Appalachia: American Stories Book

GRANT MALOY SMITH

A P P A L A C H I A a m e r i c a n s t o r i e s

w H O'S W H O Produced by Jeff Silverman & Grant Maloy Smith Mixed & Mastered by Jeff Silverman, Palette Studios MSP and Virtual Studio Networks VSN, Mount Juliet, Tennessee https://palettemusic.com/ Players were engineered and recorded remotely at their own homes

by Jeff Silverman at VSN during COVID-19 lockdown.

Frances Cunningham

Rev. Janice Brown*

Katelyn Prieboy, assistant engineer for Mike Johnson, Nashville Jelly Roll Johnson, Kim Fleming, Kim Mont and Tim Hamilton were engineered by John Albani at Sonic Eden Studios, Nashville

Grant Maloy Smith

Additional recording at Suburban Cowboy Studio, Rhode Island Liner notes and graphical design by Grant Maloy Smith

Jeff Taylor

The Players, alphabetically:

Kim Fleming

Jelly Roll Johnson

Frances Cunningham • Bouzouki Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Banjo, Dulcimer, Mandolin, Vocals

Kim Mont

Matthew Burgess

Janice Brown • Vocals (“I Found Faith”) Matt Combs

Jeff Taylor • Accordion and Concertina Jelly Roll Johnson • Harmonica Kim Fleming • Backing Vocals (“I Found Faith”) Kim Mont • Backing Vocals (“I Found Faith”)

Mike Johnson

Tim Hamilton

Matt Combs • Fiddle Rob Ickes

Matthew Burgess • Drums, Percussion Mike Johnson • Pedal Steel Guitar Rob Ickes • Dobro Tim Hamilton • Organ (“I Found Faith”) Trey Hensley • Lead Acoustic Guitar

Trey Hensley

Jeff Silverman, co-producer

* Rev. Brown is shown with her husband and my dear friend, Monte Stephens. Monte is also a great musician and a preacher for more than 50 years. I drove to east Tennessee with my gear, and we recorded her vocals in their living room in October 2020.

tHE SONGS The CD 1.

The Coal Comes Up 3:34 2.

Down to Hatchabee Road 2:28 3.

The Red-haired Girl From Hazard 4:25 4.

Gas Station Chicken 2:48 5.

Sometimes You’re The Holler 3:25 6.

I Found Faith (featuring Janice Brown) 3:20 7.

Boone’s Five And Dime 4:19 8.

Must’ve Been The Moonlight 3:07 9.

By And By The Way 2:51 10.

In This Twilight 4:52 11.

Lord, Take Me Home 3:27 12.

We Got Mountains 4:25

The LP ~ Side 1 1.

The Coal Comes Up 3:34 2.

Down to Hatchabee Road 2:28 3.

The Red-haired Girl From Hazard 4:25 4.

Gas Station Chicken 2:48 5.

Sometimes You’re The Holler 3:25 6.

I Found Faith (featuring Janice Brown) 3:20 The LP ~ Side 2 1.

Boone’s Five And Dime 4:19 2.

Must’ve Been The Moonlight 3:07 3.

By And By The Way 2:51 4.

In This Twilight 4:52 5.

Lord, Take Me Home 3:27 6.

We Got Mountains 4:25

Running Time: 43:21 All songs words and music © 2020 or 2019 Grant Maloy Smith, as marked

Special Thanks To: Everyone in my family, especially those from Hazard, Perry County, Kentucky: my late mother, Patricia (Colwell) Smith (aka “The Red-haired Girl from Hazard”), her mother Shirley (McIntyre) Colwell, my grandfather Samuel Colwell, my great grandmother Cordelia Singleton McIntyre, and my uncle who now lives in Virginia, Sam Colwell, for passing down what it was like to live in Appalachia, and for their unique voices. My paternal grandparents who lived in northern Appalachia, Gilbert Maloy Smith and Joyce Nestor Smith, and of course, my dad, Richard Loring Smith, an avid outdoors man who knew the Berkshire mountains like the back of his hand. My wife Susan Smith for supporting my music and vain attempts at the music business. My son, Alec, for taking me hiking the Appalachian Trail and making sure that I didn’t die, my other son Taylor for listening to the same guitar part played over and over again about a billion times until I got it right, and my smart, hard-working and wonderful daughter, Katherine.

To Dave Carter, host of Live From Studio 1 on WETS Public Radio, for having me on his show and handing me a copy of the book Life In The Coal Camps of Wise County in 2017, and kick-starting my research for this album. To Steve Martin, host of the Unreal Bluegrass radio show (www.unrealbluegrass.com). To Tim White, fellow possum lover and host of the Tim White Bluegrass radio show (www.thetimwhitebluegrassshow.com) and Song of the Mountains television show (https:// songofthemountains.org). To Michael Johnathon, writer, musician, renaissance man, log cabin dweller and host of Woodsongs OldTime Radio Hour television show, (https://www.woodsongs.com) for his support. To Eric Dahl, host of ROCK AND REVIEW at Fox 17 Nashville, for his friendship and approbation. To Rick Davis, a former Buckaroo with one of my heroes, Buck Owens, whose generous nature and good humor I treasure. To Larry Cordle, from Kentucky himself, for his wise and pure counsel.

To Phil Greene, legendary producer, guitar player, and a dear friend. To Ken Thomas, who helped out in an early version of “Gas Station Chicken.” To Fred Anderson, who has supported me no matter whether I was up or I was down. To Lou Tanner, who believed in me when no one else did, and let me borrow his 1956 Gibson acoustic for “Must’ve Been The Moonlight.”

And of course, to the players and singers, who contributed their immense talents to this project, and my producer Jeff Silverman, whose golden ears and deft musical touch make the impossible seem reasonable.

M

y mother was born in Hazard, Perry County in eastern Kentucky. Her mother (my Grammy), and her mother’s mother – going back 100 years, also hailed from Hazard, Fusonia, Viper and the surrounding hollers. My Grammy (Shirley McIntyre) married Samuel Campbell Morgan Colwell from nearby Yerkes. Sam didn’t want to work in the coal mines, so he went to school for engineering, and got a job at Remington Arms just as World War II was starting. He was about to join the Army, but they needed engineers in the factories that produced guns and ammunition. So he took his family up the “Hillbilly Highway” (Route 23), to the outskirts of Cincinnati. But then the plant was moved to Connecticut as the war expanded, and so they moved to New England, experiencing culture shock to say the least.

In fact, many folks from eastern Kentucky were heading up that highway to the Midwest where jobs could be found in factories, building cars and everything else back then.

Still, Appalachian folks felt adrift so far away from their mountain home. You’ll hear that longing to come back home to the hills in songs like “Lord, Take Me Home,” “We Got Mountains,” and my mother’s own story in “The Red-Haired Girl From Hazard.”

In parallel, my father’s family lived in the Berkshire mountains in northern Appalachia, in Sheffield, Massachusetts. My Grampa ran a small country grocery store in the 1940s. Decades later he would drive me up into the hills to visit his old customers. They were the poorest people I had ever seen.

My mom Patricia Anne Colwell, 1949.

My Grammy visiting our family in Milton, Florida. That’s me in the wagon with Brandi, our Springer Spaniel.

I wrote the song “Boone’s Five and Dime” for my Grampa and his store, and the thousands of others like him, who extended credit to their customers when they couldn’t afford to pay.

The music that I play today is based on the songs that I heard as a child. My Grammy played me her “mountain music” until I could hardly stand it. I can still hear Bill Monroe’s high lonesome voice coming out of the record player, which was a very large piece of furniture beside the couch in her living room.

As a very young boy in the 1960s I wanted to hear the Beatles and anything with jangly guitars. But luckily for me, those seeds my Grammy planted in my little blonde head took root. As I got older I left the rock and roll behind and came home to my family’s traditional music. Styles change over the years. Music is constantly evolving. Mountain Music. Bluegrass. Country. Folk. Stir it up and put it in the blender and you get what we call American Roots today. Each time you pour a glass it tastes a little different, but that’s what keeps it interesting.

Now, let’s talk about Appalachia. If you’re from the region, you probably pronounce the middle syllable like the word LATCH. Others pronounce it like “LAYCH” (a long “A” sound). No matter how you say it, it’s the mountain range that runs from Alabama in the southeastern USA, most of 2,000 miles (3,200 km) to the northeast, all the way to Newfoundland, a maritime province in eastern Canada. The range touches most states in the eastern third of the USA, as well as several Canadian provinces.

The portion of the range that this album is focused on, however, is in the central portion: from the Blue Ridge Mountains of western most Virginia, West Virginia and eastern Kentucky to the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina. This “Appalachia” is as much a cultural region as it is a geographical one – and it’s nearly impossible to separate the two. The mountains called to the early settlers: the Ulster-Scots (aka “Scots-Irish”) who found their way here starting in the 18th century. They were attracted not just by the quiet beauty of the hills, but the isolation and privacy that they provided.

My maternal grandfather Samuel Campbell Morgan Colwell (b 1911, Yerkes, Kentucky), holding me on a tractor on the family farm in eastern Kentucky. He passed in Asheville, NC in 1967.

The songs and stories from this album are primarily centered on the last three centuries. This is no disrespect to the Native peoples, of course. They roamed the hills and hollers for countless centuries before the European settlers appeared. Native Americans were careful stewards of the land: they never took more than they needed, and they left the land unspoiled. Early and modern Americans cannot make the same claim.

My paternal grandparents: Gilbert Maloy Smith, with my dad Richard, his younger brother Roland (Roddy), and Ethel "Joyce" Nestor Smith.

This was about the time that my grampa ran a small grocery store in the Berkshire mountains. Many of his customers were poor. Decades later they were still his friends.

My first goal was to make an album that is fun to listen to. I got some of the best players around to play on it, and we worked really hard on the arrangements to keep them interesting and musical. If I have achieved that, then at least you are holding a good record in your hands.

M

y second goal was to express the love that I have for Appalachia: its people, its rugged and beautiful terrain, its wonder and its heartbreak … its majesty and its pathos. I tried to capture the melody of its language. The dialect is unique in all the world. Some folks say that the isolation of the mountains preserved the way that old Scots and English speech sounded more so than anywhere else in America. It has a beautiful cadence and unique inflection that I particularly enjoy. And like the southern dialect that I grew up speaking, there’s an ingenious word choice and panache to the language that I admire and appreciate. I can still hear my Grammy saying “far” when she meant “fire.” And “tar” was “tire.”

