Scotland National Library selects books on Appalachia by Betty Dotson-Lewis for International Collection

Scotland National Library selects West Virginia Writer, Betty Dotson-Lewis (B. L. Dotson-Lewis), books on Appalachia due to their connection to Scottish and Scots-Irish Culture and History

Books selected by Scotland National Library for International Collection  “Appalachia: Spirit Triumphant” 
“Sago Mine Disaster (Featured Story): Appalachian Coalfield Stories”  
“The Sunny Side of Appalachia: Bluegrass from the Grassroots”

Images from Appalachia

Letter from Author:

Hi Y’all,

My name is Betty Dotson-Lewis.  I am a writer from Summersville, West Virginia (Appalachia). My grandfather was William Basil Young of Southwest Virginia and of Scottish descent.   I grew up in the Appalachian coalfields surrounded by the best people in the world with popular Scottish surnames such as; Smith, Brown, Wilson, McDaniel, McKenzie, Burnett, Ritchie, McQueen, Kincaid, McMillan, Akins and on and on.  These are the people in my books.

So, I wanted you to know that we, the descendants of the Scottish and Scots-Irish, are still here, in these secluded hollows and windswept ridges of the Appalachian Mountains where our tough and resilient ancestors first settled.  Appalachia is where you can get close to your Scottish roots on this side of the Atlantic and acquainted with your kin. 

Our Scottish and Scots-Irish ancestors fled to America because of political and religious persecution. These settlers who made that long, hard journey across the ocean in the 1700s, often sick or starving, brought little or no material baggage, but they did bring their cultural baggage, which included the many ballads, stories, and instrumental tunes from their own heritage. Fiddle tunes with bows dusted in kitchen flour fill the air on any given Sunday after church when clans gather. They brought with them their severe and stubborn reputation and their brand of Protestantism which has served as the foundation for our Baptist and Methodist faiths today.  They brought a talent for making corn whiskey (moonshine) to go along with their distaste for government.

Most landed in Philadelphia where they intended to settle but soon they discovered the good farm land was already taken, and they disliked the British Colonial government as much as the one they had left behind. Thus, the immigrants left Philly and headed west and south settling in the Appalachian Mountains  becoming some of the first white setters in that region. The green valleys and highlands not only provided a remote haven and a barrier to the outside world, but reminded the Scotch and Scots-Irish of their homes in the Old World.

Take care,
Betty Dotson-Lewis  (B. L. Dotson-Lewis, WV Writer)
lewis_betty@hotmail.com

********************************
About my books:

My books are devoted to documenting and understanding Appalachian culture and values and passing down the heritage. Readers will be fascinated by numerous first-person interviews with the Scots-Irish settlers and other immigrants who have struggled through coal mine tragedies, union wars, floods, family feuds, industrialization and de-industrialization to help form the modern Appalachia. There are prescriptions for reform, celebrations of things that are worth preserving in the modern world.  A unique portrait of mountain people is painted in their own words. 

Journey into our world of Appalachia- A place both physical and spiritual

Books may be ordered from:
 (www.) Amazon, Barnesandnoble, WV Book Co. in Charleston, WV,  www.buybooksontheweb.com, booksamillion.com, Tamarack in Beckley, West Virginia, etc.

Selected works by this author:

1 . Appalachia: Spirit Triumphant A book filled with numerous first-person interviews; those individuals who lived and worked in the southern Appalachian coalfields. All of the events that have formed Appalachia today read more by B. L. Dotson-Lewis ~ 0-7414-1874-6 ©2004 Price: $18.95   Average Rating:   2 . Sago Mine Disaster (Featured Story): Appalachian Coalfield Stories My goal as a resident of the Appalachian coalfields and as a writer is to capture the spirit of these people, their pride, work ethics, strong religious convictions, traditions and love for these mountains. read more by B. L. Dotson-Lewis ~ 0-7414-3478-4 ©2007 Price: $16.95   3 . The Sunny Side of Appalachia: Bluegrass from the Grassroots There is no short description available for this title. read more by B. L. Dotson-Lewis ~ 0-7414-4845-9 ©2008 Price: $15.95

*********************
co-author of “The Girl From Stretchneck Holler, Inside Appalachia” by Betty Dotson-Lewis and Kathleen Colley Slusher (novel - fiction) --- not included in Scotland National Library selection

http://www.amazon.com/Stretchneck-Holler-Inside-Appalachia-ebook/dp/B007UIYD8A -- print copy also available

The Girl From Stretchneck Holler, "Inside Appalachia"

Youtube Videos:     Veterans Honored

new:  New River Gorge Bridge Day, Fayetteville, WV  Oct. 20, 2012 video below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPe0hd1h8Ts&feature=share

