Moonshine, Coal, and Hope

by Richard Allen Evans

  “You got out of the way and let the story tell itself. That’s the hallmark of a good journalist,” Ray said.

  “I don’t know about that. All I wanted to do was show people what miners are facin’ every day and what little they get in return,” Bob said.

  “You sure did that. I got a phone call yesterday all the way from New York City. The editor of the Daily Tribune is offering to buy the exclusive your follow up articles to the mine disaster,” Ray said.

  “You gonna sell it ‘em?” Bob asked.

  Ray grinned and shook his head as he reached into the humidor on his desk and pulled out a cigar.

  “No. I’d love to have the money but I’d rather see the wire services pick them up. More people will read them that way. These are stories that need to be read,” he said as he bit off the end of the cigar.

  “I hope they will do some good,” Bob said.

  Ray struck a match off of a large stone on his desk and lit the cigar.

  “So do I and it remains to be seen if the braying jackasses in Frankfort and Washington are willing to step in but,” he said as he enjoyed a puff, “the union folks are suddenly real interested in Kentucky.”

  “Good,” Bob said.

  “You know, when I talked to you before Christmas about working for the paper that was only a part- time job. I figured I could use you to write up some of the local happenings — club meetings, new school teachers, and the like. But I want to tell you something. You’ve got talent Bob. You have a natural ability to tell a story in a way people can understand,” Ray said as Bob just listened, almost embarrassed by the praise.

  “And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. As much as I want to keep you here working for me, you’re headed to bigger and better things. There’s not a doubt in my mind, you’ll got a job offer soon — probably from the Lexington Post or the Courier — even the Louisville Standard. And when you get that offer Bob, take it. It’s your ticket out of here and onto a better life,” Ray said.

  Before Bob could respond, a noise on the front of the building.

  “I want to see Bob Fulton and the fool that owns this sorry excuse for a newspaper!” A rough voice called out.

  “Another satisfied customer!” Ray said cheerily as he stood up and walked around the desk. Bob followed him out of the office.

  An angry man with a red face was berating Stan, the short, slender fifty-ish man who worked the front desk.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Ray asked politely.

  “Are you the owner?” The man, who towered over Ray, spat out the question.

  “I am. My name is Raymond Ballew. And who are you?” He asked.

  “Who I am ain’t important but them lies you and that lyin’ son of a bitch Fulton are spreadin’ is what’s important,” the man said. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You gonna print a public apology to the Milner family and admit you lied about them and it’s gonna get printed in every paper that printed all that bullshit in the first place.”

  “And what if we don’t?” Bob asked.

  “What the hell is it to you?” The man asked.

  “Let’s say I’m curious,” Bob said.

  “Nosey bastard. Who the hell are you?” The man asked.

  Bob stepped in front of Ray. He was an inch or two taller than the stranger and probably outweighed him by twenty pounds.

  “I’m the man you’re lookin’ for. My name’s Bob Fulton. Now, why don’t you tell me what you plan to do when we tell you no,” he said.

  The stranger turned a darker shade of red and pulled back his right fist. Before he could swing, Bob caught him with a solid left hook that dropped him. The man climbed to his knees and tried to shake the cobwebs from his head. Bob pulled him to his feet, picked him up, and slammed him into the wall. Holding him about six inches off of the floor Bob looked at the man gasping for air.

  “Now. Who. Are. You?” He asked.

  The man blinked.

  “Lee James Milner,” he coughed as Bob released him and stepped back as he let Milner slide down the wall onto his knees again.

  Ray’s eyes widened. He was well aware of Lee James’ reputation. Bob watched as Milner started to climb to his feet.

  “Now you know my name and you’ve just bought trouble you can’t pay for boy,” he growled.

  Bob gave him a cold smile.

  “Let me tell you somethin’ gun thug. You better pray this man, this buildin’, or me don’t have any trouble. ‘Cause if we do, I’m comin’ after you. That ass whuppin’ you got from Ed Elkins’ll look like a church picnic next to what I’ll do to you,” he said.

