The porch sitters

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By Dwight Williamson

Dwight Williamson, Logan County MagistrateThe steam was still rising from the concrete porch of the company store following the downpour that came on a very humid late June afternoon at Verdunville, which like just about every other hollow in Logan County during the 1960’s, was filled with the fun-loving spirits of young people whose world consisted of everything on and between the mountains that enveloped the coal camp community known simply as 16 Camp.

As late day turned into early evening, one by one, the Porch Sitters began to emerge from one alley or another to take their places on what could be termed as the “stage” of the community, otherwise known as the company store porch. Although the store had already closed at its usual 5 p.m. time, we all knew that the one and only gas pump there had been accidentally left on and that gasoline was available to all. Still, that was of little importance since the few people who did own automobiles in the neighborhood would not steal the fuel, and those objects known to use liquid fuel, such as lawnmowers, were unheard of in the tightknit community because very few people had grass growing in their yards. In fact, it was not unusual to see women actually using brooms to sweep their yards; yards that were often filled with discarded cigarette butts.

The clang of horseshoes against iron pegs could be heard in the distance and the gang knew that meant dinner had been served and eaten, and, as some of the adults were competing in their summer evening rituals, the sound of an oncoming train could be heard in the distance. As the approaching train got closer, usually one of the guys would sacrifice a penny, or sometimes even a nickel, by placing it on the rail for the train to flatten on its way to the No. 28 tipple of Island Creek Coal Company. Each of us possessed a flattened coin at one time or another. Somehow, I suppose, that made us feel special in an odd sort of way.

The railroad tracks split the coal camp village of 16 Camp, as well as all of Mud Fork, all the way to the town of Logan. When the train rolled its way in or out of the hollow, nobody went anywhere on either side of the railroad tracks. According to the amount of coal mined that week, the wait for the train to pass could be quiet lengthy. Verbal communication during this time period was null and void for the Porch Sitters, as well as much of the community due to the noisy train. Such was the same in many other parts of the county: Holden, Whitman, Monaville, Mallory, Omar, Peach Creek, all of Buffalo Creek, Henlawson, Dehue, Logan, and even Chapmanville, an area that mined little coal; all were split down the middle by railroad tracks.

Soon, the sounds of the coal trains would be silenced for a while as miners’ vacation time was coming up in early July. In fact, the company store porch would be almost barren when vacation time arrived as many of the more fortunate Porch Sitters would travel to visit out of county relatives. Some vacationers even ventured to places like Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, or Myrtle Beach. For most of us, however, Camden Park near Huntington would be our destinational thrill for the summer—-if we even got to do that. Oh, how I loved those “bumper” cars and the Haunted House. The price of admission was ten cents. Even the poorest of the poorest could afford that, provided one could find transportation there.

The one thing everyone could count on, though, was the coming of the carnivals, which ocurred a couple of times per year. Lasting about a week, the events seemed to always be set up at what everyone called “Black Bottom,” which is an area in Deskins Addition near Appalachian Power Company. Nearly everybody attended the carnivals when they came to town.

For the Porch Sitters, the beginning of summer meant hitchhiking with your swimming trunks rolled up inside a towel to Holden swimming pool, which was a public pool built by Island Creek Coal Company that stayed busy all summer long. A great day meant you had enough money for admission to the pool and just enough cash for a hot dog and a “pop” from the concession stand. Usually, it was not a problem getting a ride back home after a long-sunburned day at the swimming pool, which preceded the one located at Chief Logan State Park.

No matter what happened during daylight hours, the company store porch was our domain by evening time. The lonely sound of a whippoorwill that nested somewhere in the hill behind the post office served each evening as the bugle call for the Porch Sitters to make their ways to the concrete porch where no living being could travel up or down the road without being eyeballed by the Porch Sitters.

Taxicabs were a common site in those days and one in particular always provided a cheap thrill to several of the guys that happened to grace the porch when “Twenty Dollar Lilly” came driving by. I never heard the details, but somebody would always yell “Twenty Dollar Lilly” whenever the blonde-headed taxi driver ventured by. Most of the time, we could read her lips as she cursed us, and she sometimes even called for the police. Years later, I’m told, she was still a striking figure when she served as a 72-year-old waitress at what was the Trailer Club at Stollings.

