Riding With Dad

By Bill Mahoney

 I entered this world in 1940.  I became a towheaded boy, and tall, early. In this writing, I grew to twelve years old in my hometown of Coalwood, in McDowell County.

 My dad worked at the coal mine. He started there in 1927 as an office worker and soon became a foreman at the mine. He was  proud of his employer, the Olga Coal Company.  He worked sixty hours a week and came home each day tired and covered with black coal dust. He showered while Mom, who had been at the Coalwood school teaching all day, fixed supper for our family. There were three children including me, Billy, and my two older sisters, Jane and Jill.   

We sat together daily for supper and talked about how our days had been.   Conversation was usually active, both serious and laughable. Mom and Dad always wanted to know about their kids’ activities. Dad usually asked me about school and what kind of trouble I had found. I was his only son and he was proud of me.   

After supper, we listened to our favorite programs on the radio… such as Dick Tracy and The Shadow.  Dad often stretched out on the floor in the living room and fell asleep there.  By ten o’clock we were all in bed, resting for the next day. I saw Dad each morning as he was leaving for work about 6:30.  He hugged me with his eyes. Then he was off to work. The mine was several hundred feet deep, with tunnels branching off in all directions.   An elevator went down the mine shaft hauling miners into the deep mine and back out.

There were four huge ventilation shafts at various locations in the mountains surrounding the town. They brought clean fresh air, more precious than water, to the miners working in the bowels of the mine. Even though there were remote alarms, these ventilators had to be checked weekly to be sure they were operating properly. One of Dad’s rotating responsibilities was to check them monthly.

When I was eleven, I walked about a mile from our house to the ventilation shaft located up Snake Root Hollow. I climbed the fence that was protecting the shaft. I knew better. I scaled the side of the brick building housing the shaft, and crawled out to the shaft’s edge.  I peeped into the scary fifteen foot wide opening. The air screamed past my shoulders and was sucked down the hole into the deep mine by the loud, high horsepower motors. It scared me to death. I carefully crawled off the building and left.   But I had been out of bounds. This was dangerous.  My hiney was in serious trouble if my parents found out.  Luckily, they never knew…I think.

Dad had accepted his turn in the rotation every fourth Sunday to travel into the mountains and check the ventilation equipment. When I was twelve years old, one day he let me ride with him. I was excited.

 I remembered my frightening adventure the year before when I came too close to that sucking black hole, but this promised to be a fun adventure and time with Dad. The highlighted Sunday came. We missed Sunday school and church, and off we went. 

“We bumped along in the Jeep truck and talked and laughed. I thought later about those moments and just how tender my tough father was. I recognized many of his traits while we were riding. He wondered and worried about his children, and showed love for all of us.”

We rode in the company Jeep along the fire roads into the beautiful mountains.  These roads were there to allow firefighter access to any forest fires. The roads had been carved into the hillsides by bulldozers and were single lane, rough dirt roads.  

It was October, with trees and leaves already boasting their loud colors of deep red, orange, and yellow.  Green pines added to the splendor. We passed fire towers which were manned, making sure any forest fires were quickly detected. 

Five houses were scattered along the way. It was hard for me to accept the fact that people lived so far into the mountains. Dad stopped at each house to say hello. I tried to be sociable, too. Dad brought the news of the day to the folks living there, as the other weekly drivers did when they ventured to inspect the fans.  And he brought items they had requested from previous visits, such as area newspapers. Dad made a list of other items they might need. We then drove away happy, with our hands waving.  

The ventilation fans rumbled as we approached each site. It was surreal, like entering another world. Dad unlocked the surrounding fence of one of the huge fans and unfastened the main center lock to examine the control panels. He walked around, looking for any telltale signs indicating a problem. The process took about thirty minutes.  Clean outside air gushed down the big hole into the mine.  All was well this time,  for this fan.

We traveled fan to fan until we had checked all four. We bumped along in the Jeep truck and talked and laughed. I thought later about those moments and just how tender my tough father was. I recognized many of his traits while we were riding. He wondered and worried about his children, and showed love for all of us.

He also expressed feelings about his friends. Some of them had no family car so he often gave them rides to different places. Parents in those families respected Dad and Mom for their caring ways.

The autumn air with rustling leaves and scrambling squirrels seemed to set the stage for open discussion between my dad and me. I was twelve, just old enough to settle in with him, understand, and respond.  I didn’t realize until much later just how wonderful this time was.

We arrived home after six hours or so together, exploring the mountains to inspect and give thumbs up to the giant ventilators. Mom had snacks for us to eat while she prepared our family supper.  

We talked about our outing. My sisters were home and offered their casual comments. Mom knew this had been an important time for Dad and me. She tousled my hair. Dad gave me his satisfied look. We had supper and settled in for the evening.