A Man and a Mountain

         This is a story about a man and a mountain. I cannot go wrong here, for everyone loves a mountain. The one in this story is the world’s prettiest mountain.

         It isn’t one of the Rockies. I’ve driven thru and flew over that range. They’re nice, but not as pretty as the one I have in mind.

         I once spent 4 months in the Sierra’s of California. I could be accused of being prejudiced when I say the world’s prettiest mountain is not located there. And that accusation might well be true, for those 4 months were spent taking army basic infantry training. No, don’t go to the Sierras searching for that mountain.

         I’ve never been to the Alps, but they’re not even in the running. Their peaks are eternally covered with snow, which means you can’t really see them. And something that cannot be seen can’t even be judged, much less hold the title “The Worlds Prettiest Mountain.” Therefore one would be wasting his time in looking at an Alpine range.

         As a matter of fact, if you are a resident of Narrows you won’t need to travel at all, because the world’s prettiest mountain towers above you every day. It looks down on us today as it looked down on the dinosaurs 65 million years ago.

         You might be one of many who don’t even know the official name of this mountain. More than that, you’ve probably never heard that name spoken. The only people who ever refer to the official name are forest rangers.

         The mountain I speak of is the one rising to it’s peak south of Narrows---the highest in view. That’s the world’s prettiest mountain.

         On all maps its listened as Sentinel Point. You may call it by that name if you wish. But if you should do so , no one, but no one, will know which mountain you’re referring to. Call it Conly’s Mountain and everyone will know. Those maps and forest rangers be damned---that is Conly’s Mountain. This story will tell how it came to be called that.

         Many years ago there was a clearing on the mountain. Mostly grown over and indistinguishable now, the uppermost reaches of the clearing was at the place where the mountain begins its steepest and final ascent to the top. In the upper part of the clearing stood a small and humble structure. It was the home of Sam Conly, his brother Cape, and their two sisters, Eliza and Nora.

         The house had been built for them by Mr. Herbert Hale, with the provision they could remain there on the mountain for as long as they might live.

         The sisters, Nora and Eliza, came down from the mountain only rarely, Cape just occasionally, but Sam---well, old Sam came down regularly, nearly every day. He ran the errands, coming down to the town that had been built in the fork of a creek and river. Sam was the family “contact and liaison man” with the people who lived in that town. He knew every one of them and, in return, Sam himself was a well-known and famous figure.

         When coming off the mountain Sam ran a schedule, and he always timed it so he arrived in the flatland community around noon---lunchtime! The very best time of day to rap on a door and ask for coffee and a sandwich. Sam could knock on any door in town, and never be turned away. Sooner or later he made the rounds to every door and household.

         Sam always carried his lantern when coming down from the mountain. Chances were good he’d spend the entire day in the town down there. He would be late coming home. This was a dark mountain, and if one walked on it at night he needed a light. Sam was never seen without his lantern.

         Some days, that if he was feeling well, he would do odd-jobs for people around their homes. Things like raking a few leaves, cutting a little kindling wood, carrying in buckets of coal. It was widely said of Sam that those days he felt well were few and far between.

         Mostly though the “man of the mountain’ just hung around on the streets. In the downtown area of  Narrows was where Sam could usually be found, hanging on to his lantern. He could see more people there than anywhere else. Sam had a standard greeting for all he met, one which, from time to time, can still be heard today. His greeting to all went like this: “Pretty day, you rich, gimme nickel.” Sam dearly loved those nickels, and tried to collect one from every person he met.

         After spending the day in town and just before dusk, he had to get kerosene for his lantern. Sam called it lamp-oil, and he simply wouldn’t buy it. He refused to trade his shiny nickels for lamp-oil. In those days the stuff was widely used; every household had a goodly supply. The thing to do was rap on a door and ask for a fill-up. That was the method Sam used to get kerosene.

         It had been a busy day---time to get back up the mountain. On his way there he’d meet some more people and say: “Pretty day, you rich, gimme nickel.” And Sam had a few more nickels to jingle in his worn pockets.

         Then he would be on his way home, going up the mountain. A favorite past-time for the people of Narrows in those days was sitting in their yards at night and watching Sam on his way home. They could follow his every footstep by watching that lantern light. It was possible to trace him right to the front door of the humble abode.

         Sam was a star---on center stage. The stage was the face of a mountain, and the audience an entire town sprawled far below him. The drama was Sam on his way home, and all eyes were focused on him, the star.

         They watched until the lantern light went out, and they knew Sam was safely home. But tomorrow was another day. Sam would come down from the mountain, and tomorrow night they’d watch it again…

         As a boy I climbed to the top of that mountain many times, though even way back then Sam and his family had long since departed. There was hardly a trace left of the old house where they’d lived for so many years.

         The view from up there is something else---really spectacular, and one can look right over into Hinton,W.Va. Like I said, maybe 50 times I made the steep ascent to the peak. But always during the daylight hours. The following few paragraphs will explain why, and any adventuresome soul who might be planning a camping trip up there should pay special attention.

         Keep in mind---Sam and all his family (Cape, Eliza and Nora) had either passed away, or had been placed in homes. In my younger days many coon hunters went after their quarry on the mountain. A coon hunter goes after those masked creatures at night. And every hunter I knew told an identical story about that mountain. True--- they had each and every one gone hunting there. But only once my friend---only once! Their first after-dark hunting trip to the mountain had also been their last!

         While there, an un-nerving incident had occurred. They were in complete agreement---a light had approached them every one. For those with nerve to stand their ground, as it neared they could determine it was a lantern light. It’s radiance was too bright to see who was holding it, but they heard a shrill voice behind it’s bright glare saying this was a “Pretty night, you rich, gimme nickel.”