Another summertime thrill consisted of former Porch Sitters returning home for visits from places like Chicago, Pontiac, Michigan, Columbus and Cleveland, Ohio. These guys had left and found factory work in the big cities. And when they returned in their souped-up fancy vehicles, we usually were treated with something contained in the trunk of their vehicles. It was called beer. Not just any beer, mind you, but fancy beers that had fancy names the Porch Sitters had never heard of. It was high octane beer that everybody simply referred to as “six percent”; not that 3.2 stuff that was sold in West Virginia.

As in any story concerning the mighty Porch Sitters, some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent, as well as the guilty. After all, there are some things best left untold, or at least disguised. However, on this one particular night in late June that started out like just about any other evening, a few of the Porch Sitters’ lives would change forever.

The scary Cuban missile crisis and the threat of nuclear war had passed and the only bad news lately had been the poisoning death of the two small Gonzalez children who both drank the mining water from a ditch that ran down the schoolhouse hill from a long abandoned No. 16 coal mine. It was a mine that many years before had taken the lives of several miners, including the life of the father of two of my coal camp friends, both of whom would later become my brother-in-laws. Over 40 years later, I would learn that another person who never got to know his father because of his death at the same mine was my then neighbor, the late Neil Meade.

Growing up, about the only things we feared were falling into a mining break while running in the hills; forest fires in autumn; rabid dogs; being shot during Halloween pranks, and coal mining deaths.

So it was that on this starlit summer’s eve, that most of the Porch Sitters had turned in early, probably physically drained from the scorching heat that had prevailed during the day. Over the years, there were many Porch Sitters, probably dozens, that sat on the Island Creek Company Store porch, gazed at the moon and stars, and routinely solved many of the world’s problems.

Just as p.m. became a.m., the only three Porch Sitters remaining to watch the automobiles go by on this particular evening began noticing certain vehicles repeatedly going up and back down the road. Finally, one of the vehicles driven by “Big Paul” pulled into the store lot. Although he always waved when he passed by, it was a bit unusual for Paul to stop at the store. “You boys ain’t seen no girl walk by here, have you?” he asked.

“Some fellow just dropped Gloria Jean off,” was the reply, the guys knowing that she wasn’t who he was looking for. Gloria, after bumming a cigarette, had walked on up the alley to her house.

About an hour later, as the moon slipped behind a cloud, a silhouette could be seen walking up the railroad tracks. As the figure came closer, the Porch Sitters could tell it was a female. Not just any female, either. She was a sandy blonde wearing a white blouse and some unusual spandex type of pants, and she had dared to enter into our coal camp turf. Indeed, she had crossed our invisible Berlin Wall, perhaps, we thought, seeking some sort of freedom of her own.

The trio suddenly became the “welcome wagon” for the girl, who appeared to be in her early 20’s, and wearily tired. “Where you going?” asked Billy. “Want a drink of water,” asked another, just as the intruder turned to walk toward the porch.

The Porch Sitters may not have been the “sharpest” knives in the drawer, so to speak, but they knew the lighted store porch would attract Big Paul and other older guys to the site once their special visitor was noticed. So, after a quick dash home by one of the guys to retrieve a glass of ice water to quench the alluring girl’s thirst, the mysterious guest was convinced to go behind the company store and out of the light. A leftover fried chicken leg, grabbed from the stove when the ice water was picked up, was presented proudly to the newcomer, who at first hesitated, but then devoured the meat that had been wrapped in foil.

I don’t remember just whose idea it was, although I think I know, but someone decided she would be welcome to go to Billy’s house, where he had his own bedroom and a private entrance to the room. The new found female friend agreed to the offer, probably because it was around 3 a.m., and a bed was welcomed. Besides, she had received a chicken leg, and the Porch Sitters seemed harmless.

On the way to Billy’s, she told us about escaping from a truck when some drunken man tried to rape her, then of her being offered a ride by Big Paul. While Paul had gone into a store to buy a soda for her, she had decided to leave the vehicle and hide in a weed patch until he left, looking for her on up the roadway. She ultimately had become lost. So were the young Porch Sitters when the unnamed girl shed her clothes in the moonlit room that featured posters of The Beatles on the bedroom walls.

