A Generation 'Bloodied but Unbowed': We Will Not Acquiesce Ignobly!

By Owen Collins

Powerful political families controlled the jobs and expression of thought in eastern Kentucky and subjects were careful not to alienate the power brokers during much of the 20thtwentieth century. Gradually some of the political families passed on, and highways and information technology opened this closed society to the outside world, restraints were loosened and the freedom to express individual viewpoints emerged.

This book is written from the viewpoint of a Senior Citizen who wrote a column for the Jackson Times-Voice on a wide range of topics beginning in 2000. Uncensored, topics range from political issues to social problems to the challenges of aging to an expressed desire to blow up answering menus. Sharply critical of many of the changes in our society, this book provides some balance and humor to placate ruffled feathers.

This book closes with some powerful eulogies of local personages who did not want to go quietly into that night and desired to spit in the devil's eye on the other side!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452078595

Owen Collins

Born in 1935, Owen Collins grew up in a public school teacher's family in Elkatawa, Breathitt County, Kentucky. He graduated from Lees College, Jackson, Ky.; Centre College, Danville; EKU, Richmond, and the University of Kentucky with a doctorate in Education. He taught in Breathitt County, held several administrative positions in public education and finished his career as superintendent of schools in Wolfe and Pendleton Counties in Kentucky. Never a “yes” man, he was called an “obstructionist” by a legislator during the enactment of the Kentucky Education Reform Act. He has written extensively since his retirement in 1996, primarily as a columnist in two weekly newspapers in Kentucky. He is married for 49 years to the former Janice Fern Taylor of Lexington, Ky. They have two married sons, Mark and Kevin, and five grandchildren.

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DEDICATION

To Janice, my wife and fox hole buddy and

our daughter Kelly whom we never knew

Table of Contents

DEDICATION

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Chapter I:

ELKATAWA

Chapter II:

THE CHALLENGES OF AGING

Chapter III:

ATTITUDES AND VALUES

Chapter IV:

MEDICAL ISSUES

Chapter V:

GRANDCHILDREN AND PETS

Chapter VI:

MY WIFE JANICE: HOW SHE

KEPT ME HUMBLE

Chapter VII:

GOLF STORIES

Chapter VIII:

EDUCATION ISSUES

Chapter IX:

MISCELLANEOUS

Chapter X:

EULOGIES

PREFACE

As far as I can remember I have questioned---some would say argued---with American society as to who we were and where we were going. I was particularly sharp toward institutions that were designed to help the individual such as the church and schools and government. When no one bothered to enter the dialog, I argued with myself.

Particularly strident toward vacuous materialism, I wrote to stimulate thinking. One reader told me, I like to read your column, but I do not always agree with you!

I returned, I surely hope not because I do not always agree with what I have written!

Another senior reported that reading the column was therapeutic in that it articulated feelings which lurked beneath the surface of his conscious such as how we are a discard society, including older persons who have much to offer, albeit at a slower pace.

Several readers encouraged me to distill eight years of writing into this book. Welcome to A Generation ‘Bloodied but Unbowed’ We Will Not Acquiesce Ignobly!

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

A special thanks to: Denise Hisel, Scott and Carol Harbaugh, Lyle and Naomi Thompson, James and Marilyn Rhodes, Denny and Jean Taylor, and John and Sallie Turner for their assistance in editing and reacting to the manuscript. And to my Janice whose logic and clarity proved immensely constructive in the overall process.

Chapter I:

ELKATAWA

Elkatawa is a community of approximately 150 persons located three miles west of the Breathitt County seat of Jackson, Kentucky. Prior to World War II, it was a violent, feudalistic community that settled differences with knives and guns. The influence of a church, mass communication, and better transportation gradually changed this inward looking society to a more optimistic and progressive mindset. The writer has many positive memories of this village located on the L & N- now CSX- Railroad.

