An Appalachian Odyssey

© 2014 Russ Walkup. All rights reserved.

Cover Photo by Tom Walkup 1939

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/03/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6963-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6962-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014904359

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Contents

About the cover

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Timeline of my life

Chapter One The First 18 Years

Chapter Two Berea College

Chapter Three Neon My Best Job

Chapter Four Moving On

Chapter Five Six Years in the Big House

Chapter Six Chillicothe

Chapter Seven Tennis

About the cover

Photograph taken in 1939, author on the left, my cousin Robert Clemons in the middle and my cousin Erma Clemons on the right. Seated on our Uncle Tom’s Model A Ford.

Dedication

Dedicated to my Family

My wife Maggie, my son Russell and my daughter Michelle

Family photo from 1968

Acknowledgements

Thanks to those who contributed to this book.

Keith Gilbertson, Cathy Curtis, Martha and Jack Pittsenbarger, Erma Windon, Phillip Adams, Irene Seals and my wife Maggie, Thanks so much.

Introduction

T his book is a tribute to my parents who instilled in me a strong will to succeed. The emphasis was on hard work and honesty. There was little money available but that made little difference to the boys in Keiffer Holler. Most of the time we were busy working and our leisure time was spent in the beautiful mountains and fishing. Until I was a junior in high school I thought a log cabin in the rural hills of Greenbrier County, a job in a union mine and a four wheel drive vehicle would mean the perfect life.

My story deals with the many twists and turns of leaving the mountains of Appalachia. Some are sad and some are hilarious. The cultural differences I encountered could be compared to Homers’ account of the Greek, Odysseus. My experiences could never measure up to the Cyclops but there were many challenges along the way. The strong values I gained during my formative years in Appalachia were a major factor guiding me to success throughout my first 76 years of life.

Timeline of my life

1.  October 15, 1937. On that day I was born at home to Cleo and Helen Walkup in Rupert West, Virginia

2.  During my junior summer I was diagnosed with polio

3.  In December during my senior year it was time to decide the path of my future. Visits with Dad to the coal mines helped my decision.

4.  Berea College. In the fall of 1955 my parents put me on the Greyhound bus in Rainelle W.Va. My destination was Berea, Kentucky

5.  Married Maggie on Christmas Eve, 1958. I had one semester left and Maggie had graduated as an LPN in 1958.

6.  Following graduation from Berea College in 1959, we headed to Letcher County, in the heart of coal country. It was very similar to the area where I grew up. I was hired to teach Biology and coach football ,basketball and track at Fleming—Neon High School

7.  Our daughter Michelle was born in 1960

8.  In the late summer of 1961 I moved back to Rupert and taught Biology while coaching football and basketball for the 1961-1962 school year

9.  We moved to London, Ohio for the 1962-63 school year.

10.  In the fall of 1963 I started my new job in Marysville, Ohio. Stayed there for seventeen years

11.  Our son Russell was born in 1965

12.  Started teaching in Chillicothe in 1980

13.  Retired from Chillicothe in 1988

14.  Lived in Chillicothe until we moved to Lexington, Ky in 2008

Chapter One

The First 18 Years

T his story begins on October 15, 1937. On that fine day I was born to Cleo and Helen Walkup at my home place in Rupert, West Virginia. About two years later we moved about five miles away to a small farm in Keiffer Holler near Crawley, West Virginia. Before me, my brother Robert who was born in 1933, lived only six months until succumbing to pneumonia. Two years later my sister Arlasan was born and she lived only six months before she also died from pneumonia. That was during the Great Depression and before penicillin. During my first six years I had many colds but thankfully did not ever develop pneumonia like my brother and sister. My sister Martha was born in 1944 and my brother Joe was born in 1947.

In my 6th year, I was sent to school early and my new teacher was Miss Crawford who was in her 70’s. She had taught my father many years before me and now she wanted to treat me kindly so she would let me play in the giant sandbox with a classmate named Alma Jean. As a result of more time at play than in the classroom, my academic skills suffered but my report card from Miss Crawford indicated that I doing great so I was passed on to the second grade.

