An unusually chatty letter from my uncle James, January 17th, 1979, to my brother. A lot of it is still very relevant today.

Dear Andrew:

Random remarks. Annual Report. Obiter dicta.

I want you to know that without Morehead assistance I'd be in awful trouble, also that it is not taken for granted. Very much on the contrary.

Not much change for the better, but I'm still optimistic. Several projects going, any one of which could make a major change. Deplorably, I can get plenty of well paying assignments, but I can't handle sustained work. After about an hour of sitting, standing, or driving, I start to cramp up. Very few assignments call for an aging photographer with a degenerative back problem, who carries around a slant board as standard equipment. I've been corseted, trussed, pummeled and medicated, but gravity wins out every time.

Wyoming is constantly in the news. Until the last few years all we got were jokes about Marlboro Country. Now we hear all about crime in Rock Springs, and the New York Times quotes Sen. Wallop and runs feature articles about backgrounders and The Yellow Sheet. Most important however is the talk of coal. There is something here I'm concerned about, not alarmed of course, just concerned.

Growing up in Eastern Tennessee and going to school in Eastern Kentucky, I was just old enough to witness the declining years of the coal boom in that area, of King Coal. Black Diamonds, they called it, but what I saw was Black Evil.

I heard the fiery exhortations of John L. Lewis, and I saw National Guardsmen fire on miners. Mountain people were jolted from rustic self sufficiency and their Elizabethan values into the same toil from which their granddaddies had fled. The Italians came, Poles and Irish Catholics, into a region in which people in the next county were "furriners." The KKK rode.

My schoolmates and I hopped freights to visit girls in nearby towns. It was easy. The trains were two miles long, endless gondolas with engines pushing and pulling. They were fired with the same coal they were hauling North and South to the furnaces of Pittsburgh and Birmingham. They puffed and labored up the grades, and we hopped on and off. Poor blacks roamed the tracks with burlap sacks picking up fallen lumps of coal. Some families got rich, but the war was over and depression reigned. Oil was cheaper and more efficient than coal. The boom was over, railroad stocks collapsed, and mines closed down. But worst of all, the land was denuded. Of course, that part can't happen again, at least not within the law. The damage was permanent, nevertheless. Innocent mountaineers had sold the "mineral rights" to their little swatches, and the carpet-baggers conglomerates moved on and left them a permanent depression, a junk heap. We all it broadly Appalachia. It is the dissolute remains of a proud and independent people.

I probably never mentioned it, but I've always rejoiced in your return to the land. I hope your children grow up to "belong to the land", as the song goes. Not tied to the land, but having roots in it. I hope they'll be fortunate enough to find it out in time.

To me, and to Albert, the Tennessee Mountains were home, no matter where we lived. We remained intensely sentimental about Lookout Mountain, unwaveringly. We were forced to leave, and I've spent a lifetime drifting around the world. Even now, tho, the wind can sound a certain way in the night, and half awake, I swear I can smell the piney woods and the good wool smell of a hand knitted robe.

When Mother was dying she said faintly "I'd like to go home now." And Aunt Ernie honored her wish. She traveled to Lookout Mountain and solemnly and softly spread Mother's ashes over the rocky bluffs that were still the homestead, after fifty years. Ridiculous? I don't know. Robert Frost wrote: (this may not be word perfect.)

I shall be saying this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence.
Two roads converged in a wood, and I,
I took the one least traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Now coal is needed again, but for how long? There are still better sources of energy, and fantastic new ones coming on fast, cheaper and better. As a lifelong financial incompetent I have great respect for wealth. The comedian Joe E. Lewis said, "I've been rich and poor. Believe me, rich is better!" No doubt, but I wonder, at what price? The land renews and replenishes itself, but not after it has been over populated, stripped and shafted. (no pun intended). The land is the only real value, the ultimate heritage!

I didn't mean to hold forth so long, and I'm exceeding my allotted hour. Katherine, get elected to Congress and maybe we'll see you once in a while via the shuttle. Don't forget that stalwart Wyoming women were "forking" horses when Eastern ladies rode side-saddle, and Southern

ladies, I don't know how they even sat down with all those petticoats. Maybe it's time to saddle up again? Andrew: we're tired of lack luster politicians, those inevitable lawyers. At best they seem to be mediocrities, if not an actual disgrace. I'd like to see some economists in office. Most of our national problems are financial, aren't they? jAt any rate, mine are.