  Lee’s complexion was nearly purple.

  Bob nodded.

  “I know all about it. Now you march out of here and don’t show your face in here or around me again,” he said.

  “I could kill you here,” Lee hissed.

  “No you can’t. My back’s not turned,” Bob said.

  Lee growled deeply and reached behind his back. He didn’t see John walk in behind him. As Lee pulled a pistol from his holster in the small of his back, he briefly felt the pain and pressure in the back of his head from John’s big right fist. He crumpled to the floor unconscious.

  “Makin’ a new friend Bob?” John asked.

  “Somethin’ like that,” Bob answered as he walked over and picked up the new Smith & Wesson .38 special that had fallen from Lee’s hand.

  Ray was wide-eyed and barely breathing. He wheeled and went to his office and came back with a bottle and four glasses. He poured a shot for Stan, who grabbed it and gulped it down. Ray then poured Stan a second shot and he downed it as well. He poured one for himself and looked to Bob and John. They both shook their heads.

  Ray then turned up the bottle as Stan downed the third glass.

  “Better go easy on that. It’ll give you the blind staggers,” John said.

  Ray set the bottle down and took a deep breath before taking another long pull. Stan started slapping the counter like a bar patron demanding another round.

  “Last one,” Ray wheezed out as poured a fourth shot for the shaking office clerk.

  “Thank you Ray,” Stan said as John helped him into a chair.

  “Probably ought to hold onto that,” John said, nodding to the pistol in Bob’s hand.

  Bob popped out the cylinder, emptied it of the bullets, and put them in his pocket.

  “I think I will. I’ll drop in in the river later,” Bob said as placed the revolver on the desk behind the front counter.

  “Me and Rachel are comin’ over to the farm for supper. I was just droppin’ by to tell you to not be late. She’ll have my hide if you are,” John said.

  “I’ll be there. I just need to clean up here first,” Bob said.

  “Need any help?” John asked.

  “Me an’ Ray can handle it,” Bob said.

  John nodded and looked to Ray, who still appeared to be in a state of shock.

  “Make sure he gets some food in his stomach,” he said, gesturing to Stan. “A bite or two wouldn’t hurt you either Ray.”

  After John left, Bob drug a very groggy Lee to his feet.

  “You can walk out or I’ll throw you out. Either way, don’t come back here again,” Bob said.

  “I want my gun,” Lee said, still trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind.

  Bob shook his head.

  “Be glad you’re leavin’ with the clothes on your back. Git while you can,” he said.

  Lee looked at him in a combination of fear and hate but nevertheless, backed up and walked out. Ray stood up and walked over to Bob.

  “I’ll say this for you and your brother, you men have guts,” he said.

  “We was raised to push back when we got pushed,” Bob said.

  “You certainly know how to do that,” Ray said.

  “A-men,” said a wide—eyed Stan from his chair.

  ***

  Jefferson Lee “Jeff” Milner paced back and forth in the parlor of his home. A man of ave
rage height and weight, he had dark brown hair streaked with gray and heavy dark brown eyebrows. His sons Lee and Joe as well as his son—in—law Russell Biddle sat silently and watched him. It was a cold and snowy February day.

  “This is bad. This snow has shut down tracks all over the state. We don’t need this trouble. It’s been almost two months since the Newman cave—in and we’re still having trouble with the miners. Joe, if you and Russell can’t clean up this mess, I’ll find somebody who can,” Jeff said.

  “I did what you said dad. I left the widows in company housing and gave five hundred dollars in company scrip for the commissary. They’re not satisfied with it — they’re greedy,” Joe complained.

  “There was a time not too long ago when those women — and the miners — would have jumped at that offer. Too many people started telling them they deserved more and they started listening,” Jeff said.

  “Damn newspapers,” Lee muttered.

  “You took care of that problem so well,” Joe said.

  “Shut up Joe!” Lee snapped.

  “That’s enough, both of you. We need to figure this out, not fight each other,” Jeff said.

  “It seems to me that we need to fight fire with fire,” Joe said.

