Visitors in West Virginia
A reenactor, who happens to be a miner Monday through Friday, stabbed his finger down on my table. My dad used to use that same gesture whenever he wanted to make a point and make sure his listener knew it. He stabbed my table and said, “And another thing…I don’t care who you might think you are, but nobody can show up on a man’s door stoop and tell you they’re shutting down your business, putting you out of work and should let the gov’ment take care of you, just get in the un’ployment line. And if you lose your house don’t worry, we’ll help you out and take it off your hands. Well, let me tell you something maybe you don’t know, not being from around here. Miners don’t stand in line, ma’am. We dig. It’s what we know. We take care of ourselves, our families, and each other, love God and our country. That’s what we know and what we do. And that woman best stay out our neighborhood.”
He got that steam out of his system. I watched him walk away with a bit of a proud swagger, which I’ll wager he has earned a right to. Staring off into the rugged mountains the miners call home I tried to imagine their pain. It was the main topic of discussion all weekend. It was just another day in history; the day Hillary Clinton lost West Virginia.