The Mountain Spirit - Nov/Dec 1984

The Mountain Spirit The Magazine o f the Christian Appalachian Project

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Contents Random Thoughts

Features: Christianity Takes Its Show On the R oad......................... 4 Elijah’s G if t..................................................................... 8 We Need Community—But How?...................................22

Departments: The CAP Closeup .............................................................14 News of Our Neighbors..................................................... 16 Letters................................................................................ 18 Around the P ro ject...........................................................19

The Mountain Spirit The Magazine of the Christian Appalachian Project November-December 1984 Volume III, No. 6 Editor-in-Chief..................................................Rev. Ralph Beiting E d ito r ..................................................................................... MargaretGabriel Associate Editor.................................................Glen Edward Taul Advisory Board................... Mike McLaughlin, Leslie B. Larsen Jack Morris, Bill Begley Circulation Manager................................................................ TeresaRichey Graphics C oordinator......................................................... RebeccaReihm Typesetting................................................................................. TeresaRichey The Mountain Spirit is published six times a year. The annual subscription price is $5.00. Subscriptions and other cor­ respondence should be sent to The Mountain Spirit, Christian Appalachian Project, 322 Crab Orchard Road, Lancaster, Kentucky 40446. Copyright 1984, The Christian Appalachian Project, Inc. All rights reserved. Member, Catholic Press Association. The Christian Appalachian Project is a non-profit Christian service organization operating throughout Eastern Kentucky. The Project operates on the philosophy that “ helping people help themselves” is the best approach to Appalachian poverty.

As has been our custom we close the year focused on spirituality. This year we’re taking a look at ecumenism in Eastern Kentucky. On page four you’ll find a story about Father Ralph Beiting’s experiences as a Catholic priest preaching to a largely Protestant audience in the hills and hollers over the last thirty years or so. We’d also like to share a fascinating con­ versation between Father Beiting and Appalachian writer Harry Caudill. And as a Christmas treat, we hope you’ll enjoy a fictional story by Garry Barker. On the COVER, Father Beiting shares the Good News with the people of Floyd County (photo by Taul). On the BACK COVER we see autumn beginning in the mountains (photo by Taul). BELOW, some friends of COAP, you can meet on page sixteen (photo by Gabriel).

Random Thoughts by Jerry Cooper

As an non-denominational organization, the Christian Appalachian Project strives fo r an ecumenical outlook in practice as well as theory. On our staff we have several ministers o f different faiths working together fo r the common good. In doing so, they have become a wonderful example o f what we can accomplish by setting aside our differences and focusing on our strengths. This month, in place o f Father Beiting’s com­ ments, we have asked Reverend Gerald Cooper from our Family Life Retreat Center to share some o f his views on ecumenism. Jesus summed up his greatest hopes and con­ cerns for his followers in the precious few moments he had with his disciples before his ar­ rest. At that time he prayed “ Holy Father! Keep them safe by the power of your name . . . so that they may be one just as you and I are one” (John 17:11). Throughout the centuries those concerned with ecumenism have shared the concern of Christ that the church will find peace and harmony within itself. This does not seem to be an unreasonable expectation. After all, if those who profess to follow the Prince of Peace cannot find peace among themselves, how can we ever expect peace for the world? Yet, it seems that we have so far to go. The strife between Catholics and Protestants in Ireland is an embarassment to Christians everywhere. Before we judge the Irish people too harshly, we must admit that distrust, competition, and jealousy exist among various denominations in our nation as well. The numbers of denominations in our country is a witness to our differences. There is no way we can justify the animosity among Christian people. But, I am not convinced that the presence of various denominations is a sign of failure to be one in the sense that Jesus prayed. All of creation reveals a God who values variety. Look at the variety of flowers and trees. Notice the uniqueness of each person. Consider how different were each of the disciples whom Jesus chose. Even the disciples of Jesus quarreled among themselves occasionally, but in the end, they realized that their goals, their dreams, their beliefs centered around Jesus, he who had come to save all men and women. God does not desire uniformity among his peo­ November-December 1984

ple, but unity. He doesn’t want union but a oneness of purpose. When Christ prayed for oneness, it was not his intent that his people have no differences, but that we would deal with our differences in a spirit of love and respect, and in spite of our differences we would put above all else his calling to be faithful servants in continuing the ministry he left for us to do. I believe that CAP is an excellent example of the oneness in Christ that is possible when God’s peo­ ple seek loving services above all else. Practically every major denomination is represented among our employees and volunteers. Yet our differences do not stand in the way of our oneness of spirit and purpose in feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, and visiting the lonely. When trying to imitate the greatest lover the world has ever known, who has time to think about differences? Strength for such a task can only be found in our oneness in Christ. The greatest stumbling block to ecumenism is our propensity to compose our differences rather than celebrate our common calling. It has been my observation that wherever churches are faithful to Christ’s calling to minister to the needs of people, there is always a cooperation among denomina­ tions in doing this work. They cannot afford the time or energy that jealousy and competition con­ sume. Ecumenism has always been strong on the foreign mission fields where Christians were busy doing Christ’s work. It seems to follow that where there is conflict among Christians there is a lack of understanding and commitment to the call of Christ. Valuable time and energy that could be used to minister to the needs of people is wasted. Thankfully, the leaders of our churches are talking about our similarities rather than differences. We are work­ ing to discover common ground instead of dwell­ ing on issues that might keep us separate. And lay people, too, are discovering the tremen­ dous amount of good that can be done for the Lord when small disagreements in doctrine are set aside, and the overall picture of Christ’s work is viewed as a beautiful composite of various colors and textures which blend into the picture of the people of God. **** Jerry Cooper is an ordained Presbyterian minister. He is the Director o f CAP'S Family Life Retreat Center in Renfro Valley, and a Marriage and Family therapist. Before coming to CAP, he pastored churches in Knoxville, Tennessee, Fowler, Indiana, and Louisville, Kentucky. He is a clinical member o f the American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy. 3

Christianity Takes Its Show O n The R oad Story and Photos by Glen Edward Paul

“Go ye unto all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature. ” Mark 16:15. When Christianity was young, the message of Christ had to be delivered directly to the people. They did not flock to the churches to hear Paul or Peter or other apostles. To Father Ralph Beiting, president of the Christian Appalachian Project, there is a vitality in “ street preaching,” which he feels is unmatched in any other setting. After his first experience with outdoor preaching, when he was a seminarian in 1946, Father Beiting felt that a crucial part of his ministry was to take time every summer to travel in the hollers of Eastern Ken­ tucky, taking the message of the Gospel to his friends and neighbors, the people of God. “ I think that what Christianity has forgotten is that Christ said, ‘go forth and preach the gospel.’ Many are doing it on T.V., which is commend­ able, and others in churches. But too often they are doing things from the ease of a set or a studio or a church. I believe Christianity must take its show on the road. That’s what we’re trying to do, in a small way, with street preaching. It is face to face, personal contact with the people.” For thirty-three years Father Beiting has been taking the message of Christ to the people of Eastern Kentucky. Although Christian, Eastern Kentuckians are by and large an unchurched peo­ ple. A survey taken by the Commission on Religion in Appalachia in 1955 revealed that only 24 percent of East Kentuckians belonged to a church. Since then it has declined further to 16 percent of the population, according to Harry Caudill in The Watches o f the Night.

to give their side of the story or they would hassle you. Or we’d get people who would question you after the talks were over: was that the truth or was that a lie?” On one occasion in Wolfe County a fellow came up onto the tailgate of the station wagon from which they were preaching and said that Father Beiting was crazy. “ The man said, ‘I belong to the only true church. It says so in the Bible.” The man continued to quote the Biblical passages, giving Father Beiting time to consider his response. “ It didn’t take me long to realize that this was a man of little education,” Father Beiting said. “ I knew that I wasn’t going to reach the man through intelligent discussion. He was deeply set in pre­ judice. He wasn’t coming from an inquisitive mind. He had the attitude that ‘I’m right and everybody else is wrong, and I want you to know that.’” Father Beiting knew how he was going to re­ spond when he took the microphone back. He said, “ I’m certainly pleased to see that you have a reverence for the scriptures. I’m sure you must know that it was at Antioch that they first of all called the church ‘Christian.’ And if you read Ig­ natius of Antioch, you also know that the church there was called ‘Catholic.’ And I’m sure as you know that Polycarp had this to say, and the

In the early ’50’s Father Beiting sought to build bridges between his church and people who had never met a Catholic priest, by explaining his faith and, working to convey his excitement about God and his people. “ It was vitally important that I reinforce their love for God, or challenge their inertia and get them thinking about God,” Father Beiting said. Father Beiting at first geared his talks to areas of misunderstanding about the Catholic faith: purgatory, the Blessed Mother, the eucharist and Catholic worship, priests, celibacy. “ Every talk was partly polemical, touching on matters the populace has strong feelings about.” And soon Father Beiting realized that he needed a slight change in his approach. Rather than enlightening, his talks were polariz­ ing the people. “ They said, ‘Buddy, we hate that kind of stuff,’” Father Beiting commented. “ So frequently we would have ministers who would come up and either grab the microphone and want November-December 1984

Father Beiting takes a short break between talks.

