Banks

I believe our first mortgage was a 6% fixed rate for 30 years. We borrowed $18,000. My car cost that much last year. I recollect the payback would total $34,500 or so. Mr. AL handled the loan. He worked at the old SNBank. He treated us with respect. The old SNB got took over by BankOne some years back. But I didn’t care because the old SNB had, over the years, worn out Mr. AL’s initial welcome aboard. For a long time I kept all my accounts there. Wheeling Steel Corporation kept some accounts there as well. That nugget of information will, of course, come into play later.

If I get that far.

We put $6,000 down on a $24,000 stone house atop a small knob on a 1/3 of an acre with cornfields on three sides and the County road on tother. That was our first home. That is where I truly realized that I was married with a child and a mortgage, and was probably fucked for life. The endless years of grit, grime, and sweat making steel passed way into the future. But I also got to really know a person that I share my life with today. And I STILL haven’t committed suicide- or murder.
So a couple of years down the road the powers that be decided to improve the road and of course the Mr. and Mrs. Kayak family abode stood smack dab in the middle of progress. So the State came by to discuss the terms under which we would be evicted from our little stone house. I documented the purchase price and $4,000 worth of improvements. The State said they would give me the $28,000 and up to another $8,000 IF the $8,000 was used to purchase another house. Mother Kayak didn’t raise no dummies, cepten mebbe one, and we were happy to spend that $8,000. The next place cost $42,000. The new 30-year loan was around 8% fixed but we still only needed to borrow $18,000. Mr. AL had retired, I forget who handled this one.

Ya know, it’d be down right interesting to find myself in the way of a road today.

So for some time I cashed my paycheck every two weeks at the drive-thru of SNB. And every two weeks I’d be asked, “Do you have an account here, Sir?” and I would reply—and anticipate her next question—“Yes I do, savings, checking and mortgage.” Banks don’t like to cash checks, they lose money doing it, so they only do it for their own customers. But there is a little known Federal Law that says that a bank has to stand behind a check that was issued from an account at that bank. That little nugget about Wheeling Steel from above fits in right here. Then came that day, one of THOSE days if you haven’t guessed, when I reached the point where I wasn’t going to take any more shit.
I pulled into the drive-thru and sent my paycheck off to Oz in a plastic tube and this perky, jerky, preppy chick that dressed like a man asks me if I have an account. I look at her, think a moment and say, “Maam, it doesn’t matter if I have an account, the law says you have to cash it.” And the conversation flowed about like this:
“Sir, we only cash checks for our customers”
“Maam, the law says you have to cash that check.”
“We have instructions not to cash checks except for customers of the bank.” (She said bank as if were capitalized.) “If you won’t co-operate I’ll have to call my supervisor.”
“That would be a good idea because I’m about to call the cops.”
This sets her back. Now she’s looking at her amigo’s back there behind the bulletproof glass. And Miss. Preppy, all smiles and dignity a moment before, has a potty mouth when the microphone is off. Asshole seems to be her favorite adjective. But that’s OK, I’ve been called an asshole by professionals. The supervisor shows up. A discussion breaks out between Miss Preppy and the suit. The suit gets on the mike and tells me they only cash checks for customers.
“Sir, that check is drawn on an account in this bank. Federal law says you have to honor it.” He looks down at the check, looks out at me.
“Sorry about the mix-up, I’ll have the clerk take care of you.”
“Thank you.”
But it wasn’t a mix-up. They didn’t train their employees properly.
So the chick sends out my money with a smile and a thank you. So I say, “Thank you, Maam and by the way, I’m not really an asshole, I just know what the fuck I’m doing, unlike you”.

It’s kind of like those people at Wendy’s. I always order a single with just ketchup. That way you get the next burger off the grill and it’s usually hot and juicy. And the person behind the register always says, “Would you like cheese on that?”
What I would like to do is grab them by the shirt and say, “What the fuck did I just tell you? I said ‘just ketchup’. ‘Just ketchup’ means I don’t want any lettuce, pickles, mustard or fucking cheese.” But I settle for “No thanks, just ketchup.”

