Air!

                                                          AIR!

                                                April Smith Hajjafar

I did not know my maternal grandfather Boyd Nolen well even though he stayed with us for several months when I was a very young child. Unfortunately, I was so young that I remember nothing about him from that period save for one thing; Grandpa Boyd had a glass eye. Mom tells me that he lost his eye when he got fertilize in it years before. I was so gobsmacked to watch my grandpa slip his eye out of its socket, wipe it clean with a handkerchief and then place it back into its socket that that is what I remember from that period when he stayed with us.

                                    
                                    Boyd Nolen and grandchildren
                                            David and April
                         

He did not stay long with us. I did not know this for years afterward, but Grandpa Boyd was an alcoholic and while he stayed with us, he had to give up drink. He gave it up for a while but when he started back to drinking, he had to go stay with his sister.

Later, we would move to a different state and we only saw him briefly and rarely. He passed away in 1975 with me barely having any memories of him.

Over the years, I have learned a bit about Grandpa Boyd. I have heard his children tell stories of their childhood. I have heard them tell of how their mother, whom they all called Mammy, would much of the time take care of the farm and raise the kids on her own.

                                    Boyd and Rachel Allen Nolen

Grandpa Boyd worked in the mines and those mines were several miles away. Back when transportation was mainly by foot or mule, it was not feasible for Grandpa to return home each day. Instead, he would stay at the mine site for several days at a time and then return home for a couple of days. So much of the time, Grandma Rachel bore the responsibilities of daily living and parenting alone.

Mom tells me that when Grandpa Boyd came home from the mines, he would be covered in black coal dust. Mammy would heat water and get his bath ready so he could wash the memories of the mine away. While he was home, he would help with the gardening, perhaps plow a field, help a neighbor build a chicken coop, go on a nature walk with his children…

                              Rachel Allen Nolen and Boyd Nolen

Everyone I talk to tells me that Grandpa Boyd was the finest person one could hope to meet when he was sober. He was kind, generous, a great carpenter and a great worker. When he drank, a different Boyd came out, a Mr. Hyde type Boyd. Thankfully, Grandpa Boyd did not drink all of the time, but when he did it was not good.

                               Boyd Nolen and his brother-in-law
                                                John Allen

                                 Brothers Bill and Boyd Nolen.

When Grandpa came home and Mammy knew that he had been drinking, she would hurriedly gather her children up and take them to the neighbors to stay until things were good. Sometimes, she had to send them off to the neighbors without her as she didn’t have time to take them herself. She bore the brunt of Mr. Boyd alone. When things were safe, she would fetch the young’ uns.

Sometimes, the children witnessed the actions of their daddy before they could be whisked away. One time, the family had spent hours in the summer heat blackberry picking. Mammy and the kids had fetched water and wood and placed jars of blackberries in a washtub to can. They had tended to the fire and the jar-filled washtub for hours. After they were finished, Mammy had the jars of beautiful blackberries lined up on the porch to cool before taking them into the house. Those berries would be a lovely sweet treat to help them survive the lean times of winter.

Grandpa Boyd  came home and he had been drinking so he was not himself. He took his shotgun and shot at the blackberries, mowing them down. All of that hard work, the jars that would have to be replaced, the berries that would provide nourishment during the cold winter and spring, they were all gone. I imagine that as Rachel watched the beautiful purple juice from those berries soak into the dust of the yard, a lot of her hope soaked into that dust as well.

Another time the children witnessed the results of their daddy’s drinking was during the cool, wet days of early spring. Grandpa Boyd came home drinking. Rachel had just recently had a baby boy named Cecil. Grandpa decided that he was going to take Cecil for a ride on the mule. He got on the mule with Cecil and Rachel begged him not to take the baby with him. It was a chilly and damp day but Boyd could not be dissuaded. He took off with the baby, Rachel and the children following the mule begging him to leave Cecil behind. Finally, they could no longer keep up with him.

Grandpa Boyd returned later with Cecil but Cecil would soon take sick and die. Mom tells me that she believes that he died from pneumonia brought on by his ride in the damp chill of that early spring day.

Grandma Rachel would die at the age of 34 from tuberculosis. She had been married ten years and in those ten years, she had borne nine babes. Cecil and an earlier boy both died as infants. Hearing stories of what she had had to endure caused me to feel a bitterness towards my Grandpa Boyd. 

Over the years though, as my interest in my family history has increased, my bitterness for Grandpa has decreased. I have read stories about mining. I have seen photos of the conditions that miners had to endure. I have seen photos of multiple levels of miners sitting on their haunches shoulder to shoulder with other miners doing the same to descend into the dark belly of the mountain. I have seen photos of men on their bellies working by the light of carbide lamps in a sea of light-sucking darkness to mine coal. I have seen photos of miners covered from head to toe in black coal dust only lightened in places by the whites of their eyes or teeth or where rivulets of sweat have washed some of the dust away.  I have watched videos of family members gathered outside of mines where there have been cave-ins, with hope and fear in their eyes; hope that their loved one is safe and fear that he is not. I have seen the sorrow of those who had no doubts that their loved ones had perished

With knowledge has come some understanding.

Now I think of my grandpa working in the mines. I imagine him descending into a darkness so black that it must have almost taken on a life of its own. It must have felt like that darkness could suck in his very soul! 

I imagine Grandpa crawling into that on his belly with only the light from his carbide lamp piercing that endless black maw. I imagine shallow breaths of dust-fouled air. I imagine Grandpa wondering if perhaps today, the mountain would collapse upon him, becoming his tomb. I imagine all of these things and then I imagine his relief when he emerged from the belly of the beast into the fresh air and sunshine of the world outside. I imagine him sucking great breaths of that air into his dusty lungs and thanking God for the chance to breathe in that air again!

I can imagine a celebratory drink of moonshine with his fellow miners. Later, as the evening went on, I can imagine that momentary celebratory mood changing over to the realization that tomorrow they would have to return to the foul-aired belly of the mountain, their possible grave. I can imagine taking a few more sips of that shine in an effort to dull the sharp edges of that realization.

                                 Boyd and Rachel Allen Nolen

Yes, as I have learned more about the work that Grandpa Boyd did, I can better understand why he might have turned to drink. I think that I just may have done the same. I realize that alcohol can have a strong grip on folks and alcoholism was not as understood in the past as it is now. There were not rehab programs available like they are today.

So as I have learned more about the circumstances that Grandpa Boyd likely experienced, the bitterness that I felt for Grandpa is gradually dissolving away. The vise of that bitterness has released its grip and I, just like my grandpa when he emerged from the dark foul air of the mine, can take in a deep renewing breath of cool, clean air!

Boyd Nolen