Appalachia, author, authors, Chicago News, coal, Elk River Coal and Lumber Company, Fancy's Hour, history, Island Creek Coal Company, J.G. Bradley, Logan, Logan Banner, Logan County, Monaville, Mud Fork, National Industrial Secretary, Norman Schlichter, poetry, Rivers of West Virginia, West Virginia, Whitman Creek, Y.M.C.A.
From the Logan Banner of Logan, WV, we find this item dated 5 November 1926:
“Norman Schlichter, poet and story writer, has been reading from his books to the pupils of schools of the Island Creek Coal Company properties, at Whitmans, Mud Fork, Monaville, this week. His coming was due to the desire of General Manager Beisel and General Superintendent Hunt to give the schools an opportunity to hear work that is being received with delight by boys and girls all over the United States.
“Mr. Schlichter was for many years National Industrial Secretary of the Y.M.C.A. and is widely known among the mining men of the State. Recently he has been devoting all his time to writing and lecturing. His children’s poems and stories are attracting wide attention. The Chicago News radioed his book, ‘Fancy’s Hour.’ The author is loud in his praise of the great educational advances in West Virginia, especially in the mining communities. Last week he was the guest of Mr. J.G. Bradley at the properties of the Elk River Coal and Lumber Company. He is the author of the ‘Rivers of West Virginia,’ a poem widely known in his state. This poem is reproduced in another column.”
Appalachia, Arthur Evans, Bradyville, Branchland, C.C. McCoy, C.L. Wilson, Ena McCoy, genealogy, Hardin Marcum, Harold Ray Smith, Harts, Herman McCoy, history, Hubball, Jennings Smith, Jim Fulks, Lincoln County, Logan, Logan Banner, Luther Midkiff, Midkiff, Ollie Saunders, Oma Estep, Ora Clay, poetry, Ranger, Ray Fulks, Troy Adkins, West Logan, West Virginia, Williamson
An unknown local correspondent from Ranger in Lincoln County, West Virginia, offered the following items, which the Logan Banner printed on May 21, 1926:
Luther Midkiff and family of Branchland were seen out car riding Sunday.
Mr. and Mrs. C.L. Wilson and Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Evans and families of Hubball were the Sunday guests of Mr. and Mrs. C.C. McCoy.
Hardin Marcum was seen out car riding Sunday. We think he was on his way to Bradyville.
Jennings Smith was seen walking the lonesome road Sunday evening. We wonder where Maggie was?
Mrs. Jim Fulks left Friday evening for Williamson where she will spend a few days with relatives.
Rev. C.C. McCoy and little son Herman attended preaching at Camp Branch Sunday.
Ora Clay was seen out car riding Sunday. We wonder where the widow was?
Sunday is our regular church meeting at this place. Everybody come.
Troy Adkins and family of Midkiff were seen in our little town Sunday evening.
We wonder when Ray Fulks will accept his position back as driving taxi from Logan to Williamson?
Mr. and Mrs. Ollie Saunders of West Logan were visiting relatives here one day last week.
Wonder what has become of Harts?
Miss Oma Estep of Hubball is visiting her sister here this week.
Pearl Hargis, who received a serious burn by starting a fire in the cooking stove with kerosene, is reported much worse, we are sorry to say.
Miss Ena McCoy who has been ill for some time is much better we are glad to say.
Ora Clay was visiting home folks at Hubball Sunday.
He met her in the meadow
When the sun was low.
They strolled along together
In the twilight after glow.
She patiently waited until
He lowered all the bars.
And her soft bright eyes
Beamed upon him as
Radiant as the stars.
Yet she neither smiled nor thanked him
For she knew not how
For he was only a farmer
And she was a jersey cow.
NOTE: I dedicate this entry to my late friend, Harold Ray Smith of Ranger.
This history of early life in Logan County, West Virginia, was written by Howard and Daisy Adams. Howard (1906-1976) and Daisy (b.1915) were children of Major and Belle Dora Adams of Trace Fork of Harts Creek. Titled “The life of pioneers during the latter half of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the 19th century” and written in the late 1960s or early 1970s, their history marks the only known attempt by local people to reconstruct the story of pioneer life. This poem, dedicated to their father, appears at the end of the history. It is dated March 15, 1946.
There by the road stands our dear old home
Where once we did dwell.
With Mother and Dad we would roam
O’er our homestead we loved so well.
We would sit by the fire on a winter night
Talking happy and gay.
Sometimes Dad would read while the fire burns bright,
The Bible, and then, he would pray
That God would watch over his loved ones dear
And our neighbors all around.
We would feel God’s presence near
As we knelt in that circle round.
Mother was a favorite of us all.
Dad loved her very dear.
We did love to hear her call
When the evening time was near.
She could soothe away our worries and frowns
And make us want to smile.
