Remember Charlie Wheeler? He spent a lifetime here. Mayor Charlie, they called him.
In good weather the men would sit under me, whittling and smoking and chewing tobacco--passing the time of day. Tell about how much coal they loaded the past week, and how they could have loaded more if they could have only gotten the empty coal cars.
About the squirrels they shot--never missed a shot--sometimes two squirrels with one shot. And about the fish they caught in Powell River of Tennessee, and the big one that got away.
Somebody finally named it the Liars Club. But me, I like to think that most of it was true.
Yeah, I've lived a life time.
We had a high school in those days. School days, the town was filled with young men, boys, and the prettiest girls in Virginia.
The places of business--believe it or not--there was a Kroger store here at one time. Stallards Grocery, Carl Evans, and Clyde Kirk Grocery, and M. C. Williams on the other end of town. Miners Department Store, Smitty's Service Station and a number of cafes, pool halls and barber shops, and Jim Poe's store at Monarch.
Monarch, Virginia Lee, Benedict, Bonny Blue, Penn Lee, Kemmer Gem. Any of these coal camps, as far as I'm concerned, were all as much a part of St. Charles as I am.
People would fill this town on Saturdays. Some to shop, some to go see Hopalong Cassidy and Tex Ritter at the theater across the street. Always had a double feature on Saturdays. And, Boy! the smell of that popcorn. Other came to just sit in their car and watch other people. The sights you could see sometimes were something to behold.
Jake's Cafe, or Jake's Place, I forgot which they called it. Now, you've heard of the millions of hamburgers tht MacDonald's has sold. Shucks! If all the hamburgers that Jake sold were stacked up it would be the highest point in Lee County.
That wasn't all you could get in there either. Lots of them old boys started when they got to town and didn't stop till all the places were closed. When the day was over the last ones to leave would most likely be ready for a cab or taxi to take them home. That is if Bill Fritts hadn't locked them up in the calaboose.
The taxi drivers had names like Roy, Virgil, Wright, Ross, Moss Burke and Stanley, Chester, Ralph, Royce, J. D. and Ed. some of these old boys would sell you something that would take you into Sunday and a guaranteed headache all day Monday.
Usually on a Saturday we'd have a double header ballgame. Sometimes between St. Charles and Pennington Gap. I can recall a few names--Scott, Barker, Rhea, Martins, Kirk, Young, Rutherford, Stallard, Davis, Wax, Collins, Holman, Parsons and Pannell--it goes one and on. I can't think of all their names.
I think the most exciting times I can recall would be the late 30's and early 40"s. I'd just like to go back in time one busy, bustling week before I pass on.
See the miners streaming to and from work and the crowded sidewalks at night. Hear the blaring jukeboxes. See old Bill Fritts going along cupping his hands over the juke-joint windows trying to see inside...seeing if any of the old boys were out of order.
You heard of Wyatt Earp? Heck, one Saturday night in St. Charles and he would be glad to go back to Kansas City or Dodge City or wherever it was. There was Ervin Fritts, Bill's brother, who helped him and young Clint Hughes. A lot of them tough old boys tested him. And woke up the next day with sore heads.
You know they're always making movies of tough towns out West. You know why they never made one of St. Charles? They can't find people tough enough to play the parts!
I can hear that old steam engine again. Switching and bumping the coal cars; pushing the empties into Bonny Blue and Benedict.
See Old Jake Smith come out and holler at someone across the street. Ol' Mainline comes, gets ready to shine shoes for the day, hollers out, "Going back to Alabama." Charlie Wheeler's the first one in the chair for a shoe shine.
Ol' George Reynolds, 'George Washington', they called him, looking for someone to buy him a hamburger. Tysee Collier cussing one of the old boys out for kidding him. Crip Garber hobbling along with a walking cane, puffing on his pipe. John Carter ambles over in the shade, tells the latest joke.
Ted Stapleton, 'King Tut', they call him, hangs a sign on me saying, Game Between St. Charles and Pennington, Saturday at 2:00, Admission 50 Cents. Go ahead, Ted, drive that nail in me. One more won't hurt.
I can't hardly wait to see old Cowboy Barker hit one past Mutt Williams' Store. From where I stand I can see every bounce it takes. Lefty Scott's pitching boys, so keep him sober on Friday night 'cause old Black Gilley has got everything he owns bet on the game.
Get your hair cut before Saturday because old Guerney will be closed up for the ballgame.
Smell that popcorn from the theater. Everybody coming to see old Hoppy and Tex. There's Claude Robbins with that loud cowboy shirt, 'Colorado', they call him.
Well, all the ones that stay out late, they've caught their taxi home now. Sunday mornings come.
Church of God is filled, back there singing and tambourine clanging. Down the street the Methodist's are filing in and on the hill Preacher Green is warming up at the Baptist Church.
Sunday afternoon. I wait to see old Hardin Stapleton pull in with that old '39 Plymouth with the big speakers on top and play us some of the Chuck Wagon Gang. Wet his fingers, turn to his text and preach us a sermon. See that old-timer with his thumbs hooked in his suspenders? Hear him call out, "Amen, Brother, preach on."
Yeah, we're on our knees but we'll stand again. You people off yonder in other states been reading in the paper this town is dying. Don't you believe it. Right at this minute we're planning on a Fire Department. Oh yes, we've had a little conflict and I sympathize with both sides. My opinion is, it's no ones fault. We're just victims of the times.
There are a few of the old-timers left. There's Virgil Q. Wax. I don't know how come he never takes a picture of me to put in the Powell Valley News. A lot of folks off yonder would like to see pictures of me in the paper.
There's George L. Kirk. I don't know how old he is. But I'll tell you one thing, he bounces out of that house every morning, gets in that little car, comes tearing up through here going to work. I think that son of a gun intends to outlive me.
I've been trying to get his attention. I want to ask him if he can get a flag pole for that old, faded flag that stands underneath me and hoist it up here where I can reach out and touch it. Maybe that'll get the people looking up again. Besides, maybe that way they'll see me, too.
Now that I've started to talk after all these years stop by and visit with me. Sit a spell, talk to me. Talk to a tree, you say? Now, I'm going to tell you something, don't you ever tell him I told you but I've been talking to Virgil Wax for years. Don't you ever tell him now.
There's a lot of names I didn't mention but I couldn't think of some of them. But who could ever forget Bud Speck that drove a taxi, or Carl Buchanan, Perry Carter or Shem Edwards. An Elridge...a Shuyler.
Lots of you people are scattered out over the country now. Some have passed on and I've forgot a lot of names. But, I remember your faces. May God bless you all.
Well, I'd better shut up before I get all misty-eyed. This is just too many memories for me. So I'm going to hush now. Thank you for listening to me . And I want to say again, "I am the heart and soul of St. Charles Virginia. And I stand tall. And we'll come back again, you just wait and see. We'll be back."

This message from the Sycamore Tree at St. Charles, Virginia was delivered in 1979.