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Shepherd of Hermes wrote that, and Adecai, which was written in 75 A.D. had this to say. And this man was suddenly confronted with all kinds of knowledge, with scripture coming at him, and history. He said, ‘I’m sorry. My wife’s waiting for me, and I’ve got to go home.’ His prejudice was so intense that when he got into a tight situation, he couldn’t handle it.” This situation—and others like it—caused Father Beiting to change the thrust of his messages to the ecumenical themes which he still uses today. Reflecting on the purpose of street preaching, and the effect his messages were having, “ I thought that logically, I had missed the boat,” he said. He found that trying to explain Catholicism was hampering the bridge building process. His main goal—to tell people of G od’s love for them—would be quickened by speaking on tenets of faith held in common by all Christians. Attitudes toward God were also changing. ‘‘I came out of a 1946 background. In 1946 God wasn’t sick, much less dead. By the ’60’s poor ol’ God was in trouble. People were saying, ‘He doesn’t exist; we don’t need him. We can run our own show. Don’t call us, we’ll call you, God.’ It was a time when discussion of the basics of God was needed. We have to love. We have to love one another. We have to have a deep faith in the scrip­ tures. We have to grow in the knowledge of God. We have to have family. We need to pray. ‘‘When you start talking about God, even if people don’t agree with you theologically, people begin to say, ‘darned, he does do good.’ It makes it possible for them to work with you as well as you with them.” A woman in the Martin County community of Hogue, near the Kentucky-West Virginia border, told Father Beiting of her need for his message about the importance of family. She had become cynical and bitter toward the idea. Her husband had left her with three children the previous Thanksgiving eve and her mother had thrown her out of the house. She had no place to go. For awhile, until she moved into a housing project, she and her children lived in a log cabin with cracks in the walls big enough to put her hand through. When people said, ‘God is our father and family is good,’ she laughed. But Father Beiting’s message started a change in her outlook and gave her hope. Through street preaching ‘‘we have been able to reach the non-churched,” he said. The kids who attended the Bible schools after street preaching indicate that many are making a deeper commit­ ment to God. “ This does not necessarily mean joining a church. It may mean that a person is more prayerful, has more concern for his or her The Mountain Spirit

Father Beiting makes sure that his speakers are set up to broadcast to the largest possible audience.

neighbor, or is less critical of somebody else.” There is “ no doubt that we’ve influenced the spirituality of people who’ve listened to us as we preached on the streets and by-ways of Eastern Kentucky.” Sometimes this influence is manifested in a dramatic incident. Father Beiting was street preaching outside of Quicksand in Breathitt County. “ We shouldn’t have been preaching because it was 5 p.m. I had to fix supper for everybody, and then had to be at another place at 7:15 p.m. There was a guy going back and forth in his car during my preaching. When we finished, he came up to us and said, ‘that was good preaching. I hope I didn’t disturb you, coming back and forth.’ I said, ‘you didn’t. I noticed you driving back and forth.’ The man said, ‘I have a big deci­ sion to make. I was goin’ to go out and shoot myself.’ He showed us the gun. His wife had left him, and taken their four kids to Dayton, Ohio. He had gone up there and found the kids running out in the street and his wife in bed with another guy. Of course, the natural tendency was to shoot the guy. Somehow he decided against that, came home, and decided to shoot himself. When he heard the preaching, he changed his mind.” After thirty-three years of preaching in the hills and the hollows, Father Beiting has many stories to tell about his experiences. Some are inspira­ tional, others funny, and occasionally Father Beiting tells a story like the one of the man in Breathitt County that makes a little chill run up your spine, and ask “ what if . . . ?” But a com­ mon thread runs through all of his stories, all of his experiences. In the simplest possible way, Father Beiting has seriously heeded Jesus’ instruc­ tion to go and preach to all nations. He has done so in the spirit of Christian unity, telling of God’s love and care for all people. And he does it well, because he enjoys it. “ I still get a big kick out of talking about God.”

“ The Mountain Troubadours” provide music be­ tween talks. Over the years, Father Beiting estimates that hundreds of volunteers have been participants in street preaching as troubadors.

November-December 1984

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The Mountain Spirit

Elijah’s Gift By G arry B arker Illustrations by M artin Rollins

“ Do you reckon they really is a Santa Claus?” asked Ancie. He watched closely as wise, eleven year old Eli­ jah Hooten carefully rolled and lit a cornshuck cigar, coughed, sucked again, and tried to ignore the tears which glossed his eyes. “ Naw,” gasped Elijah. “ That’s just what they tell youngens, Ance. Ain’t no Santy Claus. Never was, never will be.” “ Then where do the presents come from?” per­ sisted Ancie. “ Last time, I got new boots and a jackknife, a big old yellow Barlow.” He flipped open a shiny blade. “ See?” “ Your pap, he bought that,” snorted Elijah. “ They got a big old box of ’em over at the Bald Hill store.” He stubbed his handmade cigar and forced a grim, knowing smile. “ If they really was a Santy Claus, Ance, do you think he’d really go around and leave more stuff for some than for others? All I got, last year, was two pair of old work socks, and Grampa sent for them in the catalog.” “ But how come, Lige,” asked Ancie, “ my Mom and Pop keeps on sayin Santa Claus brings the stuff?” “ Dang if I know,” sighed Elijah, “ but I know November-December 1984

that a real Santy Claus wouldn’t bring no work socks. That stuff about reindeers and elfs and the North Pole is all made up, Ance.” He sniffed. “ Did you ever see a cow that could fly?” “ Reindeers ain’t cows,” argued Ancie. “ Same differ’nce,” grinned Elijah. “ I reckon you still think they’s a Rudolph what’s got a car­ bide lantern in his nose, and a fat old man with a sack of toys that can git down through a hot stovepipe.” “ Maybe.” Ancie smiled wistfully. “ Pop said this year I’m gonna get a Red Ryder BB gun.” “ I don’t need no toy guns,” sniffed Elijah. “ Grampa, he done give me a real rifle. The .22 my Pap had when he was a boy on Clear Ridge. I got a whole box of shells, too.” “ Doggone,” whispered Ancie. “ Can I shoot it?” Nope.” Elijah hunkered, rocked back on his worn bootheels, and looked very much like a small version of the Bald Hill store porch loafers. “ Grampa, he says a man’s gun, that’s somethin’ he don’t pass around.” “ You ain’t no man,” scoffed Ancie. “ I ain’t the one still lookin’ for old Santy Claus,” said Elijah. He stood, wiry in patched 9

bib overalls. “ I got to go now. I got to clean my ri­ fle.” Ancie sat until Elijah strutted out of sight, then whistled. Red, the old hound, came at a slow trot, tongue lapping, to nuzzle Ancie’s leg. “ Let’s go to the house, dog,” said Ancie. “ I never wanted to shoot Lige’s old rifle nohow.” *