  “What do you mean?” Carlton asked.

  “Newspapers created a lot of this trouble. Why can’t newspapers end it too?” Joe asked.

  “Well, Lee tried to convince them and it didn’t work,” Russell said.

  “Lee’s way didn’t work. Maybe we’ve going about this all wrong,” Joe said.

  “I’m listening,” Jeff said.

  “Have we tried to bribe the reporters? Better still, have we tried to just buy a newspaper? I mean it would be cheaper than giving in to the demands of the miners,” Joe said.

  “That Ballew fella won’t sell his paper,” Lee said.

  “Fuck him. What about the Silver Point Daily Record? That’s in Evans County. We can buy that paper and refute reports from outsiders,” Joe said.

  “The problem is Fulton. He’s from Evans County. Hell, he worked for us in the Newman mine. The people know he’s not an outsider,” Jeff said.

  “We circulate the story that he’s just mad at us because we fired him and he’s trying to get even. And we can say he’s on the union payroll,” Joe said.

  “Hurt his name, hurt his influence with the miners. I like it,” Jeff said.

  “But what do we do with the widows?” Russell asked.

  “Start getting rid of them a few at a time. We can get the sheriff to arrest a few of them for theft or even prostitution so we can legally evict them. And start firing miners who want a union. If they strike, hire scabs. And if they try to stop the scabs, then Lee and his friends can legally protect our employees,” Joe said. “We’ll have our own newspaper to defend or actions and those of the sheriff.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, it’s not a bad idea,” Lee said as Russell nodded.

  “As soon as you can get back to Silver Point, buy that paper,” Jeff said.

  ***

  Bob sat at the kitchen table of the Church home staring out at the snow-covered farm. In front of him was a note pad. Marlene walked into the kitchen.

  “Workin’ on another story?” She asked as she pulled the coffee pot off of the stove and filled a plain off—white porcelain cup. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you,” Bob said. “I’m goin’ over my notes about the trains stopped by the snow,” he said as she placed a cup of steaming cup in front of him.

  Marlene smiled as she put the coffee pot back on the stove.

  “You really like writin’ for the paper. Well, you ought to — you do a fine job,” she said.

  “Thank you. And you’re right, I like it just fine,” he said.

  “You’re not gonna be with us on the farm for much longer are you?” Marlene asked as Adam walked into the kitchen.

  Bob cleared his throat.

  “Well, to be honest with both of you, I’ll probably move out later in the spring. You both know I’m plannin’ on gettin’ married,” he said.

  Marlene reached over and patted his hand.

  “You deserve to be happy,” she said. “But we’ll miss you here.”

  “That’s a fact,” Adam said.

  “I’m sure the Elkins family will send another farm hand,” Bob said.

  “It ain’t just the help with the farm we’ll miss,” Adam said.

  “We’ll miss seein’ you and talkin’ to you every day. Havin’ you here was like havin’ another child in the house,” Marlene said.

  “You got a grandbaby on the way. You won’t miss me,” Bob said with a grin.

  “We’re lookin’ forward to that baby but we’ll still miss you, just like we miss Rachel,” Marlene said.

  “We’ll be expectin’ you to visit from time to time,” Adam said.

  “I won’t be too far away. I’ll be livin’ in town for a little bit anyway after we get married,” Bob said.

  “I’ll be sure to keep a few biscuits in the warmer for you,” Marlene said.

  Bob smiled and nodded.

  “You know there’s talk about runnin’ electricty out in the county in the next couple of years. Might not need a warmer,” he said.

  “Electricity here?” Marlene asked in wonder.

  “Yeah, you could get one of them electric stoves,” Bob said.

  “I don’t know ‘bout that. It wouldn’t be safe,” Adam said.

  “What do you mean?” Bob asked.

  “I’d be afraid that ‘lectricity would get in the food. Probably ruin the cornbread,” Adam said as Marlene frowned.

  Bob shook his head and smiled slightly.

  “I think it’d be alright. I expect the cornbread could take it pretty good and not hurt anybody,” Bob said.