So a few weeks later I’m talking to a guy at work and he asks me about my mortgage. I tell him it’s 8% fixed. Now it’s true that interest rates were falling at the time but they hadn’t dropped enough for me to re-finance. And this guy calls me a dumb ass because he has a variable rate mortgage and is only paying 5% or something. Well a year went by and one evening he starts telling me about all the trouble he is having since his variable rate mortgage hit 16%. I laconically replied that I had a 8% fixed. It’s odd though that I was a dumbass the year before but he didn’t say I was a genius when the table turned. That happens a lot.
Well over time I remodeled the $42,000 house and reached the point where I had to get out of the City for the sake of my sanity. The house sold for the same $42,000 I paid for it. Hey, easy come easy go. The next place cost $62,500. We were moving out and up. And this time I again had to borrow $18,000. I got it at 6% fixed for 30 years- again. At SNB- again. Then a couple of years down the road I couldn’t pay my mortgage at the bank anymore and instead had to send a check to some damn place across the country. The bank had sold my debt. I cashed out of the bank and borrowed from another. BankOne took over a few years later. Well after about 10 years there was a strike coming up. I figured it would be a long one so I finagled my finances around and paid off the mortgage 2 months before the strike. The strike ended a few weeks past one year. I could have held out for 5. So I began making “mortgage” payments to myself. Sold that $62,500 place for $110,000 and bought in town at $128,000, paid cash fer it. Only had to add---$18,000.

It’s odd that continuities entwine throughout our lives, joining all the pieces strewn out across our days. One of my continuities was that $18,000. I wonder if that will be the cost of my funeral?

news media

I just love to hear people say, “The penny isn’t worth anything”. Because, you see, that means that the penny is valueless or, not worth a cent so to speak. But the lowly little cent- The first US cents were about the size of todays half-dollar and were made of copper with some alloys.- was my introduction to the world of finance.
“Collecting pop bottles” is what I called it. I imagine some considered it garbage picking. But every pop bottle was worth 2 cents. You could put 3 bottles up on the counter to buy a candy bar and get a ‘wheat penny’ in change. Wheat pennies are the ones minted before 1959 with what’s called wheat ears somewhat surrounding the reverse, or ‘tails’ side of the coin. “Heads” is called the obverse in numismatics. A collector is a numismatist. It’s called coin collecting in the, pardon the expression, nickel and dime world of the common man.
But I can prove the penny is worth something. Now if a penny is worth nothing it has a value of zero. So if you take 5 pennies and multiply them by zero (their alleged value) you get zero. But the problem is that those 5 pennies are now worth a nickel. Now I figure a nickel is worth something.
We used to walk miles looking for pop bottles. Oh. And by the way, “pop” is a generic name, in mountain lingo, for soda/pepsi and etc. If a bottle was found buried in dirt it would be gleaned with sticks, as handy as any Neanderthal ever dug out a root. Then one day while fishing we discovered along an inside curve of Big Wheeling Creek a couple of bottles buried in the gravel/silt deposits that line the bank. And as I sat there watching for a nibble, the little man that never sleeps was running around inside my head. He took me on a journey up Big Wheeling Creek. Round this bend and that. Flanked by acres of exposed gravel banks. My ears heard “ca-ching” as I smiled to myself and thought, “It’s sort of money in the- bank“.
Now a nickel is worth something. 5 of them get you a quarter. Quarters used to be about 90% silver. Silver quarters when dropped have a distinctive ring that is entirely missing from today’s quarters. When that sound was heard everyone, and I mean everyone, looked. We’re talking about a quarter after all! That’s 12 and one half pop bottles.
And so began the great bottle expedition. It was decided that scavenging over distance would be easier and probably more productive than digging for unseen bottles. So gunnysacks in hand we waded into what we hoped was high finance. It didn’t take long for the sacks to get heavy with bottles. Not long after that there wasn’t room so we stashed them and continued on. We were raking in the dough I tell you. And then we hit the bottleneck of what we now call shipping. We had 100 pounds of stuff and only 5- 10 pound bags. Westerns were popular back then. And I’ve never seen a better organized cattle drive than we conducted on Big Wheeling Creek. Cept we was herding bottles. Bottles don’t have that herd instinct like cows, though they float better.
Now a quarter just has to be worth something even though it’s just 25 pennies. Why 5 quarters is $1.25. You can buy the Sunday edition of our local paper with a buck and a quarter and umm… Well I guess a penny really is worth nothing. But I got my bottle in.

