My Pawpaw’s side of my family came from West Virginia.
Much of my family still live there. ( Hey, Aunt Nedra. I love you)
If you go even farther back, we probably came from Great Britain.
After all, I’m 75% Great Britan, according to my DNA results.
We once had a family reunion in West Virginia.
Pawpaw wanted me to go so he could take me to his childhood stomping grounds.
He wanted to show me his birthplace, school, and he wanted me to meet his friend, “Mr. Darling.” (Mr. Darling was his nickname.)
He got called that because he was sort of like “Mr. Darling” on “The Andy Griffith Show.”
I didn’t believe that there could be a real-life “Mr. Darling” in this world so, I was interested in meeting him. He and Pawpaw had been friends since childhood.
To get to Mr. Darlings’ house, you had to drive the dirt roads, which were long and winding, through the mountains.
Mr. Darling lived so far back in the woods that I would not have been surprised if we had to cross the Robert E. Lee Natural bridge. (That is from The Andy Griffith Show, of course)
We pulled up to a small house.
Pawpaw told us to stay in the car until he could tell Mr. Darling that it was him and not the revenue man.
Pawpaw gets out of the vehicle and waves at the house.
“It’s me! Claude!” Pawpaw yelled.
An older gentleman stuck his head out the door squinting his eyes to see who was at his house. A smile grows on his face, and he walks outside, rifle in hand, waving back to Pawpaw.
“Get outta the car and come meet my friend,” Pawpaw said to us.
Mr. Darling wore overalls and used the same type of language as, you guessed it, Mr. Darling from The Andy Griffith Show.
We all introduced ourselves, and I could feel that he was a kind man with a kind and caring heart. I could feel it.
He took us over to this tiny carport-looking building. Well, it was not a carport, though. It was the Elementary School that he and Pawpaw attended as kids. Mr. Darling had built a lean-to on the side.
A small building that he said, aside from being an Elementary School, got used to house soldiers during the Civil War.
We began talking about the history of this part of West Virginia, and Mr. Darling said something I have never forgotten. He said, “You ever hear of that internet?” We told him that we had, and he said, “West Virginia is on that thing! I don’t know how, but it is.” He went on, “You can see all about this area on that.” He spoke as if the internet was magical—Witchcraft maybe.
While in that building, Mr. Darling pulled a tall Mason Jar off a shelf.
“Taste this stuff right’ch’ here.” He says.
I didn’t taste it, and I don’t remember if any of us tasted it.
I know we smelled it, and it smelled strong and was very clear.
It was, indeed, moonshine. I was hoping to see the still used to make it, but Mr. Darling didn’t show us that, and I surely didn’t ask.
He then took us to this big flat rock that sat in his yard.
He showed us these big round holes in the rock.
“These holes are where Indian’s used a stick to make fire with.” He told us. They also used the holes to grind things up. He then pulled some arrowheads out of his pocket.
He said the whole place is covered with arrowheads.
Pawpaw asked him how he got the Elementary School to his yard.
He pointed up to the top of the hill and said, “That’s where school got held. My son and I moved it ourselves down the hill to here. I bought all this property see, and the school was on it.”
Mr. Darling had worked at the coal mines all his life and made good money doing it. He would even go into town once a month to buy groceries for his house and anyone else who needed food for their home but couldn’t afford it. As I said, he was a kind man.
He introduced us to his wife. She was a lovely lady.
Pawpaw asked Mr. Darling to play the harmonica for us.
His wife said, “It makes you get outta breathe nowadays, hun.”
As most husbands do, he ignored her and pulled his harmonica out of his pocket.
He began playing mountain music on it while he danced.
And when he danced, it was dancin’ like you would see in the movies when mountain folk danced. Both Ernest T. Bass and the real Mr. Darling would be proud.
Afterward, Pawpaw hugged his childhood friend, and we said our goodbyes. Pawpaw knew that this might be the last time they saw each other because of their age and the fact that Pawpaw lived in Alabama.
Mr. Darling did pass away years later.
I never knew his real name.
He was sweet as sugar, though.
He didn’t attend Yale or Harvard.
He wasn’t a millionaire.
But, he worked a hard, honest job all of his life.
He had a wife and children.
He had a house that his wife made a home.
He helped others whenever they needed help.
He loved everyone. (Except the revenue man)
He was one of the richest men I’ve ever met.
