Growing Up Hard in Harlan County

Eighteen

__A __ EIGHTEEN I FLEW FROM Lexington to Atlanta, then on to Miami. I was seated midway at a window on a night flight. It was a clear night, no clouds anywhere, as the plane neared Atlanta. It started circling the city for landing. I thought I had seen some big cities, but looking at Atlanta from above at night, and it clear of clouds and smog-it's something I'll never forget. The lights appeared like needlework, patterned from someone's idea of an emerald, glittering with thousands and thousands of diamonds. If I could take a paintbrush and a large canvas and transfer the picture of this that is in my head for you to see, you would have to agree it's a beautiful scene to remember. But me not knowing which end of a brush to use, you will have to accept the description I have tried to give you. Bill and Buck met me at Miami and we drove to Naples. I spent my first night at Bill's. The next day being a Sunday, Bill wanted me to go fishing out in the Gulf with him and a friend of his, Dale Cain. I was the only one fishing. Bill and Dale just wanted to talk business. We moved to the inland waters and I caught a few catfish. Bill and Dale came to some kind of an agreement on their talk and we came back in to the dock. The evening was still early and I got with Benny and Buck. They drove me to the house that Benny lived in. It was a small twobedroom , partly furnished. He was moving in with his widowed mother-in-law to care for her. He wanted me to take over his indebtedness on the house. I had expected it and had brought my clothes from Bill's. I always thought it best to try to not be a bother to my kin. I knew I would be welcome and treated kindly at their home, but my aim was to get settled and make Florida my home. The next morning Benny came by to pick me up. I had done some grocery shopping the evening before. Me being an early riser, I had fixed a good mountain breakfast-fried salt bacon, potatoes, eggs, 169 milk gravy, and a pan of light fluffy biscuits. Benny said, 'Tm running late for work, but I'm sure not going to pass up a breakfast like this, even if I lose my job." I had batched and camped on wagon trains most of my life and knew how to make any kind of food come to its full flavor. After Benny gorged himself with the first mountain breakfast he had eaten since he had come to Florida, we took off to Marco Island, where he worked for a large development company. I met Benny's superintendent and was shown around the island and shown some of the work that was being done. Huge drag lines were digging canals through mangrove swamps, piling dug-up sand and shells ahead to level off the land for them to move ahead on. The drag line would settle itself on the built-up sand and shells and move on ahead again. The operator would start digging and piling sand and shells forty to fifty feet high into the mangrove swamps. After the piles had drained, big dozers would smooth them down to level over the swamps. Sea wall crews would follow, jetting down huge concrete slabs to become a beautiful wall to check the sand from feeding back into the canal. Later, streets and nice homes would be built. People were coming from all over the world, mostly people from the northern parts of the United States who were retired and looking for a place in the sun to enjoy boating and fishing and a lazy way to live out their remaining years. They'd be shown the beautiful homes with open canals to the Gulf. Palm trees, grass, and flowery shrubbery would decorate the lawns and medians of the streets. Boat docks would be installed for each home. Back-door fishing or basking in the sun could be seen at nearly every home. After the superintendent took me over the parts of the island under his supervision, he asked me if I was ready to begin work any time this week. A night shift was due to start that night and I...