It was self-defense.

Was poking around the net the other day when an IM popped up. Thinking it was a friend because of a similarity in the name I opened it. Well it wasn’t from a friend. It was from a couple of girls that claimed they were looking for a good time. Here is the picture that was with the IM.

Now ignoring the fact that dating people over the net isn’t my cup of tea, in fact dating at all isn’t my cup of tea, I felt a little put upon by the interruption.
So I replied: "Are you the fat ugly one or the even fatter and uglier one?"
They were so rude that they didn’t even reply.
Luckily I wasn’t looking for a good time anyway.

How to save electricity.

It is time for all you Greens to put your money where your mouth is. You may have noticed that I don’t post as often as before. That is because I have been busy perfecting a solar powered clothes dryer.
Now after months of research and hands on development I can send you plans that will enable you to save hundreds of dollars a year on your electric bill and help save the environment.
You will need about $50 or less, depending on various factors, in equipment from your local hardware store to complete the steps of my plans for a solar powered clothes dryer. There is no need to have an engineering degree. Any average person can complete the steps in the plan.

Send $19.95 to Kayakdave c/o Appalachian Greens along with your return address to receive this vital information.



Below: The solar powered clothes dryer in action.

The Damn Kid Makes Me Look Bad

"Who ya gonna vote for?" my wife asked over the weekend. I shrugged it off by mumbling something-or-other, and then went back to my nap. I was tired, you see, from all the comic book reading I'd done earlier that morning.

"Did you see this story about the kid selling his bike to raise funds for Hillary?" she asked, with what sounded like mother-ish approval.

I wiped the drool from my chin, and asked "Hillary who?" My nap was looking like history.

"It's a great story, about a kid from Williamson, WV, who sold his bike to raise money for Hillary Clinton's presidential bid." She started to read to me from the paper. I stopped her.

"Why would a kid do that--sell his damn bike--for a person he didn't know?" I started to ponder if I wasn't really still asleep and just having a surreal dream.

There was a long, long pause before she answered.

"Because he cared."

I wasn't able to go back to sleep.

(Cross-posted from The Jacknut Chronicles)

Hillbillies.

Money sure is interesting. They got all sorts a names they use fer money. I just love the term, “liquid assets”. Ta us mountain folk the term carries us back to our youth.
It were oughtum I remember. The leaves still green yet aged and wrinkled things. Wood smoke wafting gently from the fire beneath the still. I had just put some more wood on the fire when Betty Lou from over in the next holler happened by. She was out looken fer possem eggs. I allowed how I knew where to find some and asked iffn she would sample a little of the product for quality corntrol reasons. Well she took a snort. Said it was a mite on the sweet side. So I took a swaller and it seemed fine to me. I handed her the jug telling her so. She took another sample. And I forget a lot of what happened but we woke up 2 days later naked in the fountain in downtown Wheeling. Never did find my overalls. They was almost brand new too.
They’d only been worn by 2 people before me.

Hey! I figured “What the hell” mebbe I ought ta hick it up a mite fer ya’all. Lord knows we got our share of loons here in the Mountain (eer) State. A group of them are promoting that we should embrace the term “hillbilly”.

My old man kept his liquid assets in the ice box in packages of six.
(I’ll wait till the kiddies figure out what an ice box is.)
I mean hells bells I was 35 before I knew the term referred to money.
Ice box is a lot easier to spell than frigerator too.

Well I don’t like the idea. I ain’t no fucking hillbilly, ya hear?

They say there be a recession comin. Lots a folks getten skit-ish bout their liquid assets. Them not so liquid assets- kinda muddy assets I guess – are looken a little pale too. Them money folk sure do have their tit in the wringer-- again.