I’ll never forget the time she took a broom and killed a snake that got into our kitchen. Eyes big, I asked her if a snake wasn’t one of God’s creatures? She said “Yes, Grant – they’re all God’s creatures ... until they come into my kitchen.”

Near McIntire Holler, Fusonia, Kentucky. [A]

My third goal was to dispel some of the negative stereotypes that many people have about this region and its people. Popular culture portrays the “ignorant hillbilly” as a barefoot buffoon, drinking moonshine and endlessly feuding with rival clans. This is untrue and unfair. Every region in our beautiful country has its positives and negatives. You won’t find cliché or stereotype songs here.

To be sure, Appalachia has its challenges: the insular and proud nature of the people combined with physical isolation and a lack of opportunity relative to the rest of the country, has led to poverty and hopelessness in some quarters. A heart-breaking opioid crisis afflicts in places.

Until World War II, coal was a huge part of the economy, as the hills were found to contain seemingly endless veins. Coal provided lots of jobs for a long time, but once petroleum became the dominant energy source in the 1940s, coal began to wane, despite the need for coke – a coal by-product – in the making of steel.

Appalachians are a proud people, worthy of our respect. They value family above all else, and are fiercely patriotic. They’re strong. They’re stalwart. They know the value of work. They’re an essential part of America, and they live in one of the most breath-takingly beautiful places in the world.

Sam Colwell, my uncle, riding his bike during WWII. I look a lot like him. Sam helped me to make this album.

Background picture [B]

Faith is also an important part of the region, and has been for centuries. Even the most isolated hollers were visited by tent revivals and preachers on horseback who brought the Word to them. Songs like “Down To Hatchabee Road” with its river baptisms, and “I Found Faith” are meant to capture this powerful spirit.

When the Appalachians were doing the back-breaking work of digging the coal that powered the industrial revolution and heated everyone’s homes, people of all races worked side-by-side.

Never mind that above ground, apartheid and even slavery were in full swing throughout much of the rest of the country. There was little of that underground. When people rely on each other for their very survival, there is no time for racism or other foolish indulgences. I don’t mean to sugar-coat the coal mines: they were brutal and dangerous, and in slave states like Virginia it was more challenging yet. Accidents and “Black Lung” claimed a lot of lives. But, like it or not, coal put food on lots of tables. I tried to capture that collision of exigencies in “The Coal Comes Up.” Accidents like the Monongah, West Virginia disaster of 1907, claimed more than 360 lives (no one really knows how many).

This worst mining accident in American history is portrayed in “By And By The Way.” It’s important to know that people of all races and backgrounds – miners from Germany, Italy, eastern Europe, Great Britain, and Asia – worked together with white and black Americans. If you’ve ever been down in a coal mine, you know that everyone is the same color before long – a true object lesson.

So you’re going to hear songs about strife, but also about pride. About loss and loneliness, but also about simple joy and exultation. I hope you can feel the quiet beauty of the hills: the eternal rolling green waves that are Appalachia.

As I did with my previous album, Dust Bowl - American Stories, I have spent the better part of three years working on it. Visiting there. Reading books about it – including some with wildly different points of view.

Talking to my relatives. Playing my songs there, and hearing the music and stories from others. Talking to regular folks about their lives, and how they see the world.

So, although it’s a theme album set in a particular place and span of time, it should be good and fun to listen to without knowing the back stories.

I wish that my parents were still around to hear what I have done. But who knows - maybe they have heard it already. Maybe they planted these stories in me.

In the Summer of 2020 I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail with my son, Alec, who is an avid outdoors man like my own father was. It was tough going in places, but despite the sweat, blisters and aspirin aches, I never forgot that I was climbing the same hills that both sides of my family have for centuries. Those hills and hollers will be here long after every one of us are gone.

The mountains are patient. The mountains abide.

I don’t pretend that this is a great work of literature, or that I have captured the incredible diversity of Appalachia in twelve short songs, or in this book. The region is too rich in history, and thick with stories. All I can hope is that I made a good record that you will enjoy listening to, and that my love for the region comes through loud and clear to you.

Finally, if you’ve never seen the Smokies or the Blue Ridge mountains – or any part of Appalachia – get yourself there and soak in some quiet majesty.

It will change you for the better.

I promise.

A lump of coal. [C]

~GMS

“Hatred, he ain’t got no place There’s just one color here Coal’s in every face...”

M

ining has become an increasingly controversial topic in recent years, as Americans balance the growing need for energy, with the pollution caused by burning fossil fuels. Many people want to do away with coal mining altogether. For others it has been a way of life for generations, and they don’t want to see it end.

Working Underground Among the oldest mining methods, “room and pillar is a technique where coal is cut out horizontally, creating “rooms” for the men to work in. The room is supported by pillars of ore that are intentionally left to support the mine against caving in. Accurately estimating the number and dimensions of pillars needed to support the roof of the mine is critical, for obvious reasons. When the available coal has been taken, another technique known as “retreat mining” is sometimes used, whereby the pillars are removed for the coal that they contain, and the mine is allowed to collapse in stages.

The Tragedy of Black Lung Breathing in coal dust for years can lead to Coal Workers’ Pneumoconiosis (CWP), also known as “black lung,” “miner’s lung” or “black lung disease.” The problem is that our bodies have no way to remove the coal particles that we breathe in. There is no cure for black lung short of a lung replacement in the most extreme cases. Today, prevention is the best idea, using masks and filtration systems to prevent coal dust from getting into the miner’s lungs in the first place. Of course, there was little filtration and no masks at all in the early days of mining – these are a more recent invention.

Black lung affects surface miners, too – so you don’t even have to mine underground to be afflicted. You just have to be around coal, and the dust that is its constant companion.

You’ll hear the miner in this song tell that he’s a “room and pillar boy,” and mention blackdamp, a highly combustible methane gas that was dreaded by anyone underground.

Today, room and pillar has been largely abandoned in favor of more efficient methods, such as surface mining and longwall mining. Abandoned underground mines are rarely maintained, and can collapse over time. This can disturb the surface, of course, a phenomenon known as subsidence, where the ground suddenly sinks vertically.

Coal Workers’ Pneumoconiosis: Number of deaths, crude and ageadjusted death rates, U.S. residents age 15 and over, 1968–2014. [D]

Appalachians had to decide whether to stay with the Union or join the Confederacy when the Civil War broke out in 1860. There was a “Great Migration” of black Americans from the slave states of the southeast. West Virginia split from Virginia, forming a free state in 1863. Many black Americans came to the region to work side by side with white Americans and eastern Europeans in the coal mines of West Virginia, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania.

Kentucky was one of the four “border states” of the Civil War, meaning that it remained loyal to the Union, despite having slavery. The other three were Missouri, Delaware and Maryland.

When Abraham Lincoln was asked if God supported the Union he said, “I hope God is on my side, but I must have Kentucky.”

Miners waiting for their examination at the Appalachian Regional Hospital in Beckley, West Virginia, June 1974. [E]

Black lung presents itself as chronic bronchitis; shortness of breath and coughing up sputum, but it can be debilitating and even fatal. According to the Mine Safety and Health Administration, an agency of the United States Department of Labor, in 1968 there were 1068 deaths where black lung was the underlying cause. By 2014 this number had fallen to 155 deaths.

About The Song I wrote this song to honor the hard work and sacrifice of the men and women who work underground, and the families who support them. It’s hard work. It’s dangerous.

It requires teamwork and adherence to safety protocols.

There are few other jobs where people depend on each other so squarely for their mutual safety and survival.

The miners of all colors and backgrounds coexisted peacefully, working long hours together. The cynical view is that the coal companies encouraged this triumvirate of whites, blacks and immigrants, believing that their disparate backgrounds and language barriers would prevent them from unionizing. That was probably true to a degree.

But no matter the motivation of the coal companies, black Americans were generally welcomed in the coal fields, and were generally treated better than in the deep south, where even after the Civil War and 13th Amendment, shameful Jim Crow laws codified their segregation and second class citizen treatment. Was it perfect? Of course not, but it was better than what lay farther to the south.

Long ago, before the technology, safety equipment and regulations that we have today, it was even more perilous.

People did lose their lives in accidents on a regular basis.

More about this in another song, “By And By The Way.” Men of all races and colors worked in the mine, side by side. I was struck by this over and over as I read the history of mining. Even during the days of slavery and the apartheid that followed, there was a tolerance below the ground that was largely absent above the ground.

Three coal miners of the Lorain Coal & Dock Company, Lorado, West Virginia. [F]

I

n the early 20th century there was a one-two punch of the Great Depression in the 1930s, and the shift from coal to oil to heat homes in the 1940s. Thousands of miners lost their jobs as mining companies scaled back, and replaced people with machines, trying to stay afloat.

Strikes and Violence Perhaps the best known and notorious labor struggles took place in Harlan County, Kentucky. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, the coal companies sold their coal below cost just to keep production going. They offset their losses by lowering miners’ wages. Fueled by the outrage that followed, the United Mine Workers of America (UMW) hurried to organize the miners. Any worker who was known to be allied with the union was unceremoniously fired by the coal companies. Miners who lived in company housing were evicted from their homes.

A series of skirmishes, from minor to very violent, including gunfire, occurred between 1931 and 1939 – nearly the entire decade. Countless men on both sides were injured or killed. This “Harlan County War,” or “Bloody Harlan” is a case study in how not to handle labor relations.

Miner's sons salvaging coal during May 1939 strike, Kempton, West Virginia. [H]

The Kentucky National Guard was called in following the socalled “Battle of Evarts,” when miners ambushed cars carrying company men, and shot at them, killing three of them. One of the miners was also killed. Eight of the miners were sentenced to life in prison. This brief event served as a spark that led to larger scale strikes and violence. Private security hired by the companies to protect “scabs” (non-striking miners) were given full deputy authority, and they used it with impunity. It was a bloody, anguished time.

The Rise and Fall In the 1920s there were close to a million coal miners in the USA, but these days it’s closer to 50 thousand – a dramatic decrease.

This is because of both automation and decreased demand domestically and worldwide. Most coal produced today is used to generate electricity, and a small percentage is used to create coke, which is used for smelting steel.

Coal miners hanging around company store during strike.

Kempton, West Virginia. [G]

This song looks at a lifetime of coal through the eyes of an imaginary miner. It’s all he knows. Coal has provided for him and his family, and that’s enough for him. Although he believes he has the miner’s lung, he has surrendered himself to his fate, and his soul to Jesus.

