I'm Proud to Be a Coal Miner's Grandson

Weston Wills and Lorena Oretha (aka “Buddy”) Skaggs, my paternal grandparents, lived in Edmond, an unincorporated community southeast of Charleston, West Virginia. Grandpa was a godly man, not without a sense of humor, and he was born on August 29, 1901.

In another blog post I referred to my Grandpa Skaggs’s “tough, rangy body battered by years of hard labor in the West Virginia coal mines.” That’s actually a pretty good description. He was tall and thin and bony. He had had a hard life, as many men did in those days, working in the coal mines at a job that risked his life every day. Somewhere along the way he lost his entire pinky finger and part of his index finger on his right hand. He ended up with black lung and cancer (which resulted in the removal of one of his eyes), so the mines really did eventually kill him.

Grandpa worked for seven different coal companies between 1928 and 1960. Imagine working a job where you breathe in black carbon powder every day all day long, down in a dark shaft, wearing a feeble light on your helmet, working with dangerous, heavy rail cars full of rock, waiting for blasts to explode so you can harvest more coal, not knowing if a cave-in or poison gas might end your life at any moment. I cannot even imagine it. I wouldn’t have lasted long at that job—I wouldn’t have had the character for it. But during the Depression, men like my grandfather were thankful to have a job and to be able to provide for their families.

I wish I had more meaningful memories of him. My interactions with him were, I guess, sparse. I always liked him, but he was hard to communicate with because he was almost completely deaf—another “gift” from the coal mines, perhaps? But in spite of all his disabilities, he was usually smiling. Even if he couldn’t hear what you said, he would smile and nod and laugh—“Oh, yeh! Heh heh heh heh!”

I remember specifically his prayers. I wish I had a recording of him praying. His voice took on a different quality, sounding more quavery and intense. He would take his time between phrases, really thinking about what he was saying, confident that he was conversing directly with the God of the universe. “Our Heavenly Father . . .,” he would begin when he blessed the meal.

Regarding Bathrooms . . .

Grandma and Grandpa Skaggs had an indoor bathroom, but that was a relatively recent addition to their home. When we visited, we boys were told not to flush after using the toilet because we might use up all the well water. Of course, we always flushed anyway, without thinking about it—it was a habit. I believe Grandma Buddy fussed about it some until Mom told her, “Well, they’re taught to do it every time at home, and they can’t just stop when they get here!”

Flushing or not flushing was not an issue for Granddad, though. He still used the outhouse up the hill from the main house.

Some of you have never been in a functioning outhouse. It is—how shall I phrase this, since we’re in mixed company? The experience is unspeakably awful. The stench is . . . noisome. Noxious. Fetid. Putrid. And mephitic. (I just learned that word while looking for synonyms for “noisome.”)

You would close the door and “lock” it with a worn, flat piece of wood that swiveled on a nail. Sunlight still came through the edifice’s copious cracks, ensuring that if your girl cousin wanted to peek in at you, she could. (Maybe that’s the source of my lifelong recurring nightmares about having to use the toilet in a public place?) And once inside, if you dared to look down through the hole in the wooden seat, what you could see, perhaps ten feet below, was (here come more adjectives) despicable. Vile. Repulsive. Disgusting. Foul. Filthy. Obscene. And contemptible.

Nonetheless, the outhouse was Grandpa’s throne of choice, probably based on a lifetime of having used it combined with a parsimonious desire to save well water. But we boys used it only in emergencies when the in-house bathroom was already occupied.

How about we move on from this topic now, hmmm?

Because my memories of Grandpa are sparse, I am grateful to have a number of memories from other family members (including Grandpa himself) to draw from. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I have!

From Sandra Seelinger

Sandy is a distant cousin whom I have been blessed to come to know because of this blog. I found her memories of Grandpa truly delightful and beautifully written. Thank you so much, Sandy!

I have fond memories of your grandfather in church praying. As kids we dreaded it, because he prayed a loooooong prayer.

I recall the hottest days of summer if we happened to pass their house, and he was push mowing, he had on long pants, a heavy flannel shirt buttoned up tight, and a hat. And if I was a bettin’ woman, I’d say he had a t-shirt on under that flannel shirt! However, his lawn was always meticulous.

I remember when my dad died, he walked up to my mom’s house the following day, three houses up, to give his condolences. Stacey was five, my nephew, . . . [and he] knew Weston from being at church with Mom from time to time. . . . He was fascinated by his missing finger. He went over and sat by Weston and kept an eye on his hand. Mother was totally embarrassed, but Stace kept right on staring for the duration of the visit.

Finally, Stacey looked Weston straight in the eyes and asked, “Mister, where’d you get that bald-headed finger?!”

Weston laughed and laughed! Mother nearly died!

Now to the story I’ve never shared. 

It was a time when Beauty Mountain Baptist Church was on Beauty Mountain. Most people didn’t have cars, they walked. Some walked from Edmond and from the farthest parts of Beauty to go to church.

Beauty Mountain Baptist Church

One particular night there was a blizzard. It was church night. It usually didn’t stop people even though the roads were bad. It was blowing, bitter cold, a blinding snow, and several inches of snow had fallen, roads were bad.

Two ladies from Edmond, Pauline Jones and Garnet Syner, clad in their pull-on boots over their dress shoes, heavy winter coats, scarves, hats, and gloves to keep warm in such bitter weather, were trudging their way to the evening service. They always walked to church, so this was nothing new to them, knowing they could get a ride home. They both lived in the vicinity of Edmond Post Office, so it was a distance to walk.

