WVPB invites you to learn more about a new docuseries, GOSPEL. The series explores the rich history of Black spirituality through sermon and song and delves into its extraordinary impact on culture and pop music.
Join Us Thursday, Feb. 1 at 6 p.m. at the Davis Fine Arts Center on the West Virginia State University Campus
WVPB invites you to learn more about a new docuseries, GOSPEL, from Executive Producer, host, writer Prof. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. The series explores the rich history of Black spirituality through sermon and song and delves into its extraordinary impact on culture and pop music.
The preview will be followed by a brief panel discussion and refreshments. The event is free and open to the public.
WHAT: Screening of Docuseries Preview, GOSPEL
WHERE: Davis Fine Arts Center, West Virginia State University Campus, Institute, WV
Derenia Dunbar (left) stands with parents Ruby (middle) and James Boggs (right) in front of their family home in Millstone, Kentucky. James holds the guitar that was mostly untouched by the floodwaters that filled their house on July 28, 2022.
Eastern Kentucky is still building back after the devastating 2022 floods. We’ve featured several stories including reports from Nicole Musgrave, the lead editor of our folkways reporting project. She lived in the affected area and was part of a volunteer group helping people muck out and gut homes during cleanup. This was how she met James and Ruby Boggs in Millstone, Kentucky. Nicole brought us a story about the joy that comes from the soothing music of a family guitar.
How The Sausage Gets Made
Sonny (left) and his father Angelo pose in front of the meat case at Angelo’s Market in Powellton Hollow. From father to son to father to son, Angelo’s Old World Italian Sausage has been around in the hills of West Virginia for a while.
Angelo’s Old World Italian Sausage is part of a family tradition going back generations and beginning on the island of Sicily. The sausage has been sold in West Virginia grocery stores for years. Folkways reporter Zack Harold visited with the Argento family to hear about the history that went into the sausage.
The Reign of “King Coal”
Elaine McMillion Sheldon’s film, “King Coal,” had a pretty good year. Released late last Spring, the film appeared on screens and at film festivals all over the country, racking up some awards and impressing critics.
Host Mason Adams saw an early screening of the film and spoke with McMillion, co-producer Molly Born and artist Shodekeh Talifero.
Spilling The Tea on The World’s Largest Tea Pot
In 2023, Inside Appalachia’s Zander Aloi took a trip to Chester, West Virginia, to learn the story behind a classic roadside attraction there – a souvenir stand known as the World’s Largest Teapot.
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Our theme music is by Matt Jackfert. Other music this week was provided by Morgan Wade, Hazel Dickens, Steve Earle, Paul Loomis, Jeff Ellis and Tim Bing.
Bill Lynch is our producer. Zander Aloi is our associate producer. Our executive producer is Eric Douglas. Kelley Libby is our editor. Our audio mixer is Patrick Stephens.
You can send us an email: InsideAppalachia@wvpublic.org.
On July 28, 2022 — the day of the flood — James and Ruby Boggs had about four and a half feet of water rushing through their two-story house. They live in an old coal camp called Millstone. It sits on the North Fork of the Kentucky River, and it was one of the communities hit hard by the flood.
This story originally aired in the March 5, 2023 episode of Inside Appalachia.
On July 28, 2022 — the day of the flood — James and Ruby Boggs had about four and a half feet of water rushing through their two-story house. They live in an old coal camp called Millstone. It sits on the North Fork of the Kentucky River, and it was one of the communities hit hard by the flood.
I was here a few weeks after the flood with a volunteer group. We helped tear out drywall and flooring with the Boggs’ daughter, Derenia Dunbar. I returned a month later, and Derenia took me inside to show me their progress.
“We had this donated to us and this donated to us,” Derenia said, pointing to a pile of insulation and drywall. “Just got it yesterday.”
Derenia is in her fifties and grew up in this house. Music was always a part of daily life for the family. And it remains important today.
“When we have Thanksgiving, we have Christmas, anything, we all start singing. It’s all music,” Derenia said. “I got a brother that plays the harmonica. I sing, my other brother sings and plays guitar. Now I have a granddaughter who’s picking up the guitar and playing. And she can yodel, like my dad. She can.”