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Boy and dog followed the footpath beside the cornpatch and across the ridge, tracking the thick December snow, Red ranging in ragged circles but always coming back to check on his troubled young master. Ancie stopped on the gap to stare pensively down at the little valley farm, land first cleared by his namesake Ance Wheeler, fields worked by a succession of Wheeler men for almost 200 years. The new clapboard house, built by Earl Wheeler and Ancie’s father Jud, sat on locust tree stilts, front porch jutting out over Tripplett Creek, rusted tin roof showing dully through the snow as the fires inside threw their heat upwards. The old Wheeler house, a dogtrot log cabin 200 yards downstream, was now Jud’s blacksmith shop. Black smoke from the forge belched up from the chimney, and Ancie could hear the steady ring of hammer on hot steel. The barn and corncrib, hog lot, garden, wood­ shed, and henhouse were scattered, connected by narrow paths worn into the snow, and rambling erratic patterns marked the wintertime wanderings of the milk cow and the gaunt mules. From shelter to hayrick, from food to water, the animals followed their same path each trip. Jud Wheeler’s truck, a spoke wheeled Reo, was parked with its red cab nosed into the barn. Uncle Web’s black Ford coupe perched engineless on railroad ties, waiting for tobacco money to buy piston rods and main bearings. The tall creosoted poles, still new and shining, followed Tripplett Creek, three miles downstream to the country road, the magic black humming with the electricity which powered Jud’s grinders and kept the bare bulbs glowing in the house. “ Lige don’t have ’lectric,” Ancie said suddenly. Red cocked his head and perked his long ears. “ Well, he don’t,” said Ancie. “ Lige don’t even have a daddy.” Red licked Ancie’s hand. “ It ain’t really Lige’s rifle, neither. Just a old one, all wore out, that his granddaddy lets Lige claim.” Happier now, Ancie ran down the path, splash­ ed across the creek, and laughed at Red’s frantic barking. “ Whoa there, boy,” laughed Jud Wheeler. “ What’s got you and that hound so frisky?” Jud stood in the shop door, grinning. “ You all 10

wouldn’t be lookin’ for old Santy Claus?” Ancie stopped, gasping, and remembered. “ Lige said they ain’t no Santa Claus,” he blurted. “ He said that’s just stuff you tell youngens.” “ You ain’t gonna pay no mind to no Hooten, are ye?” Jud, smiling, dug in his pocket for a plug of storebought. “ Lige’s daddy was about the worst liar in Rockcastle County. Wes Hooten never told the whole truth onct in his life.” Ancie hesitated. “ What ever come of Lige’s daddy?” Jud strugged, and stuffed a fresh chew into his jaw. “ Some says he was kilt over in France. Others, they say Wes met some purty little French gal and went AWOL.” “ What’s AWOL?” “ Means he just up and left,” said Jud. “ Took off his uniform and never came back.” “ Is that what he done?” Jud chewed thoughtfully, spat a slippery brown stream and rubbed his bristly jaw. “ The way I figger it,” he said quietly, “ is that the Russians got Wes Hooten. He’s still over yonder, somewheres. In one of them camps.” “ Really?” Jud nodded. “ Them Russians,” he grinned, “ is the onliest ones mean enough to have whupped old Wes. Me and him, we run these ridges for many a year, fishin’ and huntin’ and doin’ a little fightin’. Wes coulda whupped a hunnert Ger­ mans, Ance. Had to be the Russians. Old Wes, he’s alive, somewhere.” “ Lige got a rifle,” said Ancie. “ His daddy’s old .22 .” “ I know that gun.” Jud smiled softly. “ We shot many a squirrel, Wes usin’ that old Mossburg and me, your granddaddy’s singleshot.” He sighed. “ I hope Lige takes good care of that gun.” Jud grinned. “ Would you be hintin’ around for a real rifle instead of that Red Ryder?” Ancie shrugged. “ I wouldn’t mind.” “ Another year, maybe,” said Jud. “ For now, you’d better figger to make do with the BB gun. BBs is a sight cheaper’n .22 cartridges, for learnin’ to shoot. Come next summer, we’ll see about lettin’ you try your hand at a rifle.” Jud flexed his big hands. “ You git along, now. Your Mom was lookin for you.” **** Ancie dawdled along the walkway, then ran up the steps and burst noisily into the house. “ Ho, ho,” he said, squeaky voice creaking. “ My reindeers is parked up on the roof but the chimbly was too hot for me to slide down through it.” “ Where have you been?” demanded Druscilla. Oldest of the Wheeler children at twelve, Druscilla was gang boss to the other four. She sniffed. “ Have you been smokin’?” The Mountain Spirit

“ I been with Lige,” said Ancie. “ Over at Bald Hill.” Druscilla snorted. “ Elijah Hooten! Mom told you to be home a hour ago. Did you forget the rib­ bon?” “ I brung it.” Ancie fished a package out of his coat pocket. “ What’s so bad about Lige?” “ He lives with that nasty old man in a house with a dirt floor.” Druscilla shuddered. “ His mom run off to Ashland with Jake Willis five year ago, and Lige don’t even know if he’s got a daddy or not.” “ He does, too,” blurted Ancie. “ Lige’s daddy was a soldier, like Pop, but the Russians got him.” Druscilla’s smile was irritatingly smug. “ Lige has got a real rifle, too,” continued An­ cie. “ And, Christmas Day, him and Luther is goin’ over to Clear Ridge to hunt boars.” “ You youngens stop your bickerin’,” said Marcella Wheeler. “ Ancie, I need more wood and water. Dru, you still got ironin’ to do.” Ancie drew cold water from the well, tin bucket creaking on the wet chain, carried armloads of dry wood, and split a boxful of pine kindling. Marcella, flushed from the cookstove, smiled and wiped her hands on a long calico apron. “ Have you found us a tree, Ancie?” “ Purtiest one you ever seen,” Ancie said proud­

November-December 1984

ly. “ It’s up the creek about a mile, over by the big rockhouse.” “ Can I go help get it?” asked Druscilla. “ I don’t need no help,” said Ancie. “ Not from no girl.” “ You might get lost,” taunted Druscilla. “ Wear your boots, the both of you,” said Marcella. Dru stuck out her tongue and ran for her coat. **** They followed the creekbed, picking their way across snowcovered rocks and narrow ledges, An­ cie balancing himself on the longhandled axe. He led the way, uphill away from the creek, and was breathing hard by the time they reached the top of the ridge. “ There it is,” he gasped. “ It is pretty,” whispered Druscilla. The cone shaped cedar, five feet tall, quivered as Ancie swung the axe. “ I almost hate to cut it,” said Druscilla. Ancie shook his head. “ Girls.” He dragged the tree easily through the deep snow, downhill, as Druscilla carried the axe and led the way. She stopped, and Ancie almost ran over her. “ What is it?” he asked. “ Smoke.” Druscilla pointed. “ Cornin’ from the rockhouse,” said Ancie.

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“ Hunters, most likely.” “ On Christmas Eve?” Dru dropped the axe. “ Let’s go look.” “ Get ourselves shot if it’s bootleggers,” grumbled Ancie. He led the way, parting limbs and testing the footing. Druscilla followed in his tracks. Thick smoke billowed out from under the ledge. “ Wet wood,” whispered Ancie. They crept closer, on their bellies in the snow, and peered into the flickering darkness. “ That’s Lige,” said Ancie. He stood, “ Hey, Lige!” Elijah spun. “ Git away from here!” he wailed. Ancie stared. Elijah’s face was purpled and swollen, flecked with dried blood, and his eyes were red from crying. His frail shoulders trembled “ Git!” he screeched. Ancie edged closer, and Druscilla followed. “ What happened, Lige?” Ancie finally asked. “ None of your business,” said Elijah. “ You go on back to your Santa Claus and sissy old BB gun.” “ Elijah Hooten!” Druscilla, hands on her hips, stared Elijah down. “ Don’t you talk to my brother like that.” “ You hush, Dru,” Ancie said softly. “ Who whupped you, Lige?” “ Nobody!” spat Elijah. He turned away. “ I fell. I fell down that clift over yonder.” “ You never, either,” insisted Ancie. “ It was your grampa, wasn’t it?” Elijah hung his head. He nodded, and pointed. “ Look what else he done, Ance.” The worn walnut stock of the little rifle was splintered, savagely broken, and the rusted barrel glinted with the marks of angry pounding. “ He said my Mom was a floozy,” whimpered Elijah. “ And that Pap was a yellowbellied coward, and that I’m worser than the both of them.” “ He drunk again?” Ancie asked wearily. Elijah nodded. “ Tried to kill me. Then he beat the rifle over the stove and throwed it in the crick.” “ Luther don’t mean nothin’,” soothed Ancie. “ Everybody knows he gets drunk on Christmas. He’ll be okay when you go back.” “ I ain’t goin back,” Elijah said dully. “ Not never.” “ Well, you can’t stay here.” Druscilla briskly took over. “ Ancie, gather up Lige’s stuff. Lige, you’re comin home with us.” Elijah shook his head. “ No. I can’t.” “ Oh, yes, you can,” insisted Druscilla. She took Lige’s arm and gravely inspected his battered face. “ Mom will fix that with some fat meat.” She turned to Ancie. “ Don’t forget the axe and the tree.” **** 12

