My Grandfather

    It was Saturday morning in Emmanuel Holler, and my grandfather, Steve Blankenship, was preparing to go to his shift picking and digging coal at the mine. He drank a cup of coffee, ate his breakfast and did his constitution in the one-holer. He washed his hands and face, put on his coveralls, and placed his silver-colored hard hat on his head. This hat had a carbide light mounted on the front top that looked like a third eye, to illuminate the tight space of the dark mine.

   Steve was a hardworking, honest man with a sturdy stature and a powerful build. He had thick and dark curly hair, and his high cheekbones and dark eyes gave away that he was a quarter Cherokee. He was very strong and his daughter Thelma’s husband Bill Lovett had remarked that he had seen Steve pull out fence posts with his bare hands. He was ready to go to work, and it was time.

    “I love you,” he told his wife Ida as he hugged her.

    He looked over at his youngest children, Ted, Steve, Martha, Norma, and Lorene, sitting at the table still eating their breakfast.

    “I’ll see you when I get off,” he said to them, and then he told them loud enough for everybody in the holler to hear that he loved them.

    He’d received a bigger check than usual yesterday because he also worked last Saturday. The company had formulated a mandatory overtime plan which did not include time and a half, a non-existent concept at the time. This plan required all the miners to work every other Saturday. The company told the men that was how they would meet the increased demand for coal. They had to work out the rotation among themselves.

    As he had worked the previous Saturday, it should have been his day off. However, his young coworker, Danny Slater, was getting married and had requested a day’s reprieve. The company refused unless Danny found someone to work for him. He asked Steve, telling him he would be eternally grateful and would return the favor if Steve ever needed it.

    Being a lifelong Christian, Steve agreed, but not because of the promise of a return favor. Steve did it because he knew it was hard to find joy and helping others was the quickest way to do it. He was grateful for life and tried to make the lives of those around him better. That was why he felt exceptionally good on that day.

    He stepped out onto the porch and gazed at the beautiful mountains. They were covered with poplar, oak and maple trees. He breathed in deeply the sweet scents of magnolia and roses and detected the musty smell of echinacea. In the spring and summer, these aromas relaxed Steve on his morning walk to work.

    He took the two steps down off the porch, trudged up the bank to the road, and went south towards the mines.

    He passed the Lovett place and felt hopeful. His daughter Thelma was living there with his grandson Luke, her husband Bill Lovett, and his family. He felt Thelma and Luke were being treated kindly by the Lovetts and he felt no animosity towards them or anyone. Bill had been trying to work and had landed a few jobs baling hay and plowing fields.

    He saw Bill’s father Henry sitting in a rocking chair on the porch, and Henry waved and smiled in a friendly manner. Thelma, Luke and Bill were all standing on the porch next to Henry, and Bill joined in the good mornings. It seemed to Steve that everyone was warmer today than usual, as if they were truly glad to see him.

    Thelma came off the old rickety porch and ran to the road to speak with her father. They hugged gently and each felt the father-daughter love that instantly bloomed the moment she entered this world.

    “Dad, I wanted to tell you how much I love you and appreciate everything you have done for me.”

    He looked down at her, tears welling up in her dark brown eyes. Soon she would be sobbing and crying.

    “I’m sorry for any pain or suffering I may have caused you. Please forgive me,” she pleaded as the tears began to spill over.

    Steve tightened the hug a little.

    “There is no forgiveness necessary. You have never caused me any pain or suffering. I have loved every second you have been in this world with me. You are my daughter and I would do anything to help you.”

    Luke interrupted this drama by tugging on Steve’s pant leg.

    “Play, Grandpa.”

    Steve let go of Thelma and picked up Luke, who was wearing a homemade peasant dress. In those times, little boys might wear a peasant dress because they were easier to sew together and used less material than boy’s pants. These people were poor and everything counted.

    Luke had soft brown eyes, lighter than his mother’s, and dimples along with freckles. This adorable little boy was the apple of Steve’s eye.

    He hugged Luke gently.

    “I can’t play right now,” he said, “but when I get off work, Mommy can bring you down to Grandpa’s and you can play with my hat with the light on it. We’ll go out in the dark and see how it works.”

    Luke was sad to hear Grandpa couldn’t play, but happy to know he would get to play with the lighted hat that Grandpa would let him wear sometimes. Steve kissed Luke and gave him one more squeeze before setting him down.

    He waved goodbye to everyone and started down the road. He passed Lloyd Rogers and Lillian Rose, and the Huff’s place. Everyone was on their porch with a good morning for Steve.

    News travels fast in the holler and Danny had revealed to the attending flock at Emmanuel Baptist on Wednesday what Steve was going to do for him. The Blankenships were not at the service; they only attended on Sundays. The folks decided to pay homage to this wonderful man, making sure to say good morning to him as he walked to work, to go into the dark so another man and woman could have their day in the sun.

    He walked another three-quarters of a mile and came to a smaller road that led to the mines. He dreaded going into the mountain but chose to look forward to tonight when he would be with Luke. He was a good Christian and accepted his station in life.

    Steve arrived at the mine at 6:55. He was never late.

    He looked at the foreboding hole in the side of the mountain with a rail track running in it and another running out of it. There were always risks every time you entered, but he had been a miner all his life and knew no other way.

    This mine had an opening eight feet high and eight feet wide. It was on the side of a mountain about 100 feet up, with a path that led to the entrance with a large plateau in front. The rail track came out of the mine and to the edge of the plateau, where the track ended. There, one would release the coal, and it would fall into a container on the ground below.

    Steve took one more look around at beautiful Kentucky. He tightened his utility belt, fetched his pick and shovel, and then lay on his back and pushed himself into the dark and lonely.

    This was the last time he would gaze at the beloved land he called home. He would never see or be with his precious family again, at least not in this world.

    As he was working, a five-ton chunk of strata fell upon him, and he died instantly. All of the lights of life went out, including the carbide one mounted on the silver hard hat.

    There were other miners present, but no one else was hurt or killed. They sent word down the mountain to the Phipps’. Shocked and stunned by the horrific tragedy, his wife’s nephew, Arthur Phipps, cried copious tears. He began praying and left at a trot for the Blankenship’s, who lived not far down the road.

    He came upon Steve’s daughter Norma, who was bringing her father his lunch.

    Steve Blankenship was 44 years old.