Page 11

tHE COAL COMES UP “‘Yeah, he got covered up,’ is a way coal miners refer to fathers and brothers and sons who got buried alive.” ~ Jeanne Marie Laskas, Credit [J]

Bless us, Jesus We're gone down again We’re room and pillar boys West Virginia men Hey, now Pick axe in my hand We’ll load our quota, brother Load it if we can Oh, the coal comes up When a man goes down Black damp will keep the devil comin’ ‘round Lord! Save me, Jesus Come git me underground Oh, the coal comes up when a man goes down Lately, doctor It’s getting hard to breathe I got the miner’s lung Like daddy before me Hatred He ain’t got no place There’s just one color here Coal's on every face

Oh, the coal comes up When a man goes down Black damp will keep the devil comin’ ‘round Lord! Save me, Jesus Come git me underground Oh, the coal comes up when a man goes down I’ll cut coal long as I’m able I’ve had mouths to feed since I was ten That coal put three squares on our table

A miner. PV & K Coal Company, Clover Mine, Lejunior, Harlan County, Kentucky, September 13, 1946. [I]

(Instrumental) Oh, the coal comes up When a man goes down Black damp will keep the devil comin’ ‘round Lord! Save me, Jesus Come git me underground Oh, the coal comes up when a man goes down

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Vocals Jelly Roll Johnson • Harmonica Matthew Burgess • Percussion Tim Lorsch • Cello Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

“For in one spirit we were all baptized into one body — Jews or Greeks, slaves or free — and all were made to drink of one spirit.”

– 1 Corinthians 12:13

E

arly Christian artworks as well as archeological studies indicate that the first baptisms were done by total immersion in water. There is also affusion, where water is poured over the head, or sprinkling of water on the forehead. The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles, written between 60 and 80 A.D. instructs performing baptism in running water, representing life itself. However, it does provide for less extreme methods if running water is not available.

Different faiths perform baptism differently, according to their beliefs. Adventists, Baptists, Churches of Christ, Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and several others practice the full immersion method.

Ceremonial robes are sometimes fashioned for the candidates. Their removal after the ceremony represents breaking the ties of sin of their former lives. Scriptures are read. Hymns are sung by the witnesses standing at the river’s edge. Prayers are spoken. The minister guides the ceremony, including the immersions.

Affusion or sprinkling are often done three times, representing the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Regardless of the method, baptism represents the losing of oneself and the discovery of Christ. It has been a powerful act for billions of people around the world for more than 20 centuries. I’ve seen river baptisms in eastern Kentucky and Tennessee, and they are beautiful.

River Baptism - Blue Ridge Parkway Folklife Project collection. [K]

Page 13

dOWN TO HATCHABEE ROAD Put you on your best white shirt Come down to Hatchabee Road Tell your ma, yeah, tell ‘em all We’re gone to Hatchabee Road There’s a path down to the water We’re going there today Come get you in the water Wash your cares away Come on Misters Come on Sisters Down to Hatchabee Road We’re all Sinners Just Beginners Down to Hatchabee Road Come on all you children Come down to Hatchabee Road Even if you’re ninety years We’re gone to Hatchabee Road There’s healing in that water We’re going there today Come get you in the water Wash your sins away Come my Brothers All you Others Down to Hatchabee Road We’re all Sinners Just Beginners Down to Hatchabee Road

(Instrumental) Bring your sons and daughters Down to Hatchabee Road Take them to the water Down to Hatchabee Road Everyone’s a-coming The Spirit’s in the air All good folks are welcome We got blessings there Come my Mothers Dads and Others Down to Hatchabee Road We’re all Sinners Just Beginners Down to Hatchabee Road Come on Misters Come on Sisters Down to Hatchabee Road We’re all Sinners Just Beginners Down to Hatchabee Road Put you on your best white shirt Come down to Hatchabee Road

Preacher Burlie Newman (right) of the Snake Creek Primitive Baptist Church baptises a young man (center) in the river.

Carroll County, Virginia, 1978. [L]

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Mandolin, Vocals Jeff Taylor • Accordion Matt Combs • Fiddle Matthew Burgess • Percussion Rob Ickes • Dobro Trey Hensley • Acoustic Guitar

Words and music © 2020 Grant Maloy Smith

“You were through and through a Perry County Girl”

I

t’s a challenge to picture my own mother as a little girl, running around the farm with her younger brother, Sam. “Patty” was a larger-than-life person. Overflowing with passions, and unafraid to share them with everyone, strangers included. Always full of life, always eager to talk about anything with anyone. Even as a girl she had a big laugh that filled a room.

She was given to proclaim “I’m a theater person,” and she meant it. She loved the whole theater scene and the people who inhabited that world.

My mother thought I was the greatest songwriter ever, even when I was pretty terrible at it. She loved whatever I did in a way that only a mother can. She supported my music without reservation (my dad was a little more realistic about it, but he accepted it eventually).

Her hair was red, a testament to our Scottish and Irish ancestors. She was loud, but in a good way. Always smiling, and usually the center of attention without trying. She was a peacemaker; always working to make sure that everyone got along. She believed She sang and played piano very well, and in horoscopes, and made jewelry, which she sold at craft fairs. I have bracelets she made took part in musicals, and took the stage at that I still wear, but I am careful with them now that they can’t be replaced. the drop of a hat to sing or play.

The lyrics to the song are her story in a nutshell. She did live with my sisters in her Later in life she worked in the box office at final years, returning to Florida, where we had come up.

Trinity Repertory Theater in Providence, Rhode Island, and reveled in being around Meet my mom. the actors and the creative people there.

On the family phone, Connecticut, 1953.

Her wedding portrait, 1957.

Wearing her prized home-made dress, Hazard, Kentucky, 1940.

With her brother Sam, in Hazard, Kentucky, 1940.

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T H E R E D-H A I R E D G I R L FROM HAZARD You were raised in the hills of east Kentucky Like your mama and her mama before her In your best Sunday dress you felt so lucky You were through and through a Perry county girl

You found love But it would not last forever You were young Fresh as buttercups in May But in time you made three kids together And you raised them When your man was far away

You were loud Loud as crickets after supper Talking miles Pourin’ smiles like lemonade Harvest air Running barefoot with your brother You would leave this all behind But then you wish you’d stayed

Chorus

And you’re still The red-haired girl from Hazard Even though you left So many years ago Now some folks say Leaving just don’t matter Then why does coming back Feel like coming home?

(Instrumental) You got old And your eyes grew lines from laughing With your daughters You would spend your final years Through it all All the good and bad that happened You showed us how to live right through the tears Chorus

My ma, Patricia Anne Colwell, early 1950s.

THE PLAYERS Frances Cunningham • Mandolin, Bouzouki Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Vocals Jeff Taylor • Accordion Matt Combs • Fiddle Matthew Burgess • Percussion Rob Ickes • Dobro Trey Hensley • Acoustic Guitar Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

“All I ever wanted was a Virginia farm, no end of cream and fresh butter and fried chicken - not one fried chicken, or two, but unlimited fried chicken.”

– Robert E. Lee

I

f you had been passing by a house hundreds of years ago in the Scottish highlands, you might have caught the distinctive smell of chicken being fried in fat. It was as popular there as the potato in Ireland. Fried chicken came across the ocean to the New World in the 1600s and 1700s with these immigrants, but it was a bland, unseasoned recipe back then.

Blacks in early America – especially those who hailed from Western Africa – fixed that problem by adding the seasonings that they preferred, and today’s tasty fried chicken was born.

Fried chicken transports well even in the hot American south, without refrigeration. This was just one more factor that elevated southern fried chicken to the status that it enjoys today.

Is it healthy? Well, not really. But is it good? You bet it is. My Grammy and my mother both made fried chicken that was so mouth-watering that I’ve had dreams about it.

I wrote this song to celebrate two things: southern fried chicken (of course), and the gas stations and small restaurants all across the entire south that have managed to serve up some of the best of it. These are normally familyowned, no-nonsense places. Most folks who eat there are regulars, but there are the occasional out-of-towners just passing through. It’s the south, so they’re treated like family, too. After all, it would be rude to treat anyone poorly even if they talked funny, drove a fancy car, or were a bit on the rude side. No matter how cranky a tired traveler might be coming in, they’ll be fine on the way out, after they’ve eaten.

There are a thousand recipes for good fried chicken, and I presented part of one in the song, as you will see from the lyrics. Back in 1825, Mary Randolph, who was running a boarding house, wrote out her own recipe in a book called “The Virginia Housewife or, Methodical Cook.”

Prayer Picnic, 1938. [J]

This cookbook is believed to be the first appearance in print of a recipe for southern fried chicken: “Cut them up as for the fricassee, dredge them well with flour, sprinkle them with salt, put them into a good quantity of boiling lard, and fry them a light brown; fry small pieces of mush and a quantity of parsley nicely picked, to be served in the dish with the chickens; take half a pint of rich milk, add to it a small bit of butter, with pepper, salt, and chopped parsley; stew it a little, and pour it over the chickens, and then garnish with the fried parsley.”

Background image Credit [M]

Page 17

GAS STATION CHICKEN “There are two schools of fried chicken. One is brining in salted water and the other is soaking in either buttermilk or milk. I just combine the two.” ~ Padma Lakshmi, Credit [O] Well, I walk right in and set down By the magazines and chips She flashes me her hazel eyes Above those ruby lips I’m barely scraping by Lord, I’m about to die Gas station chicken gonna help me get my fix Oh, she love me Oh, Lord, she treat me right Gas station chicken gonna taste real good tonight Oh, that gas station chicken gonna taste real good tonight Two brown eggs Buttermilk and flour She mixes it and double-dips A true belle of the south Cast iron pan It’s spitting like a cat She says it’s gonna take some time So I might as well set back

I wander to the freezer And I get us both a beer She tells me that she’s working and, “Hey, git over here!”

Now I’m assistant cook At the Cheap-Fill Dinner Nook Oh, look at me, ma I’m a sous-chef volunteer Oh, she love me Oh, Lord, she treat me right Gas station chicken gonna taste real good tonight Oh, that gas station chicken gonna taste real good tonight (Instrumental) Oh, she love me Oh, Lord, she treat me right Gas station chicken gonna taste real good tonight Oh, that gas station chicken gonna taste real good tonight

Abandoned gas station and store in Coxs Creek, Kentucky.