Marcella’s welcome was fretting. “ Anybody that’d beat a baby,” she muttered, “ ought to be horsewhipped.” Elijah went first into the big galvanized washtub in the pantry and emerged, scrubbed, dressed in Ancie’s too small overalls. Marcella dosed the cuts with turpentine, and sliced a piece of fatback. “ Hold this ag’in the swellin’,” she ordered. Elijah watched silently as Ancie dragged in the tree and stood it by the mantle hung with a row of wool stockings. Druscilla added one more. “ For you,” she told Elijah. He blushed. Supper was salty ham and buttered sweet potatoes, platters of pickled green beans and steaming biscuits, cobbler from canned blackber­ ries, and pitchers of milk. Elijah ate methodically, awed by the constant chatter of the younger Wheelers. “Lige has a holler leg,” said Jud. He grinned. “ Your daddy was a eater. Wes loved hot biscuits more’n any man ever walked the earth.” After supper, Jud slipped away, outside, muttering. Druscilla organized the tree decorating, and even coaxed Elijah into hanging peppermint canes on the branches. Ancie strung the new electric bulbs and stood on a chair to hook the blue plastic angel to the very top. He anxiously shoved the plug into the wall socket, then jumped back as electricity crackled and the lights flashed. The young Wheelers clapped. Elijah stared. “ Read about the baby Jesus, Momma,” pleaded the least ones. Marcella brought the leather Bible from her bedstand, and gathered the children close. “ You too, Elijah,” she ordered. He scooted closer. Marcella read, in muted tones: And Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David. To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And so she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them at the inn. And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good The Mountain Spirit

tidings of great joy, which shall be unto all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. She closed the Bible gently. “ That was mighty fine,” Jud said huskily. “ Mighty fine, Marcella.” He poured hot water from the teakettle to scrub his oily hands. “ Ain’t it high time you youngens was upstairs asleep?” He winked. “ I seen old Santy Claus flyin’ up over Sheepshead Ridge.” The three youngest scrambled for the stairs, shepherded by Druscilla. Ancie and Elijah crawled under layers of quilts. As he finally drifted off to sleep, Ancie thought he heard Elijah sobbing. *

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Jud helped Marcella stuff the stockings and lay out toys. Ancie’s BB gun, a Daisy Red Ryder car­ bine, came out from the closet. Jud reached for his coat. “ Where in the world are you goin’?” asked Marcella. “ I got to finish some work before mornin’.” Jud smiled grimly. “ That boy’s gonna have him some Christmas too.” Jud came back to the house, weary but content, an hour before daybreak. **** “ Wake up, Lige,” whispered Ancie. “ It’s Christmas.” Elijah stirred. “ I ain’t been asleep.” “ Come on,” urged Ancie. “ Let’s go see what Santa Claus brung.” Reluctantly, Elijah pulled on the faded overalls. He trailed after Ancie, holding back, listening to excited whoops. “ Ain’t no Santa Claus,” Elijah whispered fiercely. “ Look.” Ancie’s brown eyes snapped. “ Look yonder, Lige.” Elijah looked, and sucked in his breath. Leaned against the fireplace, barrel polished and blued and glistening, new maple stock still sticky with dull varnish, sat Lige’s rifle, his father’s rifle. Elijah walked closer, rubbed his eyes, squatted, and let a smile crack his swollen face. “ Your pop musta stayed up all night,” he whispered to Ancie. The stockings were full of hard rock candy and apples and oranges, and—in Elijah’s—Ancie’s big November-December 1984

bladed Barlow. “ I can’t take your knife,” said Elijah. “ It’s yourn now,” Ancie said proudly. “ Want to see my BB gun?” Elijah drew himself up tall and walked across the room to where Jud sat watching. “ I surely do thank you,” the boy said gravely. Jud smiled and nodded. Elijah squatted with Ancie as they poured BBs down into the magazine. “ You can shoot my rifle,” said Elijah. “ Soon as it gits dry.” Ancie grinned. “ I’d like that.” “ You know what, Ance?” asked Elijah “ What?” “ They really is a Santa Claus.” “ Yeah.” Ancie glanced up at Jud’s weary, warm face. “ But he don’t live up at no North Pole.” Garry Barker o f Berea, is the Communications Coordinator fo r the Appalachian Development Center at Morehead State University. 13

The CAP Closeup I f its workers were asked to describe CAP in only one word, many might come to mind, but before long you’d probably find people agreeing about the word “ changable.” CAP, as an organization that strives to meet the needs of the people of the area as they become apparent, changes as the demands arise because of the organization itself, and because of the community in which it operates. One employee who has seen CAP through many of its changes, almost since the beginning of its work, is June Lynn, a mainstay of the accounting department since 1971. Born in Lincoln County, June moved with her family to Ohio when she was twelve years old and then to Lancaster when she married. June raised her two children, Ronnie and Susan, and now has three granddaughters, whom she admits she spoils a little bit. “ I let them get by with more than I did the kids.” June had some work experience and education in business, and first started in CAP’S sales department. “ In 1971 I lived next door to Mary Purcell,” June recalls. “ She worked out at the Yellow House. She told me that they needed somebody, so I took my application in.” For a

June Lynn “Just Think About the Things That Are Right'’

number of years CAP was headquartered in a large old house in Lancaster, which Father Beiting and a group of volunteers painted with donated yellow paint. For a long time, even after CAP moved into its present location, the headquarters was know simply as “ The Yellow House.” “ I’ve liked working at CAP. I like bookkeep­ ing, and I’ve always liked most of the people, but the main reason that I’ve always stayed was to prove to myself that I could.” Today, June is primarily responsible for CAP’s payable accounts, but over the years her respon­ sibilities have varied. When there were fewer peo­ ple to divide the work, she did a lot of different jobs, sometimes simultaneously. “ I used to think that I was an awfully weak person, but now I know I can take things and not get hateful and contrary like some people can when they’re over­ worked and underpaid and nine million people all want something at the same time. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it and treat people like they were people. Most of the time,” June said. “ 99% of the time. “ I know how hard I’ve worked at CAP. And I guess I just wanted to. Just for my own personal satisfaction.” Over the years June has seen—and ac­ cepted—many changes in CAP, most which have stemmed from its tremendous growth. “ We’ve changed so much from what we used to be. It’s hard to accept that kind of change sometimes. It takes a long time. You always yearn for the days when there was just three or four and you could do it all. Sometimes it’s easier to do it all, than to see things that you’ve done before being done by

14

The Mountain Spirit

Left, June discusses a new procedure with Jean Brown, CAP’S director of purchasing. Over the years many of June’s responsibilities have been designated to new people.

“ I’m sure that CAP’S made a difference in this area. Look at the people sitting here working that wouldn’t have jobs. I know that all of the services have helped. And I know that people who wouldn’t have given CAP any credit for anything good years ago see us a little differently now.”

someone else. You don’t think they can do it as well as you used to do it. But I’ve accepted the change in CAP. I think I’ve accepted that it’s just different than what it used to be, and there are a lot more people, and they’re important. You have to look at it in a different way.”

When Father Beiting was transferred to Floyd County in 1981, June felt that that would make the most significant change in CAP, but today she sees the situation differently. “ I felt so bad, and I thought, ‘well, that’s just it.’” But one of CAP’S first workers, George Purcell, from Jackson County, helped June to put things into perspec­ tive. “ He said to never get discouraged, to think that CAP hasn’t done some good. He said it has, and that no matter what, just think about the things that are right.” And June has done just that. She’s thought about the things that are right with CAP, tried to do her work a little bit better with every change, and most of all June has always treated people like CAP. people.

Gabriel

But, for all the change June still sees CAP as a family. “ It would have to get to be a really dif­ ferent place for me to quit looking at it personally. It hasn’t grown that much. It’s changed a lot but it hasn’t changed that much! “ There’s just such a great difference between then and now. Over at the Yellow House there was a big outside porch, and you could get to the roof from the outside window. One afternoon at break time, all the girls got out on the top of the roof of the porch and yelled and carried on. I don’t think we’d do that anymore. We’ve sort of grown up. We’ve gotten a little more dignified.” But, CAP doesn’t have a porch anymore, either. June knows of one area that has remained con­ stant. “ The volunteers haven’t changed. They do things differently now that we have a volunteer coordinator. But the volunteers are the same. They come with the same ideas and dreams,” June smiled. “ Some of them turn in their invoices bet­ ter than others, but I can’t tell that much dif­ ference in the volunteers. I believe they all come with the idea of helping somebody else. I think they did then, and they do now.

Right, June checks through some of the accounts that she keeps balanced on a daily basis.

November-December 1984

15

News o f Our Neighbors

“ This Is Harlan’s Thing” by the CAP News Service

Above, the house where Myrtle Moore lived with her son. Below, the new house built by COAP.

