Co-op: Coal, Community, & House 52

By Charles Dan Worley

Co-operative, Kentucky, born in 1920-22 in the vast riches of a virgin forest in the heart of McCreary County seemingly overnight, was brought together by timber and coal. The Co-op Coal Mine thrived for 28 years. Like a desert rose that springs from nothing, Co-op blossomed and then suddenly was gone with no evidence it ever lived. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Word Wise Publishing Inc
• Release date: Jun 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952784019

Charles Dan Worley

Charles Dan Worley-writer, poet, and artist-lives in Stearns, Kentucky, in the beautiful Appalachian Mountains, still close to the place he was born and raised.He received his B.S. in Art degree from the University of the Cumberlands (Williamsburg, Kentucky)His first memoir was released in 2020: Co-op: Coal, Community, & House 52. He published a book of poems and reflections in 2021 titled Catch a Falling Star. Both of these books were nominated for the 2022 TCK Publishing Reader's Choice Awards.In addition to writing and art, he has a special love for antique cars and has won many first place awards at car shows in different states. Visit him on Facebook: @charlesworley

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Preface

My name is Danny Worley to the people who knew me growing up. I never used my first name, Charles, until my first full-time job. That was after I graduated from college. The company I worked for had a rule of using first names. It didn’t take me long to get used to it. My mom named me Charles after her dad, my grandpa. The name Danny, Mom heard watching the Bailey Brothers on the Cas Walker Show, a Tennessee-based TV variety show. His show came on weekday early mornings. The lead singer’s name was Danny. Mom liked the name so well she gave it to me. Mom didn’t know Danny’s legal name was Daniel, so named me Charles Danny. Ironically, Danny’s brother, the other half of the singing duo, was named Charles.

Growing up, I watched Dolly Parton when she was a young girl, about 14 or 15 years old, sing on the Cas Walker Show. Even when school was going on, we’d have time to watch a few minutes of the show before leaving for school. We were all amazed at the powerful voice this young girl had. She was only a year older than my sister, Wanda. It was obvious she was someone special. Dolly is now a major country music icon.

You might ask, what’s my great accomplishment that I would write this memoir? Since Co-op was a coal mining community, you might even think I worked in a coal mine, or maybe I owned a mine. And I would have to answer no to both. The only thing I can point to is I’m a graduate of Cumberland College in Williamsburg, Kentucky, now named University of the Cumberlands. Back in the early years of the school providing higher education to the underserved area, it intrigued men like John D. Rockefeller and Andrew Carnegie, both of whom supported the institution.

The University website states it has produced two governors, five military generals, an admiral, five college and university presidents, a congressman, ministers, missionaries, legislators, judges, and more. I’m one of the and more. But that’s not a big deal since so many others have done the same thing. I worked and paid my way through college. My grades weren’t good enough nor was I talented enough in sports to secure a scholarship. I worked every summer through high school and college, saving every dollar to help with expenses. After I graduated, the money I had borrowed I paid back over the next several years. And that’s not a great accomplishment either since many people have done that.

I never was elected to any political office, not because I tried and failed. I never tried. It was not my interest.

Then you might ask, why didn’t I teach school? I applied at McCreary County Kentucky School System, the county where I grew up and lived. Superintendent Ralph Nevels said to me he could not see art being taught past the 3rd grade. My expertise was in teaching art from the 7th grade through the 12th grade. He told me I had wasted my time getting the degree. I didn’t think so at all. I never let his words stifle my love for drawing and painting. Walking away from the interview, I took this as a sign that maybe the classroom wasn’t where I was supposed to be. So I moved on. I’ve always found work. I’ve done a variety of jobs from assembly factory work to retail to door-to-door insurance sales. I also owned a successful restaurant for a few years with my wife. But I never started or ran a million dollar company.

Early in my career, I worked with a gentleman by the name of Roy Woodward. He said and I quote, If you don’t become a millionaire in the first twenty years of your career, it’s a good possibility you won’t ever. And I didn’t. But I measure being rich in other ways. My family, for example, is one very important measure. Another is friendship. If one can say he has one true friend, I view that as being rich.

The one constant in my life has been drawing and painting. That’s who I am. And Mr. Nevels’ thinking I’d wasted my time getting a college degree in art didn’t matter. I knew better. When I was a child in the coal mining community of Co-operative, Kentucky, Mom saw something that even I didn’t see at first. What I drew made sense to her, and she never stopped encouraging me. I love taking a blank sheet of drawing paper or a canvas, drawing or painting on it, and producing something from nothing. When someone recognizes the person or place that I’ve drawn or painted, it gives me great pleasure.