Oh, how I wish we could now sit down
With Mother and Dad for a while.
On January tenth, nineteen and thirty-nine,
I shall never forget that day,
God called our mother, leaving us behind
To worry along on life’s way.
God needed another angel fair
To live in His heavenly domain,
So He took our mother, with her love so rare,
To dwell in that home of fame.
We sure loved our dear old dad,
Though he ruled us with a vim.
He was the best friend we ever had
And we thought the world of him.
I shall never forget that Saturday night,
As the clock was striking nine,
As we sat around the fireside bright
Dad left us behind.
It was on December 16, 1944,
While our friends were standing around,
We had done all we could and could do no more.
The Death Angel of the Lord came down.
He took the breath from our darling dad,
And Dad will suffer no more,
But our hearts will always be lonesome and sad
Until we meet on that golden shore.
Sunrise With You
(Life In The Woods)
Soft yellow sunshine
Breaks atop the rolling peaks
Of West Virginia mountains.
Together we sit
On the banks of a muddy river,
Gazing sheepishly upon
The scenery before us.
It is dawn —
The beginning of a new day.
For some it’s the beginning of a new life.
It can be regarded
As a reminder
That we were created for each other.
See the great golden orb rising
Up into the violet sky,
Glowing brighter and stronger with each second.
Many creatures stir in the forest
Beneath the light of the rising sun
And give life to woody slopes and brown riverbanks.
Such is our love…
It brightens a dull life
And warms a chilly heart.
Fate, perhaps coincidence, managed to uite
Two paths which began
So far apart.
Here at this wonderful
We are where we should
Have always been:
An image of us
Captured in yesterday’s mist:
Two innocents snuggle close
With only love betwixt.
With an arm about your shoulder
I offer you a sweet gift:
I lean toward your cheek —
A kiss, which you shyly resist.
Although disheartened at this refusal,
My inclination does not disappear.
I console myself in realizing that
There’s always us next year.
December 8, 1995
A Time to Love
Though I did not think it possible,
I feel myself growing fond of someone.
It is a scary feeling —
One of uncertainty and curiosity.
I can feel myself ebbing toward you.
Is it time to love?
Though our eyes seldom behold each other,
Though we never have brushed lips or hands,
I can feel me loving you.
You are the girl I have dreamed of.
I have wanted you for years.
Nothing can change that.
I can not make these feelings go away.
I could conceal them longer
But I do not wish to do that.
I have wanted you for so long.
I know that it is time to love.
Do not be frightened or uncomfortable.
It is not the occasion for such negativity.
Frolic in the meadows God has created for us.
Laugh with the joy that you will finally know contentment.
I will make you happy.
I will make you love.
Have you ever truly?
O’ it is time to love.
The Spririt is everywhere around me.
It is our time to love.
Bless me with an opportunity to prove myself.
“Shew forth thy loving kindness in the morning.”
It is morning.
It’s our morning.
Let us grip hands
And love each other throughout the days.
Our sun will shine a little brighter, I think.
May 7, 1991
Missing You This Day
Never have I felt so lonely,
As I have today.
Never have I cried for another
As I have today.
Never have I longed for one’s company
As I have today.
Today is the day
I miss you.
I am alone
And for the first time in my life,
I do not want to be.
I want my love to be here
Or I to be there.
So long as we are together.
I want to hear you laugh,
See you smile.
I want to smell your beautiful aroma
And feel your touch.
I want to love you in deed,
As well as in thought.
I want you to understand how
Lonely, helpless, frustrated, longing.
This should convince you of my love.
See me as I weep like a child
At his dead mother’s grave.
See me as I stand alone,
Reaching for you.
In the muddy mound for what can not be had.
In this cold, desolate autumn wasteland
See me drowning in my lake of self-pity
Screaming at an unanswered echo,
Being bashed against a rocky shore,
Bleeding in the churning waters,
Mingling with its fury —
The fury of my turmoil.
Only memories and future optimism
Keep me alive.
How I yearn for you,
Oh how I wish we could be together,
So these separations would not be.
Oh how I want to sweep you from your
Home and run the winds
With your love, leaving rules behind.
I dream of the day we can finally be
You and I,
Until then, I will
As I do on this day.
October 10, 1990
‘Twas a summer day
In the meadow
When I spied her.
She was a beauty,
And I loved her.
She trod toward me,
And I could feel my leaves
Grow in pride.
She was to pick me
As her flower,
As she neared me,
And I loved her.
She gently reached for me
And my eagerness to be hers
As she caressed my proud stem,
She quickly pulled away
And I wept.
A drop of blood ran down my petals,
And the angel ran from the meadow.
“Take no heed to my black petals.
Only my sharp, brazen thorn.
Is it always the harmless rose
Which is chosen to adorn?”
July 11, 1990