Coal Cracker's Son

By Gene Gomolka

Coal Cracker's Son is a novel that focuses upon young Joey Gobol and his Polish family when they lived in Nanticoke, a small coal-mining town in northeast Pennsylvania during the Great Depression.

Although certain scenarios are fictitious and/or embellished, the story documents Joey's triumphs over adversities at home and as a sailor on a destroyer escort in pursuit of
German submarines in World War II.

The author cites the futility and intrinsic dangers synonymous with the coal mining industry. His narration also captures the lifestyle, spirit and resiliency of Polish immigrants and their families.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 4, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462826438

Gene Gomolka

In 1954, Gene Gomolka was assigned to a mapping project in Saudi Arabia, where he encountered a Bedouin tribe in the vast Rub al Khali desert. He was invited to join in their evening meal and as a token of appreciation, he offered the chieftain a small-bore rifle. In return, he received a saluki hound, one of the fastest dogs on earth. This is just one example of the exploits in the adventurous life of the author who, like the Bedouins, is an incorrigible nomad. His professional careers include surveying, cartography, journalism, and a franchised fund-raising business. And now, as a retired senior citizen, he writes and publishes songs as a hobby. A long-time free-lance writer of hundreds of factual, humorous and satirical articles, he faced a new challenge with Coal Cracker’s Son, his first novel. During his tenure as a sportswriter with the Delaware County Daily Times, his columns won first-place recognition twice in Keystone Press Awards contests sponsored by the Pennsylvania Newspaper Publishers’ Association. A self-taught musician, he plays the keyboard and piano for his own enjoyment and for residents of nursing and retirement homes. He also strums the banjo with various Florida, Pennsylvania, and Delaware jazz and string bands. His songs include “A Very Important Personality,” “A Bucket of Love,” “The Yvonne Polka,” and “Red Hats and Purple Dresses.” The songs are copyrighted and marketed through Hometown Band Music, his Florida publishing firm. It has been fifty-three years since he traded gifts with the hospitable Bedouin chieftain. The saluki hound has been succeeded by a series of pets, including a miniature schnauzer named Mitzi who currently rules the roost. He and his wife Cecilia, the parents of six children, live in Naples, Florida and West Chester, Pennsylvania.

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Coal

Cracker’s

Son

40666-GOMO-layout.pdf

Gene Gomolka

About the Author

In 1954, Gene Gomolka was assigned to a mapping project in Saudi Arabia, where he encountered a Bedouin tribe in the vast Rub al Khali desert. He was invited to join in their evening meal and as a token of appreciation, he offered the chieftain a small-bore rifle. In return, he received a saluki hound, one of the fastest dogs on earth.

This is just one example of the exploits in the adventurous life of the author who, like the Bedouins, is an incorrigible nomad. His professional careers include surveying, cartography, journalism, and a franchised fund-raising business. And now, as a retired senior citizen, he writes and publishes songs as a hobby.

A long-time free-lance writer of hundreds of factual, humorous and satirical articles, he faced a new challenge with Coal Cracker’s Son, his first novel.

During his tenure as a sportswriter with the Delaware County Daily Times, his columns won first-place recognition twice in Keystone Press Awards contests sponsored by the Pennsylvania Newspaper Publishers’ Association.

A self-taught musician, he plays the keyboard and piano for his own enjoyment and for residents of nursing and retirement homes. He also strums the banjo with various Florida, Pennsylvania, and Delaware jazz and string bands.

His songs include A Very Important Personality, A Bucket of Love, The Yvonne Polka, and Red Hats and Purple Dresses. The songs are copyrighted and marketed through Hometown Band Music, his Florida publishing firm.

It has been fifty-three years since he traded gifts with the hospitable Bedouin chieftain. The saluki hound has been succeeded by a series of pets, including a miniature schnauzer named Mitzi who currently rules the roost.

He and his wife Cecilia, the parents of six children, live in Naples, Florida and West Chester, Pennsylvania.

Copyright © 2008 by Gene Gomolka.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrievals system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This novel is a work of fiction. Some of the names, characters, places and incidents depicted herein are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously; and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. For example, the author refers to a U.S. Navy destroyer escort DE766 Lester E. Tinicum in the latter chapters. This ship, together with its crew and exploits are fictitious. Most other subject matters are historically correct and are derived, in whole or in part, from the true-life experiences of the author.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

40666

Contents

About the Author

Credits

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Epilogue

References

Photo Appendix

A REVIEW by Judith Kaye:

The Coal Cracker’s Son is a story of values, innocence and patriotism. It is reminiscent of many Europeans who immigrated to the United States through Ellis Island in search of a better life in this new land of opportunity.