I love building things also, like my Uncles Robert, James, and Everett Jones, and my cousins Lonnie and Carl Jones, sons of Uncle Robert. There again, it’s taking an idea and building a visible structure. I also love antique furniture and cars. Things that have withstood the test of time and endured.

But lying dormant all this time, waiting for the chance to surface, has been writing. I had a class during my college years that triggered my love for this form of expression. So I have written many poems and short stories over the years. However, my interest in writing didn’t fully surface until more than a year ago when I began writing this memoir.

As you might have gathered by now, I grew up poor. But the word ‘poor’ was never used in our home. I was in my teens before I fully realized that was me. Mom had a way of not letting it enter our thinking. At times, I walked with her to the Stearns Company Store to help carry groceries back home. During those times, a car might be traveling on the main road, and I could distinguish between the different makes. I’d tell her, I sure do like that car. I can still hear her say, If you stay in school, one day you’ll get a good job and you’ll be able to buy a pretty car like that. Mom and Dad never owned a car and neither ever had a license to drive. Mom was right. I did buy a pretty car on more than one occasion. Mom also would tell me, You can be whatever you want to be, if you work hard. Mom taught me the value of money and the importance of saving, and she did it with pennies.

March 1951 Dad left Co-op looking for work. I was two months old. He rode to Piqua, Ohio, with my Uncle Oscar Jones. There he found work. The reason my family remained at Co-op and didn’t move to Ohio remains unclear. We kids always heard two conflicting stories: Dad said Mom wouldn’t move to Piqua; Mom said Dad never tried to move the family. Dad came home weekends. After I started school, he started giving me a little change on Saturday mornings. He would come in and sit on the side of my bed as I woke up. He would sit there and talk to me and my two youngest sisters in the other bed for the longest time. Mom would start on me as soon as I got up. Now, Danny, don’t you go to the store and spend all your money. Cause when tomorrow rolls around you might want a little something then. I can still hear her say that. It took a few years, but I finally learned she was right. It’s a lesson I’ve practiced all my life. It always works. It takes self-discipline.

The main reason I wrote this book is the encouragement of my sister, Wanda, the conversations we had about all the things I remember from my childhood in Co-op. I should put those things down on paper, she would say. Now that I’ve begun, I realize the importance of telling the stories, not just for myself but for all those families and friends I’ve talked with over the past year and a half and continue to talk with today. I’ve received so much encouragement and enthusiasm from them to write these stories. The stories you’ll read about in this memoir are my personal memories or those told to me by Dad, Mom, and my siblings. Some of them came from my recent conversations with extended family and neighbors we had when I lived in Co-op. These stories are about real people and are in no way meant to demean anyone; they are my way of paying homage to these people who have impacted my life in such a profound way.

I can say this memoir is their story also. And what about those people who have gone on? They will never leave my memory. I can still see many of their faces, where they lived, and some of the things they did. We have a special bond, all those of us who lived in Co-op and the surrounding areas, who lived through those times.

In this memoir, I describe how we lived, the things we did, the games we played, the school we attended. A four-room school, two grades in each room. The 7th and 8 grade room, or the upper room as it was often referred to, had a stage for performing plays. This room also served as a church during the years before the church house was completed. Folks could also watch a movie a couple times a month on Friday nights during the early years of the mining camp, when Co-op was a bustling community.

I feel we had some of the best teachers in the world at Co-op. Men and women who made learning fun. They enjoyed playing games on the playground with the kids. But when recess was over, it was time to go back to work, and they taught without teacher aides, computers, laptops, or iPhones. They expelled no one or sent a nasty note home to our parents telling them how dangerous it was that we were playing with toy guns. We learned the history of our forefathers and the challenges they faced, understanding they lived in a different time and under different circumstances. Neither did I see or hear of a teacher censoring a textbook.

Our teachers, parents, and the community allowed us kids to be free to grow up to be who we were. Free to strive to be the best. Free to compete, to win. Free to experience defeat. Our teachers and parents must have known this would transcend into real-life situations and how we would react to them. That we would grow into strong, capable people in society as we faced the life ahead. Under this freedom, I grew up to work harder, to be ready for whatever came my way, whether in my studies or in the games I played.

