gallon crock all there was was five—gallon — a can of malt, and you generally made you a five—gallon. Sometimes they'd put a few raisins in it, a few peaches in it, put a few potatoes in it. And they all, every type of concoction in this world, if you get a little. And then they had their poker parties, and poker games. You never, I 've never known a poker party in a home in the coal camp. But generally on Sundays, why you'd see them along about one o'clock, you'd see three or four take off together; then a few moments later, you'd see two or three more take off together. And you'd know they were headed into the adjoining woods for a little poker game.
PN: They used to play it in the woods.
RF: They always played in the woods, yes, always played in the woods. Coal companies at that time were, did not, would not permit anything like that if they could keep from it. And this was generally done with scrip, metal scrip that they have.
PN: Oh they played poker with scrip?
RF: Oh yes, they played poker with metal scrip. And so…
PN: What did they do in the wintertime when they couldn't go into the woods?
RF: Well, in the wintertime, they would generally get around some old, abandoned house somewhere, build them up a fire if there was any abandoned house. And I 've seen them play in the woods when, dammit, it would be snowing. Oh yes, they had their…
PN: What did they do, did they build a little fire there?
RF: Build a little fire, around somewhere where they could set around a fire. Freeze your front and burn your back up, or burn the back up and freeze your fronts anyway to pick up two or three or four nickels out of that poker game.
PN: When you were talking of the Armed March, it reminded me, I had three friends in western Pennsylvania who worked in the mines —— you know, un— fortunately they 've all died now but they said that they came down from places near Washington, Pennsylvania to, you know, be in that March in 1921. But they came all the way down here to, because they heard about it too. Or nineteen—twenty, it was '21 wasn't it, or '22?
RF: Yea, '21 or ' 22, '20 or 21, yea. That's when we lost the union. That was the beginning of the, and, of losing. Mingo County and over in Clay County that Widen situation, I don't know, now I was in that. I spent three days in Widen my own individual self.
PN: What was that, In the fifties when that was going on?
RF: Yes, no. No, now that was into, that's before I went to the organization, I went to the organization in '48. I believe it was in '43 or '44, somewhere along in that. We had one boy go, over here at Sophia by the name of Farley, who was killed there. They had an awful lot of shooting. I was chased one night there with, what was it, three state police, for about a mile to get away. I had my rifle in my hand at that time. I hadn't done any shooting, didn't do any shooting when I was up there. But I was prepared to if it become necessary. We never did go down in the camp. We was on the hill above Widen there. We built us a cookhouse there, and the state police tore it down.
PN: They never organized that, did they?
RF: Yes, it, it was finally organized, but not as long as the old man had it. Clinchfield Coal Corporation bought that mine, and we organized it, I guess up in the sixties, would say in the sixties, yes. Yes, they signed a contract then with us. But not as long as this old gentleman, I forget his name now. And it was a beautiful camp, I mean it was, previous to that time I had been down in this camp on, before I had, was in that picket line up there.
PN: At Widen?
RF: Yes, at Widen, yes. They had their bank, they had their theater. They had their community building. It was a camp that was about the average camp in the New River field, far above the average camp in the New River field.
PN: Really?
RF: Yes, yes, far above.
PN: Were the camps in the New River field usually not as well built as .
RF: No, they were not, you had pretty decent homes. I think most of the homes were painted in the latter part of the twenties. We still had some [of] what we called the Jenny Lind home; that was a home that was just stripped with rough lumber. And then another strip was put over the big crack on the outside. And once in a while, they would provide you with what we called a, building paper for the inside. But it was nothing to walk into these homes to see these a.
[End of Tape]
Description
Elverton, Lookout, Coal mining, other mining towns in the 1920s and 30s.
Date Created
09/24/1980
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