"I Owe My Soul To The Company Store"

"I dug sixteen tons and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt. Saint Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go, I owe my soul to the company store".  a line from an old song by Tennessee Ernie Ford, who in the song "Sixteen Tons" wrote the ballad about the hard work and hard life of the coal miner.

Today, I visited the Beckley Exhibition Coal Mine http://www.beckleymine.com/becm/coal_overview.cfm . It was a journey into the earth and into the past. After visiting the museum there, I joined a group and rode a tram into the old Phillips mine, which was shut down in 1910 but restored by the state to visitors so that they may glimpse the life of a miner. Our guide, a retired miner named Marvin supplied the explanation of what we were seeing. All I know is that it was very tight, if you were much over six feet you would have difficulty standing upright, it was very damp with water seeping into places and dripping on you as you rode through, and dark with scantily placed bulbs throwing shadows along the mine which had a width of less than ten feet.

Marvin showed us the coal vein, no more that 36 inches high running along the bottom of the tunnel. He described the early conditions, prior to 1920 the actual Phillips miners dug in this mine, when it was much more confining,  they had to work on their knees digging into the vein.

Marvin said "Imagine getting beneath your dining room table and working there for 8 to 12 hours a day. Day after day, week after week, year after year. Your knees would give out, your back would fail and your lungs would rot as you dug, sometimes lying, kneeling or lying on your side chipping at the vein of coal for 20 cents a ton". Miners still work in extremely difficult and dangerous circumstances and profit is the motive for the owners of the mines today as it was in the past.

After the tour I struck up a conversation with Marvin about my grandfather and my quest to find out what had  caused his death at the tipple.

Marvin introduced me a a man called Leroy, another retired miner, who was familiar with the workings of a tipple.  Leroy explained the a tipple was used to clean the coal after it had been mined and brought to the surface.  The coal was tipped from the smaller mine cars and onto screens called "shakers" and using a rocking motion and water, the dirt and rock was removed and then the coal was dumped onto the large railroad cars below.

I asked Leroy if he knew where the old Big Stick mine had been.  He said no, but there was a retired school teacher in the school exhibit who might. He said his name was Buford Hartsog and he was in his 80's and I might see if he did.

Buford saw me and recognized my Harley t-shirt and we stuck up a conversation. It seems Buford had rode a 1938 Harley and he showed me a picture of him in his youth, in leather knee boots, sitting on the bike. Buford said "At first I thought the ladies really like me but later I figured out that they all liked my motorcycle". Guess it don't matter what kind of bait you use as long as you catch the fish".

Buford said he knew where the Big Stick mine used to be and that he had taught school a few miles from there. If I went to the town of Sophia turned right there was a road on the left, if it was still there that would take me up the mountain to where the old mine was.

What a great bunch of men, they all took an interest and encouraged me to continue my pursuit.  I mounted up on Mary Belle and rode off toward Sophia, a few miles away.  As I came into the small town and turned right, as Buford had instructed, I could not recognize which road I was to take. I parked in a lot across the street when two young men walked up to admire my motorcycle. I asked if they knew the road I was trying to find and they did not but one of the men called his dad on his cell phone and told him what I was trying to do. His dad knew of the road and the boys pointed it out and I was up and over the mountain along a winding trail.

I came down the other side and at the bottom a man and woman were sitting on the front porch of their trailer with their dog. I stopped and told them I was looking for the old Big Stick mine and could they help me. The woman said, "You see that house on the top of the hill, go back up to it and across from it is a road leading down toward the old mine". I thanked them and turned around and went back up the mountain.

It short order, I saw the road and commenced slowly down it on the bike. Motorcyclists don't like gravel roads, it's like riding on ball bearings slipping under you two tires. The road was part asphalt and part gravel and at the bottom I crossed a pair of railroad tracks to see an old bridge crossing a creek. I parked the bike and walked across the bridge.

The gravel road had turned color from gray to black, from gravel to coal chunks and coal dust. Along the side of the mountain you could see remnants of what used to be buildings, steps,  and collapsed foundations and smaller roads leading up along the sides of the mountain.

I stood at the base of the mountain in front of steps that had once been part of the mining camp. At the foot of the steps I saw a lump of coal, I picked it up and wrapped it in paper to keep. I had found the Big Stick mine the site of my grandfathers death some 74 years ago.  I bowed my head and said a prayer for Ora and all the miners that had worked these mines and wished them a restful peace.

I started up the bike and worked my way back over the mountain to head for Charleston.  Tomorrow I will visit the State Archives and see what records I can find that tells of Ora's fatal accident at Big Stick mine.