[N]

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Mandolin, Vocal Matt Combs • Fiddle Matthew Burgess • Percussion Rob Ickes • Dobro Trey Hensley • Acoustic Guitar

Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

T

“Appalachia, in fact, is a very matriarchal culture. We revere our grandmothers and mothers.”

– Anthony Harkins, “Appalachian Reckoning: A Region Responds to Hillbilly Elegy”

he story and the characters in this song are not from anyone that I know about. They sprang completely from my imagination. I wanted to weave a bittersweet tale of little girls and their grandmother. Of hopes and dreams, and the wonder of childhood, where painted jars are full of pennies, and everything seems hopeful and magical.

There were enough men in this album already, and women are a powerful, positive force in Appalachia (as they are in the world outside). Consider the story of Mary Draper Ingles. In the Summer of 1755 Mary was kidnapped by a Shawnee raid near Blacksburg, Virginia. (The Shawnee were allied with the French in the French and Indian Wars.)

They took her and her two sons, and several other captives over the hills to a Shawnee settlement far away in Kentucky, where her sons were adopted into the tribe, and Mary was put to work as a slave. In October she found a way to escape on foot with another woman. They traveled somewhere between 500 and 800 miles together, crossing more than 100 rivers and streams, back across the Appalachian mountains, alone and unarmed. They nearly starved in the Winter, subsisting on nuts, berries, leaves and even dead animals that they found along the way. The other woman tried to kill Mary twice, threatening to eat her, but Mary escaped and went on alone, finally making her way back to Virginia, where she was joyfully reunited with her husband.

The expression “the weaker sex” seems ridiculous when we think about women like Mary Ingles. The Maggie character in the song has the kind of grit that Mary had. They lived very different lives, but they both nurtured and protected their loved ones, saved themselves, and did the heavy lifting – including plain surviving – that needed to be done.

Background photo, Viper, Kentucky. [P]

Mother and Child. The four-room-house rents for $10.00 per month. Harlan County, Kentucky, 1946. [Q]

Page 19

SOMETIMES YOU’RE THE HOLLER Maggie raised her sister June with their grandma Ida Lynn In a dirt floor, careworn cabin that was passed from kin to kin

Then they watched her soul rise up and drift out of the room She soared above the rope bridge Straight up to the moon

Maggie dreamed of angels who would teach her how to fly She kept her hopes like pennies in a painted jar up high

They knew dreams were paper wings But their hearts beat hopeful still Sometimes you’re the holler and sometimes you’re the hill

She knew dreams were paper wings But her heart beat hopeful still Sometimes you’re the holler and sometimes you’re the hill

Sometimes you’re the holler and sometimes you’re the hill Sometimes you’re the “no, I won’t” and sometimes you’re “I will” Your heart can be an anchor or as light as spider silk Sometimes you’re the holler and sometimes you’re the hill

Sometimes you’re the holler and sometimes you’re the hill Sometimes you’re the “no, I won’t” and sometimes you’re “I will” Your heart can be an anchor or as light as spider silk Sometimes you’re the holler and sometimes you’re the hill (Instrumental) Summer bent to Winter and Ida Lynn turned ill Maggie made her lily tea and hugged away her chill

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Vocals Matt Combs • Fiddle Matthew Burgess • Percussion Rob Ickes • Dobro Trey Hensley • Acoustic Guitar Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

P

resbyterianism, which traces its roots to the Church of Scotland, was brought to Appalachia by the early Ulster Scot immigrants. But there is a powerful evangelist tendency in the region, largely rooted in the Baptist church. Natural water baptisms in creeks and rivers was common, and still happen. If you go to an evangelist service even today you will experience the joy and passionate exhortations.

Many folks in Appalachia consider themselves to be devout, and church is an important part of the culture. Churches range in size from larger ones in populated areas, to quite small ones at the holler level, where the same five or six trucks or cars can be seen parked outside on Sundays.

These local places of worship may or may not be affiliated with an organized church. It doesn’t much matter, after all.

Faith and family are the bedrock of the human experience, and it’s strong in Appalachia.

All major religions are represented in modern Appalachia: Catholicism, Pentecostalism, Judaism, Islam and more. There are also Mennonite colonies, who came to America long ago to escape the persecution that they faced in Europe.

In the 19th century, rural America was preached to by “circuit riders” like Francis Asbury. He rode thousands of miles on horseback, deep into the heart of Appalachia, spreading the word of God to folks in the remotest hills and hollers. He preached from front porches, fields, meeting houses, in tents, or wherever he could get folks to assemble to hear the Word.

Bishop Asbury was a Methodist, but there were also Baptist circuit riders in that era. Tent meetings still happen today, although with the advent of easier travel and television, they are not as in demand as in previous centuries.

Snake handling during a church service became popularized in the early 20th century by the Tennessee Pentecostal minister George Went Hensley.

The Church of the Nazarene, Tennessee, 1936. [R]

There’s a passage in Mark 16:17–18 in the King James Bible that he drew from: “In my name ... They shall take up serpents.” This unusual practice has ebbed drastically in the 100+ years since its introduction.

Coal camps or “coal towns” were built by the coal companies themselves.

The miners and their families lived in houses built by the company, and shopped at the stores run by the company. And they went to churches that were erected by the company. Building a church or two was a concern when a new coal camp was being planned. Since they were paying for the buildings and usually half of the minister’s salary (the other half coming from donations from the parishoners), the companies preferred to build a single ecumenical “all faiths” church. This didn’t always work. First, some folks just didn’t like a generic service. Second, during slavery and later Jim Crow era, blacks were not allowed, or were at the very least unwelcomed at “white” churches. Finally, large groups of miners from Europe were largely Catholic, and preferred their brand of service. If a coal camp’s population was big enough and the miners were vocal enough, the company would build them another church.

Going to Sunday school at the Pentecostal Church of God. Lejunior, Harlan County, Kentucky, 1946. [S]

Page 21

I FOUND FAITH “Faith has to do with things that are not seen, and hope with things that are not at hand.” ~ Thomas Aquinas I never was much of a church-going child I ran through my Summers so careless and wild But one fateful day The light fell on me and washed all my troubles away

I found faith in the smile of a baby I found faith in a loving embrace I found faith in the true God who saved me And filled up my heart with His Grace

I found faith in the smile of a baby I found faith in a loving embrace I found faith in the true God who made me And filled up my heart with His Grace

(The Reverend Janice Brown)

There’s trouble and sin where His light can’t get in But brave-hearted folks, don’t despair Oh, I know He can heal the world with one hand Open your heart, He’s in there

I found faith in the smile of a baby I found faith in a loving embrace I found faith in the true God who saved me And filled up my heart with His Grace

Children crossing a swinging bridge from their homes into town. Hazard, Kentucky. [T]

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Guitar, Banjo, Bass, Vocals Rev. Janice Brown • featured Vocalist Kim Fleming and Kim Mont • Backing Vocals Matt Combs • Fiddle Matthew Burgess • Drums, Percussion Mike Johnson • Pedal Steel Guitar Tim Hamilton • Organ

Words and music © 2020 Grant Maloy Smith

Not to be confused with coal town company stores, small town general stores were privately owned, and open to all customers.

M

y paternal grampa ran a small grocery store in the Berkshires, in northern Appalachia. I remember him as a gruff guy, not exactly a “huggy” grampa. So I was surprised when he told me one Summer morning that we were going to spend the day with his “friends on the mountain.” He and my dad were big fishermen, and they had filled a white Styrofoam cooler with ice and a variety river fish wrapped in tinfoil, the day before.

My grampa had a long series of Cadillacs. Not new ones, of course. In fact, he prided himself on paying no more than $500 for any of them. They were old and worn out, but if they started up when he turned the key, they would do.

I climbed up onto the wide front bench seat, and we set off as the sun was climbing over East Mountain. We stopped at the Piggly Wiggly grocery store and bought at least a dozen loaves of day-old bread for just a few dollars, and then back into the car. I remember him complaining that gasoline had got to more than 25 cents per gallon, as he worked the big car up the narrow mountain roads.

There was the occasional shack along the way, and I asked him if people lived in them. “Yessir,” he said plainly, and that was that. There were broken down cars and trucks in front of the first house that we stopped at. The Cadillac’s springs squeaked and moaned as we crunched across the dirt driveway up toward the house. I saw two boys about my age playing with a stick, which seemed intriguing to me. They looked at us and waved, then ran to the house, shouting excitedly. My grandfather brought the car to a merciful stop, and we waited for the dust to drift past the windows before we got out.

Background image: Country store on dirt road. Sunday afternoon. [U]

“They got five grand kids and an uncle living with them, so fetch me six fish and two loaves of bread. Good boy, now,” he instructed, then he turned to talk to the couple who had emerged from the shack. There was no front door, just a blanket hanging in front of the opening. The adults sat down in wooden chairs outside, and lemonade in jars materialized out of thin air in front of them.

I got the fish from the trunk - counting them out carefully - and the bread, as commanded, and brought them my grampa. He handed it directly to the couple without even looking at me. I wandered off and played with the boys. After a spell, grampa whistled for me, and we were backing down the driveway as the whole clan waved goodbye, the boys hopping up and down. It struck me that our visit really meant something to them. For me it was a quiet revelation.

We repeated this over and over again that day. Then sun started to go down and he said, “Last stop! What’s in the trunk?”

“Three fish and one loaf of bread,” I replied earnestly.

The last house had no kids for me to play with: just a very old black man named Tommy who had maybe six teeth. Tommy and my grampa talked grown-up stuff for a long while. Finally, grampa slapped on his fishing cap and stood. He didn’t like mountain driving in the dark. Back in the car, I asked him who all those people were today. “Friends,” he said quietly, as we rumbled home through the Berkshire dusk.

I found out years later that they were his customers from his grocery store days. Family lore says that he gave folks credit when they couldn’t pay, and that he ended up forgiving most of those debts. Decades later, he felt obliged to make sure they had food.

They were good, honest people. This song is dedicated to decent folks who give more than they get in this world.

Page 23

BOONE’S FIVE AND DIME I’m Nathan Boone Welcome to my store Please tell me what you’re looking for If you’re just browsing, that’s just fine You’ll find me down on aisle way nine

Way down in my youngest days So far back in time I dreamed of hearing that bell And saying: “Welcome to Boone’s...”