When they were probably halfway there, they saw headlights coming through the night and blinding snow. They knew whoever it was would give them a ride to church, because everyone knew everyone all their lives in these little communities.

The car stopped, and from the rolled-down window, a gentleman’s voice said, “Ladies, I’m sorry, I can’t give you a ride—my wife’s not with me tonight, and I can’t pick you up.”

Up went the window and off the gentleman rolled!

Having known him all their lives, they just stood there looking at each other through the wind and snow. They’d never been in such a position before.

They trudged through the snow, wind, and cold, then finally made it to the service in the little one-room church, pulled off the rubber boots from their dress shoes, and went into the service.

I never did hear if anything else transpired about the situation. They probably caught a ride home, but I’ll bet it wasn’t with your grandfather!

Two Letters

Three years before he passed away, Grandpa wrote the letters below to my youngest brother, Joel, and my parents. Joel and Grandpa had a closer relationship than Grandpa and I did, because for a while Grandpa lived with my parents in his declining years. Joel was six years old and so, obviously still at home, but I was off to college. Joel never met a stranger, and even as a young child was eager to befriend “old folks.”

May 3, 1983

Dear Joel,

Just a few words to let you know I received your letter and also that it made my day. It was just the thing I needed to make me happy. Thank you so much. But you did not tell me about any of your successes. I am wondering if you found any more bones for your collection and if you did what kind they were and about what size they were. How are you progressing in school? Are the girls still chasing you? Well any way it won’t be long until vacation time and I hope you have a wonder[ful] time chasing through the woods and won’t have to worry about school tomorrow. Have a wonderful time and thank God for mother and daddy.

You would not mind if I said a few words to them would you. Momma can tell you what I have said. Now to say I love you very much.

Your Granddad Skaggs

Dear Nyle and Jan

After having written to Joel I hardly know what to say to you except I love you and long to see you. And to express my thanks [for the] love and kind care you extended to me. I shall long remember those days. Thank you again.

I have not been brought up to date about the river ride lately.* I wonder if it will take place and if so about when. I have thought about it quite a lot and right much conserned [sic] about it as there is so much involved in an adventure such as that. Can you hear me crying? But don’t let that discourage you have a wonderful day.

* Dad had planned a river rafting trip. It didn’t pan out—maybe because Grandpa was praying against it!

At present evey thing [sic] here seemes [sic] to be just about as usual. I am getting along fine. We had rain this morning, still very cloudy and cool. Ed [his son, my dad’s brother] was here a while this morning there was a small leak in the water line in the bath room. He fixed that without any trouble and went on to work. Shirley [Ed’s wife] sent me a bowl of chicken and gravy with dumplings. Which sure hit the spot I ate about half and saved the rest for supper.

Our church services is doing very well Sunday there was a man I would guess him to be in the fifty year bracket who made a profession of faith in the Lord Jesus. It was a gracious blessing to me. Thank the Lord for another victory over the one who is seeking to overthrow the living God and his mighty army. We shall prevail.

My brother Keith, Grandpa Skaggs, and Keith’s future wife, Diana.

This would have been taken in the early 1980s, most likely. Look

carefully at Grandpa’s right hand to see his “bald-headed fingers”!

I have thought many times of writing Cinthy [i.e., my wife, Cindy] but due to my nervous condition I have delayed writing. Now I am ashamed to write. I have thought of her and Steven many times and am much conserned [sic] about their welfare. My love for them is very great I am sure our heavenly father has a great work for them to do. [Cindy and I were engaged and planning our wedding for December 1983.]

How about Keith? Is he still having female trouble. This is only a joke. I thought it might be well to tease him a little. He also has a very warm place in my heart.

I highly appreciate all of you. I have sincere desire that you pray for me. The Lord lift up his love and mercy on you. Amen.

Come visit when you can.

Bye bye for now

With love

Your Dad.

My great-grandfather, the Rev. W. W. Skaggs.

Grandpa’s heritage of strong Christian belief came from his father, the Rev. W. W. Skaggs, and from generations before that. Here’s a quick family story about the Rev. Skaggs, my great-grandfather, told by my brother Eric as it was told to him.

Great-Grandpa W. W. Skaggs and Great-Grandma Grace lived with the Gill family, Lawrence, Marcelle, and their daughter, Sue, in 1940. One November evening when W. W. was walking back from the outhouse before bed, he stopped in the middle of the yard and began looking around the sky. Marcelle had been watching him and asked what he had been doing out there. He answered, “I just heard angels singing. I don’t believe I’ll be around much longer.” Two weeks later to the day, he passed away.

Rev. W. W.’s son, my grandfather, Weston Wills Skaggs, passed away on June 2, 1986, at 84 years of age. Cindy and I were unable to attend his funeral because our first child, Matthew Steven, was born just two days later. My mom told me that one of our relatives, perhaps Aunt Bonnie, nodded when she was told why we couldn’t be there. “One life ends,” she said. “Another life begins.”

Copyright 2023 Steven Nyle Skaggs

Skaggs family homestead, current day. Red building on the left is the garage/storage/root cellar. I remember having a brutal rotten-apple war with my Texas cousins on the hillside to the left of this photo. The outhouse was behind the garage, up the hill a little ways. Image courtesy Sandra Seelinger.

Grandma and Grandpa Skaggs’s house, present day. It is amazing how little it has changed. This home overflows with fond memories for me. Image courtesy Sandra Seelinger.