Day Two: On to West Virginia and the Appalachians  After waking up early, we had a good breakfast in Athens-- eggs, sausage and  potatoes. At this point we decided on our next ground rule: we must have at least one good meal a day-- a rule we would fail miserably to follow. Ready for adventure, we headed toward Pomeroy, mostly on two lane roads  along the Ohio river. We stopped to photograph the river and the shell of a town that is Pomeroy, before crossing the Ohio on a very old, high-arching, two-lane bridge with a wooden walkway on one side. We weren't in  West Virginia very long before we began to experience its hills.  The road, Rt. 33, followed the river and worked its way past a huge power plant-- part nuclear, part coal burning. The fact that nuclear power  even exists in West Virginia is a stands as a stark statement about the status of coal mining in the state. How many coal mines are still in operation in West Virginia, we wondered? Not many, we were to learn. We soon  reached highway 77 and turned south through Charleston.  Outside of Charleston we encountered a traffic back-up that was apparently caused by a over-turned semi. Hot-dog Lonesome Bob, after encountering an  attractive young motorist, determined that we should turn around and go the wrong way back down the highway to the previous exit and go around the traffic jam on local roads. Somehow, Lonesome talked another motorist  into following us. Traveling down the shoulder of the highway we encountered a road worker approaching us in his pick-up. He jumped out of his truck, arms flailing in disbelief, and demanded that we turn around and get  back in line. Lonesome Bob was reluctant to oblige him and got out of the car to jaw with the other motorists again. Before long a state trooper drove up and sent Bob scurrying for the cover of our car. The heavy jowled  trooper stuck his face in my window and said, in his laconic West Virginia drawl, "I don't have to tell you fellers. Reckless driving. Stay in yer lane." We agreed that this is was as close to a West Virginia  trooper'face that we wanted to get to on this trip. We called bluesman Nat Reese from the McDonald's parking lot in Princeton and arranged for him to meet us. Nat led us up a hollow and back to his family compound a short distance outside of Princeton. Nat is a 73 year old practitioner of coal field blues, which he describes as a mixture of blues and country. He told us that he grew up in Wyoming county listening to the Grand Ol' Opry on his grandfather's old curve top Philco radio. He mentioned listening to DeFord Baily, one of the first black musicians to play on the Opry. His father, originally from Alabama, worked on the Virginian railroad in Wyoming county and was a part-time musician-- a porch sitting Saturday night player. Nat's dad made only $2.60 a day when Nat was a child and was making $14 a day by the time he retired after 42 years. Nat got a taste of church music from his mother who insisted he go to church each Sunday morning. As a child Nat says he was quite industrious-- selling coal, tending the garden and feeding the pigs and chickens. Life was hard back then and yet,le many old timers, Nat feels that today's children would be better off if they had to experience some of the hardship and hard

work he had to endure.  Nat had his full complement of guitars and amplifiers in his living room, as he was prepared to leave the next morning for Augusta at Davis &  Elkins College. He picked up one of the guitars and played some of his trademark blues for us as he talked about the integrated life that he enjoyed while growing up around native whites (descendants of the original  mountaineers), Italian immigrants, and other blacks. He even showed off a little of his Italian, which he said he learned from the wife of a fellow musician. Nat worked in the Coal mines a little as a young man--just  enough to realize that he would need to get an education to avoid that life.. He went to high school in Princeton where an art teacher showed some of his paintings around and helped Nat to get a college scholarship. He  studied commercial art in college and has done work as a draftsman and a photographer. During college and after, Nat traveled with a gospel singing group on weekends. He said that if you could play gospel or baseball,  the miningompanies would make a job for you. Nat showed us some of his artwork.  Another of Nat's early musical influences was Howard Armstrong, who Nat saw play in the coal fields when he was just a teenager.  Nat recalled a gig he was playing with Armstrong and Henry Townshend, a Piano player from Saint Louis, one March in the mountains of West Virginia. It began to snow during the show and by the time they were ready to  leave there was a foot of snow on the ground and the highway had been officially closed. Nat, Armstrong, and Townshend went back to their room and began to play. Soon others found out they were there and the front desk  called and asked if it would be OK for him to send people up to the room to listen. More people arrived, some musicians and they played and partied for the three days that the snow storm lasted.

