Union Hall Day
Once a month, my father went to a union meeting. It was a gathering of coal miners from our local coal mine, Bethlehem Mines No.7. My dad was the local union president and held that position as long as I could remember. Union meeting day was a great day for me. First we went to early Mass at the local All Saints Catholic Church, ate lunch, and then went to the meeting.
On Sundays, I stuck to my dad like glue. It was like Mary had a little lamb and where Mary went the lamb was sure to go. When it was time for the union hall meeting, you could put your money on it, I was right beside my dad. I remember the Sergeant of Arms asking me, "What was the password?" I would speak up, "I having sword." They would chuckle, shake their heads and tell me, "Enter little brother." Not only was I beside my dad, I sat on his lap while he conducted most of the two-hour meeting.
Meetings went pretty smooth most of the time, with the exception of a few loud mouths who were never satisfied with any decision. These fellow miners were normally the same ones who lost at the last election and just wanted to make a fuss. My dad brought order by pounding his gavel several times, and would shout, "Order! Order! Order in the house!" If they persisted, he yelled to the Sergeant of Arms, "Throw them out the door!" The whole crowd would follow suit with, "Yeah! Throw them out the door." I loved it when he pounded the big wooden hammer. When it struck the wooden desk beside me, it made a cracking sound like a 30.06 rifle being fired at close range which would make me flinch. These were exciting moments, as I looked at my dad's face--there were strength and determination to provide order. From time to time, he looked down at his little boy, give me a piece of hard tack candy from his shirt pocket and exuded a big smile of confidence. My father was "The Leader" for the miners and always tried to help them, even if this meant leaving his guard down to those who wished to topple his leadership.
After most of the excitement was gone, I would whisper in my dad's ear, I am going to play on the union hall hill. Slipping outside, I met John Darcus' children Barbara and Teddy. Mr. Darcus was an African/American miner who was the Secretary/Treasurer of the union. Dad depended on him very much. John's children and I played tag, told stories, and took turns rolling down the steep union hall hill.
Many years later when schools became integrated, Barbara was my classmate and we remained good friends for years. She has since passed away. Teddy played sports and ended up at Fairmont State College playing basketball for the renowned coach, Joe Retton.
Playing on the union hall hill produced a big appetite. On more than one occasion, the two hefty African/American ladies, living next to the union hall, gave us a late afternoon lunch. Being children, we gladly accepted their offering of home made bread, chittin's and fried sunfish. I must say, it was finger-licking-good as we wiped up our plates with the last piece of bread. We washed it down with a big class of Kool-Aid, gave them a big hug and thanked them from our round little tummies.
When the meeting was over, my friends gave me a hug, and said their good-byes. My dad promptly took me next door to Rudy Duke's Beer Joint, where my dad drank a beer. Rudy always picked me up, placed me on the bar, and provided me a free bottle of RC cola and ten-inch pretzel. Telling jokes and laughter filled the air most of the time and only on rare occasions did anyone drink too much and want to fight. One beer was the limit for my dad and no matter how much they tried to force him to drink another beer, he seldom ever accepted. My father thought more of his family and his place in the community than to make a fool of himself. More than two beers, generally made him throw-up and gave him a bad case of nausea.
Contradictory to what most people say, starting out young in bars would lead me to hang out there. The smell of cigarette smoke, stale beer, urine, vomit and bar fights were never one of my favorite pass times. I never could stand sitting on a bar stool and allow some drunk smear his proclamation of being an expert on every subject under the sun all over me.
Watching my father handle people and being fair, even the most arrogant, helped me deal with hundreds of problems, in my career, as a federal coal mine inspector. No matter how obnoxious some of these people became, it helped me to stay with the facts and explain them without bias. Although secretly sometimes, I would have loved to have had a Sergeant of Arms to throw them out the door. There were times when miners had a secret agenda, and used what you said out of context. If that didn't work, they made up their own assumption which was completely ass backwards from what was stated. I used to ask them, "Do you understand?" and then ask them to repeat it back to me. It was almost humorous to listen to their hideous explanations. My father's insistence on fair play with both sides, whether they are management or labor, is what kept me going during some of those trying times.
My dad was friendly with everyone, whether they were African/American, Asian, Indian or Heinz 57--the color of their skin did not play a part in his discussions. Rich or poor, he gave everyone the same welcome. With his across-the-board equal treatment of people, I learned to do the same. I played, laughed, studied and grew up with the African/American community; and from this, I feel good about my hometown and the children who grew up there with me.
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