LUMP OF COAL

Christmas is near, with most boys and girls not expecting to find a lump of coal in their stockings. The ones expecting coal are on Santa’s naughty list. Evidently, I never made that notorious list because coal was not one of my gifts. The closest I came was one year getting black licorice. I don’t know how anyone can eat that horrible stuff!

My grandparents on the Hankins side were very poor. Grandpa Hankins worked as a painter and wall paperer, yet when jobs were hard to come by, Grandpa and Grandma barely made ends meet. I’m positive that my parents helped them at times although this was never mentioned to us boys. I only know about it from eavesdropping as a kid.

My father had connections to coal, as did my late cousin Randall McDaniel. Randall was a geologist and spent most of his working life in that occupation in the Birmingham, Alabama, area, a good portion of his career studying rock formations below ground. Before this took place, he proudly served four years in the US Marine Corp.

Dad’s stint in the coal business was on a different level. Sometime early on in life he dropped out of school and went to work delivering coal, wood, and other things to help supplement his parent’s meager income. I’m not sure if they expected him to help out but he did so regardless.

Eventually, making enough money to go in partners with a friend, Dad and his pal purchased a truck and ventured out on their own. I have a picture of him standing in front of this vehicle. Undoubtedly it wasn’t a huge success because a few years later, after getting his GED, my father joined the Air Force.

He still sent his folks money, because once again, I recall Dad and Mom talking about how much should they write the check for. My parents were struggling financially, yet still made it a point to send them something.

During Christmas season sometime in the late 1950s, we traveled to Vernon, Alabama, to spend time with both sets of grandparents. Stopping at Grandpa and Grandma Hankins’s house overlooking town, Dad found that they didn’t have any coal or wood for their fireplace. I remember him being upset because they hadn’t wrote and told them—with it freezing cold in the drafty old home. Dad immediately ordered a load of coal and wood.

My brother and I enjoyed combing through the coal pile, because on occasion we’d find a chunk with the imprint of a prehistoric leaf on one side. We were generally black with coal dust afterwards—ordered to bathe in a galvanized steel tub with water heated on an old wood stove. I’m sure my dad considered this a waste of precious wood, and probably gave us a lecture on wastefulness.

At night, Grandma made sure Jim and I were warm by giving us extra quilts for after the fire went out. There were no extra beds so the four of us visitors slept on the floor which had cracks throughout. It’s something I’ll never forget, and I wouldn’t trade this memorable experience for the same in a comfy, king-size-bed in Marriott’s ritziest hotel.

After my grandparents died, their decrepit wood house built in the late 1800s was razed, and a road now goes through where it once sat. In 1977, we traveled through Vernon and stopped at the exact spot where this house once stood. It was a sad experience.

Trying to figure out where everything was originally situated, we came across an area with coal particles still dotting the ground. Kicking around at the soil, I uncovered a small chunk of coal and pocketed it. I still have that lump stashed with other significant mementoes.

The worthless blob of coal means much to me, yet after I’m gone, and the kids go through my treasures, they’ll come across it and undoubtedly contemplate giving things a toss. If they still have a keen sense of humor, Gunnar and Miranda will immediately seize the opportunity for a joke,

“It appears the old man was on Santa’s naughty list!”

What they won’t realize by holding it, is that a simple load of coal delivered on a freezing winter day, was undoubtedly one of the best Christmas gifts that their great grandparents ever received!