My story also includes the struggles all our moms and dads went through, carving out an existence so we, their children, could have a better life. These were men and women who sacrificed themselves knowing they brought life into the world and they were responsible for that life. My dad going underground breathing bad air and coal dust doing backbreaking work, the wages he received were paid in company scrip that could only be spent at one of the Stearns Company Stores. Barely enough to buy food, no extra money for frivolous spending. My mom and all the things she did every day for us kids. Also backbreaking work. Just one example was watching her wash our clothes by hand. We had no washer and dryer. She had a round aluminum tub with a scrub board leaned up inside it. There were times I watched her scrub our clothes until her fingers bled.

The hardships Mom and Dad and others faced, they did without considering themselves. They were survivors and they would do what it took to take care of their families and above all else they did it without complaining. These are men and women I hold in highest regard.

My hope is as you read my story, you can enjoy and reminisce about your upbringing, and as long as there is one of us still living, our story will never be forgotten. Other than knowing the Lord Jesus Christ, one thing in my life that I will always place the greatest value on is that I was born and raised in Co-operative, Kentucky.

1

The Beginning

The other day, I drove to the place where I grew up. It had been several years since I had been there. Life seems to take on a life of its own and it had not led me back. I took my adult son, Brandon, along. He loves adventures and the outdoors. Plus, he would come in handy because I wanted to record the mileage of the various places prominent to me as a child. I turned onto the road now paved that would lead us to the place I grew up. Back in the day, when all these places were vibrant with activity and people, the roads were graveled. In those days, it was rare to pass another vehicle. Many people in this area couldn’t afford a car. As a child, I never rode in a car with air conditioning, so on hot summer days, the car windows would be rolled down, letting the breeze pass over our hot skin. If you met another car on a dry summer day, the dust from the graveled road would cover both cars and everyone inside the cars.

The area I was driving to was not just a place where I grew up and went to school. It was where I was born. It will always hold a special place in my heart and mind. The place is called Cooperative, Kentucky (Co-op, for short). A place the Stearns Coal and Lumber Company began building in 1920. I’ve always wondered how Co-op got its name. I discovered in my research that beginning in 1915 the Stearns organization in Ludington, Michigan, published its own monthly journal detailing stories and sharing photos of the company’s operations. Some articles described their coal mining efforts in Kentucky. They called the publication The Stearns Co-operator. I have to wonder, and it’s my humble opinion, as the railroad spurred, opening a new area, to celebrate its own publication, the area was named Co-operative after the publication.

When we arrived at the small bridge that crossed the creek in the heart of Co-op, I couldn’t believe my speedometer. It showed only 5.7 miles from the Little South Fork Bridge at Yamacraw. I used to think it was at least 10 miles and maybe even 12. Now, the bridge is concrete, but back then, it was constructed of wood and most likely many thought it might collapse before they got to the other side. To my knowledge it never did, but I’m sure it was unsettling.

I pulled straight ahead across the bridge and stopped where the railroad track used to be. My son wanted to get out and explore. I told him I wanted to sit for a while and take it all in. I was glad he wanted to walk and explore, because I wanted to be alone with my memories. My mind was taking me back. I began seeing where every house used to sit. Then the people’s faces and their names began appearing as I looked at their houses. I was overwhelmed with so many memories. I was overcome with so much happiness seeing all the faces in my mind’s eye and remembering the things we did and the games we played. I couldn’t organize them because there were so many. My brain went into overload to the point I caught myself staring into space. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and thought to myself, I need to start at the beginning.

As World War I raged in Europe and the Stearns Coal and Lumber Company was named the third largest coal company in Kentucky, my dad, John Nelson, was born in 1915 to William Thomas Worley and Rebecca Jones at Cooper Creek near Greenwood, Kentucky. That’s in the northern part of McCreary County. William and Rebecca ended up having four boys (Howard, Henry, John, and Richard) and three girls (Emma, Ethel, and Pearl).

A few years later, on the west side of McCreary County on the Jones farm at a place called Slavens, Kentucky, my mom, Lexie Mae, was born in 1922 to Charles Ephraim Jones and Ollie Bell Watson. Ephraim and Ollie had 8 children (Wilburn, who died at 16 months old, Robert, Lexie, Greedle, James, Gertie, Everett, and Mary who died at 4 days). Seventeen years after Mom and her youngest sibling were born, Ollie died giving birth to her ninth child. The child was stillborn.