The Girl From Stretchneck Holler "Inside Appalachia"    by Betty Dotson Lewis  and Kathleen Colley Slusher
Price: $5.99 USD. 72560 words. Published by Brighton Publishing LLC  on April 15, 2012. Fiction.
A heart-warming, heart-wrenching collection of short stories of moonshine, cock fights, domestic abuse, Holy Rollers, coal mine thugs and the simple yet complex lives of people up the hollers of the Appalachian Mountains. Coal mining provides a livelihood which is colored by violence, and the rape of mountains has forced an independent people into subservience.

authors’ profile http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Lewisslusher 

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/152040 

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Stretchneck-Holler-Inside-Appalachia-book/dp/B007UIYD8A/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1334540832&sr=1-1

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com

Excerpts from The Girl From Stretchneck Holler: Inside Appalachia

Coal Miner’s Son

“J. C., here’s your mason jar of milk and bread for your dinner,” my mother said. She wiped her forehead wearily. She’d been up since before daybreak building a fire in the wooden cookstove and fixing breakfast for her four boys. I was the oldest, seventeen years old, and today was my first day to work in the mines.

I noticed Dad’s hard hat and work boots by the door; he was still in the back bedroom. Mom touched my shoulder briefly as I got my stuff and stepped out on the porch to wait for him.

“Take care, son,” she said softly. She turned away quickly, but not before I caught the tear in her eye. Mom hated the mines; she’d lost her father and two brothers during a cave-in ten years ago. She’d wanted Dad to quit then. She didn’t want me to start now.

This was a temporary job for me. I wanted to go to college (the first of our family to do so), but even with the bank loan I managed to get, I needed more money for books and clothes. Dad got me hired at his job site—a deep mine five miles away. We’d walk there and back and eat our milk and bread so as not to have to spend our fifty cents’ pay on food or gas.

I heard Dad’s voice and he came out the door; his eyes were ringed with the black soot residue that scrubbing couldn’t get off, and he was rolling his Prince Albert. “Ready, boy”? Before I could answer, he inhaled deeply and immediately his thin body was wracked with harsh coughing. He continued to smoke as we started to walk rapidly. “You’re almost a man now son… by the end of this summer, you will be a man.”

God help me, I worked hard that summer. A pick and a shovel, crawling on my hands and knees, too tired at the end of my shift to barely talk; but if hard, dangerous work was the measure of a man, I became one.

By the end of that first week, my knees were bloody and raw from scrabbling on them for hours on end when the roof wall was too low for a man to stand. I coughed short, hard coughs and spit up gobs of phlegm streaked black; even the snot from my nose and the tears from my eyes ran black.

The men had taken to calling me Junior, and after seeing that I aimed to stick it out, they treated me good. Dad worked deeper than I did, with the experienced old-timers, but he heard tell of how I wasn’t no quitter. He was happy with me then.

When I’d first told him how I wanted more schooling, he’d snorted and said, “Are you afraid to work for your living?” I needed to prove I could work at what he thought was a “real” job, but I also aimed to show him I had further ambitions than to work in the mines all my life. On our walks home, I told him of my plans to travel and see the world. He said, “Yep, I had them plans too. Best you settle down and marry some little girl from these hills than take off to God knows where, son.”

I kept talking every day, and I wore him down. He began listening, even asked questions about college. That summer, my dad and I actually talked at length for the first time I could remember. I found out that he’d dreamed of going to Texas when he was young. “Out there is wide-open spaces so a man can breathe,” was what he said. My dad had emphysema and black lung, also a touch of TB, but couldn’t afford medicines or doctors; ...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Beautiful People of Stretchneck Holler

I remember seeing my grandfather on my mother’s side. I was scared to death of him. I saw him a few more times when I went with my mother back to visit after we moved across the mountain. His image remains vivid even today. I may have gotten my height and coloring from him.

He was tall, big and blond, with white and pink baby-looking skin. He was a violent man. His work: a union organizer. He called men out on strike by shooting a pistol in the air near the mouth of the mine.