Listen. Kayakdave is rough around the edges. I know that. I ain’t a bit ashamed of it. Not a bit.
But I ain’t no fucken hillbilly!
Yup there’s stuff I’ll never know, things I’ll never understand.
But I ain’t no fucken hillbilly!
Hell, I got most of my teeth. In a jar in ma roll top desk.

Damn country is broke.
Bout out a liquid assets.
I gotta git to a liquor store.
And find Betty Lou’s number.

odds and ends

Detailed photo analysis and DNA testing here at the Appalachian Greens lab have answered the question: “What the fuck is that lump on the side of John McCain’s head?”.
The answer: Mini Mac.










A lot of Americans, especially right-wingers, have taken a dislike to France. I have given France a good looking over and find little to complain about.







While out walking I happened upon this motorist with engine trouble. I stopped and helped her get her motor running. After all, she got mine running.








This is Grandma Kayak. The picture was taken the day the revenuers busted up her still.

More from the "Liberal Media"

The FCC has ruled that the 700 Club is a "bona fide newscast." I"m surprised it took the Bushies this long to start turning their propaganda into legitimate sources.

I'd blog more about it but I'm in the middle of bunches of boxes (moving next week). So I'll leave it to our intrepid commenters to flesh this one out. Thanks!

New scam- watch out!

Please be careful. I have become a victim of a clever scam while out shopping.

This happened to me and it could happen to you.

Here's how the scam works:
Two seriously good-looking 18-year-old girls came over to my car as I was loading my packages. They both started wiping my windshield with a rag and Windex, with their breasts almost falling out of their skimpy t-shirts. It is impossible not to look. Well I thanked them and offered them a tip, they said 'No' and instead asked for a ride to another store. I agreed and they get in the back seat. On the way, they start having sex with each other. Then one of them climbed over into the front seat and shows me a good time, while the other one stole my wallet. I had my wallet stolen last Tuesday, Wednesday, twice on Thursday, again on Saturday, yesterday, and most likely again tomorrow.
SO KIND READERS----BE CAREFUL

sugestions needed

I need advice from our readers. I got ahold of a 5 Gal. steel milk jug and have removed the rust, sanded, primed and put a coat of paint on it. I now wish to decorate it and present it to Mrs. Kayak on her birthday. While figuring out how to decorate it I had an idea.
Time is not a factor in this project. I have picked out a 14” X 11” paint by number kit. I intend to trace the drawing on tracing paper and then glue/attach carbon paper to the tracing and then transfer the pattern onto the milk jug and then paint it according to the directions on the kit. I haven’t bought anything yet because I am trying to figure out an easier way of doing it. The stencils I’ve seen do not offer the complexity that I desire as I want to make this something special.

So readers—what is an easy way out of this? Does some company make a pattern where I could transfer the lines directly to the jug without all that tracing and carbon paper? I’m pretty sure carbon paper doesn’t come in 14” X 11” sheets anyway and that’s another hassle right there.

Ideas??

Sometimes just living your life is a political statement

Today I learned that Mildred Loving, matriarch of interracial marriage, died yesterday. Mrs. Loving, black, married her white boyfriend in 1958. Later on they challenged the Virginia law against interracial marriage. If you read the linked story, you'll see that she challenged the law not to make a point for any group or for anyone else, but to live her life with the man she loved. A simple proposition for most of us, and God knows how hard it is to build a life with someone else. I can't imagine the difficulties that they must have had. I hope they packed as much joy as they could into their 17 years together as they could.

Unfortunately, sometimes merely living your life is a political statement. Especially these days.

Eastern Bluebirds!!

Here's the news on what's been going on in this year's bluebird box on the outskirts of Pleasants County, West Virginia:



And I tell you what, it's a hell of alot more exciting and entertaining than the Democratic presidential primaries.

Save the Planet!

