Yes, things have changed a lot in my hometown area since I was a kid.  There are other big changes in the view from and on the farm where I grew up.  From the top of the hill where the house we built sits, you can see the Pleasants Power Station. 

You can’t miss it.  The power plant looms large in the area these days.  It’s located down the road a little ways in Willow Island, West Virginia.

It dominates the landscape, our history, and our memories.  It looks serene enough in the above picture, but on April 27, 1978, it was the scene of the worst construction disaster in US history. That day is seared into the memory of people living in Pleasants County in much the same way the 9/11 disaster is seared into the country’s collective memory.

At the time, the second of the two 430-foot cooling towers for the new Pleasants Power Station was being built. The men worked on the next section of the tower from scaffolding attached to the previous pour of concrete.

Unfortunately, on April 27, 1978, the concrete was too green and hadn’t hardened enough to hold the scaffolding properly. Contractors were trying to speed up the construction, and in hindsight, it appears safety wasn’t given the priority it should have had.  Key bolts meant to attach the scaffolding to the tower were missing, and other problems were found during investigations after the accident.

Bottom line, the scaffolding ripped out, leaving a scar on the tower about halfway up where a dark line marks the level the concrete failed. There’s another scar on the community as 51 men died that day, tumbling about 166 feet to their death.

Pleasants County became the unwanted focus of media attention.  Many were not kind, and portrayed the people as ignorant hillbillies, yet they were the ones hiding in bushes to film funerals.  They were relentless in their push to get a story and had no respect for the grieving family and friends of those 51 men.  This cruel treatment and skewing of facts left yet another scar on the community.

In the following years, the construction was eventually completed and the towers put into operation.  People living nearby then had a new problem - pollution.  Fine ash settled over houses and cars.  The power plant solved the problem by buying up the houses closest to the power station.

When Dad bought the house we’d built, he sold the old home place to the power company.  As they did with all the other houses they bought, they destroyed it.  In this case, the house was used as a training exercise for local firefighters and burnt down.  I saw a picture of the house burning when we visited Dad last week.  It had a powerful impact to see the house where I grew up in flames.  I’m glad I wasn’t there to see it actually happen.

The story twists yet again, however.  Where the house I was raised in once stood, there is now a memorial to those 51 men who died during the construction of the cooling tower the looms tall in the background.

Anthony Lauer, the grandson of one of the victims, Larry Gale Steele, raised $70,000 as a sixth-grade social studies project to build the memorial.  The names of each of those 51 men who died is written on a bronze plaque attached to the memorial.

This tribute is a constant reminder of those men.  It’s also a reminder of some of the many changes in my hometown. 

You see, while it’s true no one can go “home” again, some people’s hometowns have changed more than others.   And just maybe Pleasants county has seen more changes than most.

9 Comments »

You’ve heard the old saying, “You can’t go home again.” And of course, the home it refers to is where you grew up. Your hometown. And though it may be a bit trite, it’s true, you really can’t go home again. Oh sure, you can go back for a visit, but your hometown will have changed, and further, you will have changed too. It can never be the same.

I experienced that syndrome when we visited my hometown last week. I grew up in rural West Virginia. Not as backwoods as some places, but not citified either. We had a farm of about 90+ acres and raised beef cattle, plus at various times, hogs, turkeys, chickens, etc. I guess it was a pretty typical farm for the area.

When I was eighteen I married my high school sweetheart and left home. We moved to various places for college and work, but eventually moved back to our hometown area and built a house on 7 acres taken from the original farm. We placed the house on top of a hill with a view of the Ohio River. I can remember my mother telling me when I was a kid what a great place it would be for a house. She was right.

Here’s the back of the house. There’s a long driveway to get to it, then another piece of country road before you get to the main highway.

We only lived there for about three years before my x-husband got the wanderlust again and wanted to try a new job and a new location.  The kids and I didn’t really want to move, but move we did.  We sold the house to my Dad, who still lives there.  It seems a little strange sometimes to go back to a house I helped build, and someone else is living in it, and of course, there have been many changes.

For instance, the semi-dwarf fruit trees I planted as little saplings have matured.  They produced a bumper crop of fruit this year. Here’s one of the trees still full of apples when we visited.

Dad planted even more fruit trees, so he had a LOT of fruit this year - apples, peaches and pears.  We bought home a couple of boxes of apples, and he’s given away lots of fruit to many friends and neighbors.

The views have changed.  When you look towards the river from the front porch, you see a new cemetery.

When I was growing up, that used to be a hayfield. Many a summer I helped pick up bales of hay, then stack them in the barn!  The bottom part of this pasture was also used for hay, but is flooded with water that’s backed up from a dam built after I left home.

And while you can still see the little Methodist church I attended when I was growing up…

It’s no longer in use.  So many people moved out of that area, mostly due to being bought out by the power company, that the church was closed down a few years ago.  There just weren’t enough people attending to make it worth the upkeep.

The area has certainly changed a lot, even just in the years since I moved away the second time. I’m afraid it’s true… you can’t go home again!

6 Comments »