He carried his money in a large leather wallet chained to his belt. His job afforded him good money. He drank heavily and everyone up and down Knox Creek, where he lived, knew he had another woman. She was young and beautiful with fair skin, red hair, and pretty clothes. That’s where he spent his time off from work. She got his money—what he did not spend on moonshine. He would walk up the road, staggering back and forth, on payday. Sometimes falling down by the road and lying there until he came to, then back up to stagger towards home and my waiting grandmother. Once he made it home to his tarpaper shack, he hung up his wide-brim hat on the wooden peg by the front door. After making sure his white shirt was open down almost to his waist and adjusting his shoulder holster, he sprawled out on the feather tick bed after he checked the chambers, making sure the Smith & Wesson pistol was fully loaded. When he was roused up by cars and trucks speeding up and down the road and blowing their horns as they passed his house, he’d get out of bed, pull his pistol out of his holster, throw the door open and shoot up in the air yelling, “You scabs, damn you. You sons-of-bitches. Go to Hell.” Then he would slam the door shut and sprawl back down on the feather tick bed until the cars and trucks came again. He guarded the United Mine Workers of America on Knox Creek with his very life. His allegiance belonged to the miners’ union, and anyone who did not swear by John L. Lewis was in danger of my grandfather’s wrath.

His wife, my grandmother on my mom’s side, was my favorite person in the world. I knew her best because my mom talked about her constantly. A battered and abused woman, she fought off my grandfather with a hot poker when he tried to beat her while he was drunk. He cursed my grandmother and left her mostly penniless except for what little bit she could lift from his wallet while he was in a drunken stupor...

From The Sunny Side of Appalachia, Bluegrass from the Grassroots
by Betty Dotson-Lewis (B. L. Dotson-Lewis)


My Near Brush with Bluegrass
by B. L. Dotson-Lewis

I can’t remember when bluegrass music was not a part of my life. This acoustic music came with living in the Appalachian Mountains, part of our roots the way I understand it, but I was never confronted head on with this music until my father took it up.

My family moved west while I was still in high school and it didn't seem a big deal that I would stay behind with my sister and finish school in West Virginia. I was around 15. Like most teenagers I was heavy into listening to popular rock n roll.

When my father moved from West Virginia to the west coast he refused to give up his citizenship to Appalachia. His roots were in Buchanan County, Virginia, Jim Fork and later, Nicholas County, West Virginia. I have heard my father say that he wasn't looking for a western culture, he loved Appalachia. What the west could provide for him was taller mountains, bigger game and a closer relationship with nature. My father was born and raised in Southwest Virginia and his love for everything Appalachian, including mountain music, especially bluegrass never left his veins.

The way I see it, this romantic attachment to our unique culture makes my father totally responsible for my near brush with bluegrass.

You see, I was visiting my parents the summer between my senior year in high school and going off to Berea College. There, I would engage in a life of studying fine arts, foreign languages, and my entertainment would be symphonic concerts on the greens of a renowned institution of higher learning. I was seeking a liberal arts college degree. My father’s formal education went up to the 8th grade but he had common sense and a flare for writing.

Early on that summer shortly after my arrival at my western home, my father traded one of his hunting dogs for an old fiddle. He decided to take up playing bluegrass. The fiddle was his instrument of choice. No, he didn't read music.

The fiddle came in an old worn-out, banged up black case. The latch was broken on the case so a piece of hay baling twine was wound around and . . . (read moe in my book)

Mountain Talk

Mountain Talk






In Appalachia, we know where you're from by the way you talk.

By Betty Dotson-Lewis


In the corner of Appalachia where Tennessee meets Virginia, where this photo was taken, dialect is more southern. Mountaineers like to talk and you can tell what part of Appalachia people come from by the words they use. Karen Stuebing, photographer

Hi, Y’all.

Maps are essential in locating and describing where people live in our country. Some who are proficient in map talk, refer to latitude and longitude when pinpointing a specific state, town or region.

However, people who live in the heart of the Appalachia region spreading across the mountains of West Virginia, southwestern Virginia, western North Carolina, northwestern South Carolina, northern Georgia, Alabama, eastern Tennessee and Kentucky are quickly and easily identified not by lines on a map, but by their dialect.

My home is located high in the mountains of West Virginia — Latitude: 38.28 N, Longitude: 80.84. I speak the mountain dialect of the central coalfields of West Virginia: “Hi, How are Y’all? I live in the holler by a crick close to my kin.”

My parents migrated to central West Virginia from Southwest Virginia. They held on to their Virginia accent which was noticeably different from their children’s speech. They said things like: wite, nite, lite, youins.

West Virginia is the boundary state between the North and South. There is no single West Virginia dialect. Instead it depends on what part of the state you live in.

For example, if you live in the northern part of the state, which borders Ohio and Pennsylvania, the accent is more northern. The primary marker being the long “l” sound. Residents in the interior of the state speak more like people from Kentucky or southern Virginia. Residents of the southern counties have a very pronounced southern twang.

Regardless of where you live in West Virginia, we are all blessed with a bit of that southern twang. The further you go into the mountains – the more twang and colloquialism you will find.

So, come with me on a dialect journey into the Appalachian Mountains.

