Day 2: Whitesburg fun

Brunch and town divisions
The next morning, after a nice conversation with Ginger about life in Whitesburg, we got up to experience more of the town. Ginger asked, “Where do you want to eat this morning?” Normally this would probably be a complicated question when we were home in D.C. or Northern Virginia. But the options were extremely limited in Whitesburg, making the decision making easier, though still with a level of difficulty. The options in town for breakfast really are just the Pine Mountain Grill or to cook at home. Ginger insisted on checking out the Grill, which has remarkably cheap food that’s of pretty decent quality. Bethany wanted to wash her hair, so she stayed behind.


On the ride out, Ginger explained that the town of Whitesburg, like much of Appalachia is built along the creeks, in what are called “hollows.” The land is so mountainous and hilly, the flat lands along the banks of the creek are the places that are readily habitable. I thought about my drives through Appalachia, particularly down 119 the day before. The towns were all below the interstates as you drove by with incredible vistas. It made sense now that the towns were in these “hollow” areas that were basically carved out by the creeks and rivers.

Pine Mountain is the landmark mountain in town. The restaurant owner took the name of the town to create the successful business operation. Mr. Childers (though pronounced Childress by the natives apparently) is a wealthy oil and coal baron in the town. Some tensions have risen over the lack of any giving the potential beneficiary may have given but has not.
“Wow. That story sounds just like a typical small-town transformation story: big time baron controls the local economy but is a grouch and tensions arise,” I said to Ginger. “Um, yeah,” she replied with a shrug. “It’s just like It’s a Wonderful Life!” I said trying to get some sort of reaction. “Oh yeah. Isn’t that the movie with Jimmy . . . Jimmy something? Ginger’s swiss cheese knowledge of popular culture always surprised me. How is it that someone born in this country not know such a movie classic. After I elaborated on Mr. Potter versus the small town of Bedford Falls, we moved on to other topics of interest in Whitesburg.

Like any society or culture, divisions exist between groups of people. Coal miner verus the non-coal miners. The multi-generational Whitesburg people that were so proud of their history and culture versus the transplants in the form of first generation immigrants who were doctors on special visas to the United States to study, requiring them to work in the countryside upon completion of their degrees. These divisions exist in a tiny town of five thousand people. I wonder if everyone really knows everyone’s business.


Appalshop and the town, and a prisoner’s dilemma
After brunch, we went to the Food City, which I am discovering very quickly is the big southern food market chain. I saw them all the way from southern Ohio to Tennessee. There we ran into more of Ginger’s Appalshop friends. “Are you going to Jamila and Joel’s party tonight?” Ginger asked. Everyone we would run into that day that Ginger knew seemed to be aware of this party. It seemed like this was going to be a large bash with most of the town showing up. “Who isn’t coming to this party tonight?” I asked Ginger later as we were putting the spring water we had bought into the car. (Apparently the water has soft metals in it, causing anyone who has long term consumption of it to become sick, or so it is said. So, bottled water is the way to go.) “Um, I think pretty much everyone will be there. It’s really Sean’s surprise birthday party.” Sean was an Appalshop god-figure that had left a while back, but was still revered by the crew.

We went home and dropped off the groceries and grabbed Bethany. We walked over to the office and also checked out a fundraiser yard sale in the new building that will house the radio department of Appalshop. Bethany’s project is to direct the renovation of the building, which has received state and federal grant monies. At this point, I asked to clarify a bit more of what Appalshop is. The organization is one that attracts a wide variety of artists in the documentary film, radio, youth initiatives groups. The mission statement seems to be sprawling, trying to preserve the Appalachian culture while also serving the community. The radio station is one part of the mission and Ginger has a show – World Beat, Monday evenings.
Later in a tour of her office, she showed me the pile of letters she had been receiving from her various fans – all inmates from neighboring state and federal prisons. I expressed my surprise at the nature of these letters, but the explanation made sense. Ginger’s lead in show is “From the Holler to the Hood,” done by Jamila (who’s bigtime party we would be going to that night) which was a show that tried to act as a connection between the inmates and their families, who mostly live too far away to visit. Ginger’s show, which started just a few months ago plays international music including Latin music, which for some of the inmates is the only way they can listen to such music. Word spread quickly among the inmates when Ginger started playing her music and they flood her weekly with requests for songs from their hometowns.

I looked at the large pile of sheets and offered to sort them and read through them to better understand them all. After hole punching dozens of letters and reading and putting them into a binder, a strange and darkly humorous story emerged: lonely prisoners that had plenty of time on their hands were writing to Ginger. Some were simple – just requests and others sought romantic involvement with the DJ. I thought it was touching, her willingness to try to give some break from the lonliness, but she acknowledged that many of these people had done horrible things. It was a struggle that she had with herself. I held up a letter with a fancy ink-drawn picture with both Ginger and the inmate’s name. Ginger commented without any emotion that she often received art work from her listeners.


I finished Ginger’s binder and then we decided to walk up the mountain behind Appalshop to the communication tower. Along the way, Husky, as I named him appeared out of nowhere and decided to follow us up the trail. I was surprised at the company, and at first was worried that Husky would get lost if he went too far from his home. “You don’t have neighborhood dogs where you grew up?” Ginger asked. Apparently, leash laws are not in existence in rural Virginia, which seems to make sense.
We were unable to finish the climb, because Ginger was worried about the time as well as her being out of shape. Even living in slower-pace life of Appalachia, Ginger stays busy.