The Village of Coal Falls by Chris Woodward

The village of Coal Falls was nestled among the rolling hills of north eastern Pennsylvania. The village, like every other borough and patch, began as a mining community during the Industrial Revolution when the country needed to pollute as much as possible and Coal Falls, and the rest of the coal region in PA, were happy to supply the fuel. The entire village of Coal Falls was laid atop the second largest vein of anthracite coal. In its heyday, Coal Falls boasted more wealth and society to rival that of Rochester, New York.

Sadly, the hunger for coal died out and the entire region went to hell with black scars of culm banks and empty mines to show for its effort. No community went downhill faster than Coal Falls. And downhill it continued to slide.

As an ice cream truck driver living in a nearby borough, I saw a lot of the coal region. I drove through all the communities with my annoying ditty playfully inviting the kiddies to come sample my frosty treats. I even went into Coal Falls to solicit, which was a risk. I kept a shotgun underneath the counter just in case some rambunctious five-year old started something.

Driving through the village, it was impossible not notice the extent to which it had become haggard. Every street corner was dotted with teenage hoodlums waiting for anyone to walk by so they could mug helpless elderly folk for money or just beat them up for a good time. Row homes for as far as the eye could see and on every porch sat an overweight grandmother in skimpy clothing smoking three cartons a day and drinking enough booze to drown three college fraternities. Every block had a church and a bar but the majority of the churches were run down and abandoned. Whenever one of the few churches that were left would hold a block party there were be three lines that would stretch forever. One was the line to pick up your welfare check. From that line they traveled to the next which was the bleenie line (bleenies are fried potato pancakes with enough grease to last three Mr. Universe competitions). The last was the beer line and in that line they didn’t care what age you were, you were drinking until you couldn’t see straight.

It was most definitely the toughest town in Pennsylvania and it being tough and all everyone pretty went about their own business for fear of starting fights. That is why I was intrigued when I noticed a mammoth gathering filing into a neighborhood church’s rectory hall. Large groups in Coal Falls meant either rioting the liquor stores or it was free government cheese day. I left my ice cream truck (locked up with chains and dead bolts, of course) and headed to see what was going on.

Inside the hall, the entire population of the town was seated in folding chairs and up on the stage was a Bingo machine. Next to the Bingo machine stood a stiff in a suit surrounded by men in lab coats and hard hats. The stiff was handed a microphone. “Welcome. I’m from the United States Government. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your town will collapse.” Murmurs ran through the crowd, mostly it was people asking to bum cigarettes from each other. “The mine that runs under your town is now ablaze with no conventional means of putting it out.”

“Hey, college boy!” A man with shoulder length hair stood up. His gut protruded out of his dingy and hole-ridden shirt that advertised a local raceway. He flashed his three teeth in a condescending smile. “I’m the fire chief as well as the police chief in this here town and if there’s a fire, I’ll be able to put it out, even if I have to piss it out. But there ain’t no fire.” He rubbed his tummy in satisfaction and sat down. The crowd mumbled in a slight agreement.

“Haven’t you noticed the smoke coming through the cracks in the sidewalks? We’ve been here two years studying this thing. You haven’t seen us either? We have a couple of large trailers.” The stiff seemed amazed. The town seemed confused.

The stiff continued,”We call this a level nine mine fire. Level eight means they are impossible to put out. So that shows you where your village stands. If the fire is allowed to run its course, in less than three months Coal Falls will collapse into the ground killing everyone in it. My team of scientists and I have come up with a plan, but unfortunately its pretty pricy.” The stiff swallowed hard and continued, “The town needs to come up with fifteen million dollars for the government to put the fire out.”

The crowd hooted and hollered and other random hick outbursts. The fire chief/police chief/slob stood up, “And what is your great plan?”

The stiff looked around at his scientists who all gave him deer-in-headlights looks. One of the scientists leaned over and whispered in the stiff’s ear. The stiff said aloud in the microphone, “Nothing?” He realized he was talking into the microphone and said, “Well, the plan includes cement and ummm marshmallows.”

The fire chief/police chief/dumb hick said, “Well, college boy, the town doesn’t have that money for Uncle Sam to help us out.”

“If you don’t pay, the government will be forced to kick you out of the town and it will be leveled,” the stiff said with great satisfaction. He was the kind of guy that likes to kick the poor when they’re down. He went to soup kitchens and would steal all their packs of saltine crackers. He was sick.

At the stiff’s statement the village population congregated in the largest huddle ever with the multi-tasking gut-bearing man in the center of it as the de facto leader. They whispered and traded slaps on the back and after ten minutes they finally broke. This was a monumentous occasion as it showed the willingness of the human spirit to band together in the direst of circumstances. Either that or the entire town was planning on stealing the stiff’s wallet.
“Well, college boy, we have an idea.”

Just outside town was a dark hole. The hole was the entrance to the Big Bill Mine. It was shut up with plywood. The population of Coal Falls stood around the entrance. I was standing on a hill away from it all but close enough to see in complete detail, enough detail to relate to you in this nice little story. The fire chief/police chief/Git-R-Done enthusiast was at the apex of the mob right in front of the mine entrance. He turned to the town and yelled “NOW!”

Each and every person, woman, child, man, old people, even dogs had a gigantic wad of chewing tobacco shoved in their mouths. It looked as if the entire village was trying to set the world record for most softballs shoved into a town’s mouth at one time. At the fire chief’s command, they ripped open the plywood and started spitting down into the mine. Brownish-black liquid spurted from each mouth and down into the inky darkness below, the smell of sulfur filling the air.

The spitting went on for three hours and the sun began to cast an orange glow onto the scene that played out before me. Their maws were severely dry from spitting and their lips had swollen making it seem like some plastic surgeon gave away free collagen implants. The townspeople began chugging massive quantities of Yuengling Lager as fast as their throats would allow.

The government stiff yelled above the chugging sounds, “Nice try but the fire is still raging! You will all have to evacuate your houses or hovels or whatever immediately!”

The crowd exchanged glances and someone yelled, “What does “evacutate” mean?”

The stiff threw his hands up and yelled back, “Forget it. You can live here. Have nice lives!” His staff and him left in their black SUVs leaving Coal Falls far behind so they could return to their cookie-cutter suburban lives where they had the fine comforts of upper middle class living yet were still utterly miserable.

The village of Coal Falls remains today nearly five years after that incident and still I deliever creamy ice to the children. The only problem (other than the borough and its population) is the occasional cave in of the streets. But even that dark cloud has a silver lining as the local children fill it with water and swim in the caved-in asphalt. So life continues as dirty, poor, and disgusting as it ever was.