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Blood On The Coal by Bobby Joe Angles (my father my he rest in peace)

Most people from different parts of the country view the underground miners as low-mentality people; a concept that couldn’t be more wrong. Stop and think and just give me your attention for just a few moments. Put yourself in my world. 

I live in southwest Virginia. It is beautiful country. But living off the land went out big time around the same time I turned 10 years old. I was raised on a large farm. My old man raised us six boys on a 12-dollar-a-week salary. But we had free trade in livestock. That year the farm changed hands and we moved to town.

Now it is ’91 and I’m the one with the young family. Mining is my way of life. I’d hell of a lot rather be farming, but in order to do so my family would suffer. My boys deserve better than what I got. I almost made it through college. Had I just a small amount of support I am sure I could have. But I was raided poor and knew when to say enough.

After quitting college I tried several jobs and soon found out that in this part of the country it’s No Risks, No Bucks. I guess that’s a crude way to putting it, but so be it. Although it doesn’t seem that long ago, it’s been almost 15 years since I first went underground.

Here lately I’ve been rode hard and put up wet. I’m sure you’ve probably heard from the news that the coalfields aren’t doing well. And when times get like this it always makes the life on an underground miner much harder. You’re expected to produce just as much mineral, with a little over half a crew, as you produced with a full crew.

Needless to say, times are hard. But an old coal miner is pretty well used to that. Coal mining has always been a boom-or-bust, feast-or-famine way of life. Whether or not we can produce the coal has never figured into it. That’s taken for granted. 

A man can be the best in the field one day and without a job or for not having one the next. But it’s like I say; we old miners are tough, and we hang in there. Every man that’s worth a damn cares about more than himself, a good man has a conscience. I live and work for my family as well as myself. And that’s what keeps me and a lot of other miners going.

I’m talking about the times when the mountain is cruel and hard. Times when it’s too low to sit up straight and take a drink of water. Crawling in water up to your privates, with somebody back in a high dry place hollering about what’s taking so long to get that miner moved place to place. Your first impulse (and I used to take it) is to just crawl out of that hole. Get off whoever’s hill you’re on and head toward the house. But a man with a family has more than his feelings to take into account. So, a “good un” will just grin and bear it. A man’s got to overlook a lot of ignorant people in this old world. 

The mountain is hard but it’s fair. If you’re willing to work hard and pay attention, you can make a living. Conditions are always changing. She’ll be wet and low for maybe half a mile, and then it might get pretty good for a whole mile or so. The work is always the same—it’s the conditions that change. But you’ll never get a large oil company (they own most of the mines) to understand that simple fact. 

When conditions are good and we’re top producers, setting records and such as that, everybody lives well. When conditions are bad the Company automatically puts the pressure on. Lack of production has to be the result of insufficient motivation on the part of the Boss or the men or both. The first thing they do is replace the boss. And then they start on the men. Meanwhile the conditions will change and you’re back on top. But a lot of times you lose a damn good Boss and end up working for one with an inflated ego and very little knowledge of mining and the men who live there. You see, a lot of people visit mines, but we live there.

I’ve been bossing for the last little bit. It involves a whole lot of thinking and responsibility. I went for better than ten years without having to resort to bossing as a means of making a living. It all boils down to the family man I talked about earlier. 

I find myself in a predicament—a “puzzlement,” the mountain men would say. I agreed to boss because of the times and the lack of job security. And I did well – to good. Now they’re taking me away from my mines and crew to send me to a so-called “problem mine,” one that’s going through bad conditions. I’ve got no choice in the matter. 

Let me sort of lay out the setting here for you. These men have been going through Hell for the last little bit. They’ve been told that if they don’t do better they’ll be replaced. And them sending me to replace the other boss is a show of the power the Company has over mortal man.

I’m sitting here right now studying – that’s what we call deep in thought. Just how am I going to approach these men? I know how they’ll be before I even get there. Cause I’ve been through it a lot of times on both ends. 

They’ll be there in the bath house changing into their work clothes. Some come an hour before work time, others make it just in time to catch the man-trip. Usually the old ones, the old-timers, allow themselves for time than the younger ones. 

I’ll come in and pick me out a locker. Not too far from the heater or too close to the door. They’ll act like they don’t even see me, sort of look at you out of the corner of their eye. They’ll make small talk; some form my benefit, some for pure entertainment. The talk for my benefit will be along the lines of what and all can become of a man in the little dog hole…terrible things that have been known to happen to SOB’s who tried to push their weight around. 

And then again some will be cordial. They’ll try to feel you out, see if you have any mountain boy in you. Questions like, “Did you get any deer this year.” I’ll take my can of Skoal out, being sure to take the proper time to open it carefully and on purpose. I’ll carefully take a dip, offer him the can, and he’ll probably say, “Thank you just the same, but I don’t use it.”

Then I’ll look around the bath house but never at the men, and then I’ll look just to right or left of the man who spoke, miners never looking directly at whom they’re talking to. If you did your light would be in their eyes. That’s an insult. You live underground a lot of years and you do it by nature. 

“Killed a buck and eat a doe,” I’ll finally answer him. He’ll know by my downward glance that I’m not overly proud of either, and by the same token that, yes, indeed I’ve got some mountain boy down deep. And there is a bond there, between two mountain men. We both know that we can survive on top of the mountain as well as under it. And I know that if I show him I’m there to make a living he will do the same. 