         One night just recently I was walking with a companion. She turned and said to me: “What are you looking at?”

         “Thought I saw something,” I responded.

         “Where?”

         “Up on the mountain.”

         “What was it?”

         “A light.”

         “What did it look like?”

         “A lantern light.”

         “Maybe it’s coon hunters.”

         “Maybe,” I said to her. But I wasn’t too sure…

          “Here’s hoping that by hearing of and getting to know some of my “characters”, it has perhaps re-kindled memories for you of someone just like them. If so, I’m sure you’ve been thinking of your very own favorite people. I’d like to have known them; perhaps someday you’ll write a book.

         Nothing demeaning has been the intent here; indeed, much of what is entered in these stories came from the families of these “characters.” Poking fun or resorting to anything of a derogatory nature has certainly not been my goal.

         Quite the contrary I have tried to show a quality and uniqueness these people possessed. I’ve been thinking of some very special individuals, and certainly if more of them were around today it would do the world no harm.

         In closing, here are a few comments which at first might not seem relevant. But they must be entered at this point because later they’ll be used to make a point.

         Hoping not to repeat myself, the folks who appeared in these pages were not rich nor famous. That would have disqualified them from being genuine “characters.” I’m sure each and every one preferred life as it was offered them.

         Maybe only the greedy and ambitious have wealth and fame. At no point in history is that fact better illustrated than the present day. To use a round figure, we have in our nation today 50,000 people whose greed and ambition are directly responsible for the lives of 240,000,000 people becoming more miserable with each passing day. The situation is becoming increasingly impossible, unfair---and intolerable. Those billions in profits and shares for the stockholder are going to need paring down.

         Greed and ambition---the two words cover it all. The root cause of every problem the world has known since time began. The two are constant companions. Greed stems from ambition. Or is it the other way around? Whichever, they go hand in hand, and one always follows the other. Look at a greedy person---you behold an ambitious one. Ambition in moderation is good. But lets face facts---very few people can handle it. When allowed to extremes ambition is, like a cocked gun, very dangerous indeed.

         When it reaches that runaway stage an ambitious person sets lofty goals for himself. To attain them he steps on any and all toes, running down whoever stands in his way. He will also use the shoulders of his mother as ladder-rungs---to climb ever higher. Thankfully he cannot hide this malady he’s smitten with, so he’s very easy to spot. Show me a person who is consumed by ambition, and I will show you a menace, a very real danger. I know many---but associate with none. I hold him in the same regard as one of those rattlers in Dewey’s berry patch.

         And this brings us to the place for making comparisons. Between the type mentioned above who run roughshod over all---and the humble and good people who go thru life harming no one. A comparison really, between the greedy and ambitious---and “characters.”

         There is no comparison. “Characters” go thru life bringing rays of sunshine into the lives of all they meet. They bring smiles to faces with their telling of tales. The Dewey’s and Uncle Matt’s  I’m speaking of. They are called the meek and sure as there’s a sky above, when the Creator who made us all spoke of the “salt of the earth”, it was these he had in mind.

         Man’s civilized and written history goes back about 7,000 years. He’s been on this mudball much longer, but that’s as far into the past as we can go with the record. It’s far enough! Check the 7,000 year record. It’s not a pretty one---very,very ugly.

         Wars! One long continuos battle. Man sure does like to fight. No let-ups, no breaks. Only a bell between rounds now and then to rest up for a bigger and better one. He’s got to be at the other man’s throat. And we have the audacity to condemn the aggressive behavior of animals?!

         We want what the other man has on his side the fence. That’s precisely where greed and ambition enter the picture. Those are the motivating factors that force him to scale the fence. And here we go again!

         I have often wondered, and still do, what kind of world this would be today if across and down thru the centuries , the helmsman of every nation had been an Uncle Frank. An Uncle Bud or Matt. Or a Marvin. A teller of tales---a “character.”

         Consider a few things before you laugh. It could have been 7,000 years of story telling and goodwill. Thus, no wars to fight. Without those wars man could have farmed more, which in turn would have meant no famine and starvation. That being the case, you would have never heard of Mother Teresa---“The Saint of the Gutter.”

         Without those wars Hermann Oberth would be just another name in the telephone directory. We wouldn’t know him as Professor Oberth, father of the globe-spanning intercontinental rocket. And those noisy rockets were needed!

         Because two more good Professors had built something to load aboard them. Their contribution was the H-Bomb, and this pair wanted to make certain every person on earth got their very own. They would be Professors Fermi and Teller, and they must be very happy men today. For it is now estimated there are enough in the world to kill every man, woman and child on earth a hundred times over! No need doing something piece-meal!

         The men who gave us these things, along with their inner-circle of backers, are the people you read about and hear of every day. Giants of men they’re called. By whose gauge or standard?

         Somewhere back down the road someone drew a line, and he called it the line of distinction. On one side of that line he placed the people who have caused all the problems and he called them---great. On the other side went “characters” and the rest of us, and he called them---just so-so.

         Just who in hell drew the line and decided who went where? If “characters” had been at the helm, I think it would’ve been a better world.

         Often I think back to those old-timers. But they are never sad and melancholy thoughts. There’s no room  for such. Only laughter, and an occasional disbelieving shake of the head.

         They are all gone, but I think I know where they are. Often to my mind comes a stream of images, and in them I see a gate. Every reader among you knows where this gate is. The one where an old fellow by the name of Peter is the keeper. That entire group is trying to get thru, but are being denied access. He is not allowing them to pass thru---not just yet. Not until each of them tells him one more yarn.

         They won’t disappoint him...

The End

M.L. Wilkinson