Nat has had his share of success and the good life that can come with being an accomplished Blue musician. Asked why he played the blues even though he acknowledged that his first love  was gospel, Nat replied that "to be honest, it pays more." Nat's music has enabled him to travel throughout the United States and Europe and he has had the opportunity to play with many other notable  musicians. Recently, was honored by the state of West Virginia with the Vandalia Award for preserving West Virginia folk culture and music-- specifically coalfield blues. His age is not slowing him down either; Reese  has a trip planned to Germany and Australia next month.  While visiting with Nat for three hours numerous members of his family wandered into the trailer, introducing themselves always to us and referring to Nat  as "Old Man." Among

others, we met Nat's grandson's Dan, who occasionally travels with Nat, and Randy, who has a vise grip. Nat's trailer is one of three on the property which are inhabited by various members of his  family. Nat told us that he did not attend the funeral of his sister-in-law's mother so that he could meet with us. By the time we left, we felt that we had experienced some real West Virginia hospitality. Nat encouraged us to  visit again and we invited him to visit us in Toledo. In fact, Lonesome Bob made tentative plans for Nat to play at a future Rock Rhythm and Blues Festival.  We left Nat's place on Rt. 20 out of Princeton for Pulaski VA and a single A game between the Bluefield Orioles and the Pulaski Rangers. The drive was along a scenic windy road across the New River and over a pass in the Allegheny Mountains. The mountain ranges receding in the distance had a distinctive bluish haze.

The cost of admission was $3.50-- all general admission. There was no beer, no souvenirs, and no smoking permitted. The grandstand was just along the third base side. There  were concrete risers that people could bring their own chairs to sit on and it was covered by a rusty metal canopy. Most annoying was the net that spanned from the canopy to the wall and through which the game must be  viewed. The bullpen for the Rangers was right along the third base fence and so fans could stand within several feet of the pitchers as they talked between innings or warmed up.  At one point the Bluefield  catcher seemed to strain a groin muscle which delayed the game and caused serious concern on the part of a few young women. These camp followers were able to ask some of the other players through the fence about how  "Tommy" was doing. We didn't have the impression that these girls were in any way connected to Tommy but we did see them the next night at the Bluefield stadium.

Calfee Park, built in 1935, is set in a hollow on the south side of town. The stadium was surrounded by a stockade style wooden fence and had concrete/stone gates in a faux  castle style at the entrances. Right field was dug into a hillside and had an large white concrete retaining wall that was about thirty feet tall at its highest point. Above the wall was a small street and some homes  further up the hill where people could sit on their front porches and watch the game below. The wall gave the field an irregular shape.

		Bob felt that we were the only people in attendance who weren't related to the others. It was a real taste of Appalachian culture. The crowd was at a season high with 1259 in  attendance. There were people of all ages, lots of families and kids: moonshiners by day, ball fans by night. A group of high school kids were hanging out together, only marginally interested in the game. Not particularly rowdy,  the fans were supportive of their home team and were clearly disappointed to see them lose to the "Baby O's."  Nat Reese had recommended a blues bar to us in the town of Bluefield, which is where we headed as soon  as the game was over. We stopped for a hotel room on the way into town and found a Budget Motel that was really a part of the "Highlander chain" that we had stayed in the night before. Clearly a step below the previous  hotel in many respects, but at 46$ was more than we had paid the night before. The carpet was stained throughout but the bathroom didn't have any holes in the wall. We turned on the air conditioning to help clear out the heavy  musty and smoky smell before moving on to the bar.  Nat told us about several places where one could hear live blues on a Friday night in the Bluefield/Princeton area. Only one did he give us directions to, however, because  he deemed the others to be too dangerous. We easily found Gabby's in "downtown" Bluefield across from the post office and right next door to a disco. There were people standing around in the street and cars parked along  the street giving the impression that this place might be happening. Both clubs were located in large old houses. You enter Gabby's through the front door and then into the former living room where there is a small inoperative bar  set up and a pool table. There were two tables lined up in the hallway behind the stairs and leading to the back of the house where breakfast is served from 11 PM to 3 AM. Upstairs is a small room with a bar that runs parallel to  the steps on the opposite wall, a few tables, an electronic dart board, and a very small area set aside on the far wall for musicians to set up. This is apparently whereat plays when he plays here. The bartender told us that a rock  group was scheduled to play on Saturday night-- given the size of the "stage" area and the room, we figured it must be deadly loud. Unfortunately, no one was scheduled to play on that night and so we just had a beer,  played a little pool and headed out.  At this point, about 1:00 AM, we decided to look for the "dangerous bars" that Nat had referred to. Not knowing their names we drove around and were surprised that although  there were very few bars to be found, the town had an over-abundance of hair styling salons. Places with names like: Hair Strategy and Hair Concepts. We cruised by one bar that was along a dark stretch of the road. There were no  windows and we couldn't decide if the group of guys standing on the sidewalk in front of the door looked friendly. We discussed exactly what might constitute a dangerous bar. If by dangerous Nat meant that there were occasional  fist fights, or even if beer bottles were thrown when tempers flared, then we thought we could mind our own business and stay out of harm's way. If dangerous meant occasional gunfire, then we probably would not feel altogether  comfortable. We came to the conclusion that we were too tired to find out which category this place fell into and headed back to our room.   On to Saturday Back to the trip itinerary Back to the Blue Suit Home Page