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F o r many years Myrtle Moore lived with her son, Jack, in a small delapidated house near the Harlan County flood plain. They lived without electricity or indoor plumbing and heated and cooked with the same fireplace. The ravages of several floods remains evident. About fifty yards from the small shack is the new house where Myr­ tle and Jack will live as soon as a well is dug to provide water. The four room house is the result of the cooperative effort of volunteer groups from Missouri and Tennessee, under the direction of Willard Ebersole and Mike Hale, of Christian Outreach for Appalachian People, a Harlan County based non-profit housing construction business which addresses the housing needs of Harlan County’s poor. COAP, first known as Christian Family Hous­ ing, has been a presence in Harlan County since the flood of 1977, one of the worst in Harlan’s history. It grew simultaneously with another selfhelp agency in Harlan County, Christian Family Services which addresses emergency needs of the people of the county, or as the staff would say, “ we try to meet the need of the person who walks through the door.” The need may be material, emotional, or spiritual, and through their resources, or other resources in the county the people know that they have friends who can and will help them when they have a need. Shortly after the 1977 flood, a group of volunteers began working in Harlan County to assist the people in repairing the damages that homes sustained due to high water. Christian Family Services corrected much of the work that had been done for the people by shady or fly-bynight contractors. They were assisted by people who donated materials, and volunteers helped keep the labor costs to a minimum. At that time Christian Family Housing was existing under the umbrella of Christian Family Services until it could form its own board, and become established in its own right. The increase of work and federal grant money proved to be the motivating factor for Mike Hale to establish COAP as an entity of its own in October of 1983. The purpose of the organization—to provide housing with dignity to the people of Harlan County—remains the same, although the name and board are now different. There remains a great spirit of cooperation be­ tween Christian Family Services and COAP. They share their headquarters, and refer clients to each other when the need arises. The strength of both organizations lies in the fact that they are grass roots efforts, and have grown out of the response that Harlan Countians have made to their neighbors. Juanita Todd, one The Mountain Spirit

then we’ll be here. Unless it’s a local effort, it could dry up after we’re gone.” Juanita, and two friends of Christian Family Services, Mitch and Sissy Coldiron, dropped by to talk about their involvement in the two organiza­ tions. Although Harlan is their home, they see clearly the problems they face, as well as the joys of living in the mountains. Juanita was simple and straightforward about why she likes Harlan. “ It’s something about these mountains and the water that you keep coming back. Everywhere I’ve been the water is terrible. I don’t mean no reflections on the cities, but it’s ter­ rible. It has too much chlorine, or whatever they put in it. You can taste it, and it smells when you turn the faucet on. But now here, you drink it right out of the tap, and you don’t have to refrigerate it.”

Juanita Todd

of COAP’s original board members succinctly ex­ plained, “ we’re just Christians working together. It’s self-help. You do so much, and they do so much and working together we get the job done.” Juanita and Agnes Moczarnik, a Christian Family Services staff member and COAP board member form the core of the Publicity and Fund­ raising Committee and are currently planning one of their most ambitious undertakings, to date. “ We’re inviting people of the community to learn about us at a dinner,” Agnes said. “ We want them to know about us, and to help us in whatever way, whether it’s talents, treasures, or time. This will be all local people—church, civic, and just the rank and file. People who want to know about us and could be of support prayerfully, or whichever way they could see themselves.” “ We want people who can work,” Mike said. “ That’s why I wanted Juanita. She has not missed a board meeting; these are the kind of people we need.” “ Juanita is a native of Harlan,” Agnes added. “ She knows what has been here before. With local support, this is going to be our thing,” Agnes stated. “ It’s going to be the Harlan County thing. After we go, it’s going to still be here.” “ The basic idea is that it doesn’t matter what staff persons are here,” Mike explained. “ If the community sees this as an asset, as a valuable tool, November-December 1984

While Sissy agreed that the water in Harlan was worth staying around for, she said, “ people care about people here. No matter where you go around here, you run into somebody. If you don’t know somebody when you go in there, you’ll know somebody before you leave. They’re friend­ ly.” Agnes moved to Harlan several years ago. “ As an outsider, I can say that that’s the thing that really impressed me immediately, the warmth of the people, and their friendliness. If they have half a loaf of bread, you’re invited to dinner with them.” All agreed that the one thing they would change about Harlan would be the employment situation. Harlan, like most of Eastern Kentucky is a one industry area. When that industry—coal—is unstable it effects every resident of the county. “ When you work you have security that you don’t have when you’re not working,” Juanita said. “ There used to be good money made in Harlan. People could work seven days a week in the mines, if they wanted to. That’s what kept a lot of people here.” In doing so, people established roots. They see problems, and they’re willing to roll up their sleeves to solve those problems, and make their community a better place. A place to be proud of, a place to raise children in the important values of life. “ The churches don’t say, ‘we’re this church or that church’,” Juanita said. “ We’re just a bunch of Christian people working together. It doesn’t matter what church you belong to. If somebody needs help and you can help them, then that’s what you do. And that’s what keeps people in small communities.” cap. 17

Letters I enjoy reading your magazine and watching the progress you are making. Especially liked the story “ The Liberation of Elsie Watts,” and hope you will print some more by Garry Barker. The picture of the house by Mitchell D. Tolle is exactly like I remember them as I travelled through Kentucky 50 years ago. You could see the vapors rising from the moonshine stills in the hills and the people were scared to talk to you, thinking you were government revenue agents. Kentucky is a beautiful state. Mrs. Margaret Pitner Chicago, IL

Since Reverend Ralph Beiting stepped out years ago, on little more than faith, a dream, and a shoe string to finance his efforts he has become an inspiration to our fellow people. He set out in faith and the Lord was the Lamp at his feet. The Lord has truly blessed his efforts beyond even his wildest dream and he has become a legend in his own time. Father Beiting, with the assistance of many willing hands, plus the thousands of warm hearted sup­ porters throughout this great nation and elsewhere, shows what faith, perseverance, and love will ac­ complish. I enjoy the Mountain Spirit very much, and I am requesting a gift subscription for a dear friend. William E. Welsh Triangle, Va

I enjoy the magazine very much. I look forward to getting it and to know of the fine people that live there. The world is so full of sin to­ day that the magazine restores my faith and gives me a real lift. Thank you so much. God bless and keep all of you safe in his love. Mrs. LeotaL. Brant Los Angeles, Ca 18

I’ve just read the last issue of the Mountain Spirit magazine telling about the rough time you’ve all had during the flood. Sadness filled my heart as I read about the destruction of so many homes and buildings and loss of lives. And yet you have the courage to plan repairing and rebuilding. More power to you! May the check I’m enclosing add a little to the power and great for­ titude that well be needed for the giant size job that’s ahead of you. I was especially interested and pleased to read about Camp Cliffview, designed for the deaf children. How wonderful for them! We have a daughter who is deaf and went to Lexington School for the Deaf in New York City. She now has a son who has been blessed with hearing. He’s six years old and mastered the sign language to communicate with his parents, and also speech for his own benefit. I shall pray that all of your efforts will be blessed, so that things there will soon be back in good shape. Beatrice Elder Hershey, PA My Irish forebearers passed on to me the tradition of helping others, and of embracing worthwhile causes such as encouraging and helping others to help themselves who, perhaps cannot help themselves when acting alone. When younger and still in the white collar jungle (and fortunate to be there) both my husband and I endeavored to lighten the burdens of others. Henry E. Miller said, “ when one assists others, they forget their own trials and tribulations.”

work among you all. I share many of the events in the lives of these dear people because I have been there. Sometime in our life we all have to lean, but then God blesses us to be lifted along the way. I loved the story of “ Elsie Watts” and shared it with many women. Who else could understand more than us? Bonnie East Hot Springs, AR I came to Chicago during the Depression to work but never forgot that I am a Kentuckian. It is a great feeling to know that at last something is being done to help these beautiful people. I promise to do all that I possibly can in the future. I have a granddaughter teaching in Berea, Kentucky and loves it. I hope to visit her in a few weeks. I love the Mountain Spirit. Love to all. Nancy Angelos Oak Forest, IL

We especially enjoy your magazine and your organization, as our son, Steve, was a CAP volunteer for almost 2 years. Last summer and this summer he was a counselor at Camp AJ. Through his volunteer work he has chosen to redirect his college education to teacher certification and wants to teach science at the high school level in Kentucky. He has truly found a home in your beautiful state and we are delighted. We love it, too! Mr. and Mrs. R. M. Pescosolido Pocasset, MA

Edith Kelly Miller Omaha, NE

Letters to the editor are welcome.