Ephraim then remarried to Edith Koger. Together, they had 12 children (twins Albert, who died at birth, and Delbert, Ellene, Earlie, Roy, Bonnie, Maybell, Clarence, Magdaline, Betty Jo, Julie, and Zeke). Edith had one child from a previous marriage, Othel Vaughn, who was 2 years old when she and Ephraim got married.

All the children Ephraim fathered with Ollie and Edith and the son Edith brought to the marriage were raised on Ephraim’s 90-acre farm in the valley of Slavens.

Several years passed. Grandpa Worley (Reverend Will Worley) moved his young family to a farm in Slavens, Kentucky, not far from Grandpa Jones’ farm. Grandpa Worley helped establish several churches in the area and pastored Cedar Grove for several years.

The 1929 Stock Market Crash eventually came to McCreary County. By the early 1930s the whole country was affected. All financial institutions were hurting. In the early to mid-1920s, the Stearns Coal and Lumber Company had built a railroad all the way to Bell Farm, Kentucky. At White Oak Junction, between 1920 and 1922, Stearns Company spurred off the main track and built a railroad into Co-op to capitalize on the wealth of the timber industry. The company continued to grow the coal and lumber production until the early 1930s. McCreary County suffered the full effects of the Great Depression. The Stearns Company took action to try to hold on and ride out the bad times. All management took a 10 percent pay cut. The lumber production came to a screeching halt. To offset some of the loss, miners worked only 2 to 3 days a week.

In another part of the country, Babe Ruth (nickname the Great Bambino) was giving people something to cheer about. For a few hours each week, folks could think about something other than the depression, rations, and hardships. In 1931 and 1932, the Babe slugged a combined total of 87 home runs. All over the U.S., boys were outside playing baseball and dreaming of being the next Great Bambino. While all these things were going on, Crime Boss Al’s career came to a halt by 1932. Al Capone was sentenced to 11 years in prison on October 17, 1931. Still, individual and duo criminals such as Bonnie and Clyde continued for a few short years. Back at home, the Stearns Coal and Lumber Company survived and when things began an upturn, communities such as Co-op began thriving.

The families of Reverend Will Worley and Ephraim Jones no doubt had contact as neighbors and possibly went to the same church. So the children of these families were likely acquainted early on. This is important because two marriages would come from these two families a few short years later.

The first marriage was Robert Jones, the son of Ephraim and Ollie Jones, and Ethel Worley, the daughter of Reverend Will and Rebecca Worley. They married in October 1937. The second marriage was John Nelson Worley, son of Reverend Will and Rebecca Worley, and Lexie Mae Jones, daughter of Ephraim and Ollie Jones. They married in June 1938. The particular day and time was made known secretly to Lexie. Her father, Ephraim, would not have agreed to let Lexie get married. So, Lexie, at the age of 15, secretly left home in the early morning hours to meet John. Lexie and John are my parents.

When I was a young boy, Mom occasionally talked about her mom and dad. She grew up deathly afraid of her dad. What her dad, Ephraim, said was final, and she and her siblings never questioned him. If you did, you paid dire consequences. She told me of a time as a young girl when her dad was teaching her how to plow behind a mule. When things didn’t go as he thought they should, Ephraim picked up a hammer and hit the side of the mule. She knew it hurt the mule because the hammer sunk deep into his ribcage. He released his anger on the mule instead of Mom, thank goodness.

Farm life was hard. Planting and harvest times were busy and all had to pitch in and help. Mom remembered digging holes in the earth and lining them with straw to make a bed to store large amounts of potatoes. She then covered the potatoes with hay and or leaves before covering them over with dirt. They kept their fresh cow’s milk in a nearby spring. The constant running water kept it nice and cool. Mom managed to complete the 8th grade, an accomplishment for those times and her circumstances. She told me there were times she went to school without shoes to wear. The path they walked, the sun shining through the trees melted the light snow in spots that had fallen the night before. She remembered running to those sunny spots to warm her feet.

Her dad, Ephraim, was very strict and hard, but I’m sure he had to be. Mom recognized this later in life. It’s harder to see things when you’re going through them. Grandpa Ephraim also worked on different projects when he could to help offset the expenses of running the farm. One was the building of the bridge crossing the Little South Fork River at Yamacraw. It was a hard life for everyone.

2

Early Years

June 1, 1938, in the morning hours, John Nelson Worley, my dad, quietly crossed the fence on Ephraim Jones’ farm, trying not to make any noise to cause alarm to the animals, especially the dogs. If that happened, his plans would change drastically. The roof of the barn could be distinguished against the light of the sky. Reaching the side of the barn farthest from the Jones’ house, there he stood waiting. While waiting, he thought back to how he had met Lexie Mae Jones, my mom.

