Home(less) in the chats

Wilfred Smith has taken another trip down “Memory Lane” and remembered to take us along with him. He has a remarkable memory, as he recalls the little details that I like to read. Here we go back to the 1930s.

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In the 1930s, the Oral E. Smith family home was the only one north past the railroad tracks at the Independent Gravel Co. on the left side clear to Black Cat Crossing, a mile north. The Pucketts had moved away and their old house had been torn down. But there was someone living in that area. The only name I knew him by was “Linville.” He was in his late 20s, rather a nice looking, slim, roustabout drifter, or loner. Our family got acquainted with him as he walked to town on the abandoned Southwestern Railway track bed that ran along Main Street and in front of our house. We took an instant liking to him and were glad to see and talk to him. He was never in a hurry. Three of the Smith kids played in the front yard. There was my sister, Gloria, my younger brother, Bobby Jack, and me. We knew him best. I always thought he had eyes for my sister, and it was for that reason our father did not care much for Linville.

One time, Bobby and I were junking among the chat piles, as we often did to make show money. We liked the chat piles north of us and especially the tallest one around, which we called Pike’s Peak. We’d climb to the top and then slide down to the bottom on a piece of heavy cardboard, a piece of galvanized metal roofing or an inverted shovel.

Between Pike’s Peak and North Main Street Road were the remains of a concrete foundation for what was once mining mills. The pillars were about 6 feet tall, flat topped, and about 4 feet apart. Bobby and I discovered that someone had covered two of the pillars with scrap metal roofing held down with boulders. Likewise, one end was shuttered. Inside was a pile of rags to sleep on, some candles, a pot or two and empty cans. There was a gallon glass jug used for drinking water. This was Linville’s home. Where he got potable water I don’t know, as the chat pile ponds were alkaline. His fire was just outside the makeshift shelter.

He could have gathered from the wild of the area: mulberries, wild cherries and grapes, sheep sorrel, poke greens such as lamb’s quarter, wild lettuce, sweet and sour dock, dandelions, and chickory. He could dig sassafras roots for tea. I could have shown him how to make a rabbit trap out of scrap lumber.

I have since admired what a person can do without having much and thought that was a wonderful place to live – no rent, no water, electric or gas bills, no insurance and no taxes – just free as a bird. “Make do” was the name of his game. We liked him. This all happened during the summer. He lived the carefree life and probably didn’t linger long in the same spot.

One day, Bobby and I came across the spot again but Linville was no where around. His camp and abode were empty. He had moved on, to where… we never found out.

His “home” has since been demolished and hauled away by the EPA in their cleanup of the chat piles in the area. I predict that one day, a fine modern house will be built where he once lived for a little while.

All these years later, I still remember Linville and wonder how he made out in life. I rather think OK, as he seemed to be able to take care of himself, even if he was just a bum.

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Thanks Wilfred… it just goes to show what an impact you can make on a young person in such a short time. Let’s hope we always leave a good impression!