Linguists refer to the southern mountain dialect as the folk speech of Appalachia. The archaic speech can be narrowed down to sort of a Scottish-flavored Elizabethan English. Dialect variations can be traced to immigration patterns. The southeastern coalfields of West Virginia were settled by miners immigrating from Ireland, Scotland and Wales. Along the Ohio River, which was more industrialized, a large number of the immigrants came from Eastern Europe.

There are communities in the southern part of the state that are almost entirely African-American. Mine owners brought in former slaves during the mine wars of the 1800s to replace the striking miners, and because these communities remained segregated, the dialects of the southern slaves lived on in the speech.

I have compiled a list of words and phrases commonly used in mountain dialect and their standard English translation:

Holped – helped

Heered – heard

Deef – deaf
Afreared – afraid
Blinked milk – sour milk
Weary – worry

Near – nigh
Reckon – suppose

Backset – Backset of the flu

Ill – bad-tempered

Gom – Mess

Fillum – Film

Pert-near – almost

Ahr — hour 

Am-Bew-Lance — ambulance (Call an am-bew-lance.) 

A-mite — a little (You're lookin' a-mite peak-ed today.) 

Arthur-itis — arthritis (Dad’s arthur-itis is really actin' up.)

Bar — bear (Llnes, tagers and bars, oh my.)

Battree — battery (The car’s battree is daid.)

Beholden — owe (I don't want to be beholden to you.)

Briggity — egotistical (The young man is acting briggity agin.)

Book Red — educated (He went to college -- he's book red.) 

Cheer — chair ( Pull up a cheer and set a spell.)

Choirpractor — chiropractor (If you are down in the back, go to the choirpractor.)

Co-cola — Coca Cola, any brown soft drink (I ordered a co-cola at the diner.) 

Crick – stiffness (I’ve got a crick in my neck.)

Decoration Day – Memorial Day (We visited the family cemetery on Decoration Day.)

Ate Up – completely infected (Dave’s ate up with the cancer.)

Elm — "m" The thirteenth letter of the alphabet. (Dial Elm for Murder.)

Far — fire (The mountain is on far.)

Haint — ghost (from haunt) (I’m afraid I will see a haint in that house.)

Hard — hired (He was the hard hand on the farm.)

His people — relatives (His people came from Ireland.)

Het — upset (She got het up over the contract.) 

Hisself – himself (He built the barn hisself.)

Ideal – idea (Try to come up with a good ideal.)

Ink pin – pen (Give him the ink pin.)

Kin – related (He is kin to most of the people in this holler.)

Outsider — A non southern West Virginian (Mountain folk are skeptical of the outsider.)

Parts — neighborhood (It is good to see you back in these parts.)

Pizen — poison (That snake is pizen.)

Plain spoken — honest or genuine (The people trusted Jim because he was plain spoken.)

Poke — bag or a sack (She carried the groceries home in a poke.)

Polecat — skunk (A polecat ran under the old building.)

Put Out — angry or upset (The mayor was put out with the council’s decision.)

Red Light – stop light or traffic signal (My town has one red light.)

Skittish — nervous (The boy was skittish when asked to recite a Bible verse.) 

Spell — a while. (She stayed on the mountain for a spell.)

Spell — being lightheaded or dizzy. (The woman had a spell in the doctor’s office.) 

Thar — there (Thar's a pretty little pony in the field.) 

Wrastlin’ – wrestling (My son is on the wrastlin’ team.)
Actin' Up — hurting (His injured knee was actin’ up.)
Agen — against 

Bile – boil

Brung — brought 

Carry — take or drive

Churched — excommunicated 

Drug — dragged 
Et — eaten 

Holt — hold 

Kindly — nearly 

Learned — taught 

Mosey — go to 

Pack — carry 

Peart — well 

Plumb — completely

Reckon — guess 

Retched — reached 

Rinch — rinse 

Sangin' — digging up ginseng

Worsh — wash

Monday a week — next monday

Shore — sure 

Down in the back — back injury

Cut the light on — turn the light on 

I don’t care — Yes, please. I would like some. (Do you want more coffee? I don’t care.)

Worshington - Washington

One North Carolina scholar uses the term "constellation of features" in describing the distinctive mountain speech.


Here are some of my Kentucky relatives, Jean D. Fuller on the left and Judy D. Coyle on the right. There is a commonality between the dialect spoken in Southwestern Virginia and Eastern Kentucky.
For example, the letter “t” is added at the end of words such as “across” and “twice” making the words “acrosst” and “twice” becomes “twicet”. This pronunciation was common among English speakers centuries ago and Appalachia is the only region that has held on to the pronunciation.