  ***

  Ed sat in his favorite rocking chair near the fireplace. He was reading the Lexington Courier. Lucy sat sewing a quilt. It was her favorite pastime and ideal for a snowy winter day.

  They were happy in the silence. They appreciated their quiet hours together. That peace was disturbed by a knock on the door.

  Lucy started to stand but Ed got to his feet first and held up his hand for her to remain seated. He walked across the hard wood floor and into the foyer to answer the door.

  “Come on in. You’ll freeze to death out there,” Ed said as Hill and Mae walked in.

  Lucy brightened.

  “Come sit by the fire and warm up. I’ll put on a pot of coffee,” she said.

  “Lucy, it’s gettin’ on in the day, maybe they wanna stay for supper,” Ed said.

  “We don’t wanna put y’all out,” Hill said.

  “You ain’t puttin’ nobody out. We all gotta eat. You might as well have supper with us,” Lucy said.

  “Well at least let me help,” Mae said as she and Lucy retreated to the kitchen.

  “Get a seat Hill. You’re makin’ me nervous pacin’ around like that,” Ed said as he returned to his rocker.

  Hill sat down but Ed could tell he was agitated.

  He looked down at the folded newspaper and back to Hill. Ed figured if he wanted to talk about it he would say something — if not, it wasn’t his business anyway.

  “Tell me somethin’. Can you get a truck into Silver Point in the mornin’?” Ed asked.

  “If we can’t, I can always hitch up the mules to a wagon. Might take longer and be a damn sight colder, but we’d get there,” Hill said.

  Ed nodded.

  “I’ve got an idea about something that might help us out,” he said.

  Hill still distracted, looked over to Ed.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” He asked.

  “Durin’ one of visits with Kennedy, he pointed out somethin’ to me. The man who has the press on his side is a powerful man,” Ed said.

  “Makes sense. You plan on makin’ buddies with the newspapers?” Hill asked.

  Ed smiled.

  “Even better. I plan on buyin
’ one or two — maybe more if they make money,” Ed said.

  “What do you know about runnin’ a newspaper?” Hill asked.

  “Not a damn thing. But what did I know about the dairy business?” Ed asked.

  “Yeah, but that was a front for the moonshine,” Hill countered.

  “But it’s still a money maker and besides, what better protection could we have than to let politicians know we can hurt them?” Ed asked.

  Hill twisted his head.

  “Well, you’ve got a point,” Hill said.

  “Besides, I wouldn’t run a newspaper. I’d hire somebody that knew what they were doin’ to run it for me. It’s like Mae runnin’ the dairy or you handlin’ the delivery and shippin’ of our products. I didn’t know the bankin’ business either, but I got people there too,” Ed said.

  “You mean get somebody like Bob Fulton to run your paper?” Hill asked.

  “The thought crossed my mind,” Ed said.

  “He strikes me as bein’ a lot like John. He’d work hard and do a good job but he’d do what he thought was right. You wouldn’t have a lot of control,” Hill said.

  It was Ed’s turn to twist his head sideways.

  “You got a point too,” Ed said. “I could always hire Bob to work at a paper for somebody I can control.”

  “That makes more sense to me — not that I know much about it,” Hill said.

  “No, I think you’re right. Anyway, I want to get to town tomorrow and see if I can buy the paper in Silver Point,” Ed said.

  “I’ll get you there,” Hill said as he pulled out a cigar and bit the tip off. He spat it into the fire and struck a match to light the cigar.

  Ed rocked back and looked around the room.

  “When we was in France, I’d never dreamed one day we’d be sittin’ here like this,” Ed said.

  Hill shook his head.

  “Me neither. But there is somethin’ on my mind I want to talk to you about,” Hill said.

  “Yeah? What is it?” Ed asked.

  “Well, you know me and Mae have been sorta courtin’ for some time now,” Hill said.

  “It ain’t been a well—kept secret,” Ed said.

  “But...well, me an’ her wanna get married,” Hill said.

  “Alright,” Ed said.