As was the custom with a large mountain family, he sat at the head of a long homemade wooden dinner table, his face freshly washed from the black coal dust of the day’s work in the coal mine. Staring down that table, he saw the faces of three of his sons with their freshly washed faces from the working the day, in that same coal mine.
Education for young boys usually ended with high school in the mountain coal fields in the forties and fifties, leaving young people with few choices except working in the coal mine or moving away. Moving away meant the factories of Ohio and Indiana or car plants of Michigan.
As he looked down that long dinner table, past his three sons and soon to be teenage grandson, he thought to himself, “There’s got to be a better way.” At that moment, he said to his grandson, “Meet me at the face of the mine after work tomorrow and bring your buddy.” “Bring your buddy” meant the infamous Billy Dean, who had been and was the best influence.
Full of wonderment and anticipation, the next day they walked the two miles to the small truck mine. Truck mines then were usually locally owned, with come coal seam heights as low as thirty-two to thirty-six inches, causing miners often to bend almost in half to work and, in some cases, pick and load coal on their backs.
The boys were on time when Grandpa emerged from the mine the next day with his miner’s cap, blackened face, and carbide lamp. “You boys ready?” he said. The boys, having no idea what Grandpa had in mind or what lay ahead, they followed Grandpa back into the face of the mine.
Grandpa said, “Boys, I am going to take you a little ways back in the mine.” Bent over and squatting and walking like a duck, we followed until the light of day from the mine entrance disappeared.
And this is where Grandpa’s lesson began.
“Boys,” he said, “I am going to blow this light out, and you are going to see darkness like you have never seen before. Do not be afraid, and do not move.”
Grandpa’s light went out, and the darkness was horrifying. As the saying goes, you could not see your hand in front of your face.
Grandpa then said that, “Boys, this is the darkness of the world. It blinds you so badly you cannot see.”
He then lit his carbide light, but only the slightest light shown.
“This little light in the darkness is education. Education helps you begin to see the world.”
He then brightened his light a bit more.
“This increased light,” he said, “is when you start thinking about the LORD.”
He then opened the light to where it practically lit up the whole mine.
“Boys,” he said, “your light will shine the brightest when you walk in the light to the LORD.”
He then blew out his light and said, “Boys, don’t choose the darkness,” then lit the light back to its fullness and brightness and said, “Boys, today choosing between darkness and light was easy. It won’t be in the days and years ahead. You remember this lesson. Choose wisely.”
As we left the coal mine that day, the lesson learned stayed with me my entire life. I have failed and walked in the darkness of the world from time to time, but I have always found my way back to the light.
Whenever I see the blackened face of a coal miner, I am reminded of the sacrifice they make daily to support their families and the energy demands of the world, and when they smile, their white teeth amplified by their blackened face, I once again remember my grandpa’s lesson of light and darkness in a coalmine with a carbide light.
Every day we drink from the well that others have dug.
To our ancestors and generations past, especially our coal miners: “Thank you for helping us to ‘See in the dark.’”