The pronunciation of the letter “i” is much different in certain words such as “light” and “fire” than in other parts of the U.S. “Light” sounds like “laht” and “fire” sounds like “far”.

Hollow becomes Butcher Holler in Loretta Lynn’s song about her East Kentucky homeplace, Coalminer’s Daughter.

Mountain folk are famous for coining their own words to express a thought or observation. The word “sigogglin,” for example, means something that is crooked.

In rural Southern Appalachia an "n" is added to pronouns indicating "one" or ownership. So, "his'n" means "his one", "her'n" means "her one" and "yor'n" "your one," i.e., "his, hers and yours." Another example is the word “yernses” or yours. “That new car is yernses.”
 Use of the word "dove" as past tense for dive, "drug" as past tense for drag and "drunk" as past tense for drink are grammatical features characteristic of older Southern American English and the newer Southern American English.

Outsiders are often confused by the use of the word y’all, meaning the second person plural of you. When speaking about a group, y’all is general. You know the group of people as a whole. All y’all is more specific. This means you know each and every person individually in that group. Y’all can also be used with the standard “s” possessive. “I’ve got y’all’s assignments ready.”

Here are some other expressions contributed by some of my Facebook friends:
Virginia Winebrenner Sykes: This is a good site," idn't" it? I hear so many people, including my mountain girl self, say "isn't" this way. Another one, I don't say, but have heard said is brefkast instead of breakfast.

Anna Dennison Circle: Whoppin – whipping; boosh – bush; dropped her calf – gave birth; peak’ed – pale; gone and done it again; smitten – likes; yonder – over there; and nary – none,

Shirley Tinney: "If'n” is a word I've heard.

Sue Underwood Mergler: How about "over yonder"? My boys pulled me aside one day after a visit to West Virginia and wanted to know were Yonder was, because Granny was always talking about it.

Builder Levy: Back in the early ' 70s when I was visiting and photographing in Mingo County and I would ask Nimrod Workman and other old timers I would meet, how are you doing, the answer would be, “Terrible!"

Pat Williams: Feeling "tolable like" meaning pretty good.

Karen Butler Britt: Stilts or Tom Walkers; toboggan-hat or sled; Jennie or mule; church key or bottle opener; leather britches aren't pants but dried green beans. Hominy is corn kernels soaked and cooked in lye to remove it from its kernel. Huckleberries are wild blueberries. Icebox was a refrigerator with a huge block of ice to keep food cool. Mule trader wasn't someone who traded mules but would trade pretty much anything for a good deal.

Although this unique mountain dialect is changing, losing some of its distinctiveness, it is not going to disappear in the near future -- with 20 million people living in the Appalachian region.

Bye y’all.




Comments19 July 2010 - 9:23am — editor
"Buddy"
Eastern Kentucky coal miners refer to each other (and those they are talking with) as "buddy."

"I'll tell you now, buddy, it's hard work." "Hey, buddy, pass me some salt."

I don't know if the use of "buddy" in this familiar, friendly way extends to West Virginia coal mining places.

20 July 2010 - 7:14am — Tipper
Southern Highlands of Appalachia
Wonderful post!! I live in the Southern Highlands of Appalachia-born and raised as they say-and most all the words shared in this post are familiar to me. I write about all things Appalachian at www.blindpigandtheacorn.com Each month I have an Appalachian Vocabulary Test-you can go here to see them: http://www.blindpigandtheacorn.com/blind_pig_the_acorn/appalachian-dialect/

My favorite part of your post-is where you state our lovely dialect isn't going to dissappear anytime soon-I so agree. The wonder of the Appalachian Dialect is alive and well in my neck of the woods-and I'm trying to ensure it stays that way too!!

Thank you for celebrating our rich language.

Tipper

20 July 2010 - 8:19am — shaina
Fixin

One thing I didn't see on the list that I say and hear people say all the time is, "fixin".

Like, "I'm fixin to leave."

A friend of mines brother from New Hampshire heard me say that and said, "You're fixin? What are you fixin?" So I had to explain to him that it meant, about to.


20 July 2010 - 9:19am — Dr.Townsend
Our phrases
Even though I went off to school and came back, I feel that I did lose some of my accent. I realize that I should be proud of my Appalachian twang and the phrases my parents used (and I still use).