It’s common practice at all company mines for the Boss to give a safety talk at the start of the shift. I like to wait until we have portaged to the face and set our buckets down at the power center. That’s the time that a smart boss tells the men what he wants them to do. If you talk work before work time, some take it personal.

In there, I’m responsible for the whole crew. Anything they do can and will be used against me. I start out by saying I never was much for speeches. But that I do feel there are times when something needs to be said. 

"We all know the reason I’m here (I’ll stop and take a long time spitting.) I don’t know your old boss…whether he was a good one or a bad one…I don’t guess it much matters now. He’s gone his way and I’m here.

We’re all out here to make a living. The Company isn’t something we can deal with but, still, it’s the one we choose to live with. If that weren’t so you wouldn’t be our here tonight nor would I. 

Fellers, we’re all out here to make a living. I don’t ask any of you to do more than you’re capable of doing. 

I hate the words “job sacred.” I know that when you try too hard you get hurt—sometimes bad. I don’t want that. The Company doesn’t want that. 

You’re all good coal miners. You have been for a lot of years. I’ll give you a chance if you’ll give me one. We’ll do what we do best or leave with the rest. But most of all I want you to know, I don’t want one damn lump of coal going out here with blood on it.

Now, you all go do what you do best and I’ll try to fit in."

There is nothing like a bulldog

I hope you are able to know the love of a bulldog. My family and I were blessed to have our bulldog for 10 years as part of our family. There are some wonderful breeds of dogs, in fact some of the best dogs I have ever met have been those that it is impossible to tell what was their breed. That being said, I love bulldogs. What makes bulldogs so special? First, it is their temperament. Lucy was the sweetest dog to not only me, but more importantly to my little girls. She was so patient and laid back, she would let the girls do about anything with her. They hugged her, they played with her, they even brushed her teeth. Second, I love the sounds bulldogs make. For some these sounds can be endearing to others annoying, for me the sounds of snoring, gruning, and such help me to relax and sleep. Without them I have had a hard time sleeping. Third, I think they are beautiful. I know, that is very subjective. So be it. This bulldog has been a wonderful constant in lives of my family and me. The picture to your left was when she was our mascot for VBS one year. She did wonderful, bulldogs really are bread to be mascots. Let me share a few pictures and thoughts with you. I know this is for my own healing, so bear with me. 

This is the first the first time I meet Lucy. Crystal, my wife, was in Georgia for a work trip and she came into contact with a man that had bulldog puppies. She shocked me when she brought home this beautiful bulldog.  She quickly became a source of great comfort and love for me. 

One of my favorite things in the world to do was to sit on the couch work on the laptop, watch college football, and hold my sweet bulldog. She was always happy to see me, happy give me love, and to listen to me. I went through a rough patch of depression during this time. Having Lucy to love and to hold was very important for my mental health. No matter how I was feeling, what was going on, my attitude, or mood, she was always there ready to love and to be loved. I will always be grateful for this wonderful bulldog because she was there when I needed her most. 

When we had our little girls everything in our lives changed, and for the good. The joy they have brought to our home is immeasurable. Lucy was a part of their lives from day 1. They loved her and she loved them. At night she would go room to room checking on the girls and then back to our room. She would not go to sleep at night until she knew the girls were in their rooms, in their beds, and safe. She would often lay by their beds until they went to sleep. Then she would come back to our room. She would not go to bed until I was in my bed and often would be very annoyed until I turned off my laptop and we could go to sleep. Below are several pictures that show the love between little girls and their bulldog. 

Lucy was very tolerant of their playing with her, that is a wonderful thing. 

 These two pictures of above are the girls waiting for Crystal to get home from work. The first one is our oldest and the second is both of them about 3 years later. 

The one on the left was our oldest one and Lucy both taking a nap side by side. 

As Lucy got older she slowed down so very much. She did not play like she did when she was younger. She slept a lot, but never lost her love for us. On Saturday when I got home in the evening, Lucy was in her bed and had not been up all day. I went in and carried her outside so she could relieve herself. She was not able to walk so I helped her and then carried back in. I was able to get her to drink, but she would not eat or take her pain medicine. As the evening progressed I knew this was likely the end for my sweet bulldog. I have been with 10's of people when they have passed. The process for Lucy was very similar, the breathing and everything. I took her and put her in the bed with me in another room, just the two of us. She could not get comfortable in her bed and was clearly in pain. 

When I put her in the bed beside me. she laid in the crock of my arm and was content. I held her for several hours as she rested. I petted her and told how much she was loved. At 2 AM I recognized the sound of her breathing as being near the end. I prayed for God to let her rest and she died in my arms. I prayed and thanked God for letting have such a wonderful dog in my life. I realized she was there for me when I needed her most and was always there for me. I realized she brought she tremendous joy and comfort to my life. I thanked God that my little girls were able to know the love of a bulldog. I also prayed about how they would handle it, they have never known life without Lucy in it. The next morning, when the girls got up I was still holding Lucy. They came in and I told them. There were many tears, and many more to come over the last few days. 

I had to get up, and get ready to do what I must at the church. So I did. When I came home we buried Lucy in a part of the yard she loved and the girls decorated her grave with things they thought she would like. I hate death. I know Lucy was dog, not a human. I know there have been and will be much greater hurts and losses in our lives. Nevertheless, it hurts. I so look forward to the day when there is no morth death or mourning or tears. Until that day we cherish those we love, most of all our kids and spouses and friends, but also our fur babies.