Coal Tattoo

Travelin' down that coal town road. Listenin' to my rubber tires whine.
Goodbye to Buckeye and white Sycamore. I'm leavin' you behind.
I've been coal miner all of my life. Layin' down track in the hole.
Gotta back like an ironwood, bit by the wind. Blood veins blue as the coal. Blood veins blue as the coal.

Somebody said, "That's a strange tattoo you have on the side of your head."
I said, "That's the blueprint left by the coal. A little more and I'd been dead.
Well, I love the rumble and I love the dark. I love the cool of the slate,
And it's on down the new road, lookin' for a job. This travelin' nook in my head.

I stood for the union and walked in the line and fought against the company.
I stood for the U. M. W. of A. Now, who's gonna stand for me?
I've got no house and I got no job, just got a worried soul
And a blue tattoo on the side of my head left by the number nine coal. Left by the number nine coal.

Some day when I'm dead and gone to heaven, the land of my dreams.
I won't have to worry on losin' my job, on bad times and big machines.
I ain't gonna pay my money away on dues or hospital plans.
I'm gonna pick coal where the blue heavens roll and sing with the angel band.

~ Coal Tattoo by Billy Edd Wheeler

 


Ever since I first heard of the disaster at the Upper Big Branch coal mine,Bill Ed Wheeler's song, Coal Tattoo, has been going through my mind. As you can perceive from it;s lyrics, it isn't a happy song. I know, have played, and sung 4 or 5 songs about cola mining and miners. None, from 16 Tons to the Spring Hill Disaster, are happy songs.


Coal mining does seem to me to be a very "happy" line of work. It does seem, however, to be an addictive line of work, as the songs indicate. It seems that one can literally "get cola dust in my veins," as one miner said, to the point that one continues mining even knowing the odds that he/she may die in a mine. (See Miner was prepared to die, family says).


El Cabrero, who writes the blog Goat Walk, lives in West Virginia and knows more about coal mines than I shall ever know. In his today's blog post, Follow the Trail, El Cabrero writes that the Massey coal company that owns the Upper Big Branch coal mine  has "a long trail of fatalities and safety violations." I assume that the miners who worked in the Upper Big Branch coal mine were aware of that.


I learned quite a bit about coal mining from the songs and poetry I've heard, sung and read. But links that El Cabrero posted today has taught me more than songs and poetry have:

• Deaths at West Virginia Mine Raise Issues About Safety ~ New York TIMES
• Coal Tattoo Blog ~ The Charleston Gazette
• Lincoln Walks at Midnight blog ~ Lawrence Messina
• Mine owner ran up serious violations ~ MSNBC

I urge you to expand your knowledge of this disaster by reading El Cabrero's blog Goat Walk, following his links, listening to the songs, and hearing the poetry.


I planned on ending this post with the video of me pickin' and singing Coal Tattoo. However, I am certain that most of the regular readers of Nick's Bytes have seen that amateur production more than once. If you haven't or if you really want to again, you can see and hear my guitar and me on YouTube by clicking HERE.


The song with which I have chosen to end this post was written by the grandson of a coal miner, Dwight Yoakam Miner's Prayer:

Gleanin' & Thunkin' on a Grand Saturday

D-Day

June 6, 1944: 

In Remembrance

of the dead and wounded of all nations.

D-Day Casualty, June 6, 1944

O God, our Father, endless source of life and peace, welcome into Your merciful embrace the fallen of the war that raged here, the fallen on all wars that have bloodied the earth. Grant that they may enjoy the light that does not fail, which in the reflection of Your splendour illumines the consciences of all men and women of good will. You, Who in Your Son Jesus Christ gave suffering humanity a glorious witness of Your love for us, You, Who in our Lord Christ gave us the sign of a suffering that is never in vain, but fruitful in Your redeeming power, grant those who yet suffer for the blind violence of fratricidal wars the strength of the hope that does not fade, the dream of a definitive civilisation of love, the courage of a real and daily activity of peace. Give us your Paraclete Spirit so that the men of our time may understand that the gift of peace is much more precious than any corruptible treasure, and that while awaiting the day that does not end we are all called to be builders of peace for the future of Your children. Make all Christians more convinced witnesses of life, the inestimable gift of Your love, You Who live and reign for ever and ever Amen. ~ His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI

When I awakened this morning, I knew that today was going to be a wonderful day!

Yep! I have air conditioning again!

The other day I was reading the blog, The Goat Walk, and encountered this link to a speculative article on altruism. Since I think I am quite altruistic, I followed the link and was quite surprised. 

The author, Brandon Keim, suggests that the roots of altruism are quite bloody:

“Altruism will be strongly favored if it leads groups to win wars,” said Sam Bowles, a Santa Fe Institute economist and institutional theorist, and author of the study, published Thursday in Science. “That would counteract the way that selfish individuals usually dominate the altruistic ones in their groups.”

That the ability to put others’ well-being ahead of one’s own could have such brutal origins seems counterintuitive. Then again, so is altruism. Genes are supposed to be selfish, not self-sacrificing.

Hmmmm... so that means that those who willingly (altruistically) die for the community in battle in effect make wars possible? I have to thunk about this a bit more.

I really thunk that Flaubert has something here:

The whole dream of democracy is to raise the proletarian to the level of stupidity already attained by the bourgeois. ~ Gustave Flaubert

Let's close with a few KATZ.

Thoughts on the Day Before Earth Day

Reminder! Tomorrow is:

Last Minute Earth Day Resources

If anyone is wondering, the last rabbit sighting was Monday afternoon. The quick growing bunny was hopping toward his feeding station in the guest bedroom when we saw each other. The bunny turned and dashed for his bolt-hole (underneath the bed). We have had to refill the food and water dish twice since Saturday. Obviously, the rabbit is doing OK, if not thriving, as our guest. (I include Alex in that "our" since it was he who brought the baby bunny into our house).