I appreciate deeply the true stories of the mountain people, knowing the work they are doing to help themselves and the spiritual vic­ tories. Surely God is doing a loving

They should not exceed 150 words in length, and we reserve the right to edit them fo r space. Address letters to The Mountain Spirit, Christian Appalachian Project, 322 Crab Or­ chard Road, Lancaster, Kentucky 40446. The Mountain Spirit

around

theproject

by the CAP News Service

CAP Welcomes New Volunteers

Wreath Sales Take A New Turn

CLIFFVIEW LODGE—CAP’S six­ teen new volunteers were commis­ sioned to one year of service to the Appalachian people at a potluck supper and vesper service the even­ ing of October 19, 1984

LANCASTER—The Christm as wreath sales department is receiving a helping hand this year from several groups in Kentucky. CAP has contacted schools and outreach groups to join in a cooperative ef­ fort to sell its wreaths, which are manufactured in Tyner, Kentucky.

Father Ralph Beiting spoke to the volunteers and a group of guests which included former volunteers and CAP employees. In his talk, “ You Are a Holy Nation,” he em­ phasized the fact that the volunteers have been called to a special and vital mission. This newest crop of volunteers in­ cludes folks whose experience ranges from education to business administration. They are now work­ ing in CAP’S various child develop­ ment centers, elderly programs, handicapped workshops, and as teachers at the Mountain Christian Academy. Nearly all of the group believes that they will sow more than they will reap from the experiences they will have as volunteers with CAP, but in the short amount of time they have been working their spirit has added a new vitality to the work of CAP. May God bless their hearts to His love and their hands to His ser­ vice.

In Kentucky, Lexington Catholic High School, Holy Family School in Ashland, St. Agatha Academy in Winchester, Methodist Mountain Mission, and Cumberland College Mountain Outreach have agreed to work with CAP, selling wreaths to their friends and benefactors. Tampa Jesuit High School in Florida will take on the project under the direction of Father Bill Kidwell, a longtime CAP supporter and volunteer. Each year during Holy Week, for the past ten years or so, Father Kidwell has made a trip to Kentucky with as many as twenty of his students. The wreath depart­ ment is happy to have the benefit of his services for this project. The program will benefit the sellers as well as CAP. For each wreath sold, the sponsoring organization will receive $4.00. Jesse Moore, CAP’S contact for the project estimates that 5000 wreaths

Father Beiting speaks to the new volunteers and their guests.

November-December 1984

A Jackson Countian handcrafts a CAP wreath from native pine.

will sell through the various groups, in addition to those that will be marketed through CAP’S direct mail service. Jack Morris, CAP’s coordinator of community relations has been the liaison for Methodist Mountain Mission and Cumberland College Mountain Outreach. “ It’s an effort that benefits both groups, and the people that both serve. It provides employment for the people in the wreath factory, and financial sup­ port for the sales group. My guess is that Mountain Outreach will use the money to build a home for a family. If they were to raise $3500 they could, with donated materials and labor, frame up a home for someone.” If your school or organization is interested in selling wreaths for the season of 1985, as a fund raising project, please contact Bill Watson, 322 Crab Orchard Rd., Lancaster, Kentucky 40446 for details. 19

around the p ro je ct . . . continued

FLC Recreation On The Upswing RENFRO VALLEY—For more than three years the facilities at the Family Life Center have been of­ fered to the residents of Rockcastle County for various recreational and social functions. The Family Life Center began by making the facilities available to families for reunions. Now, in addi­ tion to family reunions and gettogethers, the grounds are used by local basketball leagues and for high school dances. By increasing the availability of the center to local groups, the Family Life Center hopes to stimulate more use of the facilities by local groups. This past summer the men’s basketball league involved 110 men from Rockcastle and Lincoln coun­ ties, Berea and Lexington, accor­ ding to Jody Harrison, who schedules the various activities. A mixed basketball league was added in the summer of 1984, with 35 men and women participants. Jody says that there is a family reunion, sometimes two, nearly every weekend during the summer. Because the FLC center can ac­ comodate as many as sixty people. This type of recreation can be made available to families at a very reasonable cost. Future dreams include hiring a full time recreation director who will work with each program at the FLC, manage the pavillions on the complex, develop the camping grounds, assess the recreational needs of Rockcastle County, and develop family oriented recreation programs, according to Moe Mer­ cier, Director of Human Develop­ ment for CAP. These dreams, however, depend on available money, and some renovations. Although some of the dreams may be a long time in com­ ing to reality, they are, nevertheless exciting and full of possiblities. 20

Students at the Mountain Christian Academy receive individualized attention.

Mountain Christian Academy Starts Second Year of Operation MARTIN—On the first day of the second school year for the Mountain Christian Academy suc­ cess took the form of a traffic jam on Highway 80, which runs past the school. The increase of enrollment for the ’84-’85 school year was so great that traffic on the four lane road was congested at the beginning and end of the day. MCA enrollment, which closed last year with about 145 students, has grown to nearly 300 for the cur­ rent year, and curriculum for 10th graders has been added. The Christian emphasis of the MCA begins each morning with prayer and non-denominational religion classes. Strong emphasis is placed on the desire to blend children from all denominations into a vital Chris­ tian force in Floyd County Father Ralph Beiting, who serves on the board for the MCA and teaches religion to the ninth graders, reflected that “ we are not ignored. What our kids will do is going to

reflect itself in the public school system. We’re not trying to build a better basketball team, we’re not going to build a bigger football field. We can’t compete in those areas, and don’t even want to. But if they learn how to do things, to get happiness out of life, to put a family together, that’s where they’re going to get some real affirmation.” It is due to the involvement of the parents of children enrolled in the MCA that such great success has been attained in such a short amount of time. The majority of the board for the school is comprised of parents, and most of the decision making is done by this core group of people. Since its inception the MCA has strived for an equal blend of all of the factors of the Floyd County area. The school is not designed to serve only poor children, rich children, handicapped children, middle class children. The goal is to maintain a balanced representation of the county. In order to acheive this balance on an economic level, a substantial amount of money goes to furnish scholarships for low in­ come children, which covers the MCA tuition of $1100 per year. The Mountain Spirit

around the p ro je c t . . . continued

Successful Education Programs Begin in Rockcastle County RENFRO VALLEY—After less than two months of operation, a new community education center at the Family Life Center has met with success. On the evening of October 2, Nivra Seeters and Betty McFarron, both of Rockcastle County, were awarded GED (high school equivalency) certification by the Rockcastle County Board of Educa­ tion. The school held its first session August 15, 1984 with 30 students, all citizens of Rockcastle County with a desire to complete their high school educations. Included in the student body is a 69-year-old grand­ mother and a teenager, whose employer rearranged her work schedule to allow her to attend classes. Although the original enrollment has dropped slightly, more people are expressing their in­ terest, and the school is planning to expand its capabilities in order to meet the demands. The Family Life Center School became possible when CAP closed the Rockcastle House Group Home, its program for 13-15 year old delin­ quent youth. The education staff was still holding classes for the older boys in Rood House, but their classes were scheduled in the even­ ings, after work time. The free time of the staff and the facility during the day prompted Moe Mercier, director of Human Development, and Debbie Bugg, education coor­ dinator, to consider opening classes to the community at large. With a minimal amount of advertising, the response from Rockcastle County was overwhelming. “ Our first two graduates came to classes working on the 11th or 12th grade level,” Debbie said, “ although they only finished school through the eighth grade.” November-December 1984

The school is currently staffed by two employees and two volunteers. One of the volunteers, presently working part time, may increase to a full time teacher, when the need arises. “ If everything works out, we’d like have the Rood House and Camp Nelson Group Home boys at­ tending the school during the day,” Moe explained. Currently, the boys are working during the day and at­ tending school four nights a week, for a total of twelve hours. “ We’d like to give them six hours a day, two days a week. I feel that this will put more balance into our group home system, and it will free up the evenings for more growth periods [i.e., writing in daily journals, counseling time]. If we can make the changes, we’ll have a better balance between education, counseling, and recreation.” The new Group Home education schedule will allow the school to of­ fer evening as well as day classes to the community, which has been re­ quested by many men and women in Rockcastle County, who are not able to attend day classes due to work schedules. A 1983 report in US News and World Report placed the 5th Con­ gressional District of Kentucky, of which Rockcastle County is a part, very last of all congressional districts in percentage of high school graduates. While it must be noted that many of the county’s high school graduates must move from the area to find work the report still points out a very great need for an increase in adult education pro­ grams in the county. The response of the residents of Rockcastle Coun­ ty has been an indication to CAP that there is not only a need for in­ crease, but a great deal of interest among the people. CAP is fortunate that through its kind benefactors, it is able to address and try to meet those needs.

‘TIS THE SEASON FOR GIVING . . .