I was in Connecticut a few years ago. I was at a conference and someone asked me how I was going to get back to the airport in a couple days. I told them that I had a ticket to take a shuttle van back to the airport. The new colleague said, "Would you like to ride with me to the airport." I responded, "I wouldn't care to." She looked at me funny and asked, "Does that mean you want a ride or you don't want a ride?" ... www.dailyyonder.com

The Mountain Eagle -July 31, 1975

THE MOUNTAIN EAGLE....WHITESBURG, LETCHER COUNTY, KENTUCKY..THURSDAY, JULY 31, 1975
Can presidential candidates face mountain issues?
By JAMES BRANSCOME
The Appalachian states will elect the next President of the United States. They will also determine through their primaries who will be the Democratic nominee.
Those statements are, of course, speculative but no more so than most of the guessing that passes for political analysis on the 'op-ed' pages of the daily newspapers. So, we're entitled to our own unsyndicated divining.
Without getting bogged down in geography, the mountain coalfields alone will have five preferential primaries next year in which to choose among the horde of Democrats who fancy themselves capable of lobbing the first bomb, vetoing the most bills, and taping their every utterance--all talents that seem to have become standard fare for the office in one variation or another after the electorate and presidents discovered that bureaucrats, not presidents, have really run the country ever since the passage of the Civil Service law in 1883.
But charade or not, mountain folks have an unequal chance to decide whose wife, dog, swimming pool, and belly scars the county will have to live with for the next four years.
Assuming that no frontrunner skunks everyone else through the New Hampshire and Florida primaries, the field will then be left open for the Democratic candidates to argue that no clear consensus will have merged until they have all had a chance to test their strength in the South and Midwest against each other and particularly against George Wallace. That raises the prospect that delegate bagging and media courting will last all the way to at least the West Virginia primary, which in 1960 made the decisive choice between Kennedy and Humphrey.
The varied political history of the mountains and the mountain states makes these areas unusual testing grounds for candidate-picking. This is especially true when gut issues and not glamour are what the race is all about, as may be the case this year if Kennedy decides to forego the campaign. The region constantly swaps parties and voting patterns, as evidenced by Bill Brock's defeat of Albert Gore in Tennessee, Wendell Ford's defeat of Marlowe Cook in Kentucky, and Arch Moore's defeat of John D. Rockefeller IV in West Virginia.
The matter goes even deeper than that, however, West Virginia has the most highly unionized labor force in the country; North Carolina, the least organized Eastern Kentucky has a Republican district right beside a Democratic one, as does the Blue Ridge of North Carolina. There is a moderate Byrd in West Virginia and an apple butter Byrd in Virginia.
But on top of that, the mountain sections all, have one thing in common;
the largest concentration of unemployed, underemployed, non-middle class voters in the United States. And, with few exceptions, they also share a history of little grass roots action to pick a candidate whose platform matches the region's needs.
Participation in politics as a means of social change is a highly arguable proposition, especially in a region where power is concentrated in the economic and governmental institutions in a way it isn't in the rest of America. Corporate executives, Tennessee Valley Authority board members, and Forest Service bureaucrats don't have to be elected to office.
Yet the political process is the only alternative available to those social change advocates in the region whose other approaches in the last decade have produced about as much "social change" as one scoop out of an abandoned hen house.
Anyway, the politicians are headed toward the mountains, and we might as well prepare to demand something from them rather than having to endue the usual slop that the speech writers and the media pour out every time they campaign down this way.
North Carolina could prove an interesting primary. There, favorite son, Terry Sanford will be trying to prove that he can beat George Wallace on home turf. Sanford, the president of Duke University and an avid golfer, at the most exclusive resort in the Blue Ridge, will tee off a campaign claiming that he, not Wallace, is the friend of the little man.
Guessing the outcome of a primary in the North Carolina mountains is hazardous business. That section is home for both Sen. Sam Ervin and Gov. James Holshouser, the latter a right-winger from Boone who is close to setting a record for incompetence in an office that has never amounted to much in that state. Come to think of it, Sen. Ervin's only claim to merit before Watergate was that he had read the Constitution and could tell pretty good jokes poking fun at the moonshiners over in Avery County.
North Carolina somehow has gained a national reputation as a liberal state. I presume that the reason is that an inordinate number of New York Times reporters, including columnist Tom Wicker, claim to have been born there. Regardless, the animosity the mountain folks feel toward flatlanders could be capitalized upon by someone other than Wallace if the effort is made.
With the abolition of the winner-take-all primaries in the Democratic races, sectional differences like those in North Carolina give agrarian reformers like Fred Harris a chance to pick up a few delegates. Resort developments, high property taxes, dams, and the Forest Service are major issues in that area that only the Wallaceites may be astute enough to spot.
Sanford claims already to have Virginia sewed up with the support of Henry Howell, a perennial candidate for office on the liberal ticket. He may have a chance in the Old Dominion where primaries are not allowed, but it may be another matter in Kentucky, where the party establishment loves him like they did Muskie in 1972. Having the established politicians behind him killed Muskie. But Sanford may not make it to Kentucky, because he may be beaten by either Wallace or Jimmy Carter of Georgia in his home state.
The West Virginia primary takes on added significance next year because of the United mine Workers reforms that allow the miners to have a say in which Democrat they will endorse. The candidates, including Texas millionaire Sen. Lloyd Bentsen, have already been courting the union hierarchy. Whether the new leadership will resist the pressures of the Washington kingmakers to whom it owes some favors for its own elections )such as Joseph Rauh, a liberal big wheel in party circles, who did much of the legal work that made the union reform possible) remains to be seen. With every vote in the primaries now counting for the convention regardless of the state winners, miners in West Virginia--a total of about 40,000--may not vote the straight union ticket.
The revival of the Ku Klux Klan in the mountains--an, area from which it has always been banned--suggests a frustration that folks want things done differently. Significantly, there appears to be little sympathy for Wallace in the mountains. That raises the possibility that the Democratic horde can be forced to run on the issues in the mountains.
It all seems important enough to write some more about, so beginning next week, I'll take a look at what one frontrunner, Sen. Henry "Scott" Jackson, is worth to the region. He has a 400 horsepower mouth on energy issues, but he seems to produce only putt-putt legislation.