Sandy sends you all her love, and so do I.

Your devoted Uncle Jim.

February 3rd, 1981

Dear Andrew:

Keeping in touch — collect — is a joyful thought, except for someone with my peculiar shortcomings. I'm just not very chatty, although I can certainly Hold Forth. But I have the built in slogan "Is this call necessary?" and a parsimonious awe of "long distance." These attitudes go way back. I still think I have to holler when I'm on long distance, and I feel that I'm a bore unless I have some specific information to impart. Or that I'm on the end of an unjustified perquisite. How can you call someone long distance and then say "Well, what'll we talk about?"

What I really long for before time runs out is a long visit with long talks about cabbages and Kings. Incidentally, unless you've already encountered it, get a copy of ENTROPY by Jeremy Rifkin, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. The writers seem a little pessimistic at first, but on later reflection not at all. And…

How can anyone my age feel otherwise that optimistic? Hell, when this Nation was formed life expectancy was about 50. Surgery was performed sand anesthesia. They got the victim soused and conked him with a mallet. Ether was 100 years in the future, and aspirin and vitamins about 150. It must have been horrible! One seldom survived abdominal surgery, and many died of lead poisoning. They swallowed the bullet they were to bite on. I can personally remember when teeth were pulled as is, and just about anyone over 30 had bad teeth. People died wholesale of flu, yellow fever, small pox, to name a few. Then there were TB, typhoid, diphtheria, and so on. Cholera and bubonic plague almost did for the colonists, and childbed fever killed an incredible number of mothers. Babies were lucky to survive their first year. I can remember when "doctors" administered bleeding, sulfur, and emetics that hit like a bomb, a sort of "nuclear physic." To be a doctor all you needed was to rent an office and then announce "I am a Doctor." There were a few laws to stop you, only in the larger cities. Caveat emptor. I'll take 1981. I think that the condition of the majority of people on this earth are better today than ever before, and getting better. Solutions are in sigh for our most tenacious problems.

A solution needs to be found in politics. How do we combine morality and politics? How do we select and elect the "brightest and the best?" I'm sure most politicians think of themselves as basically just and moral, but if they do they're about as qualified for leadership as a cat. How many have broad knowledge in the fields of science , space, technology, ecology? We are faced with an energy crisis, over population, and nuclear annihilation. Who are the anointed? Who can make decisions on a balanced equation, not just for ambition and power, but for the inheritance of future generations, as did the founders of our nation?

I've always been a Democrat, but never a full fledged Yellow Dog. I voted for Eisenhower, and still believe he would have been a very effective President had he not gotten sick. He was actually a liberal, with the Republican Party. He created HEW and appointed Mrs. Oveta Culp Hobby its Secretary. He was committed to reduced military spending, and as everyone remembers he warned against the Military-Industrial Complex. I am acquainted with Gabriel (Gabe) Hauge who recently retired as president of Manufacturers Hanover Trust. He is a member of the Board of the YMCA here, of which I am also a member. (Emeritus, since I have no money.) Hauge was Eisenhower's economic adviser and is full of stories of the appointment of Warren, the busting of McCarthy, and so forth. Many now fear a right wing ascendancy under Reagan, but I fervently hope such fears are foundless. I don't know much about the Mountain States Legal foundation, but I'm appalled by some of James Watt's anti-environmentalism. Again, I hope I'm wrong. At any rate, Reagan is now President and I wouldn't rock the boat even if I were in a position to do so. I'm also encouraged by the fact that you voted for Reagan.

We voted for MR. Jimmy. We had no illusions about him, that's for sure. (I say we because Sandy is her own person. We don't as a unit.) I'm convinced that the most destructive force in America today is racism directed toward working class Blacks. Failure to resolve this urgent problem can determine whether we have vital cooperation, or confrontation, with all of the emerging Third World countries; and they are emerging at a rapid rate, indeed. The Democratic Party has a much more constructive approach to this dangerous situation. We'll vote as the blacks vote until such time as entrenched bigotry has finally been "overcome".