Now I know this will come as a shock to some but the planet doesn’t need saving. Thing been around on about 4-1/2 billion years, give or take a bible or two. Modern humans have been around on about 100,000 years. When you view those 100K years as the blink of an eye that it is, it ain’t all that impressive in the stream of time. They say that microscopic stuff lived on Earth possibly 4 billion years ago. We have rocks of that age that show what some consider to be evidence of life on a microbial scale. These ancient rocks are found in the land of our northern neighbors and are part of the Canadian Shield.
So you see folks, the planet don’t need saving.
It is us that need to be saved. The planet will fulfill its destiny, with or without mankind. We are just window dressing along for the ride. And, in the end, pardon the expression; it will be consumed in the fires of the Sun. Odd that the Sun, without which there would be no Earth, will in its time destroy all life and the planet itself. Yet this carnivorous star, the destroyer of worlds, awaits in turn, its destiny. I believe they say there is a black hole at the center of our galaxy, if so, that may be the Sun’s destiny. (Gravitational forces could possibly eject the sun from the galaxy at some point in the future.)
Now amid all this death and destruction is that blink of an eye I mentioned.
But that blink of an eye, what a time it was! We humans colonized a planet and are poised to colonize a galaxy. Today we pretty much hold our destiny in our hands. We can save ourselves or not. Don’t matter to the planet. Our ancestry, a tree not likely to ever be fully known, is, whatever its true form, a rich history of struggle and survival. They say that “Lucy” isn’t one of our ancestors. Shame. We know a great deal about Lucy. That she walked erect for example. Footprints in volcanic ash in East Africa from some 2 million years ago show what appears to be a family unit walking along. They seem to have stopped on occasion as perhaps a sound or smell had caused them to take note of something. Collectively we call these ancient beings Hominids. Man’s lineage stretches back in time amid as many as 20 different species of Hominid. Today there is only one. We refer to him as Homo Sapiens or simply Man. All the others of our species are gone. Lots of animals and plants are gone, many driven to extinction by man and man alone. They say we are an intelligent species, and we are. Our problem is our vision.
Those footprints in East Africa haunt me. Visible on the ground, and plain to see is the footwork of a Hominid that has stopped in mid-stride, planted his feet and turned to look over his left shoulder. I sometimes contemplate the scene. The Hominid has sensed something, most likely some danger. Imagine being on the menu of the local carnivores. And the thing is, it doesn’t matter if our hominid lives or dies at this moment locked in volcanic ash. He and his kind will leave no footprints in the future for the Earth will become the home of Homo Sapiens and he alone. And if ya look around nobody misses the maker of those 2 million year old footprints. A few million years from now nobody will miss us should we become extinct, the planet least of all. But today I find myself stopping and looking over my shoulder on occasion. I sense something out there.
Save the planet?
It doesn’t need saving.

Stick to Having Relations with your Sister

The following comment was left on an earlier post by one of those chickenshit trolls who won't leave their name and ain't even creative enough or are just too lazy to come up with a halfway decent moniker to hide their true identity:

"This idiotic article can certainly sum up how the people of Appalachia should stick to having relations with their sisters and making moonshine and stay out of Historical concepts unless it has to do with how to have sex with a immediate family member and not have a retard.

"Furthermore I find it so ironic that this website has a FUCKING wal-mart sticker which indicates it is anti Wal Mart but shows only support for that orginization through cheap carni trickery that only hill trash would know.

"sir or madam or hillbilly retard may you die and fuck your grandma in hell forever!!"

............and Senator Obama thinks we're angry and bitter.

This comment demonstrates what I've suspected for years: living in mom's basement with nothing but a computer and maybe some porn laying around on the floor is really bad for a guy's mental health especially when he's more than likely well into his 30's.

Feel free to leave a comment and share your psychological evaluation of basement dwelling trolls like this one 'cause there seems to be alot of them. Is it the loneliness that comes from having no one to talk to in the basement or the stale air and lack of sunshine? Maybe excessive masturbation causes people to revert into this state of mind. But what really does cause a person to devolve into such a pathetic human being that they feel compelled to behave like this when they're online?

I'm curious to know what you think.

Imaginary Friends are Fine, But...........