September 23, 2002

A Tale of Elkatawa, Kentucky

I was fifteen and had plowed head high corn with a stubborn mule since 7:30 that morning on a hot July day. Not having a timepiece, I listened attentively for the whistle of the #3 L & N passenger train as it snaked its way down Linden Fork of Cane Creek, south bound toward Jackson and beyond. When on time, and it usually was, it stopped at the Elkatawa Post Office at 4:10 P.M. for passengers who needed to make a quick trip to Jackson and return on #2, about two hours later. The whistle meant it was time to call it a day, and after caring for my mule, I trudged home, about a half mile up Linden Fork.

My Mother had supper ready: cornbread, soup beans, onions, buttermilk and fresh strawberry shortcake, a specialty of hers of which I never tired. My body and spirit revived from the work of the day, and I said, Mom, I think I’ll go see my girlfriend.

Befuddled that I could have that kind of energy, she nonetheless assented, but said, Okay, but please get back by dark. You know how I worry when you are out late. And that railroad tunnel you go through always scares me, especially since that convict who killed that man is out of the pen. He lives close by, you know!

Oh, Mom, you worry too much, I replied, I can outrun him, as I combed my hair and ran my hand over a stubble of a beard. See you about dark, I called over my shoulder as I exited the back door.

It was true that in order to reach my girl’s home I had to go through the O & K tunnel which curved through a hill that separated Cane Creek from the North Fork of the Kentucky River. One could not see all the way through the tunnel due to its curvature, but I had a simple way of negotiating the passage: I ran! Being one of the fastest runners in my class, I often thought that I might have set an Olympic record if the race could have been held in that tunnel.

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My wife, Janice and the infamous tunnel, 2009

My girlfriend lived only a fourth of a mile on the other side of the tunnel, but the distance gave me time to catch my breath and to appear brave and nonchalant by the time I reached her home.

Since this was before home telephones had reached the rural parts of Breathitt County and letters via mail took three to four days for delivery, my girlfriend did not know I was coming. When she sighted me on the railroad, she grabbed a broom and began to sweep the front porch. Pretending that I had not seen her sudden burst of activity, I descended a path that led from the railroad to her front porch, remarking to her, as I approached, something about the pretty roses that were blooming at the corner of the house.

We exchanged some pleasantries, but our conversation soon ran dry, because she was not given to much talk, a characteristic which I liked. Her father appeared in the doorway, a checker board tucked under his arm. He had been crippled in the coal mines and limped noticeably. I never heard him complain, although his huge hands were gnarled and twisted from arthritis and other injuries. His sky blue eyes seemed to always twinkle as though to say, My body may be a wreck, but up there I will have a new one!

I liked his daughter well enough, but it was he of whom I was most fond.

He loved to play checkers and so did I, and we each won a game in protracted matches. The rubber game went on and on, and should have been declared a draw, but neither was willing to give in, and the evening shadows began to loom ominously in the river valley, and thoughts of my return trip home and the tunnel flickered disconcertingly along the backroads of my mind. Still we played until our eyes strained to see the pieces. Finally, he yelped in victory as I misplayed, perhaps from anxiety or the gathering darkness or both.

Why don’t you spend the night? We have an extra bedroom, he offered.

I wish I could, but my Mother is probably beside herself with worry, even as we speak. I told her I would be back by dark.

I understand, he replied. Let me get you a lantern.

As I waited while he disappeared inside to get the lantern and my girlfriend had reappeared to bid me goodnight, my heart clutched in my throat as I noticed an approaching thunderstorm from the direction of the tunnel, making the night an impervious black. Aren’t you afraid? she whispered.

Naw, I lied, my voice cracking, what’s there to be afraid of?

She lowered her voice even further as her Father appeared in the doorway with a lantern lit and the only word I remembered was something that resembled brave; at least, that was how I chose to later reconstruct our conversation.

I bade both goodbye and started my ascent to the railroad, scarcely going a hundred yards before the wind from the approaching storm extinguished the flickering flame, and I was left to feel my way along the railroad. The only illumination was an occasional shaft of lightning, which allowed me to see the yawning mouth of the dragon tunnel getting nearer and nearer. Sweat popped on my brow and I gasped for air, although I was in excellent physical condition.