Joke:

A noted political commentator dies and goes to Heaven. He gains an audience with God:

COMMENTATOR: Lord, will it ever be possible for a Jew to become President?

GOD: Oh, yes. Remember, my Son is a Jew.

COMMENTATOR: How about a woman, Lord?

GOD: Yes, in time, yes.

COMMENTATOR: How about a black, Lord?

GOD: Yes, someday probably. But NOT AS LONG AS I'M GOD!

I hope you haven't already heard it.

* * *

Along with trap drummers and traveling salesmen, a commercial photographer must have a car. I have a car.

THE CAR

It is a 1970 AMC Ambassador, mileage 238,000. It has been several times to every city and town from Minnesota to Texas and from Maine to Florida. To California I had to fly and rent a car, of course.

Now, as every country boy knows, automobiles are like the Tin Woodman. They never quit if you supply new parts when needed. My car is a Tin Woodman. Little is left of the original machine except the frame and what remains of the body, which looks like a derelict from a disaster area. But it runs fine, and since I'm not in the position to buy anything that runs at present, I have no complaint. To whom it may concern, here is How To Buy A Used Car for those who can't afford payments on a tricycle. 1. Buy the sorriest looking junk you can find, that is running. It will cost maybe $150. Inspect the frame for welded spots, etc. Now, remove most of the innards. Install a REBUILT carburetor, Water Pump, Fuel Pump, and Alternator. A NEW Battery. Boil out the radiator, check and align the front end, replace hoses and wires. Maybe do a valve job and transmission seal. Shocks and brakes. Total cost about $500, and you can count on the car. It won't break down. No monthly payments, and anything remotely as reliable would run you over $3000.

Insurance is negligible. Deterioration? What's that?

MONEY

I do the best I can within my limitations, but it wouldn't be good enough without the providential family help I receive when I'm desperate. I can't say "I don't know what I'd do without it!" I know exactly what I'd do, I'd live in a hovel and eat like a movie star, Morris the Cat. Well, maybe not quite that dismal a scene, but pretty bad. Anyhow, bless you all. It just makes the difference between a continuing effort, with dignity, or the plight of the misbegotten.

HEALTH

No change in my condition, and none anticipated, but I'm hanging in, and feel fine. Sandy ailing, and we don't know the cause. Symptoms are dizziness, (a couple of blackouts when she fell,) tremors and twitches, general weakness and lassitude. We've seen a battery of specialists, Endocrinologist, Neurologist, etc., and ruled out the most ominous conditions bearing the symptoms, such as Parkinson’s, Epilepsy, Thyroid Dysfunction, Diabetes, etc. Forthcoming is a CAT scan. The good Physicians are puzzled. It could be an unidentified virus, hopefully self limiting. Or: my confidential opinion: a mini-nervous breakdown. As you know, Sandy is extremely sensitive. She is a gentle person, full of love and understanding. Loy was such a person. I doubt if either ever had a truly mean or malicious thought. Loy buffered her sensitivity with alcohol, which Sandy chooses not to do. And Sandy has had a few consecutive bad years for such a vulnerable soul. Her Mother's stroke, her Sister's heart attack, my near demise last year and almost a year of recuperation, then my operation, (altho a minor one, nevertheless,) added to that, poor Sandy has taken a beating, not to mention our impecunious state.

Now, Sandy is "into" Meditation, and it seems to work. Really! She seems much better, and at least it's no less therapeutic than anything the Doctors have come up with. At any rate, it inspired the following verses:

It must be great to meditate,
To reach complete euphoria. Then, if it doesn't bore 'ya,
Aspire to even higher Zen,
Counting to FIVE or even TEN,
>Instead of merely ONE. What fun!
They say Ralph Waldo Emerson,
Engaged in Navel Contemplation
Achieved suspended animation.

And Howard Hughes, so I've been told,
Had bathrooms lined with solid gold
With real Carrara marble tiles,
(Evoking transcendental smiles,)
And Howie oft was heard to state:
"That's where I go to meditate!"

I hope I know when to quit. All my love to all of you-all.

Uncle Jim.