I got coats and tires on sale Pecan pies and ginger ale Ropes and rakes and paint and string Oh, yes, I got most anything

(Instrumental)

Way down in my youngest days So far back in time I dreamed of hearing that bell And saying: “Welcome to Boone’s Five & Dime” Those plates are $5 or three for $10 Thank you, ma’am for coming in Oh, look at me, I talk too much I’m lonely since the mine closed up I worked so late most every night I never made time for a wife My brother’s boy worked Summers here Building bikes, and head cashier

Way down in my youngest days So far back in time I dreamed of hearing that bell And saying: “Welcome to Boone’s Five & Dime”

Bringing home groceries, Kingston Pocahontas Coal Company, Warwick Mine, Welch, McDowell County, West Virginia. [V]

I’m Nathan Boone Welcome to my store Please tell me what you’re looking for If you’re just browsing That’s just fine You’ll find me THE PLAYERS down on aisle way nine

Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Dulcimer, Vocals Jeff Taylor • Accordion Jelly Roll Johnson • Harmonica Matt Combs • Fiddle Matthew Burgess • Percussion Rob Ickes • Dobro Trey Hensley • Acoustic Guitar

Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

T

“The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started.”

– T. S. Eliot

here’s a lot of yearning in this album. It’s a recurring theme among our species. In our youth we yearn to get away, to explore under the bright lights, far from the confines of where we came from.

We pull against the bit and bridle of our parents.

So we set off and make our own lives on our own terms, as best we can. Whether it’s leaving a small town and hitting the big city, or merely moving across town, the grass always smells a lot like freedom on the other side of the fence.

But then something happens. Maybe not to everyone, but to a lot of folks. They wake up one day and realize how much they loved that quiet little town, and its comfortable ways. They imagine being welcomed back and folding back neatly into the familiar. That’s the quiet call of home.

Sometimes you can’t go home again. Sometimes you can. It all depends on your expectations.

Time has been ticking since you left, and nothing is exactly the same any more. People have gone.

Times have changed. This is the way of things.

In “The Red-haired Girl from Hazard” I looked at my mother’s life: she left Appalachia and never returned except to visit kin. In “Lord, Take Me Home,” I explored the gut-punch homesickness that so many Appalachians felt when they went up into the industrial Midwest to work in the factories.

In this song, a young man travels around the country for his job. After finding a woman in California, they are both faced with a wrenching decision, because neither one of them wants to leave the places that they love.

Young woman wandering. [W] Background photo Moon Night. [X]

Page 25

MUST’VE BEEN THE MOONLIGHT Eighth generation in this tiny mountain town Raised in the holler There were ups and there were downs I needed to move on Spread myself around But when I tried to take that airplane My feet stayed on the ground Well, it must’ve been the moonlight Took my breath away No, it couldn’t a-been the moonshine I ain’t had a drop all day Well, it might’ve been a Smoky Mountain mama made me feel this way Must’ve been the moonlight Made me stay Got me a job that had me roaming far and wide Gainesville to Jackson Oak Ridge to Riverside

Found me a woman and I had to decide: Could I leave my hills forever and have her as my bride?

Well, it must’ve been the moonlight Took my breath away No, it couldn’t a-been the moonshine I ain’t had a drop all day Well, it might’ve been a Smoky Mountain mama made me feel this way Must’ve been the moonlight Made me stay We watched the seagulls as the sun fell to the sea So California, she smiled and studied me And I said, “Fate don’t fall from every tree, but this ain’t where I’m meant to be” (Instrumental)

Well, it must’ve been the moonlight Took my breath away No, it couldn’t a-been the moonshine I ain’t had a drop all day Well, it might’ve been a Smoky Mountain mama made me feel this way Must’ve been the moonlight Made me stay Must’ve been the moonlight Made me stay

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Vocals Jeff Taylor • Accordion Matt Combs • Fiddle Matthew Burgess • Percussion Rob Ickes • Dobro Trey Hensley • Acoustic Guitar Words and music © 2020 Grant Maloy Smith

“Blackdamp and open lamps - I got there too late...”

The worst mining disaster in American history

I

t was Friday, December 6 of 1907 in Monongah, West Virginia –barely 20 miles from the Pennsylvania state line, and 70 miles south of Pittsburgh. The Consolidated Coal Company of nearby Fairmont operated several mines in the rugged hills of northern West Virginia, and that morning there were officially 367 souls under the ground.

A trip of 19 loaded coal cars had reached the knuckle of the number 6 slope when a coupling failed. The cars careened back down into the mine, smashing into walls and cutting electrical cables. The crash raised an enormous cloud of “blackdamp,” a combination of nitrogen and carbon dioxide, otherwise known as methane. A fireball erupted, causing massive explosions in mines 6 and 8, killing nearly everyone below, destroying the ventilation system, and collapsing most of the shafts.

Men rushed in to start a rescue, but many passages were blocked or caved in, and the air was largely absent or poisonous. In addition to the dangerous blackdamp, “whitedamp” – pure carbon monoxide - was also unbreathable. Lacking oxygen tanks and masks in 1907, rescuers couldn’t stay in the mine for long, and their searches were slow and fruitless. The oil lamps that miners wore on their helmets had an open flame, and contact with blackdamp could cause yet another explosion.

The majority of workers in the mines were immigrants, mostly from Italy, but there were also Americans (including 11 African Americans), Hungarians, Russians, Austrians and Turks. Women wailed as their men and boys were carried up and laid on the ground over the several days that it took to clear the mine. Temporary morgues were erected to handle the deaths, and even they were overwhelmed. Some women lost every male member of their family that morning: their husbands, sons and nephews.

Background photo Coal. [Y]

In the end, only one man was rescued.

Three rescue workers died. John Narey was a Scotsman who had immigrated to Latrobe, Pennsylvania with his English wife Anna, years before. He had been a mine foreman, and was widely regarded as an expert in mine gasses. When he heard about the Monongah explosion he immediately traveled down there. He worked day and night, ignoring his own health in his attempts to find men yet alive, or to bring their bodies out to the crowds of widows crying at the mine entrance. He perished from pneumonia on the fourth day, and left behind his own widow and children to mourn. He earned his place in this song for his bravery and heroism. God bless him, all the rescue workers, and all who perished that tragic day.

It is impossible to say how many lives were actually lost that morning, because there were always visitors in the mine. If a miner was behind in achieving his tonnage, he would often bring his children or friends into the mine to help him. Estimates at the time ranged from 400 to as many as 500 lives lost. We will never know for sure.

Working in the Mines The position of miner was an esteemed one, and it took years to earn that title. Young boys started out as “Breakers” or “Breaker Boys,” sitting all day above chutes and conveyors and picking slate and other impurities out of the coal with their bare hands. If there was a large slag of slate-riddled coal they would jam their shoes into the stream of coal and delay it while they picked furiously to clean it. Some conveyors had a side chute that could be used to divert a small part of the coal stream for a few moments so that they could work on it. Fumes and coal dust were constant, and lung disease and asthma were prevalent among the children and adults working in the mine. Boys sometimes had fingers, hands and feet cut off by the fast running conveyors.

They were always bleeding, and they were black with dust from head to toe. They were sometimes drawn into the machinery and killed outright. But nothing stopped the machine – the foreman would simply collect their bodies at the end of the day when the conveyor could be turned off.

The sound of the breaker machine itself was a relentless din that robbed them of their hearing as its teeth ground huge chunks of coal into smaller ones, exposing the slate to be plucked out by tiny fingers. To work legally, boys needed to be 12 years old, but they often lied about their age, and if they could pass they got the job. Ten hour shifts, six days per week they toiled, for roughly fifty cents per day.

Most breaker boys aspired to be promoted to “door boy,” responsible for opening and closing the underground doors as men and mules pulling cars passed through.

Controlling and regulating the ventilation inside a mine was critical for safely, and it had to be done diligently as each trip of cars passed through, lest disaster strike. Being a door boy was less dangerous than being a breaker boy, but it was also boring and lonely. He had to be on his post, in the dark, from morning until night – from the first trip of cars to the last. He was allowed to bring a lamp and oil to his post, but he had to provide them himself from his wage of less than one dollar per day. He sat mostly in the dark for ten hours, whistling or singing to amuse himself.

The next step up was becoming a “driver,” tending to his assigned mule in the underground stables. Early in the morning he’d harness his mule to a trip of empty cars

Group of Breaker Boys in #9 Breaker, Hughestown Borough, Pennsylvania Coal Co. [Z]

Part of the memorial located in Monangah, just by the town hall. [AA]

and drive it to the face of the mine, or wherever the work site was that day. The miners would load the cars, then the boy would then drive his mule pulling the cars back to the foot of the shaft, where they would be lifted up to the surface and poured into the conveyor for breaking and sorting. It was again all day underground, in constant danger of collapses, poisonous air, and being crushed between heavy cars. These boys were typically 14 to 20 years old, and earned just over one dollar per day.

There were other jobs leading up to actually being a miner, including a “runner” who sometimes directed the drivers. If you rose up higher you could work directly for a miner as a “laborer” and load the coal he had exposed into the cars. After a few years of being a laborer, you could take classes and tests, apprentice for a few years, and eventually become a miner yourself.

Wielding his ten pound sledge and steel wedges, drilling tools and picks, the miner had to be well-versed in every aspect of mining to succeed and survive. Miners normally worked in pairs, for safety and to keep each other company. They’d start by “undermining” or “holing” a room, variously standing, sitting and finally lying prone and swinging their picks up to fifty times per minute. Finally, after half a day or more of back-breaking picking, a room would be ready for drilling and blasting. Knowing where to bore the hole to yield the best result from the blast had been a key subject in his training and apprenticeship, as well as judging how much explosive to use. Too little and the coal wouldn’t come out of the walls. Too much and the whole room could collapse, burying them alive.

I

t is hard to imagine working in a mine 100 or more years ago. The ceilings were often only three and a half feet (about one meter) from the floor, forcing everyone to walk bent over from morning to night. Performing dangerous and physically stressful manual labor all day in the dark, breathing in coal dust, while perpetually bent over, required tenacity, toughness, and an uncommonly strong back. The constant danger from explosions, collapses, blackdamp, and whitedamp bonded them together like no other experience.

No insurance company would cover a miner in these years. They ended up broken old men if they lived much past their years of employment at all.

Tough as nails, but physically battered, an older miner might end up a breaker again, sitting side by side with the boys and picking slate from the endless stream of coal from the jaws of the breaker, completing his circle of life with coal. Most miners loved their work, despite how arduous and

Miners head out at the end of a shift, PV & K Coal Company, Clover Gap Mine, Harlan County, Kentucky. [AD]

punishing it was. It was – and still is – a way of life. There develops a true brotherhood (and today also a sisterhood) among miners.