Joey Gobolewski, a son of Polish parents, tracks his life from a small Pennsylvania coal mining town through the Great Depression and to his participation in World War II.

Young Joey shares the insecurities of his youth as well as his fortitude that molds him into manhood. His tale will both tickle your funny bone and stir your emotions.

This great book will make you reflect on your own childhood and ponder on the dramatic changes that occur from one generation to another.

The Coal Cracker’s Son should be required reading for every young person.

Judith Kaye, a playwright as well as a poet, is the author of a memoir Pieces of a Life. She resides in Naples, Florida.

A REVIEW by Dr. Franklyn Johnson

Gene Gomolka has woven a great story into every page of Coal Cracker’s Son. He brilliantly depicts the growth of an immigrant family from childhood through dedicated service in World War II. In doing so, he provides the reader with insights into three generations of family life amid the challenges of earning a living and the dangers and hardships of coal mining in the twentieth century. He so deftly portrays these characters you will not want to put them aside.

Dr. Franklyn Johnson is a retired president of three universities, and author of eight books. He resides in Bonita Springs, Florida.

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For 40 years I worked with pick and drill

Down in the earth against my will

The coal king’s slave

But now it’s passed

Thanks be to God

I am free at last.

Epitaph on the tombstone of

Condy Brisbin,

a coal miner from Hazleton, Pennsylvania.

Photo courtesy of Alma Berlot,

the founder and benefactor of the

Coal Miner Memorial Statue

in Nanticoke, Pennsylvania

Cover photo courtesy of the

Times Leader, 15 N. Main St., Wilkes-Barre, Pa., 18711

S. John Wilkin, Photographer

All photos of coal miners and breakers are

from the copyrighted book When Coal Was King

courtesy of Applied Arts Publishers, 2100 State Road

Lancaster, Pennsylvania 17601

Author photo courtesy of the

Naples Daily News, 1075 Central Ave.

Naples, Florida 34102

Photos of the DE-766 USS Slater

courtesy of the Destroyer Escort Sailor’s Association

Albany, New York

Photos of Nanticoke High School and Nanticoke City Park

courtesy of the Nanticoke Historical Society

Alan Cottrill of Zanesville, Ohio is the sculptor of the Coal Miner Memorial Statue that appears on the cover and page six of this book.

In honor of the 166 men from the Greater Nanticoke, Pennsylvania Area who died in the service

during World War II

missing image filemissing image file

Honor Roll courtesy of the

Times Leader, 15 N. Main Street

Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania 18711

In memory of my father

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Joseph Gomolka

. . . . a coal miner

To the deceased and living members of the Stanley Gomulka and John Rokosz families. And to all people of Polish extraction. And to all courageous coal miners who worked under life-threatening conditions to provide for their families. And to all members of the of the armed forces who served our country in time of need. And to all present and former citizens of the city of Nanticoke and Luzerne County, Pennsylvania. And to my friends, in particular my classmates in Nanticoke High School’s graduating class of 1942.

Credits

Without the help of family members, friends, and many others, including Xlibris, the publishing services firm that produced the final product, this novel would not exist. I am grateful and I sincerely appreciate the tremendous support by everyone who made it possible.

I begin by thanking my cousin Bernard Figler for researching the genealogy of the John Rokosz side of our family and for sharing his findings with all its members, including me in particular. Cousin Albert Shybloski came to my rescue when I needed help to determine the fiscal status of the city of Nanticoke, Pennsylvania. Cousin Jack Wazowicz searched, found and e-mailed a photo of grandfather’s farm house in Hunlock Gardens. Cousin Celia Roberts kept my facts straight by confirming birth dates of relatives in my father’s family. Cousins Edward Gomulka and Romayne Stanell furnished volumes of family data.

My sister Dolores Busch contributed many of the ancestral photos dating back to the early 1900s. My niece, Karen Ingram, a whiz on the computer, copied and sent more family photos electronically. The Naples (Florida) Daily News provided the author’s photo from its copyrighted 2005 files.