Send today for your free copy of “ December Giving. . . 10 Ways.” This booklet encourages careful thought of year-end gifts and describes 10 satisfying ways of giving to the Christian Ap­ palachian Project.

clip and mail today in the enclosed envelope

Christian Appalachian Project 322 Crab Orchard Road Lancaster, Kentucky 40446 (

) Please send, without obliga­ tion, a complimentary copy your booklet, “ December Giving . . . 10 Ways.”

N am e___________ Address _________ C ity_____________ State_________ ZIP

21

Father Ralph Beiting

Mr. Harry Caudill

W e N eed C o m m u n ity — B ut H ow ?

by the C AP N ews Service

Photos by Margaret Gabriel

22

The Mountain Spirit

The Mountain Spirit staff had the great fortune, one day in early September, to listen to a conver­ sation between CAP’S president, Father Ralph Belting, and Mr. Harry Caudill, author o f Night Comes to the Cumberlands, one o f Appalachia’s most respected writers and historians. Mr. Caudill, a graduate o f the University o f Kentucky College o f Law, practiced law in his native Whitesburg fo r a number o f years, served in the Kentucky House o f Representatives fo r six years, and is currently a faculty member in the History Department o f the University o f Kentucky in Lexington. Their conversation covered many areas, in­ cluding the current state o f the coal industry and its implications fo r the mountains, but presented here are the highlights o f the their discussion about the past and present influence o f church and religion on Eastern Kentucky. Ed. —

The Mountain Spirit: How has the church fit into the lives of Eastern Kentuckians, historically? Mr. Caudill: Well, first of all it has its social aspects for people in the old, rural Appalachia. They didn’t call it church, they said, ‘let’s go to meeting.’ Life was pretty bleak, very bleak down in those communities. They were almost totally isolated. People today have little comprehension or grasp of what life was like before the Second World War. If you went anywhere, you walked through the creek, or on little paths. The equivalent of the family car was not a wagon, it was a sleigh. You hitched up a mule to the sleigh, and if you really loved your wife, and wanted her to go with you, you put a chair on the sleigh and let her sit in it and you walked alongside the mule and took her to church or wherever. That was the way you got out of the holler. There were women in Eastern Kentucky who really never went anywhere. I know one old lady, my grandmother’s sister, who hadn’t seen her own sister—less than three miles away—in five years. They were isolated on those farms, because there was no way to travel. Church, when they could get to it, was an opportunity to meet neighbors and to see peo­ ple other than family. Fr. Beiting: I think, too, that the church gave them some kind of reinforcement for the misery that they were going through. The church kept saying, ‘don’t worry about misery. There’s going to be heaven.’

to heaven, and all that material stuff is bad anyway. If you don’t have it, don’t worry about it. It’s a blessing.’ MS: Even though we continue to find a certain amount of isolation in the mountains, that situa­ tion has certainly changed in the last twenty to twenty-five years. So, you think that these changes can lead to an increase in communication between the various churches? Fr. Beiting: If you’re well fed and a little bit healthy and have a chance to travel around, you have a tendency to be a little bit more ecumenical. But if you are poor and you don’t have a great deal and you’re worried about how to make ends meet, then you really don’t have much inclination toward ecumenism. You’re basically dealing with survival. MS: Do you see these inclinations in the mountain counties? Fr. Beiting: There are various umbrella groups, the largest one, I think, is the Commission on Religion in Appalachia, which came out of a large census taken of the 285 Appalachian counties in 1955. They wanted to see if we couldn’t blend those various religious groups in some cooperative fashion. It’s struggling., but while the Methodists are there in great force, and the Presbyterians, and so forth, when you come to the local congrega­ tions, they have no connection with CORA at all. While their upper echelon people are deeply com­ mitted, I don’t see it reflected on a lower pastoral or congregational level. MS: Why is that? Fr. Beiting: I think it’s the independency of the local mountain churches, to a degree. I went to a local ministerial association meeting recently, and told about some of CORA’s studies regarding baptism, and how we should relate to each other’s baptism, accepting into our various congregations one who has been a member of another, and the ministers said, ‘don’t bring that name up around any of the people in our congregations!’ They associate the Kentucky Council of Churches with the National and World Councils and they’re con­ vinced—rightly or wrongly—that they’re com­ munistic and support left wing causes. But here’s an organization that’s based primarily in Protes­ tant history, and yet our own established churches in Eastern Kentucky have nothing to do with it.

Mr. Caudill: Exactly.

MS: Mr. Caudill, can you tie that reluctance to the culture of the Appalachian people in general? Is this a typical reaction?

Fr. Beiting: And, as a consequence, it was kind of a narcotic. So the church took their minds off what they were enduring and said, ‘you’re going

Mr. Caudill: I’m sure Father Beiting is well aware of the fact that in the years before the movement got underway to ‘save the Appalachian moun-

November-December 1984

23

tains,’ this was regarded as a heathen country. They were an unchurched people, but I think they were a very religious people in the sense that they had a pro-religious culture. And I think that is true today. I have a very fine student who wrote a paper for me about one of the mountain counties. He was from that county, working on his masters’ degree. I asked him to find out—if he could—how many people belonged to churches of any kind, how many were in average attendance on a Sun­ day. Well, this young man went back to his home county, he made a complete list of all the churches in the county, starting with the two or three mainline Protestant churches in the county seat. Then he went creek by creek and he took all of those churches that had been formed out in the various communities that had just sprung up, sort of like mushrooms. And he found, by actual count, that about 2°7o of the people in that whole county were on a church membership roll. Then for three Sundays, he went to each church after a meeting and he got the minister to give him a number of the people who had come. He found that that amounted to about 1% of the total population of the county. Now that’s an excep­ tional county, but he pointed out that these people do share a matrix of beliefs. First of all, they’re more Old Testament people. Mary plays very little part. She’s just a woman who came along and had a baby. The big figures are God and Jesus. And there’s a hell and it’s a hot and burning, firey hell, like you build in a fireplace. You go there and you stay forever and ever and ever, if you make the mistakes to go. And you can get forgiven right up to the end. They differ on the doctrinal grounds, on the question of ‘can you backslide? Can you fall away?’ Some say you can, some say you can’t. They’ve been divided on that issue for hundreds of years. But within those limits, they all share the same beliefs. But, I think that, at least in my home county, that the old fundamentalist churches are beginning to undergo significant changes. They’re beginning to set up Sunday schools, which shows a change in doctrine.

tion from doctrine. The whole idea of “ freewill Baptist” would have been contradictory thirty or forty years ago. A man did not have freewill. Now, everywhere you look, in the coal fields at least, you see freewill Baptist churches in big numbers. But you know, Father Beiting, I find these days, that practically nobody knows anything about his doctrine. They’re in church, but they don’t know what church stands for. Fr. Beiting: It’s the truth. You go because this is where your folks went, or this is what’s expected of you. I never hear a discussion on dogma. I had an interesting experience this summer when I was street preaching. We were outside of Lovely, and while I was preaching in Beauty—you come to Beauty before you get to be Lovely—a minister I know stopped to listen. We’d worked together on several things over the years, but he’d been thrown out of his church, a mission church from In­ dianapolis. He had no real church in which to go, but he was a fine man, dedicated to helping peo­ ple, and a sincere Christian. He told me that he’s now working with the Calvary Temple in Lovely, and asked if I’d like to see it. Well, they’d taken the face off a mountain, and ended up with two or three acres of flat land along side the road. Then they built a church to seat 650 people. They have Sunday school rooms, and a hall and out in the parking lot were four buses. I said, ‘Chuck, how old is this church?’ He said, ‘we’ll be a year old in October.’ I asked how things were going, and he told me they’d lost their preacher three months earlier. The interesting thing—because it runs con-

Fr. Beiting: You’re seeing a significant number of new schools started by fundamentalist religions. Mr. Caudill: Yes. Fr. Beiting: There is a religious instinct there that is interesting, because of the fact that, traditional­ ly, they didn’t educate their children in religious matters. MS: Are these developments a move back to preserve the old ways and the old beliefs? Won’t it hamper an attempt to bring cooperation between churches? Mr. Caudill: I think it represents two or three things. In the first place, it represents diversifica­ 24

