Short: Tom Martinez, West Virginia #2
(This is a rough draft. When I complete the series, I’ll assemble all the parts into one cohesive story.)
Tom Martinez was a short with a medium build and shaggy, silver hair man. He wore faded Wranglers and an old black sweat shirt, both stained by splotches of paint. From behind his large wire- framed glasses, his eyes sparkled and he smiled upon seeing me. And, why not? Jonathan had talked me up, obviously. And, more importantly, I was another foot soldier in the battle to revive the coal fields.
Over that first hour together, huddled in the kitchen, I learned a great deal about my host. Firstly, Tom spoke softly and laughed at his own jokes. And to complicate the conversation, he had a slight mountain draw and often cupped his chin with right thumb while rubbing his mouth with the forefinger. On several occasions I had to ask him to repeat himself, which became increasingly tedious to the point where I stopped asking and simply nodded. From what I could discern, Tom was a self-taught artist, had lived through plenty of rough moments, but managed to hold onto a grand vision for McDowell County, the giant brick house being part of the plan.
After high school, he married his high school sweetheart and moved to Mt Airy, North Carolina. Quite bitterly he said he “never wanted to leave the county” but his wife wanted to “live like the people on TV.” The statement stirred my funny bone, but I kept a straight face.
Over the next two decades Tom worked in various cigarette factories outside Winston Salem, started a family and taught himself to paint. After another layoff, Tom and his wife split over whether he should find a new job in Winston or move. He pined for his home, for the country roads where he belonged. She did not, being the “upitty” woman she was. When the divorce was finalized, he to moved back to McDowell while she remained in North Carolina with their sons.
Back on home soil, Tom worked odd jobs in the small towns of Welch and Kimball, mostly handyman work, until he earned his first artist’s grant. The grant- from the National Endowment of the Arts- commissioned Tom to paint a mural on a water tower next to the main thoroughfare of the county, the Welch bypass. He never mentioned how much he was paid, but it was enough to buy the old Coal Baron’s house and renovate a small corner of its basement containing his bedroom and studio. His vision to create an artists colony out of the home seemed feasible given it’s size and number of room. In the meantime, he continued to earn income by painting government funded murals.
My initial impression of Tom was that he is like most men not given to criminal behavior or drowned in wealth, a mix of hope and disappointment, earnest yet hypocritical. He was in one moment a principled conservative in love with America, yet made his money via government grants from the NEA- a department most Republicans would happily ax given the opportunity. And despite being complicated, he truly loved his home and worked to built a network of people with similar notions.
Tom would’ve talked our ears off if we let him, but Jonathon finally interrupted.“I think it’s time we head up to Gary. You coming?” he asked Tom.
“If you don’t mind. Let me go put up my paints and thinner first,” Tom responded already halfway down the stairs.
“Yeah mate. We’ll wait,” Jonathan called down after.
With the local out of hearing distance, I finally offered my thoughts.
“Interesting guy.”
“That’s one word of it,” chimed David, who’d been fidgeting quietly in the corner of the booth for the duration of the chat.
“He’s a bit odd, that’s for sure, but’s he’s a good guy,” added Jonathan in a low voice.
“I’m glad I met him first.”
“Yeah. He’s a good introduction to McDowell and the type of people we’ve met.”
“Oh?” I asked, wondering if they were all oddballs.
“Yeah. Lots of good people here who just want what’s best for the county.”