The Destroyer Escort Sailors Association gave permission to use the photos of the USS Slater DE766, the only World War II destroyer escort still afloat in the United States. Alma Berlot, who is the principal benefactor and founder of the Coal Miner Memorial Statue in Nanticoke, graciously responded to my request for a photo of the statue. The Wilkes-Barre (Pennsylvania) Times Leader, through its chief photographer Clark Van Orden, offered the cover photo of the Coal Miner Memorial Statue that was taken by staff photographer S. John Wilkin. The Times Leader also is the source of the Honor Roll with the names of the 166 heroic men from the Greater Nanticoke, Pennsylvania Area who died in World War II.

The photo of the Nanticoke city park and Nanticoke High School are from the archives of the Nanticoke Historical Society. The photos of coal miners and breakers are courtesy of Applied Arts Publishers of Lancaster, Pennsylvania from their copyrighted book When Coal Was King.

Leroy Foley, our Nanticoke High School class of 1942 president, and a battle-tested U.S. Navy veteran of WWII Pacific campaigns, critiqued chapters pertaining to sea duty. My pen pal Ruth Price Rowinski from Cincinnati, Ohio, contributed her recollections of Nanticoke in the mid-1930s after her father died from the black lung disease. She tells of how she and her siblings rallied to help their mother in a fashion typical of impoverished Polish families of that era. Julia Testaguzza Golanoski’s boy-and-girl house party, when I was a bashful teenager, is the origin of my disingenuous behavior.

Dr. Franklyn Johnson, a decorated World War II hero who landed in Normandy on D-Day and who has written and published eight books, and Judith Kaye, the author of Pieces of a Life, fanned my dying embers with their encouraging e-mail comments and advice. Judy and Frank, who also critiqued my manuscript and wrote reviews, live in Naples, Florida where we were students in Professor Nancy Shuster’s Writer’s Workshop. Linda Hansen, another Naples friend who sits beside me while we play our banjos in the Marco Island (Florida) Strummers band, makes me laugh and play off-key. But I value her words of inspiration that kept my motor running. Tozia Stacey, a chocolate-lover friend who lives in Binghamton, New York, understood when I took a sabbatical from our e-mail exchanges to concentrate on my book.

Mark Mello of Mello Systems in Naples, Florida used his troubleshooting computer skills to assist me when I submitted the final revised electronic manuscript to Xlibris.

I am obliged to members of my immediate family who stood by me when my mind went blank. I want to thank my children Jane Richardson, Carl Gomolka, Marleen Susie Smith, Steve Gomolka, Joanne Lichman, and Jean Marie Frank for recharging my batteries. Steve also used his computer savvy to create a digital file of the manuscript and photos as required by the publisher. I am also grateful to my granddaughter Aubrey Lichman, a student at Penn State University, for her interest and editing skills

Lastly, I am indebted to my wife Cecilia for her patience and understanding as I hibernated for forty undisturbed weeks to put this novel together.

In Grateful Recognition

of the work of the late Rear Admiral Samuel Eliot Morison, USN, (1887-1976), the officially designated U.S. Navy historian and distinguished author of the History of United States Naval Operations in World War II (1947-1962) published in 15 volumes.

Volume X, a single-volume abridgement entitled The Atlantic Battle Won, May 1943-45 (1956), is the principal reference source used herein for an April-May 1945 battle in the North Atlantic between U.S. Navy destroyer escorts and a group of German submarines known as the Sea Wolves.

Although some accounts of this engagement were embellished to accommodate the fictional nature of this novel, I have attempted to retain most of the factual details as documented by Admiral Morison and other referenced historians in their works.

A Special Thanks

to Ms. Aleksandra Grześkowiak, a first-year student

at the University of Adama Mickiewicza in Poznań,

Poland, who assisted me in the selection and spelling

of the Polish words and phrases that appear in this book.

Alexandra’s knowledge of the Polish language,

together with her interest and enthusiasm, helped to

make my translation efforts easier.

I sincerely appreciate her special, all-important

contribution and I thank her for a job well done.

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Prologue

Hi, my name is Joseph Gregory Gobol, but just call me Joey. It used to be Joseph Gregory Gobolewski until my mother changed it. I was born and raised in Nanticoke, Pennsylvania. My father Paul was a coal miner. He and my immigrant mother Victoria were both Polish. They are deceased now. Father died of the black lung disease when he was sixty-four. Mother lived a long fruitful life and died when she was ninety-eight.