It was in the second grade that I encountered Mrs. Viers. She was a no nonsense instructor who cracked the whip. The second week of school I was trying to put the hair of a female student seated in front of me in the ink well on my desk when Mrs. Viers caught me. I got spanked, but worse than that, Mrs. Viers moved me to the front of the class. That incident saved me from repeating the second grade and by the end of the year I was up to snuff.

My third grade school picture from

Rupert Elementary in Rupert, West Virginia

The third, fourth, and fifth grades went very well for me. At home I was beginning to be assigned several chores. I weeded the garden and picked berries in the summer. During the cold weather I carried in coal to keep the Warm Morning stove producing heat in order to help us all stay warm and cozy. It was during my time in the 6th grade that I was introduced to the crosscut saw. My grandfather and I cut up chestnut trees at least three times a week. The trees had been killed by the great chestnut blight and they made excellent fire wood. I was also assigned the task of removing the ashes from our stoves. On my first assignment I carried out the ashes and then attempted to dump them into a strong wind. After the wind passed me by I looked like I could have participated in an old time minstrel show without needing any makeup. This action also left a bad sooty taste in my mouth. A lifelong valuable lesson was learned from this ash dumping chore. Don’t go against the wind.

During my 6th grade year a lot of important things changed in my life. I began to milk the cows twice per day and I was also receiving instructions on how to plow the fields with our horses, Maude and Bess. The regular daily diet of folks in the mountains included the many vegetables and fruits that we grew near our home. Our most basic food was potatoes. Every spring the ground had to be plowed early and tilled into shape because the potatoes had to be planted on Good Friday. My job was to cut the seed potatoes into small portions that had to have an eye or two on them. This was the part of the potato that grew into a big plant and that was where we got our eating potatoes from. After we harvested the potatoes, we usually fried them with some grease to give them a great flavor. This was the way they were fixed most of the time but sometimes Mom put them in the oven to bake or cooked them in along with other dishes. For breakfast my father always had fried potatoes and biscuits with some of Mom’s very good homemade gravy.

During the summer we went fishing pretty often and most of the time we came back with a bunch of trout to eat. In the fall and winter the fishing was over so then we ate a lot of wild game including squirrels, rabbits, grouse, turkey and even some venison when we got a deer. Everything was always served along with a bunch of great tasting biscuits. We usually had something to eat that needed flour in the preparation. We seldom had any beef and if we did it was usually hamburger. It was a real treat for us when Dad would bring home a couple of pounds of baloney. We had a really old refrigerator that held very little food so any meat we had was smoked and cured with Morton’s to season and preserve it.

Most Appalachian folks had a root cellar to keep their food in for the long cold winters. In here we kept canned fruits and vegetables and our potatoes that we had harvested from our garden and fruit trees. Most of the time the cellar was a cinderblock or earthen structure that went down well below the frost line. In the mountains these underground cellars kept the food that we needed for the winter from freezing.

Around 1951, when I was fourteen years, the state of West Virginia decided that they would travel out into the rural areas to check the food pantries of the residents. The purpose was to record the number of jars of venison that people had put up for the winter. I guess they thought folks back in the mountains were shooting too many deer. The inspection could have been a problem for us but my father had a clever solution to fool the inspectors. Before they arrived to have a look around our cellar, Dad told us to scatter some dust on top of several of the jars on the shelves. On the day the inspectors came to check on our canned venison, my dad moved his fingers through the fresh dust and told them that these jars had been put up and on the shelf long before this new policy had been put into place. Dad knew that there was no way for the guys from the state to prove that these jars with venison had not been there on our shelves prior to the implementation of the new state regulations.

In the spring we always waited for the ramps to come up out of the ground. When they first appeared everyone headed out into the woods to dig a bunch up and bring them home to cook. I sure loved eating ramps. The only problem with these delicious gifts from the mountains was the odor they produced when they were cooked and even before cooking them. The aroma from ramps was unreal. Sometimes I would eat a couple of ramps in the morning before I went to school and when I got into the classroom I was quickly dispatched from the scene and sent out into the hallway.

