The first chapter of Ken Follett’s “Fall of Giants” tells of the horrendous introduction of a
Welsh teenager to his first job working in a coal mine. The terrible conditions reminded
me that my grandfather, for whom I was named, worked in the mines in western
Pennsylvania. He died when I was four or five, and I only have a faint memory of him.
He, and his brothers immigrated from Scotland via Ireland in the late 19th century. I
remember being told that he had been a mine superintendent. But Follett’s book made
me think that he must have begun working in a mine as had the fictional Billy Williams. !
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The miners in Pennsylvania and West Virginia were virtual slaves when I was young. I would see the gray barracks-like housing on the bleak hillsides. They were paid just less than they needed for company housing, rent, food, and other needs, all purchased at the company store. The result was that they were in constant debt to their employer, and unable to get free of financial imprisonment. Not many people today remember John L. Lewis, whose union fought the mine owners for better conditions for the workers.!
The book made me wonder how my grandfather made his way to this country. How he must have worked his way up from the depths of the mine to become superintendent. And how he and my German grandmother successfully raised four sons and four daughters. I was told that this self-educated immigrant was a voracious reader. He read books that would help him keep up with his college-educated children. Wherever the family moved, he would start the local band and the local soccer team.!
I have his cheap violin hanging on my living-room wall. My aunts and uncles were bright and successful for the time. One became an electrical engineer, two were educators, another a nurse. and my father became a professional musician.!
!
So much family history has disappeared. There is no way, now, to find what happened. I don’t think my grandfather was a saint. My father talked of physical punishment. This trait would have been passed on to my father if my mother had not stopped it. My grandmother lived much longer, but she never talked with me about her life. She was a small woman and it is hard to imagine that she had borne eight children. She was always alert and aware of the happenings in her family. My aunts and uncles lives are material for another blog.!
I have just finished a fictionalized history of New York City by Edward Rutherford, and now am launching into Follett’s similar version of the 20th Century. Perhaps I should recreate my grandfather’s life.!
The miners in Pennsylvania and West Virginia were virtual slaves when I was young. I would see the gray barracks-like housing on the bleak hillsides. They were paid just less than they needed for company housing, rent, food, and other needs, all purchased at the company store. The result was that they were in constant debt to their employer, and unable to get free of financial imprisonment. Not many people today remember John L. Lewis, whose union fought the mine owners for better conditions for the workers.!
The book made me wonder how my grandfather made his way to this country. How he must have worked his way up from the depths of the mine to become superintendent. And how he and my German grandmother successfully raised four sons and four daughters. I was told that this self-educated immigrant was a voracious reader. He read books that would help him keep up with his college-educated children. Wherever the family moved, he would start the local band and the local soccer team.!
I have his cheap violin hanging on my living-room wall. My aunts and uncles were bright and successful for the time. One became an electrical engineer, two were educators, another a nurse. and my father became a professional musician.!
!
So much family history has disappeared. There is no way, now, to find what happened. I don’t think my grandfather was a saint. My father talked of physical punishment. This trait would have been passed on to my father if my mother had not stopped it. My grandmother lived much longer, but she never talked with me about her life. She was a small woman and it is hard to imagine that she had borne eight children. She was always alert and aware of the happenings in her family. My aunts and uncles lives are material for another blog.!
I have just finished a fictionalized history of New York City by Edward Rutherford, and now am launching into Follett’s similar version of the 20th Century. Perhaps I should recreate my grandfather’s life.!
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