But unlike the boys and men who could rise up out of the earth and go home at the end of each day, the mules and horses who pulled the trips of cars lived underground, sometimes for years at a time. On the surface seasons would change, babies would be born, and presidents would come and go as the world spun around the sun again and again. But the mules (and horses) knew nothing of it, living underground where the climate never changed. Not one glint of sunshine warmed their backs, and no gentle breath of Spring or Summer air entered their lungs or dappled their coats. They lived in a world of perpetual night, interrupted only by the violent clatter of terrifying machines, explosions, and endless, thankless labor.

There are stories of mules being brought to the surface after a year or more and frolicking in the sunshine, dancing on the grass with joy – and of them exhibiting the mule’s most famous characteristic and refusing to go back down into the mine when they were called. They were pure slaves, and were better replaced by electric trains in later years.

Boy drivers in a mine, 1908 (horses and mules were both used). [AB] Background image coal mine shaft. [AC]

Accidents like Monongah and the more than 1000 lives that had been lost between 1907 and 1909, led to an increase in safety regulations.

Hoping to prevent more government intervention, the mining companies themselves got more serious about safety. In 1910 the United States Bureau of Mines was created to study mine safety issues for the Department of the Interior. Improvements in safety and conditions were slow, but they did eventually happen.

Page 29

BY AND BY THE WAY Dedicated to the fallen, the rescuers, and the families left behind by the Monongah Mine Disaster of 1907.

Deep in contemplation Praying in my hands Lord why am I alive?

I just don’t understand It was early Friday Mines #6 and #8 Blackdamp and open lamps I got there too late By and by, by and by By the way By and by, by and by By the way There’s a long line of suffering and coal dust tears today By and by, by and by By the way Started out a breaker Cutting up my hands Picking slate since I was eight That mine made me a man Ended up a driver Hitching up the mules They can’t run Can’t see the sun But I think we’re the fools

By and by, by and by By the way By and by, by and by By the way There’s a long line of suffering and coal dust tears today By and by, by and by By the way (Instrumental) We pulled out John Narey Lay him on the ground We all prayed for what we lost But look what Heaven’s found By and by, by and by By the way By and by, by and by By the way There’s a long line of suffering and coal dust tears today By and by, by and by By the way

Miners' families wait for news outside the mine, hopeful that their loved ones will be rescued. [AE]

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Banjo, Bass, Vocals Jeff Taylor • Accordion Matthew Burgess • Percussion Mike Johnson • Pedal Steel Guitar Rob Ickes • Dobro

Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

“The best way out is always through.”

– Robert Frost

T

he fact that America is only 5% of the world’s population, but consumes 70% of the opioids should tell you everything you need to know about why we have a crisis of painkiller addiction in our country.

Thousands of people become addicted every year as a result of taking prescription painkillers following accidents and surgeries.

According the US Department of Health and Human Services, Office of Inspector General,“In 2016, there were more than 42,000 opioid-related overdose deaths in the United States – 115 deaths per day. Nearly 7,000 of these deaths occurred in five States in the Appalachian region – Alabama, Kentucky, Ohio, Tennessee, and West Virginia.

‘Almost 49,000 (Medicare Part D) beneficiaries in 5 States in the Appalachian region received high amounts of opioids, far exceeding levels CDC says to avoid.”

Approximately 200,000 prescription painkiller overdose deaths have happened since the year 2000, and still thousands more have fatally overdosed on other opioids, like heroin and fentanyl.

According to the CDC, although overall prescription rates of opioids has fallen since the peak of 2012, in 11% of U.S. counties, there were enough opioid prescriptions dispensed for every single person in that county to have one.

I wanted to include a song about the opioid crisis on this album because it has hit Appalachia especially hard. It’s far above my pay grade to postulate on the root causes.

Some refer to it as a “disease of despair,” referring to low income, poor housing, and injuries arising from manual labor. Others blame the doctors for over-prescribing opioids, either because they’re too busy and eager for a “quick fix” for patients complaining of pain, or because of incentives paid by the drug makers themselves.

In fact, we know that the drug companies have been pushing them hard. Take the example of Purdue Pharma, the maker of OxyContin®. At the end of 2020 they reached an $8.3 billion dollar settlement with the US Department of Justice, pleading guilty to three felony criminal charges, for pushing millions of their pills in unethical and illegal ways. But they’re not the only ones to blame: there are thousands of other lawsuits that have been filed all around the country against Purdue, Johnson & Johnson and other pharmaceutical companies.

It is notoriously easy to become addicted to these painkillers, and extraordinarily difficult to get free of them. The big pharma/medical machine is well-engineered to dispense drugs, but not so good at getting people off of them.

But I wanted to write about the heartache: the agony of going cold turkey to break free. I wanted to focus on one person in my story, a fictional character who would represent hundreds of thousands.

Those who have gone through withdrawal describe being unable to sleep for days. They tell about breaking into tears for no reason. Of their skin itching so badly that they scratch themselves bloody. The shakes, wild hot and cold flashes.

Feeling that they are losing their minds. Then, thoughts of suicide, just to make it all stop. It’s tragic. hard to imagine, and heartbreaking. But it’s happening every day.

In earlier decades we usually blamed the addicts for their addiction. Were there racial overtones behind that? Sometimes, definitely, yes. But the drugs don’t care what your race is. They don’t care whether you’re rich or poor, whether you own a bank or fry chicken at a gas station, or what your politics are.

They get into your brain and rewire it so that you want more of them, and so that you can’t stop.

I pray for everyone who is suffering. I pray that they get through it so that they can have their lives back. So that they can be free again. Bless all of God’s children.

Page 31

IN THIS TWILIGHT I got lost in the middle of town Got myself all turned around I got wings but I can’t fly Men ain’t hardly supposed to cry Men, you know we just can’t cry

Tremors, shakes and goosebump skin My body cries for heroin Where’s the boy my mama loved?

She don’t know what I’ve become Don’t tell my ma what I’ve become

Fever, chills and body aches Bloody bites like rattle snakes She don’t love me, that I know China girl won’t let me go That China girl, she won’t let go

I cut myself and scratched my face Itching for that sweet embrace Jesus, save my soul somehow!

I wish that you’d just take me now Jesus, won’t you take me now?

I believe in angels and Heaven up above I believe a woman’s heart to be the source of love I believe that nothing’s worse Than being all alone In this Twilight In this cold and heartless night In this midnight I go down, down, down

I believe in angels and Heaven up above I believe a woman’s heart to be the source of love I believe that nothing’s worse Than being all alone In this Twilight In this cold and heartless night In this midnight I go down, down, down THE PLAYERS (Instrumental)

Frances Cunningham • Bouzouki

Chorus

Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Vocals

Notes:

Jeff Taylor • Accordion

"China Girl" is a street name for Fentanyl.

Matthew Burgess • Percussion

Generic opioids include:

Mike Johnson • Pedal Steel

Buprenorphine, Codeine, Fentanyl, Hydrocodone, Hydromorphone, Meperidine, Methadone, Morphine. Oxycodone, Oxymorphone, Propoxyphene, Tramadol Background image [AF]

Rob Ickes • Dobro Tim Lorsch • Cello and Viola Words and music © 2020 Grant Maloy Smith

“Discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” - Marcel Proust

H

ighway 23 runs up from eastern Kentucky and Tennessee into southeastern Ohio, through Columbus and Toledo, and on into Michigan. It was called “The Hillbilly Highway” in the middle of the 20th century, because so many Appalachians used it to migrate to the industrial Midwest looking for work. There were jobs up there, but it wasn’t home. Many Appalachian people never quite fit in. Their ways were different. They got homesick.

In this song I imagine an Appalachian who has been away for a long time, but he’s headed home. He can hardly wait until he hugs his mama, and sleeps in his own bed.

Background photo Mountain Road [AG]

How long he’s staying we don’t know, but in my imagination this is a short stay, which makes it all the more bittersweet. In reality, my own mama and Grammy are gone, so this song takes on a different layer of meaning. It’s not so much of a temporary visit but an eternal one, in that context. But the images that it conjures in your mind are the ones that really matter.

I learned recently that in 1963, country singer Bobby Bare had a hit single called “Detroit City” - aka “I Want To Go Home.” It’s about a homesick Appalachian living and working in Detroit. It was written

by Danny Dill and Mel Tillis. Bare won a Grammy® for his recording of that song. Let’s go home...

Page 33

L O R D, T A K E M E H O M E Made the run in great time Most of a straight line Highway 23 from Ohio Been gone for so long Been oh-so lonesome Five more miles then I’m home Gonna see my Grammy The heart of our family Mountain rope bridge memories in her eyes Gonna hug my mama It ain’t much farther My, oh my, Chevy fly Take me home Lord take me home To the only earthly peace I’ve ever known Let me wade In waters so fresh and so deep I’ll be released Lord, take me home

Look at how the moon shines It’s like a new dime Chasing that old owl out from the barn Gonna have some corn bread Sleep in my own bed My, oh my, am I fine Chorus (Instrumental) Made the run in great time Most of a straight line Highway 23 from Ohio Been gone for so long Been oh-so lonesome Five more miles then I’m home Take me home Lord take me home To the only earthly peace I’ve ever known Let me wade In waters so fresh and so deep I’ll be released Lord, take me home

My uncle and my mother, Sam and Patricia Colwell, early 1940s.

THE PLAYERS

Frances Cunningham • Bouzouki

Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Vocals Jeff Taylor • Concertina Matt Combs • Fiddle

Matthew Burgess • Percussion Rob Ickes • Dobro

Trey Hensley • Acoustic Guitar Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

“A great way from the place where our fort was built, are great mountains, called in the Indian language Apalatcy; in which, as the map shows, arise three great rivers, in the sands of which are found much gold, silver, and brass, mixed together.”

- Jacques le Moyne de Morgues, 1564

L

egend has it that Spanish explorer De Soto named the mountains after a Native American tribe, “the Apalachi.” There’s no real proof of this, and the tribe were located northern Florida, far from the hills.

Scholars have supposed that a cartographer mislabeled the mountains to the north after this tribe, misunderstanding the reports from De Soto. They were only interested in exploiting the land for its riches - the people meant nothing to them.