Collins, I croaked, You are not going through that tunnel; you are going over!

It now had begun to rain, pouring so it seemed, which made scaling the sheer cliff a formidable if not an impossible task. I managed to climb five or six feet before repeatedly falling back to ground zero, tearing my pants and knees and arms until blood was flowing freely from the scratches.

Collins, I said, the exertion calming my nerves somewhat, You have to go through that tunnel; it’s the only way home!

So, I entered the dark abyss, feeling my way, hand over hand, arm over arm, along the wall of the tunnel, expecting at any instant to feel the brutal hands of the ex-con around my palpitating throat. Suddenly, I lurched forward into nothingness and had the sensation of free falling, but only for an instant, before the concrete jarred my head. I had forgotten, in my heightened sense of consciousness, about the manholes in the tunnel wall, built for walkers who might be caught in the tunnel by an approaching train.

Rubbing the knot, which now was on my forehead, and feeling the oozing of blood, I thought, Just another incident to add to my war story, if I survived to tell the tale.

So, I resumed: hand over hand, arm over arm; I never thought this tunnel was this long. Suddenly, as I lurched into another manhole, a scream like I had never heard before pierced the blackness. Was it a wildcat? A woman in distress? A ghost of the murdered man? To this day, I am not sure! Someone else or some animal was in that tunnel, too, and the cavern wasn’t big enough for both of us!

Forsaking the hand over hand, arm over arm method of negotiating my way, I began to run, tripping over rails and bouncing from one wall to another, when abruptly I found myself on the outside, still in one piece, bloody but unbowed!

Surprisingly, the storm had abated and a big silver moon bathed the landscape, lighting the way so I could see distinctly for a hundred yards or so. My courage returned and as I began to jog on the railroad toward home, I began to whistle There’s going to be a hot time in old Elkatawa tonight.

I had gone scarcely fifty yards when I was paralyzed by the voice of the ex-con of whom I was mortally afraid!

He was seated on a large rock that overlooked the entrance to the tunnel, and I had passed within six feet of him as I had exited my nightmare. Where ya goin’, Collin? he called.

I-I-I thought I-I-I was goin’ h-h-home! I gasped, my heart pounding high in my chest.

He slipped off the rock on which he was perched and began walking toward me, not running, just walking. As he came, I could see the glint of something in his right hand; it appeared to be a hog-killing knife but I could not be sure, but it was big, huge!

I had not moved an inch since his voice had pierced my psyche; I observed the unfolding of this life and death struggle by twisting my shoulders and looking backwards, my feet and legs still pointing toward home; I was frozen in fright from the waist down! The ex-con kept coming toward me as though savoring a trapped animal whose throat he would delight to slit, the knife looming larger and larger. Could it be a sword?! I thought.

When he was about ten yards from me, the blood returned to my brain, and I said to myself, Run, Collins, run, you can outrun him!

But, my legs were still frozen in place, so I reached down and began pulling on my legs.

The next thing I heard was my Mother calling, Get up, Owen, breakfast is almost ready!

November 6, 2007

The Charm of the Old General Store: Dailey Gabbard

Several readers have expressed to me that they like to read about old Elkatawa rather than the origins of Liberalism, and quite frankly, I enjoy writing about days gone by in Elkatawa---an excursion in nostalgia---as I remember days that were simpler, but more satisfying than the complexities of 2007.

The era of which I write was from 1935 to 1980 and there were three general stores that served our community. Bruce Gabbard owned one that was adjacent to the Elkatawa Graded School. The post office, approximately 500 yards downstream, was run by the late Leonard Little who also operated a general store in conjunction with the post office. Later, approximately 1960, Leonard closed his store and Dailey and Cora Belle Gabbard ran the post office and opened a general store where Wolverine Road intersects with Highway 52.

Each of these stores had a unique ambience reflecting the personality of its owner. It is to Dailey’s store that this column is directed.

Dailey kept those items that would reflect a convenience store today: bread, milk, eggs, just staples that a family might run short on during the week and not want to drive into Jackson where the same items could be bought cheaper and choices were greater. However, Dailey did a good business of providing sandwiches for railroad crews and anyone else who was hungry. His bologna sandwiches were unique.