The Mountain Spirit

trary to what we both just said—is this. I didn’t want to pry, but I said, ‘I’m sorry that you had your division. I’m sure it’s none of my business to ask.’ He said, ‘oh, you can ask. We threw the preacher out for heresy.’ I thought to myself, ‘I thought Catholics were the only people who burned people at the stake for heresy.’ But the preacher felt that he could speak in tongues, and the spirit would come down and take him over, and as good Baptists they didn’t believe that, so they threw him out. Mr. Caudill: I said a while ago that people didn’t know the doctrine, but I was speaking of the mainline churches in the county seats. These little splinter groups do. That’s what brings them up. It’s doctrine rather than fellowship. I asked the minister of a large Baptist church not long ago, ‘does your church adhere to predestination or freewill?’ And he was completely at a loss. He, of course, is a graduate of a seminary somewhere, but hadn’t considered that. I think that is true frequently. MS: Can the cooperation that is necessary to get people talking together be imposed by an outside group? Mr. Caudill: The nearest thing that we have to im­ possible is getting Kentucky mountaineers to cooperate in groups in any way. Political groups, religious groups, civil groups, right on up. They’re the most individualistic people in the world and it’s their downfall. Fr. Beiting: What I’ve been saying to the people is

that the function of the church is to create com­ munity. To create a feeling, living, vital people who’re concerned about God’s concerns. If we create that, then we’re going to see that we love our neighbor, share our resources, and do all the other things that are good. What we have almost always done is polarized individual groups. We have surveyed these people until they are almost blue in the face. We’ve catalogued them, and we’ve had everybody come in, so that now they’re used to people who only stay around two or three years, and they go and then a new group comes in. But I’ve been impressed by the effort that’s been put forth by Floyd Countians who’ve worked on starting the Mountain Christian Academy. My thought in starting it was to blend. We wanted to have an equal blend of what that county was all about. And I’ve been impressed that here, after a year of working together, there’s been an outward manifestation of concern about different groups of people I don’t think they would have given two hoots about before. People asked me, ‘how are you going to get all of those ministers to work together?’ I said, “ I’m not going to talk to the ministers. I’m going to talk to the people. They’re the ones with the kids.’ And they’ve said, ‘these are our kids. We’re tired of them being on the bot­ tom of the barrel of education and everything else. This man is talking about our kids, and that’s what we’re interested in.’ Mr. Caudill: That’s a revolutionary idea right there. Fr. Beiting: I’ve never seen this before in all my years in Eastern Kentucky. We’re touching those kids, whether they’re rich or poor or whatever. The people know that the Christian Appalachian Project has helped to make the building possible, and all they have to do is keep it running. It’s a big job, but nevertheless, it’s there. And they’re all going to work together as friends to try to pro­ mote their kids. MS: You make the Mountain Christian Academy sound like an atypical notion for Eastern Ken­ tucky, but it seems so logical. Why is that? Fr. Beiting: At one time Tom Ford, one of the professors at the University of Kentucky, wrote a book on the religions of Appalachia, and it was his contention that the biggest cause of division in Eastern Kentucky was the churches. I don’t know how you feel about that, Harry, but he made a strong case that it was always divisive. Mr. Caudill: Well, I think that’s true historically. I think a lot of it was due to prestige on the part of the preachers. I know that in politics in the moun­ tains, the old time country preachers would start to get a little bit too much prestige and that would carry over into politics. He’d influence the votes

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of his flock. That would cause the other preacher to turn his, and if he supported somebody then he’d have all the other people against him. That kind of pettiness was terribly widespread. Fr. Beiting: I think that some way we have to build community. There’s been a lot of talk about it, but I see, even in the programs that came out of the Great Society and the New Frontier and a lot of other things, that we just kind of organized so that we could shoot better at the other side. Mr. Caudill: Let me ask all of you, how can you build community in a society in which we are con­ stantly sloughing off whole segments of the population? In the coal fields you have the coal companies and you have the coal miners. While they might fight each other at contract time, they’ll stick together on the issues because that’s for coal. For example, a big enemy in the coal field is the man who comes to see that the mine safety laws are enforced. The very man who’s safety is at stake will be hostile, frequently. How do you build community among people who are totally demoralized after they’re off from work, or after their trailer rusts, after the roof gets leaky, after the children become ragged, after the wife’s clothing becomes outmoded, and so on. They lose all sense of worth. Fr. Beiting: We have to take every segment of that society and transform it, but it’s a most difficult thing to do. All we thought we needed to end poverty was money, but it won’t work. What we need to do is change the attitude of the people towards money. And if we try to change that, then we don’t have greed. That’s going to be a tremen­ dously difficult thing, because we’re talking about national corporations, and people who have power in foreign lands who have control of our destinies. But I think that we have to try, and we’ve got to start getting people talking together. But you’re right. You can’t ignore economics. People have to have a job. If the people don’t have any future, it’s very difficult to build com­ munity. You’ve got to have hope, but you have to be able to take root and grow. Without hope, nothing happens. But churches are not changing the people. We’re not saying to the people, ‘we have to work. We have to change. We have to create a new thing.’ The New Testament says, ‘you are a new creation, you are a new people. You know, you must come up with a new plan that is God’s plan. It’s going to be difficult, no question about it. But I think that if enough of us got an exciting part of that dream, and we can get some younger people to keep it alive, we might have a chance. MS: What are some of the things the churches will have to do to bring this change about? 26

Fr. Beiting: I can only speak for my own church, but I think that we have to be sure enough in our own belief that we’re not frightened by whatever happens in another church. I see it so often. Some­ body gets a little bit bigger than we do and we get frightened. I always hear ministers say, ‘how many people did you have in Sunday services?’ That number is the important thing, and not the community. Attendance is a mathematical way for us to determine, in our modern United States society, how successful we are. We gauge things like that and we begin to be concerned. If so many more people go to that church than go to mine, then somehow or other that guy is my enemy. He, in some way, is reflecting on my inadaquacy. Mr. Caudill: I’ll tell you another thing that I think is important to consider, and that is the complete reorganization and structure of society in a physical sense. Forty years ago Eastern Kentucky was a society of small towns. Well, they’re now building the rural highway system, and opening up new mines and new prosperity, and the outpour­ ing of welfare, and all the rest. People have relocated themselves. They’ve become non-rural. But they’re not building in town. The growth in Pike, Letcher, and Floyd counties is along the new main streets, which are these rural highways. They stretch right up to the head of the holler, and then you can see these houses, built sometimes like steps, all over the hill. We need county govern­ ment, at a minimum. What we really need to do is move toward a time when we can consolidate these counties, bigger counties that can operate more ef­ fectively, and govern from border to border. So you elect a group of men and women who can sit down and assume the responsibilities of seeing that these places have police protection, adequate schools, water facilities and all the rest. The way it is now, we’re trying to run a modern state that is seething with change, with institutions and ideals of 1607. The present system was implanted into Virginia with John Smith and the attitude hasn’t grown a bit. Fr. Beiting: I think it’s coming. But Frankfort [Kentucky’s state capital] isn’t going to change it. If the people aren’t ready for it, why should we try to change our constitution? Nobody will vote for it. But we have to change that community. I’m trying to get these ministers to say, ‘let’s not just preach Presbyterianism or Catholicism or Methodism.’ Although that’s fine, and we don’t want to stop doing that. But we there’s something bigger and broader and more exciting. To bring the people to the realization that we are God’s people and stewards of the land. We have to care and share and develope the change that’s not here. We need to determine the best way. We can’t stand still. The Mountain Spirit

1984!! W hat a Year! Please excuse the pride we felt here at the Mountain Spirit w hen we looked back at the p a st y e a r. W e ’ve m e t som e g re a t folks—those you see here, and m any others. A nd w e’ve h ad the o p p o rtu n ity to share those people w ith you . . . th eir w isdom and insight, b u t m ost of all, ju s t their everyday lives. W e believe th a t everyone has a story to tell, gifts to share . . . and often the m ost seem ingly o rd in ary people have the m ost ex trao rd in ary things to say! W e look forw ard to in tro d u cin g you to m any m ore people in 1985, an d w ould like to give you this o p p o rtu n ity to share these folks w ith yo u r fam ily an d friends.

As an “ E n d of the Y e a r” bonus to our Mountain Spirit fam ily w e’re offering two C h ristm as subscriptions for only $9.00, th a t’s $1.00 off the usual price! A nd your gift will be an n o u n ced w ith a lovely C h ristm as card, if we receive y o u r order before D ecem ber 17. T h in k of the folks you know w h o ’d love to receive six issues of the Mountain Spirit in 1985. W e ’ve learned th at older people especially love o u r stories ab o u t the m o u n ­ tains an d h er people. So, d o n ’t delay! Fill out the coupon in the fold of m agazine, telling us your C h ristm as gift list, an d w e’ll see th a t the spirit of C hristm as love goes to yo u r friends all th ro u g h o u t the com ing year!

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