The colors of Spring have always awakened in me awe as I witnessed the earth's blooming after the long winter hibernation. I used to love to hike in the April and explore the wonder of the colors bursting forth. Those days are now in the past. However, I can still enjoy some of the delights of Spring! This morning I shot the photos below from my front porch. (Of course, you may click on any photo to see it greatly enlarged).

Alex was with me on the porch. However, his prime interest was rolling around on the concrete:



The tree sat on the property line between my house and my neighbor to the north. It was old, perhaps as old as the 100+ year old houses whose property line it marked. I believe  that it had little life left in it. Sunday's thunderstorm finished the tree. It was a large tree and provided little shade, but I shall miss it.





My computer is still without audio, thus no Coffeehouse for a while. (I really would like to hear the sings before I post them). Although the computer system confirms that it has the needed hardware, software, latest drivers, and correct setting including the BIOS setting. From all that I have found written on the problem it appears that what I have is a rather common problem. How, if I could just find a fix that works...



How about a few more KATZ? My supply of the creatures is stilling growing faster than I can post them!

Alex, the VA, and Me

Blogging isn’t easy with a furball using the keyboard as a pillow and a paw rest!

I must be really getting old when I start thinking of a trip to a medical clinic as an adventure! Therefore, I shall attempt to tell you are bout yesterday’s trip to the Veterans’ Administration Hospital is as unswervingly as I can:

• I have been attempting to obtain this appointment to be assessed for a wheelchair for several months.
• I received the appointment for 8:45 AM yesterday in a letter from the VA about a week ago.
• As you may remember, I have pulled a muscle in my right thigh and am unable to lift my right leg more than a couple of inches from the floor making it impossible dangerous for me to drive.
• I needed transportation to the appointment: neither of my sons was available; my pastor and friend, Doug, was attending a clergy meeting; the company for whom Tasha works said she that she wasn’t permitted to transport me anywhere; the VA transportation unit is booked up through next November (!?); the only reasonably priced medical transportation service I located was not available at the time of my appointment.
• By Wednesday afternoon, I had given up and telephoned the number of the physical therapy clinic provided by VA and, after listening to one robot voice transfer me to another robot voice to another robot voice left a message requesting whatever human was around to telephone me so I could reschedule the appointment.
• Shortly thereafter, Tasha’s employer telephoned me and said that their policy had changed: Tasha could drive me if I was willing to pay her mileage because the VA, who is paying for Tasha’s services, refuses to pay mileage.
• Of course I agreed and again telephoned the VA physical therapy clinic and, after listening to one robot voice transfer me to another robot voice to another robot voice left a message stating that I would be able to keep the appointment at 8:45 Thursday morning.
• Jump forward to Thursday morning: Tasha was supposed to arrive at 8:00 AM to transport me to the clinic; when she hadn’t arrived by 8:15, I was concerned because I know how slow I move about.
• At 8:30 Tasha’s company telephone and said—as if I hadn’t already figured it out—that Tasha was “running late.”
• Concerned because of the notice on the VA appointment letter stated that I must be on time for the appointment, I again telephoned VA and, after listening to one robot voice transfer me to another robot voice to another robot voice left a message that I was running late.
• Tasha arrived just as I hung up from the call and, as I was getting my portable oxygen tank on, a real human being telephoned from the VA and told me that if I couldn’t make my scheduled time the appointment would have to be rescheduled.
• Since the appointment was at 8:45 AM and the time at the moment was 8:40 AM, I had the appointment rescheduled to the next available date, February 27^th.
• Just as I was getting out of my coat and portable oxygen tank, my telephone rang; it was the VA physical therapy clinic and I was told that, if I could make it there at 10:00 AM, they could still see me today.
• I said, “I’ll be there!”

Enough of these bullets! I’ll tell the rest of the story without them.

Getting me to Tasha’s car wasn’t easy because there is still snow and especially ice from the top of my front steps all the way to the street. Had I not remembered the hiking stick I bought when I was stationed in Germany, I would not have made it:

(I really must remember to photograph all of my sticks and share them with you as I promised a long time ago!)

 

Tasha dropped me off at the main entrance of the VA Hospital and then drove off to find a parking space. By the time I walked into the hospital, I was exhausted and sat down at a table in the snack room where I could see the front door. It took Tasha half an hour to find a parking space; because it was almost 10:00 AM, I had begun walking toward the elevators when Tasha arrived. I asked her to get me one of the loaner wheelchairs. She returned without one and told me that the room had used to have the wheelchairs was now filled with file cabinets and the woman in the room said that she had no idea where the wheelchairs are now stored.

So, I very slowly hobbled  and wheezed to the elevator and off the elevator and hobbled even more slowly down the hallway to clinic 240A and down another hallway to where I told a woman behind a window my name and the last four digits of my social security account number and she told me to go back down the same hallway to the small waiting room and wait. So I did.

I waited for 45 bloody minutes before someone came for me! So much for my not being late!

Now here’s the wonderful part! I have been approved for a wheelchair that is my size and strong enough that my bulk won’t break the thing. It has a special reinforced back so that if I plop down in it I won’t break it. And the arm rests can be retracted so that I can get close to my desk to blog and to my table to eat. And it has special handles on the wheel brakes so that I won’t have to bend down to lock and unlock the wheels. And I got to select the color of the chair and the color and fabric of the seat and back! The chair will be delivered to me in about three to four weeks.

Wow! It was sure worth all I went through to get to the clinic yesterday!