Father's Day

This has been our year to give celebratory days a miss--so far, we missed Mother's Day, Larry's birthday, our anniversary, and now Father's day. My birthday is this week and I'm pretty sure it'll be a miss too. With Larry's knee replacement and all the catch-up work after that, and then storytelling and gardening coming on, we haven't slowed down enough to give more than a nod to these special days. I did have a small cake and ice cream for Larry on his birthday, and a card, so it wasn't a total bust. But we both totally forgot our anniversary until a day or two later.

Which is fine. We're happy and well and celebrate pretty much every day with quiet time on the porch, a glass of wine by the firepit, a special breakfast or homemade cookies. All gifts in their own right.

I knew that this day, Father's Day, may have had its origin in West Virginia, as did Mother's Day. But while I knew the story of Mother's Day and Anna Jarvis pretty well, I never paid attention to the establishment of Father's Day until recently. A friend's comment on Facebook this morning spurred me to write my post today about this holiday.

There are several stories about the first recognition of a day to honor fathers. One story is that a lady in Washington state wanted a day to honor fathers like Mother's Day honored mothers, and a service was held in her church for that purpose in 1909.

The West Virginia story has its roots in tragedy. You might have heard of the terrible Monongah mining disaster that happened in this state in 1907. At least 362 men died in that explosion, and there were probably many more as there were young boys and other workers in the mines not accounted for in the official statistics. Can you imagine a small community losing so many people in one day, almost the entire male population?

According to the West Virginia Department of Culture and History, this is the story of the first observance of Father's Day:

"Fairmont - The congregation of Central United Methodist Church once again will observe Father's Day at the home of the holiday's heritage.

The Fairmont church lays claim to the first Father's Day service in the nation. The observance is special this year because the holiday coincides with homecoming.

Steve Sirk, of the church Father's Day committee, said that the origin of the holiday is often traced to Spokane, Wash. The confusion is understandable.

Mrs. Sonorah Louise Smart Dodd is largely responsible for establishing the day as a national holiday in 1982.

The Fairmont church, however, has the satisfaction of knowing that on July 5, 1908, a worship service was the first true observance. Sheaves of ripened wheat adorned the altar of what was then called the Williams Memorial Methodist Episcopal Church South. The church at that time was located on the corner of Second Street and Fairmont Avenue.

Grace Golden Clayton, photo from WVNews

The year before, in 1907, Monongah had been devastated by the loss of 361 men, most of them fathers, when two mines exploded. Mrs. Grace Golden Clayton, who is believed to have suggested the service to the pastor, may have been motivated by the great loss, Sirk said.

The idea to pay tribute to fathers may also have been triggered by what had taken place in Grafton two months earlier, on May 10, 1908. Mother's Day had been observed for the first time."
(First Father's Day Service, from the Morgantown Dominion Post, June 21, 1987.   http://www.wvculture.org/history/miscellaneous/fathersday01.html )

Some online articles wrongly suggest that Grace Claytons father, a minister, died in the mine explosion but that is incorrect, as her father actually died in 1896.

The Washington state claim to the holiday may be right too, since apparently services were held in both West Virginia and Washington in 1908--two women, a country apart, motivated by the same idea.

So to all the fathers out there, wishing you the very best on this day, wherever it was started. It's still a nice and loving way to say to our men that you are appreciated!


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Monongah

Aaron looks at the bell donated by citizens of a small town in Italy, where many of the dead miners were from.

I've mentioned Monongah several times on this blog. This small town is located in Marion County, West Virginia, and in 1907 it suffered the

worst mine explosion in West Virginia's history--probably the worst in US history.

372 were confirmed dead (the sign says 361, so take your pick),

although most historians agree that the total was actually more like 500 because many young children worked in the mine and they weren't listed as employees. There were very likely other undocumented workers as well because the mines were worked by a large immigrant population, and some may not have actually been listed on the payroll.

To visit Monongah today, you would see little sign of the disaster. The community is making a comeback from the days when mining was in a slump. But if you go off the main street, and down to the place where this statue is,

The Monongah Heroine, dedicated to the wives and mothers of the lost miners.

you get a glimpse of what Monongah may have looked like in 1907.

Worthington

Once it was a proud and bustling place. Now there's little left of its coal-boom days. That was before the Farmington disaster, before the Monongah disaster, before coal lost its place of glory in the energy world, before people got smart and formed unions to protect themselves.

In those days the streets were full of people. Saturdays were busy days as the miners and their wives came to town to spend their money.

We pass through this little town every time we visit our son Aaron and his family in Marion County, West Virginia.

There are still a few signs of the town's past: an aging building with an unusual door and curving brick was probably once a bank. Some houses still standing have the bravado of an old lady who once knew what it was to wear silk and now wears her faded cotton dress with her head held high.

Something about old coal towns speaks to me. A dark voice, virile and raucous, full of the tales of what once was, of the men and the women who made the place and fought for it and died too. The houses huddled close together as if seeking comfort from danger and cold, the boarded up stores that surely once were filled with goods and customers. These towns are like closed, worn diaries.

Find the secret lock and open it, and the stories of the people will spill into the light. Some of them too terrible, perhaps, to be viewed in full sunlight in all their gory truth; others sparkling with a beauty that blinds.

Davit McAteer told the story of Monongah in his recent book, and the 100th anniversary of the terrible mine explosions was observed on December 7, 2007. Worthington, just a few miles down the road, still holds its stories for the person who finds the key.