Before he met Mom, Dad had been sweet on Oni Foster and occasionally would walk her home after church on Sundays. But the moment Dad saw Mom, it was over with Oni Foster.

Mom had that pretty red hair. Dad knew she was the one he wanted. He began following her home. At first Mom, trying to make him stop bothering her, threw rocks at him. She was 15. But that didn’t stop Dad. Persistence paid off. They started talking and so began their courtship. Dad was looking for a wife and Mom was looking for a way to leave the farm, a very strict dad, and a ton of very hard farm work. A few weeks passed and their conversation turned to running off and getting married. But how? Dad knew it had to be done without ole Ephraim, Mom’s dad, knowing. Dad had worked at Exodus Mine long enough to put back a few dollars. He was thinking he hoped he had enough money to get married.

Preparations of how and when began. The day before, Dad saw Mom working in the field. Her dad Ephraim wasn’t close by. Dad went as far as the fence and got Mom’s attention. She stopped her work and walked to where Dad was standing. There, they made last-minute preparations.

A rustling noise brought Dad back to the present. At that moment, Mom walked around the corner of the barn. John? she said just above a whisper. Hand in hand, they walked away from the farm in the darkness. They got married in Jellico, Tennessee, that day and so began the union of my mom and dad.

Dad had a room in back of Grandpa Worley’s home. Grandpa had built the room with the idea they would use it for storage, but wasn’t for sure. As the room started taking shape and well before it was finished, Dad saw an opportunity to use it for his bedroom. The outside boards were not lap tongue and grooved. They were just butted up together. A smaller board was to be nailed on to cover the small cracks. When Dad took over the room, it was early fall. Sometimes winter has a way of coming on fast. One morning dad woke with snow covering his bed. The snow had come in through the cracks, forced in by the wind. Maybe he was a little hasty by moving in too soon. But he loved having his own space more.

If insulation had been thought of, it had not made it to this part of Kentucky. To seal the cracks on the inside, folks most often used some kind of wallpaper. Newspapers worked really well. If newspaper wasn’t available, a roll of brown packaging paper did the job on the walls as well as the ceiling. A kind of tar paper would be used on the outside of the walls. Which left only the underpinning. Attaching vertical boards from the outside floor to the ground accomplished the underpinning. This was the room dad brought Mom to the day they got married. By now it was finished as comfortably as could be at the time. They had a contemporary 19th century room – at least contemporary for poor folk.

Dad told me it was several months before he and Mom went back to the Jones farm to visit. Since he and Mom had run away secretly, both were afraid of how Grandpa Jones would receive them. I don’t blame him one little bit. I would have done the same. However, when they did go for a visit, Grandpa Jones was cordial. And over time, Dad and Grandpa became friends.

Also in 1938, Orson Welles broadcasted his classic The War of the Worlds, an adaptation of H. G. Wells’ 1898 novel. The episode was performed and broadcast live on Halloween. Many radio listeners believed invaders had landed from outer space, which caused a nationwide panic. It’s possible the panic wasn’t as dramatic as some depicted, since the broadcast reach was not that broad. That same year, the mine at Blue Heron opened with a huge all-steel tipple. The mining communities of Worley and Co-op continued to be successful.

About a year and a half after Mom and Dad got married, they had their first child, my brother LD¹. The number one song in the country later that year was Only Forever by Bing Crosby. Grandma Worley helped Mom with baby LD until Mom got stronger. Even though nothing was ever said, Dad knew he had to get his own place.

My brother, Carroll, was born 10 days before the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. The number one song in the country was Chattanooga Choo Choo by Glenn Miller. And my oldest sister, Sherdina, was born when World War II was well underway. The number one song in the U.S. when she was born was Too Late to Worry, Too Blue to Cry by Al Dexter and His Troopers.

During the war, a lot of commodities were in short supply and many items were rationed: butter, cheese, sugar, coffee, gasoline, shoes, just to name a few. Everyone had to do their part due to the war effort. Only two shortenings were available in the area to buy: lard or spry. Spry came in pound blocks and was the least sought after. Coal was in high demand. Several mines in the Co-op area worked feverishly during the night to get coal ready for the day shift to process.

By now, Uncle Henry Worley, Dad’s older brother, was living in the area and working for Stearns Company at