I can still see him in my memory go to his meat case, tear a piece of wax paper from a roll, lift a long handled butcher knife from its tray, wipe it on his trousers, for he had no running water in the store, and cut a 3/8 inch slice from the end of a roll of bolognee, as we termed it. Then, cleaning his knife on his trousers again, he would cut a thick slice of homegrown onion and spread some mayonnaise on two pieces of light bread which had just been delivered by the bread man. I have never eaten a better bologna sandwich than that which Dailey made.

Cora Belle Combs Gabbard helped him in the store and frequently set up a quilt in a corner to occupy her time when business was slow. Both of these persons were alert and knew current issues in government and politics and had definite opinions concerning social issues, but their pronouncements were always laced with a generous dose of kindness. When Janice and I moved to Elkatawa in the early 70’s, I tried to stop at least once a week to catch up on Green Acres, philosophy.

Recently, I found this poem in my files, which I penned for his funeral:

Dailey Gabbard and His General Store

Warm and welcome and entreating the atmosphere,

Come and sit and let’s talk of yesterday,

When work was virtue and saving a necessity,

When right was right and wrong was wrong,

When men were men, and women, women.

Decisions simple, when values clear.

Seemed to be his message heralded.

Oh sure, Elkatawa will still be here,

Highway 52 will twist and turn,

Linden Fork will ebb and flow,

The engines of L & N will groan and strain,

But it will never be the same,

With closing of the store,

And, Dailey no more.

It is like we are burying the good times,

The simple, the virtuous, the honest, the open hearth,

And, it wrenches and tears our insides.

It is part and parcel with us, and

We do not wish to let it go, but go it must!

We feel empty and lost and hurt,

And yearn for a better day.

Oh sure, Elkatawa will still be here,

Highway 52 will twist and turn,

Linden Fork will ebb and flow,

The engines of L & N will groan and strain,

But, it will never be the same,

With closing of the store,

And, Dailey no more!

Alas, the US Postal Service closed the Elkatawa Post Office and the Elkatawa Graded School was consolidated with LBJ and Sebastian Middle School and one by one the general stores closed, leaving only the churches as focal points in the community. Progress? Perhaps. Perhaps not!

August 17, 2008

The L & N Railroad and the Death of a Dear Buddy

I was born in 1935; therefore, much of what I write about this subject happened during the 1940’s and 50’s.

I remember my mother, Grace Gabbard Collins, complaining about the coal soot and cinders which the helper engines belched and sprayed as they assisted loaded freight trains as they climbed the grade from Elkatawa to the apex of Chenowee Hill. Gathering clothes from an outdoor line, she showed me the soot on the clothes from the coal dust from the train engines.

Further, I recall the puff and roar of the engines as we had school near where Bruce Gabbard had his store on Highway 52. For ten minutes or so no one said anything, including the teacher, because it was nearly impossible to distinguish words until the engines passed. Not that this was an insuperable problem for at most, only four trains per day passed during school hours, and we learned to cope with constructive activities during these interludes.

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Downstairs of this building functioned as the Depot

for the L & N Railroad at Elkatawa.

Ed and Myrtle Hurst and family lived upstairs. The building today functions as a private dwelling. And during the 1940’s, for the most part, we enjoyed passenger service as four trains serviced us and other communities along the railway, two going southbound toward Jackson and two going northbound toward Oakdale. Number 1 ran around four AM toward Jackson. Number 4 arrived at about 8:45 AM going toward Oakdale. Number 3 ran at 4:00 PM toward Jackson, and Number 2 closed out the schedule, going northbound toward Oakdale around 6:00 PM.

The railway was our chief means of transportation because Highway 52 was not built until 1948; consequently roads were rough and in the winter, almost impassable. Similarly, automobiles and trucks were very scarce in Elkatawa. I remember going with my Mother in 1943 to Detroit to meet my Dad who had gone on ahead and had found work in a war