I am writing this story, which is somewhat like a diary, for the benefit of my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and their contemporaries who live in a much different world than I did while growing up. I’m not saying my kids and their kids and other young people are free from worry. Every new generation faces one obstacle or another and each group has troubles of its own. As far as I can tell, everyone is coping with their problems nicely.

However, I would like my progeny to know more about their Polish heritage, to better appreciate the fact they live in America, and to have a better understanding of what it was like to grow up during the Great Depression and World War II. They obviously can read about these events in history books or sit in an easy chair and watch them played out in television documentaries. But I want them to hear it from the old man himself.

So without further ado, I will begin.

– Joey –

Chapter One

The force of the blast knocked me out of bed. Smoke filled my lungs. My house was on fire. I slipped on a pair of sneakers and ran down the stairs to the living room where my father Paul tried to beat out the flames with a broom.

Damn union, he cried breathlessly as he flailed away at the living room sofa where burning gasoline had landed. Those sons of bitches, those sons of bitches, those sons of bitches, he coughed, his face covered with soot.

Joey, get the damn fire extinguisher and spray the rug, he ordered. I can’t see it.

I looked through the dense smoke in the direction he pointed. A large red canister, propped against the archway that separated our living room from the dining room, was barely visible. A .22-caliber rifle stood next to it.

My father, a coal miner loyal to his employers and grateful to have a job during the current national depression, prepared himself and our two-story frame home for a possible assault by terrorists. Two weeks earlier, he was the target of a vicious attack by a group of hooded goons who called him a scab. They whipped Father and two of his laborers with rubber hoses as they attempted to break through union picket lines at the Wanamie Colliery. The remaining ashes of another home on our street were a haunting reminder that our house might be next.

The terrorists’ improvised weapon was a large glass bottle, filled with gasoline, and with a flaming rag for a wick. A similar version, known as a Molotov cocktail, was used later in World War II by Russian infantry who hurled the bottles under advancing German tanks. Father thought the plywood he nailed to cover the living room window would resist the force of a homemade bottle bomb. But the arsonists also tossed a stick of dynamite into the inferno, destroying the window and most of Father’s plywood and some of the outside wall. The explosion tore a hole into the ceiling of our front porch that was very near to my bed. A smoldering wooden porch swing, where Father read the evening newspaper hung by one of it chains.

Ironically, the plywood was part of the base of an ornate Christmas tree platform Father built in our basement as a surprise several years earlier. It featured a tranquil nativity scene with statues of Baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph on a raised section. A few days before the holiday, Father draped bed sheets over the entrance to the living room to hide his secret. But even as children we knew what he was hiding by the lingering fragrance of pine needles.

He assembled the platform sections together to cover half of our living room floor, wall to wall. With a glistening tall Douglas-fir tree in the center, the platform became his personal pallet. He created beautiful winter and summer scenes, using models of miniature homes, lakes, streets, trees, and cars. It was all surrounded by a tiny fence he hand-built, spindle by tiny spindle. We were naturally biased about the beauty of Father’s work. Friends and neighbors also said Father’s Christmas tree exhibit was the best in all of Nanticoke.

It must have broken Father’s heart to destroy the small ornamental fence as he nailed the platform to the outside window frame.

The four-by-eight feet wooden board was just part of his defensive measure. I never saw the rifle or the large red fire extinguisher before. He apparently kept these items hidden from our view so we would not ask questions or be afraid. Father was a quiet, slim, thirty-seven-year-old man and, to my knowledge, never hunted or fired a gun. Although he probably crouched low behind the windowsill for hours and stared into the dark night, looking for movement on the street, my assumption is he would not have used the rifle to kill, and then only if the hoodlums attempted to break into our house.

Ordinarily, my mother Victoria and my sister Sophie would have been at home that fateful night. But they were seven miles away in Hunlock Gardens, caring for my babcia (grandmother) Lottie Korosz, who sprained an ankle while trying to catch a chicken in her hen house.

Joey, Joey, he screamed again and again. Jezus, Maria. (Jesus, Mary) "Get the damn extinguisher now." I grabbed it and looked deeper into the burning room. I was horrified, frightened, and confused. I wanted to run for safety as I did when classmate bullies picked on me in school, but my feet felt like lead. I crouched to get under the billowing clouds of smoke, held my breath, and forced myself to move toward Father.

Hurry, damn it, he cried. I was trained to use a fire extinguisher during Boy Scout First Aid safety sessions and I