First Quarter: A Path Without Boundaries

The Son of a Coal-miner

What do I want out of life? What do I want from myself? Am I going to spend the next 30 years working within a predetermined set of boundaries? Will I spend my free time on activities invented by someone other than me? Will I build my life around someone else's blueprints, only to look back and ask myself at 70 years of age, 'That was it?' I decided early in life that I would take a different path, one without boundaries.

I came into this world as Robert Lee Huff on October 4, 1934. The fourth of six kids, I was born in a mining camp in Edna Gas, West Virginia, but grew up just west of the Monongahela River Valley in another mining camp called Consolidation Coal Company Number 9, a few miles outside of Farmington, West Virginia. Thirty-four years later, on November 20, 1968, this same coal mine would claim the lives of 78 miners when high levels of methane gas and inadequate ventilation resulted in a catastrophic explosion.

To say that West Virginia coal mine life during the 1930s was tough is a brash understatement. The life of a coal miner parodied the words in the 1955 song "Sixteen Tons" sung by Tennessee Ernie Ford, "I owed my soul to the Company store." The coal companies owned their employees both body and soul; and some made the ultimate sacrifice.

The coal companies employed the miners to dig the coal under inhumane conditions, then turned around and rented them company houses and sold them their goods at the company store. The miners and their families gave their all just to stay alive, while the mine owners made a killing on the sweat and blood of their workers.

My family and I were no different from the other coal mining families. We lived on an old, dirt road in a small row house owned, of course, by the mine, which lacked even the smallest of luxuries, like running water. Since we didn't have a bathroom, there was a community pump outside for water and an outhouse located about 50 yards up the hill behind the house. Times were hard for everyone.

To get inside the house, you would walk up a flight of stairs into our living room. All that was there was a sofa, a chair, and our only source of heating, a potbelly coal stove. We had two bedrooms; one belonged to my parents and the other was shared by the six children. The entire time I was growing up, I slept in the same bed with my older brother, Don.

Back then, only the rich had rugs in their homes. I still remember how cold those row house linoleum floors were.

My father, Oral Huff, like his father before him, worked his entire life in the coal mines. From age 13 until his death in 1970 at age 63, it was the only life he knew. He suffered a series of heart attacks and was consumed by the insidious black lung, which had, in one way or another, affected every miner. I remember my dad coming home every night and coughing up black mucus. It didn't take me long to realize that this was not the life for me. As a matter of fact, it forced me to work that much harder at everything I did, just to be sure that I didn't end up emulating the life of my father.

Dad wasn't very big in stature. He was 5'7" at most and only weighed in at about 150 pounds, but he was one tough man, and strong as a bull. But his fate paralleled that of so many other coal miners. A series of heart attacks and the deterioration of lung tissue caused by black lung disease would, in the end, force my dad to succumb to his illness.

When he was working in the mines he ran what was called a loading machine, but I've been told he could work any job they gave him. There wasn't a piece of machinery that he couldn't fix and he truly loved working those mines.

I guess you could say that with the exception of each of us loving our chosen professions, we had very little in common. He enjoyed working deep in the depths of the mines; I was scared to death of them. He loved fishing and hunting as much as I loathed it. I developed a hatred for guns and killing at an early age.

When I was about three or four years old I had a pet dog that I really cared for. One day he somehow got loose and ended up being shot by the dog-catcher. To make matters worse, I saw the entire ordeal unfold right before my eyes. It was an extremely traumatic experience for a young boy to witness, and I truly believe that is why, to this day, I avoid guns and the sport of hunting.

My dad led an extremely tough life, but he always found a way to provide and keep the family together. By the time World War II got underway, the coal mines were operating 24 hours a day, seven days a week. It wasn't uncommon for Dad to work three eight-hour shifts back to back just to accumulate a little extra time to hunt or fish. Through it all, I never once heard him complain.

Payday was every two weeks, and like everyone else, we lived paycheck to paycheck. I remember once seeing my dad's paycheck after the company had deducted the rent and store money. It totaled $13.

The company owned our home. We bought our food, clothing, and necessities at the company store. I can remember how it was considered a big outing for my mom, Catherine, and my dad to travel 10 miles to Fairmont where they could grocery shop at a regular store.

As little as we had, I never felt poor. Everyone in the mining camp had exactly what we had. None of us knew any better. As a child, I only owned one pair of shoes, and they had to last all year. Mom had taps put on the heel and toe of each shoe so that they wouldn't wear out as fast. Then when spring came along, we'd kick free of our shoes and keep them off until the chill of October was upon us.

With Dad working at the mine all day, my mother was in charge of the house. That was no easy chore, either. Taking care of six kids while doing all the cooking and cleaning without the luxury of modern day appliances was not an easy task.

When Dad would arrive home in the evening from working all day at the mine, he would be completely covered with coal dust from head to toe. All that was visible were the whites of his eyes. I can still remember him coughing and spitting up all that coal dust lodged in his lungs.

As soon as he walked in the door, Mom would have him sit in a tub of hot water — the same tub she used to wash our clothes. As soon as he submerged his body in the tub, the water turned black. This became a daily ritual for him and was probably the only relaxation he experienced all day.

Dad had the opportunity to bathe on a daily basis, but us kids had to wait until Saturday.

Even though my dad was known for his easygoing personality, he was strict when it came to disciplining his children. He always carried a razor strap with him, and wouldn't hesitate to use it on us when we needed to be put in our place. The responsibility of the family garden fell upon my brother Don and me. With both of us more interested in playing sports than spading a garden, we tended to either do it at the last minute or, sometimes, not...