Long before the white men and women from Europe came here, Native Americans lived and hunted here. Raised their children, and built their lives here. There were Shawnee, Choctaw, Creek, Chickasaw, Chippewa, Delaware, Eel River, Haudenosaunee, Kaskaskia, Kickapoo, Miami, Monongahela, Ottawa, Piankeshaw, Potawatomi, Wea, Wyandot, Mingo, Yamacraw, and Yuchi, just for starters.

But the largest tribe in the region were the Cherokee.

They farmed the land, and believed that they naturally belonged to the land, and the land belonged to them.

Enemies that they captured were adopted into the tribe, as were escaping black slaves who stumbled across a Cherokee clan in the hills. Anyone adopted into a Cherokee clan, regardless of their race or gender, was considered to be Cherokee from that point forward.

In 1930 Congress passed the “Indian Removal Act,” and the Cherokee were one of the five tribes who were forcibly removed to Oklahoma in the shameful Trail of Tears. This is the sobering intersection between this album and my previous one, DUST BOWL - AMERICAN STORIES. The people shape the hills, and the hills shape the people.

First Beloved Man of the Cherokee, leader Standing Turkey (Cunne Shote), 1762. [AH] Background photo, Great Smoky Mountains [AI]

Page 35

WE GOT MOUNTAINS “The mountains are calling, and I must go.”

- John Muir, Scottish-American naturalist You’ll never see the ocean from Kentucky You’ll never feel the salt mist in your hair But God gave us forests, bluegrass for horses Time to set and breathe the mountain air You’ll never see a poor man in Kentucky Gold ain’t what he’s been living for Kin folk and good friends Home fires and children Who could rightly ask for something more?

We got mountains We got hollers We got rivers ambling through When it’s my time Lay me down here On a hilltop where the sunshine’s painted blue You’ll never meet a stranger in Kentucky You won’t need to roam to find a friend Porch swings and fire flies Sweet tea and moonlight Misty mountain days that never end

Gonna spend my whole life in Kentucky I’ll sing the hills one final song Sun’s still a-burning World’s still a-turning I know the place where I belong We got mountains We got hollers We got rivers ambling through When it’s my time Lay me down here On a hilltop where the sunshine’s painted blue (Instrumental) Chorus

THE PLAYERS Grant Maloy Smith • Acoustic Guitar, Bass, Vocals Jeff Taylor • Accordion Matthew Burgess • Percussion Mike Johnson • Pedal Steel Guitar Tim Lorsch • Cello Words and music © 2019 Grant Maloy Smith

sPONSORS Those who pre-ordered his record were promised a permanent place in the liner notes, and here they are. It takes a special kind of person with a big heart and lots of faith to order an album before they heard it, and in some cases before even one note had been recorded. Thank you all!

Sponsor

State/Country

Alan Storeygard Arkansas, USA Beverly Warren Texas, USA Carlos de Cubas North Carolina, USA Cindy Pruitt Texas, USA Dale Enstrom California, USA Dan Griffith Arizona, USA Danae Vlasse California, USA David S Goldman New York, USA Dorothy Schmedinghoff California, USA Dr Kerry Evers Rhode Island, USA Eddie Minyard Maine, USA Felix Girard Nevada, USA Giuseppe Brai Cesena, Italy Ian 'Buzz' Nash Queensland, Australia Jack McGarry Florida, USA James Day Pennsylvania, USA Jeanne Acquaviva Haute Corse, France Jeanne Stappas Rhode Island, USA John Turco Rhode Island, USA Joshua Walker Geno Texas, USA Kelly Triplett Colorado, USA Leti Garza Texas, USA Linda Smith Florida, USA Lou Lollio California, USA Lynn-ellen Williamson Massachusetts, USA Maria MacAskill Isle of Skye, Scotland, UK Mariea Watkins Florida, USA Matthew Slack-Smith NSW, Australia Melania Leis Massachusetts, USA Nadia Shpachenko California, USA Nick Pasyanos Rhode Island, USA Robert Cummiskey Rhode Island, USA Robert Phillips California, USA Ross Scott Manley Down, Northern Ireland Ruth Weber California, USA Sam Colwell Virginia, USA Sonia Balthazor California, USA Stephen Tomporowski Connecticut, USA Steven Adams California, USA Tucker D’Abrosca Florida, USA Tyler Johnson Michigan, USA Wilbert Lively West Virginia, USA

Dedicated to: My 7 wonderful kids, their spouses, and 6 of the sweetest grandchildren!

The Mayor of 420 Dan My father Marcus Vlasse The American Dream For All Kyoshi Chick Gavitt The 125 victims of the Buffalo Creek Flood

James Day Patricia A. Smith 719th MDVS, Fort Sheridan Kelly Triplett The Acord Sisters of West Virginia David Williamson, Ella and Petey A big hug to all my friends and family

Matthew Cummiskey Ross Scott Manley Ruth and John Weber To my sister Patty, and to my mom, Shirley McIntyre Colwell, and to Chris Sarampote Mark Balthazor and Sonia Sison-Balthazor EGHS Class of 1975 U.S. Military and Veterans

Join me on my website for special offers: www.grant-maloy-smith.com/partners

Friends of the deceased’s family at an annual memorial meeting in the family cemetery. In the mountains near Jackson, Kentucky. [AL]

Prayer, or grace, at Sunday school picnic in abandoned mining town of Jere, West Virginia (1938). [AM]

The company store. Gilliam Coal and Coke Company, Gilliam Mine, Gilliam, McDowell County, West Virginia. [AJ]

The Pie Supper was a popular source of entertainment and recreation for the young people in the mountain region. October 1933. [AK]

cREDITS On the Cover: Blaine Sergent, coal loader, on his way home after work.

PV&K Coal Company, Clover Gap Mine, Lejunior, Harlan County, Kentucky, 13 September 1946. Photo by Russell Lee (1903–1986). {{PD-US}} Credit [A] Near McIntire Holler, Fusonia, Kentucky, photo © 2018 Grant Maloy Smith Credit [B] Background picture of Appalachian hills © Grant Maloy Smith Credit [C] Coal photo by Ben Scherjon from Pixabay Credit [D] Centers For Disease Control (CDC) https://wwwn.cdc.gov/eworld/Data/Coal_Workers_ Pneumoconiosis_Number_of_deaths_crude_and_ageadjusted_death_rates_US_residents_age_15_and_ over_19682010/916 Credit [E] Photograph by Jack Corn, courtesy of the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration. https:// catalog.archives.gov/id/556554. {{PD-US}} Credit [F] Three coal miners of the Lorain Coal & Dock Company, Lorado, West Virginia. Photo from U.S. Army Quartermaster Corps. Library of Congress Control Number 95509007. {{PD-US}} Credit [G] Coal miners hanging around company store during strike. Kempton, WV achon, John, 19141975, photographer Library of Congress control number 2017762841. {{PD-US}} Credit [H] Miner's sons salvaging coal during May 1939 strike, Kempton, West Virginia. Library of Congress control number 2017718014. {{PD-US}} Credit [I] A miner. PV & K Coal Company, Clover Mine, Lejunior, Harlan County, Kentucky, September 13, 1946.

Photo courtesy of the The National Archives and Records Administration {{PD-US}} Credit [J] "'Yeah, he got covered up,' is a way coal miners refer to fathers and brothers and sons who got buried alive." ~ Jeanne Marie Laskas BrainyQuote.com. BrainyMedia Inc, 2020. 10 October 2020. https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/ jeanne_marie_laskas_770137 Credit [K] River Baptism - Blue Ridge Parkway Folklife Project collection (AFC 1982/009), American Folklife Center, Library of Congress. {{PD-US}} Credit [L] Preacher Burlie Newman of the Snake Creek Primitive Baptist Church baptises a young man about to be web in the river. On country road 670 in Carroll County VA. Newman is taking a young newly wed couple--no name to be "buried with Christ." Snake Creek Primitive Baptist Church river baptism, Carroll County VA Blue Ridge Parkway Folklife Project collection (AFC 1982/009), American Folklife Center, Library of Congress. {{PD-US}} Credit [M] Chicken statue atop the Dutt & Wagner of Virginia Inc. roadside sign, Abington, Virginia. Photograph © 2020 Grant Maloy Smith.

Credit [N] Abandoned gas station and store in Coxs Creek, Kentucky. Photograph © 2020 by Grant Maloy Smith.

Credit [O] "There are two schools of fried chicken.

One is brining in salted water and the other is soaking in either buttermilk or milk. I just combine the two." ~ Padma Lakshmi. A-Z QUOTES, https://www.azquotes. com/quotes/topics/fried-chicken.html Credit [P] Background photo of McIntyre Holler, bridge over the North Fork River. Photograph © 2020 by Grant Maloy Smith Credit [Q] Mrs. Murray Price with one of her children.

The four-room-house rents for $10.00 per month. Black Mountain Coal Co., 30-31 Mine, Kenvir, Harlan County, KY. {{PD-US}} Credit [R] The Church of the Nazarene TN 1936. Photo

by Walker Evans. Farm Security Administration - Office of War Information Photograph Collection (Library of Congress). {{PD-US}} Credit [S] Going to Sunday school at the Pentecostal Church of God. Lejunior, Harlan County, Kentucky, 1946.

Photo by Russell Lee for the US Dept of the Interior.

National Archives Identifier (NAID) 541345. {{PD-US}} Credit [T] Miners’ children crossing swinging bridge from their homes into town. Hazard, Kentucky. Photo by Marion Post Wolcott (1910–1990), Library of Congress {{PD-US}} Credit [U] Country store on dirt road. Sunday afternoon. Note the kerosene pump on the right and the gasoline pump on the left. Dorothea Lange (1895 – 1965) {{PD-US}}.