Most of the small grocery markets in eastern Greenbrier County sold fresh ramps for five or ten dollars per bushel. People took them home and cooked them with scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and bacon. I enjoyed the taste of ramps so much that when I went off to college, Mom packed me a jar full that she had canned in the spring. One night on the second floor of Pearson Hall at Berea College I got together with a couple of my West Virginia buddies and we decided to cook up the contents of this jar that had travelled with me from my home in Rupert. When the strong unreal odor of ramps in the pan wafted down the halls and into their rooms, the residents on that floor all came out of their rooms and they began yelling at us. We listened to their complaints and made the decision to take the delicious ramps outside to enjoy them in peace. After eating ramps your sweat made you smell like a giant stink bomb.

One time when I was in a small area near Bellfontaine, Ohio I found some ramps to dig and prepare. I ate a generous serving before playing in an adult basketball tournament. This time I was the high point scorer because no one came close enough to guard me. Ramps could be called my secret weapon.

Recipe

Ramps and Taters

Ingredients

3 medium sized potatoes

1 bunch of ramps

6 slices of bacon

4 free-range eggs

Salt and pepper to taste

Rinse your potatoes, chop into thumb sized pieces.

Bring a pot of water to boil that’s big enough to hold your taters, cooking them. You will know they are done when a knife easily cuts them, but not too done that the potato has started to crumble. Drain and set aside.

Rinse your ramps pat them, dry slice off the root tops. Take your remaining ramps and cut into 1-inch pieces, both white tops and greens. Set aside.

In a large skillet, fry up your slices of bacon over medium low heat. Let low and slow The bacon is done when small white bubbles begin to form over your slices. Remove the bacon from the pan,

In the skillet with bacon fat, cook your ramps and your potatoes over medium-high heat.

When the potatoes start to crisp up, crack your eggs one by one over the taters and ramps, scramble them into the mixture. Add some salt and pepper. Enjoy

I always cook my ramps outdoors on a camp stove. That way the pungent odor of ramps cooking remains outside and everyone stays happy. Well, maybe not the neighbors.

For many years it was still legal to dig ramps in the Great Smokey Mountain National Park but now they prohibit harvesting of them for fear of people eradicating the species forever. I still have a secret digging site in Ross County, Ohio where I visit every couple of years. Yummy, yummy ramps . . .

Another spring activity we enjoyed was picking wild strawberries. They were usually pretty tiny and it took a lot of time to fill up even a small bucket but it was worth it. Mom would take what we had found and make the most delicious strawberry jam. She also put the strawberries in great tasting pies and cakes. When June arrived the cherry trees usually had plenty of fruit ready for us to harvest. When we went to pick the cherries the limbs on our trees looked pretty solid to us but when we put our weight on them a little, they would often crumble to the ground. Our cherry trees seemed to rot and decay very quickly and were very dangerous to climb. One day I fell out of a couple of trees while I was picking the delicious cherries. To take care of this ever happening again, I built a crude ladder to lean out to the outer parts of the trees. The leaves on the cherry trees kept the ladder from moving and also kept me from falling out of the trees. Gathering them was much safer for me and we got more fresh cherries to eat. Instead of falling out of trees I was filling up buckets with fruit.

After we had a big bunch of cherries, Mom was ready to make jelly so she would send me to the store to get some Sure-Jell to thicken it. I would get on my very old bike with no fenders and ride all the way to Kieffer to get the supplies for Mom. During one of my trips, three guys who I didn’t know, came up to me and knocked me off my bike. It was a tough fall and I got a rough bump on my head. I was still able to get the Sure-Jell for my mom and bring it back home but when I arrived back home my grandpa saw the bump and probably some scrapes. He asked me what had happened to me on my little trip to the store. When I told him the story of the three boys knocking me off my bike he immediately took me to the woodshed and cut two pieces of rubber from an