There once was an old coal miner that lived in a shack alongside the railroad tracks on the way to the Hilltop Mine in West Virginia. He was pretty much a hermit who may have once had a family or not--nobody knew. He came to the town late in life and worked in the mine until the black lung got him and the mine doc told him that he had ta quit. His real name was Jacob Hasbrouck, but nobody called him that… just Jake or Ol’ Jake. Nobody really knew how old he was.
Jake had some savings that he lived on but there was no mine pension or Social Security in those days. Everybody had to, pretty much, fend for themselves. But he didn't need much in that old shack where he lived. Jake'd go squirrel hunting or fishing in the mine polluted pond for bullheads, the only fish that could stand the acid in the water. While he was still healthy, did a little moonshine on the side but drank more than he traded or sold. Jake'd always accept a handout without apology. He wasn't a proud man. He got by.
In later years, Jake could be seen sitting on a broken down old chair outside his shack at shift change as the miners shuffled back and forth to their shifts in the mine. He'd have a cup of growing cold coffee in his hand and nod or wave to the miners as they passed. Every once in a while, one of the miners would drop off an apple from his lunch, a loaf of bread that his wife had baked, a coin or two, and other sundry things that the passing miners had a liking to do. Jake was ever grateful for small kindnesses.
Winter was always especially hard when there was snow or when it was cold. Jake always had a pile of coal outside the shack for his little coal heater to keep the place warm. Like so many in the region, he dug his own coal from the hillsides and brought it home in a kids' wagon. Kept his little space toasty warm even on the coldest nights. When the weather was really bad, it was best for him to stay inside and not go out and meet the miners at shift time--so he often didn't.
The last fall and early winter was particularly bad, cold and snowing all the time. Jake wasn't out on the chair with his coffee very much. It was just too cold and miserable for him to be out there. And, his stockpile of coal for the winter was dwindling fast. The miners all knew it, but didn't say anything about it as Christmas approached and they all got concerned about trying to afford their own Christmas preparations for their families on their meager incomes. There were always bills to pay.
By Christmas Eve, Clem Harper saw that Jake's stockpile of coal was all gone. It had been a very cold night and apparently Jake had burned every last chunk he had just to keep warm. Jake wasn't outside that morning, so Clem took it upon himself to do what no other man had ever done--enter Jake's shack. He knocked on the ramshackle wooden door that shook under his knuckles. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. Clem decided to enter anyway.
Inside the tiny, odorous shack, in the dim light by the half open door and a couple of small greasy windows, Clem could see Jake rolled up on a tattered dirty old mattress in wool army blankets in his low bed in the corner. He wasn't moving. Clem approached Jake carefully, shook him lightly on the shoulder and asked, "Ol' Jake… Are you all right?"
At that, Jake coughed and then as loudly as his hoarse voice would allow, shivering, "Close the door, dammit! I'm cold! Cain't you see that I'm freezin’!"
Clem obliged, backing up towards the half open door. But, before he left, asked, "Is there anything I can get you?"
"A lump of coal. A lump of coal would do just fine… I'm almost out."
When Clem and the others returned from that shift, each of them had a lump of coal in their pocket that they deposited on Jake's pile of coal outside the shack. That night at church, after the service, Clem talked to some of the church ladies and the next morning his shift brought a two day supply of Christmas dinner, piping hot, with all the trimmings that they placed outside Jake's door not wanting to impinge on his privacy any more than that.
Jake made it through that winter with lumps of coal supplied from the miners who passed by whenever they saw his supply getting low. When the redbud, azalea and forsythia were in full bloom in the spring, Jake passed away. He was buried in a pauper's grave in the town cemetery with a wooden cross that deteriorated over time. But, Ol’ Jake's simple request for, "a lump of coal," at Christmastime became legend in those hills and still can be heard often ‘round this time of year.
Copyright 2015 © Ronald W. Hull
12/24/15