Credit [V] Bringing home groceries, Kingston Pocahontas Coal Company, Warwick Mine, Welch, McDowell County, West Virginia. Russell Lee (1903– 1986) NARA record: 2489414. {{PD-US}} Credit [W] Young woman wandering photo by MorningbirdPhoto from Pixabay Credit [X] Moon night photo by jplenio of Pixabay Credit [Y] Photo of a coal vein by Ben Scherjon from Pixabay Credit [Z] Group of Breaker Boys in #9 Breaker, Hughestown Borough, Pennsylvania Coal Co. Lewis W. Hine; National Child Labor Committee Collection Wikimedia Commons {{PD-US}}

Credit [AE] Miners' families wait for news outside the mine. Monongah Nos. 6 and 7 Mines. Fairmont Coal Company., Monongah, West Virginia. US Dept of Labor image. {{PD-US}} Credit [AF] Background image by Wokandpix from Pixabay Credit [AG] Background image David Mark from Pixabay Credit [AH] First Beloved Man of the Cherokee, leader Standing Turkey (Cunne Shote), 1762. Credit [Credit [AH]]artist Francis Parsons Credit [AI] Great Smokey Mountains photo by Peggy Dyar from Pixabay Credit [AJ] The company store. Gilliam Coal and Coke Company, Gilliam Mine, Gilliam, McDowell County, West Virginia. Russell Lee (1903–1986) NARA record: 2489414 {{PD-US}} Credit [AK] “The Pie Supper was a popular source of entertainment and recreation for the young people in the mountain region.” October 1933. Photo by Lewis W. Hine (1874-1940) for the Tennesee Valley Authority. National Archives Identifier (NAID) 532706 Credit [AL] Friends of the deceased’s family at an annual memorial meeting in the family cemetery. In the mountains near Jackson, Kentucky. Photo by Marion Post Wolcott USFSA (Farm Security Administration. {{PD-US}}) Credit [AM] Prayer, or grace, at Sunday school picnic in abandoned mining town of Jere, West Virginia (1938) Photo

by Marion Post Wolcott (1910-1990). Library of Congress call number LC-USF33-030137 Credit [AN] Miners in soda fountain. Inland Steel Company, Wheelwright #1 & #2 Mines, Wheelwright, Floyd County, Kentucky. NARA-541505 {{PD-US}} Credit [AO] Franklin D. Roosevelt on his campaign train in Morgantown, West Virginia September 29, 1920. NARA 195779. Collection FDR-PHOCO: Franklin D. Roosevelt Library Public Domain Photographs, 1882 - 1962. {{PD-US}} On the back cover: Appalachian woods photo © 2020 Grant Maloy Smith

Credit [AA] Part of the Monongah Mining Disaster Memorial, located in Monangah, just by the town hall, Photo © 2020 by Grant Maloy Smith Credit [AB] Boy drivers in a mine, 1908 (horses and mules were both used). Photograph by Lewis W. Hine.

Yale University Art Gallery, gift of the Howard Bayne Fund. Courtesy of Yale University, New Haven.

Wikimedia Commons, {{PD-US}} Credit [AC] Background image of a mine shaft, by Hangela from Pixabay Credit [AD] Blaine Sergent (left), and an unnamed miner, come out of the mine at the end of the day's work. PV & K Coal Company, Clover Gap Mine, Harlan County, Kentucky. NARA 541293. {{PD-US}}

Background photo, miners in soda fountain. [AN]

bIBIOGRAPHY I did a lot of reading during the years I was working on this album. I recommend all of the books, magazine articles and websites listed below as excellent sources of information and understanding.

Harkins, Anthony (2019). “Appalachian Reckoning - A Region Responds to Hillbilly Ellegy” West Virginia University Press, ISBN 978-1-946684-78-3 Weller, Jack E. (1965) “Yesterday’s People - Life in Contemporary Appalachia” University of Kentucky Press, ISBN 978-0-813101-09-5 Harkins, Anthony (2004). “Hillbilly - A Culture History of an American Icon” Oxford University Press ISBN 978-0-19-518950-6 Vance, J.D. (2016). “Hillbilly Ellegy - A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis” HarperCollins, ISBN 978-0-06-230055-3 Roberts, Nancy (1978) “Ghosts of the Southern Mountains and Appalachia” University of South Carolina Press ISBN 978-0-87249-598-2 Varney, Sam (2004) “Appalachian Lore and Legend - Murder and Mayhem” Bodree Printing OCLC Number: 630662130 Back, Tory and Brashear, Leon (1962) “The Brashear Story - A Family History” The Sharpsville Advertiser, Sharpsville, Pennsylvania Clark, Thomas D. (1942) “The Kentucky” The University Press of Kentucky, ISBN 0-8131-1726-7 McKnight, Brian (2006) “Life in the Coal Camps of Wise County,” The Lonesome Pine Office on Youth.

The Appalachian Regional Commission, https://www.arc.gov/ about-the-appalachian-region/ David Walls, Professor Emeritus of Sociology at Sonoma State University, http://web.sonoma.edu/users/w/wallsd/on-the-naming-of-appalachia.shtml Husband, Joseph (1911) “A Year in a Coal-Mine” The Atlantic Monthly Company Kroger, Judy “Portraits of Black Miners” Trib Live. 2 April 2007.

Retrieved from https://triblive.com/x/dailycourier/news/uniontown/s_500668.html e-history “The Work of a Coal Miner in the Gilded Age and Progressive Era” The Ohio State University. 2 April 2007.

Retrieved from https://ehistory.osu.edu/exhibitions/gildedage/content/WorkOfCoalMiner

Stern, Thomas as told to Chadwick, Alex, host of “Day to Day”. “What’s It Like in a Coal Mine”, NPR. 4 January 2006. Retrieved from https://www.npr.org/templates/story/ story.php?storyId=5126100 Has, Frank “Mine Disasters In the United States” 1908 (unpublished, copy in Bureau of Mines files; also notes of Federal Geological Survey Engineers)). Retrieved from https://usminedisasters.miningquiz.com/saxsewell/monongah.htm WorldHistory.com “The 1907 Monongah, West Virginia Mine Disaster” 5 July 2017.

Retrieved from https://worldhistory.us/american-history/the-1907-monongah-westvirginia-mine-disaster.php FindaGrave.com “John Nary” (undated). Retrieved from https://www.findagrave.com/ memorial/144289940/john-narey Hager, Jessica “Love and Marriage in Appalachia” Smoky Mountain Living, Celebrating the Southern Appalachias, 1 February 2011. Retrieved from https://www.smliv.com/ features/love-and-marriage-in-appalachia/ Kephart, Horace “Our Southern Highlanders “ Outing publishing company (1913).

Retrived from http://www.gutenberg.org/files/31709/31709-h/31709-h.htm Also available at https://archive.org/details/oursouthernhigh00kephgoog/page/n9 Ketchum, Richard M. “Appalachia: 1914” American Heritage, February 1969. Retrieved from https://www.americanheritage.com/appalachia-1914 Inscoe, John C. (Ed.). Appalachian and Race: The Mountain South from Slavery to Segregation. Lexington, KY: The University Press of Kentucky, 2001.

Turner, William H. and Edward J. Cabbell (Eds.). Blacks in Appalachia. Lexington, KY: The University of Press of Kentucky, 1985.

William Henry Foote, Sketches of Virginia: Historical and Biographical, Vol. 2; William S. Martien, 1855.

Wagner, Thomas E. and Phillip J. Obermiller. African American Miners and Migrants: The Eastern Kentucky Social Club. Urbana & Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2004.

Wilkinson, Crystal. (2000). Blackberries, Blackberries. New Milford, CT: Toby Press, 2000.

Randolph, Mary (1860) THE VIRGINIA HOUSEWIFE Or, Methodical Cook http://www.gutenberg.org/files/12519/12519.txt [Public domain] McAteer, J. Davitt "Monongah Mine Disaster." e-WV: The West Virginia Encyclopedia.

06 December 2013. Web. 17 October 2020.

e-history “The Life of a Coal Miner” The Ohio State University. 2 April 2007.

Retrieved from https://ehistory.osu.edu/exhibitions/gildedage/content/LifeofaCoalMiner

The Opioid Crisis: The Centers for Disease Control: https://www.cdc.gov/drugoverdose/maps/rxrate-maps.html

Roberts, Peter “The Boys in the Breakers from Anthracite Coal Communities” published 1904, and excerpted on e-history by the Ohio State University Retrieved from https://ehistory.osu.edu/exhibitions/gildedage/content/breakerboys

US Department of Health and Human Services, Office of Inspector General https://oig.hhs.gov/oei/reports/oei-02-18-00224.asp

Crane, Stephen, e-history “In The Depths of a Coal Mine” The Ohio State University. August 1894. Retrieved from https://ehistory.osu.edu/exhibitions/gildedage/content/CraneDepths Bates, Alan as told to Harvey, Mary, “Inside the Coal Mines - A look inside this dangerous but crucial profession” Scholastic News (undated). Retrieved from http://www.scholastic. com/browse/article.jsp?id=10656 Matta, Alan, “Working In The Coal Mine”, Thermofisher Scientific Company. 4 February 2014. Retrieved from https://www.thermofisher.com/blog/mining/ working-in-the-coal-mine/

Trantolo & Trantolo, LLC. https://www.trantololaw.com/catastrophic-injuries/opioid-lawsuits/ AddictionCenter.com https://www.addictioncenter.com/drugs/drug-street-names/ Speech by Travis Rieder "I was in opioid withdrawal for a month — here's what I learned | Travis Rieder | TEDxMidAtlantic" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HMchXc5lemU

Immersion Baptism: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Immersion_baptism Matta, Alan, “Working in the Coal Mine – Avoiding Dust Inhalation”, Thermofisher Scientific Company. 9 December 2014. Retrieved from https://www.thermofisher.com/blog/mining/ working-in-the-coal-mine-avoiding-dust-inhalation-2/

Background photo, Franklin D. Roosevelt on his campaign train, Morgantown, WV, 1920. [AO]

GRANT MALOY SMITH

A P P A L A C H I A a m e r i c a n s t o r i e s

Grant Maloy Smith is a Billboard Top 10 recording artist and MusicRow CountryBreakout charting songwriter of American Roots music. His 2017 album, DUST BOWL - AMERICAN STORIES, spent 17 weeks on the charts, including eleven weeks in the Top 10. The “Bible” of American Roots music, NO DEPRESSION magazine, raved:

“… lyrics and music as potent as Woody Guthrie … A reminder of the darker period of Bob Dylan, and it’s that good, that memorable…”.

Now Grant returns with another theme album, three years in the making. Appalachia isn’t just a region of the USA, it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. The people and their culture are unique in a nation filled with unique people.

Appalachia has faced challenges like the rise and fall of coal, the isolation of the hills, and more. But the strength of the people and the sheer beauty of the region stand unwavering.

Grant Maloy Smith Performing at Carnegie Hall, 2018

This book and the music that goes with it are a celebration of Appalachia. The hills. The hollers. The people. The history. All of it. You are invited to browse these pages while you listen to the songs. The mountains are waiting for you.

All songs words and music © 2020 Grant Maloy Smith ℗ 2021 Suburban Cowboy LLC Be a partner! www.grant-maloy-smith.com/partners