Byrd Watching

By: Betty Dotson-Lewis (B. L. Dotson-Lewis)

Written for the http://www.dailyyonder.com/
1/25/2010

Robert Byrd is the longest-serving U.S. Senator. He grew up in — and lived through — times most of us can't imagine. And he's not leaving us without a fight.

Robert Byrd of West Virginia has lived long enough to filibuster the 1964 civil rights act and to support the first African-American to become President of the United States.

Even the New York Times spends time Byrd watching.

“Byrd watching” in Washington, D.C., these days consists of recording and responding to every move the 92-year-old Democrat Senator from West Virginia makes. Whenever there’s a close vote in Congress — such as the Senate decision on the health care bill in late December — Democrats and Republicans alike hold their breath and watch for Sen. Robert C. Byrd. The New York Times in a story on December 23, 2009 described the arrival and attendance of Byrd to the Senate floor to vote as a “poignant ritual.”

The Times goes on to say, “It is his third appearance of the week, each prompted by a vital vote.”

From all appearances Bob Byrd takes his job seriously despite his age and reportedly frail health. On June 12, 2006, Byrd became the longest-serving United States Senator in the history of the United States. On November 18, 2009, Senator Byrd became the longest serving Member of Congress in our history.

The Times implies a pretty dismal future for those of us who are looking forward to living rewarding lives at age of 92 or beyond. Apparently, the journalist has shorter-term expectations. One of my grandmothers lived to 98 years old and the other past 94.

They both grew up during hard times in the Appalachian coalfields not far from where Robert Byrd lived as a young man. Their diets were completely wrong, according to Dr. Oz, Robert Byrd lived as a young man. Their diets were completely wrong, according to Dr. Oz, and both had little medical attention. I believe my grandmothers grew tired of the routine life here and being treated as elderly because they simply closed their eyes and moved on to the hereafter. There was nothing wrong with their mental capacity when they died and neither suffered physically. Sen. Byrd’s own party members appear as surprised as the Republican opposition when the senior senator is on the job. The papers report that Sen. Byrd is greeted by a procession of colleagues: Harry Reid, patting his arm, Barbara Boxer, Democrat from California, applauding his entry. In late December, Byrd was entertained with standing ovations, waves, hugs and even tears for doing the job West Virginians have elected him to do for nine consecutive terms.

Byrd has built an impressive vita, including the election by his colleagues to more leadership positions than any other senator in history. Perhaps this achievement Perhaps this achievement is because of this unyielding desire and determination to do his duty. Byrd once said, “What is sometimes considered to be the result of genius is more the result of persistence, perseverance and hard work."

He is now the President pro tempore, the second highest-ranking official in the United States Senate and the highest-ranking senator in the majority party.

Byrd’s own story, the classic American saga of struggle and achievement in the Appalachian coalfields, may help explain his physical and mental toughness.

Robert C. Byrd was born on November 20, 1917, in North Wilkesboro, North Carolina, to Cornelius and Ada Sale. They had four other children – three sons and a daughter. Byrd started his life with the name of Cornelius Calvin Sale, Jr. Before his mother, Ada Sale, died of influenza on November 11, 1918, she asked her husband to give their sons to other family members to raise. Baby Cornelius (Robert Byrd) was given to his mother’s sister and brother-in-law, Vlurma and Titus Byrd. The Byrds adopted Cornelius and changed his name to Robert Carlyle Byrd.