Quote of the week:

From JDB at Infinity Ranch

"If I had an imaginary friend that I asked to do things for me over and over again without any return, I'd be committed. But if I call him 'God,' it's all OK. Well, it's not OK, especially when people get hurt as a result."

Amen.

Polygamy

Polygamy. Hell, I’m all for it. Not my cup of tea mind you but if people of legal age wish to engage in it, freely and openly among themselves, who am I to tell em “NO!”.
Course there’s all that other stuff involved, underage “brides” and what not. But amongst all the hoopla of ‘so many were either mothers or pregnant’ WOULD SOMEBODY CHECK ON THE LITTLE BOYS TOO----PLEASE!
Christians ya know.
Gotta watch them people.
Them and republicans.
And Democrats.

surprise

There are thousands of years of instinct evident in this picture. Anyone that has ever had to deal with a feral cat knows what they can be like. Yup that cute little kitty has the mind of a killer. Some guy was killed by his bear recently.





Now these guys seem gentle enough. They are prey animals, on the cute side and their locomotion is astounding. But again these roos are dangerous, they can slit yer belly open with one kick.

The animal that poses the most danger to man is however:

I could see myself making a big mistake around this critter if things fell a certain way.

Then there are animals that just surprise you.

That was the week that was

“Misty water colored memories”
“Of the way we were.”

I fell asleep about a half hour into that movie despite some left-wing rabble rousing at the beginning. Apparently I started snoring because I was awoken with a left jab from my date. She didn’t wish to leave so I sat there another 15 minutes or so and excused myself to “go to the can”. Now the nice thing about those days was the theaters were stand-alone affairs located downtown. Outside I crossed the street, bought a newspaper, a beer, fish sandwich and shot a couple of games of pool, keeping the theatre exit in sight the whole time. I then stationed myself near the exit of the theater and read the newspaper and shot the bull with acquaintances that passed by. My date exited the theater when the movie was over and it was easy to see that she was, lets call it upset. I had “abandoned” her you see. Never mind that we were looking right at each other and I had been right there the whole time. I pointed out that I would have fallen asleep again and embarrassed her. Well, that date was over.
I had an even shorter date once. I picked her up and when we were about 40 feet down the street from her house she said, “I am not a cheap date.” Since that statement carries with it a number of interpretations I immediately pulled to the curb and pulled out a rather substantial wad of cash. “Will this be enough?” I inquired. She was completely at a loss for words. I drove around the block and threw her out. Later I found out she was concerned because I had taken a friend of hers fishing for a date. Mrs. Kayak went fishing on our first official date and while I didn’t catch a fish that evening, I had found a keeper, as had she. You can learn a lot by fishing with someone.
I remember women being a lot like fish. Sometimes ya couldn’t catch a single one and other times ya had a whole stringer full. I won’t get into the smell. Some would come right along as ya reeled them in and others would put up some resistance, a few would on occasion ‘spit the hook’. Come to think on it there’s a size limit on both too. Then there is the bait. Some fish will nibble on anything flashy. Others require that their attention be drawn to the bait by smell. Don’t know why after-shave companies don’t make a fragrance that smells like money. Ya tend to get a lot of women when you’re loaded. Then ya get them loaded-- and horizontal.
Ya gotta learn to think like a fish. I’ll never learn to think like a woman so I’ll just have to settle fer fish I guess. But I had an interesting week.
On Sunday the temperature was almost summer like so as we prepared to leave I reached into the closet and grabbed my Hawaiian shirt that I purchased some months back on vacation. It’s black with outrigger canoes, a red sunset, beach, palm trees and etc.
Mrs. Kayak: “You gonna wear that?”
Kayakdave: “What’s a matter with it?”
MK: “It’s ugly.”
KD: “It’s ugly?!
MK: “Yup.”
KD: “Wait a minute, you stood there and let me buy an ugly shirt?”
MK: “It was pretty in Hawaii.”
KD: “But now it’s ugly??”
MK: “Yup”

