Growing Up in Lynch

Growing Up in Lynch Jerry Richardson People change. Sometimes distance gives new insights and perspectives. I feel this way about growing up in Appalachia. It is impossible to separate a person and a personal belief, so I will tell you some things about me. I was born in 1948 in a small house in Inman, Virginia. When I was one year old my family moved across Black Mountain to a company house in Lynch, Kentucky. I contracted polio in the summer of 1952, when I was four. I got the whole show: total paralysis, iron lung, and numerous opportunities for near-death experiences. By age five, I walked to school. I spent my childhood in and out of Kosair Children's Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky. It was there that I met Diane Fossey (of Gorillas in the Miitfame) and Mrs. Krause. Diane was the occupational therapist and Mrs. Krause was my teacher. Neither of these women had a lot of patience with whining and self-pity. When I returned home nothing changed. My family and neighbors never treated me with deference. It was simply expected that I would play, go to school, and go to work. I did. I only mention these experiences to explain my aversion to whining and to those who rely on a difficult past to justify cultural or personal impotence. I grew up in Lynch, a coal camp owned and operated by U.S. Steel. For many years I told people that I grew up in the country. This, of course, was untrue. Lynch had a population of almost 10,000 and a population density rivaling Indonesia. We were diverse long before diversity was fashionable. There were Poles, Czechs, Italians, Scots, Africans, and many more. The ethnic distinctions weren't discussed. The real differences were in terms of job descriptions. Was your father a miner or a boss? If he was a boss, what level of boss was he? I have good friends who were scarred by these class distinctions. They need to grow up and get out of the "holler" more often. These class divisions exist in all places and at all times. They are not particular to Appalachia (although perhaps more condensed) and should not be used to justify sloth or apathy. Growing up in Lynch was essentially the same as growing up anywhere else in the 1950s. My sister Sue and her friends danced to Elvis and Ricky Nelson. My older brother Bud and his friends wore duck-tail Jerry Richardson lives in Georgetown, Kentucky. Retiredfrom teaching, he "has time to explore writing possibilities. " 12 hairstyles and defended their turf. (There was hell to pay if a Gap Branch boy dated a girl from High Street or vice versa.) We played baseball, basketball, football, hopscotch, learned to hula hoop, and followed the bouncing ball with Mitch Miller. We did not gather "dry land fish," almost no one listened to country music, and most sure as hell didn't know who John Jacob Niles was. Growing up in Lynch I only knew what my experience would allow me to know. I accepted the fact that the black section of Lynch was "Niggertown." I knew that between Lynch and the next town, Benham, is an area called "Nigger Benham." I never heard anyone question the term and for me the term had no emotional significance. How could I have grown up with no teacher, no minister, no one teaching me to challenge such insensitivity? Social mores, however, are subtle and it is difficult to remember when and why we begin to question them. I do remember that literature served as a catalyst for whatever maturing I have done. Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, Huckleberry Finn, countless short stories and poems, as well as lyrics by Paul Simon, Bob Dylan, and John Lennon gave me insights not available in Lynch. Good literature gave me the power to enlarge. I remember reading Jesse Stuart and I enjoyed his work. He was not, however, important to my development. I did not find out until years later that he is significant as an "Appalachian writer." This, of course, regionalizes and diminishes Mr. Stuart's work. It...