In 1920, when Robert was about two years old, the Byrds moved to Bluefield in the coalfields of southern West Virginia, where his adoptive father got a job driving a wagon and team for a local brewery. Titus moved from job to job trying to make a better life for his family. He worked more than one job at a time – a coalminer and a farmer. The family moved from town to town but eventually settled down in Mercer County, in the southern West Virginia town of Algonquin (later called Lamar). Robert Byrd's first job was at gas station in Helen, West Virginia

Robert attended a two-room school, finishing four grades in two years. Studying by an oil lamp, he developed a thirst for knowledge at a very young age. When he was in the eighth grade he walked three miles to catch a bus and ride four more miles to school in Spanishburg. Robert graduated as valedictorian of his class of '28 at Mark Twain High School in Stotesbury in 1934.

In the middle of the Great Depression, following graduation from high school, Robert wanted to go on to college but there was no money. Eight months after graduation he finally found a job pumping gas in Helen four miles from his home. He started work in the middle of January, without a car and or a coat to wear. He borrowed a coat and walked or hitched a ride to work – many days walking eight miles to and from the gas station.

Awhile after, he was offered a job as produce boy for the Koppers Coal Company in his hometown of Stotesbury. Koppers owned the coal operations in Helen and Stotesbury. This job would mean he no longer had far to walk to work.

In 1937, Robert married his high school sweetheart, Erma Ora James, a coal miner’s daughter. When they married he was making $75 a month. The couple lived in two upstairs rooms in a coal camp house where Mona, their first daughter, was born.

Robert was constantly looking for ways to make a better life for his family. He picked up meat cutting skills by watching the meat cutters at the Koppers Coal Company store. He read everything he could get his hands on about the process. After acquiring the skill of meat cutting, he worked in supermarkets in Fayette and Raleigh counties and at night he took classes in welding at Beckley College.

When WWII broke out, Byrd worked as a welder building warships in the shipyards of Baltimore and Tampa. In 1945, when the war was over, Robert Byrd brought his wife and two daughters back to Crab Orchard, West Virginia, to settle down. He returned to West Virginia with a new vision of what his home state and country could be.

It was during this time period in the ‘40s when a young, ambitious Byrd became affiliated with one of the most noted hate groups this nation has every witnessed – the Ku Klux Klan. Byrd, in his memoir, recalls recruiting approximately 150 friends and associates to form a chapter in Crab Orchard. It cost $10 to join and the local KKK collected $3. for the robe and hood.

Byrd acknowledges he lacked good judgment. He has said he viewed the Klan more as a fraternal group and as a way for a person with little financial means or power to launch a political career by connecting with doctors, lawyers, clergy and judges who had the money and power he lacked.

"It has emerged throughout my life to haunt and embarrass me and has taught me in a very graphic way what one major mistake can do to one's life, career, and reputation," Byrd wrote when he was 87 years old. Byrd has seen and done a lot. He joined the filibuster of the 1964 civil rights act, and he campaigned for the first African American to be elected president.

In 1946, he made his first run for political office and was elected to the West Virginia House of Delegates. In 1950 he finally began to pursue a college education by enrolling in classes at Morris Harvey College. He was not able to attend college full time but took classes around his work schedule and duties as an elected official.

Byrd earned his law degree cum laude, from American University in Washington, D.C. in 1963 after ten years of study in night classes.

In the halls of Congress, Robert C. Byrd is renowned for his knowledge and defense of the United States Constitution and the institution of the Senate. Byrd “may come closer to the kind of senator the Founding Fathers had in mind than any other,” according to the Almanac of American Politics.

Those words may apply in more ways than the Almanac intended.

On September 17, 1787 the United States Constitution was signed and agreed upon – the oldest and shortest written constitution of any major government in the world.

Benjamin Franklin was 81 years old when he signed the United States Constitution. He was suffering and because of his poor health, needed help to sign the Constitution. As he signed the document, tears streamed down his face. Benjamin Franklin, the oldest framer to sign the Constitution, was in fragile health. Although his body was deteriorating, his mind remained active. He was in constant pain from gout and gallstones. He could barely walk. Franklin would enter the convention hall in a sedan chair carried by four prisoners from the Walnut Street jail in Philadelphia.

Senator Tom Coburn, Republican of Oklahoma, declared in a speech on the Senate floor before the health care reform vote, “What the American people ought to pray is that somebody can’t make the vote.” Many assumed he was talking about Robert C. Byrd.

Coburn’s plea may not be getting the full attention of the Man Upstairs; it will take more than a prayer from an opposing senator to move a mountain like Robert C. Byrd.