So I hung it back up and away we went. On Monday I was standing in the kitchen and noticed the clock was 15 minutes fast so I fixed it, the weather was again nice and I had a few chores to do. Since I was going solo I put on my Hawaii shirt, wouldn’t want to embarrass the Mrs. by wearing an “ugly” shirt in her presence after all. I stopped at Bob Evans for chow and the waitress remarked what a pretty shirt I was wearing. Since she knows Mrs. Kayak and myself I told her to mention to Mrs. Kayak what a nice shirt I was wearing the next time she sees her. Went to the hardware store for grass seed and the checkout lady remarked what a beautiful shirt I was wearing. When Mrs. Kayak and myself crossed paths later I of course mentioned these encounters. She was not impressed.
On Tuesday morning I noticed the kitchen clock was again 15 minutes fast and I again corrected it. That evening we did a little gambling. Now Mrs. Kayak likes a game called “Texas Tea” for some reason. I was plugging along and looked over and noticed she had switched to a different game.
Kayakdave: “Gave up on “Texas Tea”?”
Mrs. Kayak: “Not really, I was losing money so I switched over to build up some money so I could play “Texas Tea”.
KD: “You do understand that the object is to leave with more money than you came with don’t you?”
MK” “Yea.”
KD: “So why are you playing a game to win money so you can switch to another game where you lose money?”
MK: “Don’t worry about it.”
KD: “What you just said is totally irrational.”
MK: “ No it isn’t.”
My jaw opened to say something and nothing came out. What to say?
So on Wednesday morning the clock was again 15 minutes fast and I took it down and inspected it. Could see nothing obviously wrong with it so I set the correct time and put it back up. The next morning I was reaching for the clock to again reset the time and Mrs. Kayak said, “What are you doing?”
KD: “This fucking clock keeps gaining time, we need a new one.”
MK: “There’s nothing wrong with the clock, I set it 15 minutes ahead so that I’m not late for work.”
I won’t bore you with the rest of the conversation it just went downhill.

Willow Island: A Local Tragedy

In light of my AG colleague Mountain Laurel's great post on the Willow Island accident 30 years ago, I thought I'd take a drive down the road and take some pictures and share a perspective from a blogger who was around when it happened.

While this story is a local one for most of us, it's especially local for me. My roots in Pleasants County run pretty deep. Not far from the Willow Island power plant (toward the Wood County line), my family owned a farm for generations- a farm that was raided by Confederate sympathizors during the Civil War. About fifteen horses were stolen. My great-great aunt and her husband founded the first drug store in town known as Phillips and it's one of the few remaining businesses in downtown St. Marys.

When the Willow Island tragedy occurred in 1978, my grandfather owned a local business in St. Marys. He had to let employees leave because they had friends and relatives working down there who were unaccounted for. It seems like Grampa may have shut the store down early, but I can't be sure about that because he passed away in 1981.

Dad took us for a drive down that way on State Route 2 a few days or maybe a week later and the site was really something awful. It wasn't nothing more than a pile of cement and rubble. I was pretty young back then, but old enough to imagine the horror those people must have experienced.

The Gazette article linked in Laurel's last post tells the story but I don't think many people realize that this cooling tower didn't just collapse, it uncoiled in a spiral motion so that the people trapped inside had plenty of time to realize just exactly what was happening. Stories began to circulate about the workers panicking and running for their lives, many of them trapped at high altitudes on scaffolding.

The cause of the accident was plain. The company and contractors didn't wait for the cement to dry before they sent their people back into the tower to finish the job. I can't imagine anything more callous and careless, but as the article in the Charleston Gazette pointed out few steps have been taken to insure the safety of today's workers. The Sago mine disaster is a perfect example of West Virginia's progress on this issue over the past thirty years.

I was too young to really know any of the people who died that fateful day, but I do have good friends who lost their fathers, their brothers, their uncles, and their friends to this preventable disaster. Let us all hope and pray, if you pray, that something like this never happens again. Most of all, let's hope our governor and the state legislature take a few minutes away from all the time they spend trying to court new businesses to locate within our borders and spend a little bit of time helping to make our state safer for the hard working men and women who actually run this state.