The Porch Sitters felt like they had done nothing wrong that morning, but really never knew if they did anything right, either. At some point, though, the “mystery lady” had left, leaving behind three sleepy young teenagers who had survived a dream, or perhaps, the beginning of a nightmare.

Late afternoon on the following day, several of the Porch Sitters were back in full force at the company store porch. Three weary fellows were a little late getting there, but were quick to share their story, which some of the guys didn’t even believe. Plans then were made to travel the next day to the top of a nearby mountain to what was known only as “Big Rocks.” There, initials carved into stone, which stood as the result of hundreds of years of erosion, could be seen as proof that Mud Forkers previously had visited the “Devil’s Tea Table,” long after Indians had no doubt visited there themselves.

One of the Petroff boys suddenly showed up with news that the Carnival was in town, just as a Trailways bus passed by headed back to Logan. Plans were immediately made by all of the Porch Sitters to trade in their pop bottles at a nickel apiece to help come up with some of the money needed to ride the rides and see the shows. The next plan was to find someone old enough and willing to purchase a couple bottles of Bali Hai wine; all of the Porch Sitters knowing this would lead to “puking” after just a few upside-down rides. Nobody cared.

Porch Sitters, not including my two companions from two nights before, arrived for the carnival at different times the following day. As one who actually was not exactly a fan of heights, this Porch Sitter chose to take in the ground level views—one of which was of particular interest. The sign read: “Must be 21 To Enter. Admission: $2.00”

Curiosity may have killed the cat, as some like to say, but for myself and two other Porch Sitters who had then joined me, the only cats we knew killed was when raccoon hunter Esmond Curry paid kids a quarter for each feline one could bring him to help train his high priced coon hounds. I am so very proud to have never been a participant to any of those slaughters.

Both looking and being too young to get inside this special tent, even though all of the rules were routinely violated when it came to admission, the Porch Sitters just had to know what magic may be inside the canvas tent. So, we crawled under it. Once inside, we found ourselves behind the rear ends of about 30 or 40 rowdy men; all with their eyes focused upon a makeshift stage. Nobody paid any attention to us as we inched toward a view of the dingy stage.

Finally, when we at last got a decent view, my heart fell to my knees. There on the stage was the girl I had given a chicken leg; a girl I provided ice water to. A girl who had obviously returned to her gypsy carnival family.

After witnessing the “star” smoking a cigar in a most despicable fashion that brought cheers from the weird crowd, I stood up and made my presence known to the bizarre attraction of the show. She seemed to share a genuine smile as I left the wicked tent.

To this very day, I absolutely refuse to eat a chicken leg. And I do not attend carnivals.

Other than those which go on sometimes in Logan Magistrate Court.

WRITERS NOTE: I dedicate this story to Wayne County author Lee Maynard, who recently died, and who liked to write about growing up in rural West Virginia. Of course, it is also written in memory of all of the many Porch Sitters wherever they may be.

Published with permission.

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3 thoughts on “The porch sitters”

  2. Betty Jean Henry

    We always enjoyed when the carnival came to “black bottom. It was called “The Thomas Joyland Show,” and every ride was a dime. Cokes, candy apples, and cotton candy were a dime each. Mom somehow came up with 50 cents for each of us kids, so we had a big, big decision to make. I generally chose two rides, 1 candy apple, 1 cotton candy. Of course, you had to have a coke to wash down candy apple and cotton candy! I decided back then that when I grew up, I would come back and bring 5 whole dollars, so that I could ride every ride. Funny, though, by the time I had $5 of my own to spend, it wouldn’t even get you into a carnival! And BTW, my siblings and I would take a picnic lunch and climb up to the Big Rocks. We found that they are way, way taller than we thought they would be, and we were only able to scale the lowest one, which had a flat top, where we would rest and eat our picnic lunch. We were also surprised to find icicles there, even in August. Those were the days my friends, those were the days!

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  3. Larry Swindell

    Great story. We used to climb to Big Rocks and the Devil’s Tea Table from the McConnell a
    side. I tried to take my boys up there many years later and couldn’t remember the way!

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