Derenia’s parents were part of a well-known gospel group in the area called The Happy Notes. The Happy Notes played on the local radio station, and at funerals and revivals. They even recorded an 8-track that Derenia sang on.
Derenia’s parents, James and Ruby, are in their seventies now. And they don’t perform as much as they used to. Lately, Ruby’s voice has started giving out.
“I’ve actually wore my voice out where we’ve sang so much for so many years,” Ruby said. “And I’m not ashamed to say that when I get anointed, I’m very loud.”
But James and Ruby still sing and play at their church and with family. So when their house filled with flood waters, one of the things they were most worried about was James’ guitar.
“Forty-seven years we lived here and we lost everything downstairs. My guitar was in here,” James said.
The guitar was downstairs, in a case propped up in a corner of the living room.
“I figured it was destroyed,” James said.
When the water receded, James spotted the guitar case in all the mess. It fell apart as soon as he opened it. He pulled the guitar out and looked it over. There was a little mud on the neck and the strings needed to be replaced. But it wasn’t warped or cracked. So James decided to give it a test.
“I said, ‘Oh Lord, have mercy, Ruby.’ I said, ‘If it rings, it’ll be alright.’ So I got it and…it rang! I said, ‘Thank you, Lord,'” James explained.
Even though the guitar rang, Derenia said that it still needed some work.
“My younger brother, Dewryan, took it to his house and cleaned it and shined it. Put all brand new strings on it. And the case that he had that fell apart, we just got rid of it, and my brother got him a case and put the guitar in it,” Derenia said.
A couple of weeks later, the whole family gathered outside the family home to celebrate James’ 79th birthday. And they presented James with the spruced up guitar. Surprised and delighted, James tuned it up and led four generations in a rendition of “I’ll Fly Away.” Someone in the family recorded the moment and shared it to Facebook.
“They was all singing tenor and low tenor and all this stuff, so all of us was singing the song,” Derenia said. “And we just enjoyed it. It was just a really awesome time.”
Derenia said some people were surprised that her family was able to express so much joy amidst the hardship.
“People started responding to it and saying that we were singing joyful songs, and the flood was behind us. We had all the debris outside, and everybody was saying, ‘It’s a time that you all have joy when most people don’t got that joy.’ But I know that it all come from God,” Derenia said.
In the aftermath of the flood, singing together has been a source of comfort for the Boggs family. And as Ruby explained, it is also a way to reaffirm their faith after tragedy.
“Singing has always been a joy,” Ruby said. “When I sing, and I feel God’s love and His mercy, I know that he’s with me.”
Seven months after the flood, James and Ruby are still waiting to move back into their home. The family has been navigating some illnesses, so rebuilding has taken longer than they had hoped. But they’ve hung sheetrock on the walls, and a local nonprofit helped get them a new heat pump at no cost. A friend of theirs is a carpenter, and he has been helping on weekends.
They hope to move back in in two to three months — before the one-year anniversary of the flood.
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This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the Folklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council.
The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts and culture.
On July 28, communities all over southeast Kentucky were hit with unprecedented flooding. People lost homes, cars, family photos. Many musicians lost instruments, and that meant they couldn’t participate in cultural traditions that define their lives. But through the generosity of community members, some musicians have been able to reconnect with their music practice, finding comfort and even joy.
This story originally aired in the Nov. 18, 2022 episode of Inside Appalachia.
On July 28, communities all over southeast Kentucky were hit with unprecedented flooding. People lost homes, cars, family photos. Many musicians lost instruments, and that meant they couldn’t participate in cultural traditions that define their lives. But through the generosity of community members, some musicians have been able to reconnect with their music practice, finding comfort and even joy.
Dean McBee was one musician who was hit hard by the flood. McBee lives in Millstone, an old coal camp that sits along the Kentucky river. As he stood in his yard, McBee counted up all the homes in this community that were lost. “Five, six, seven, eight, nine,” Dean said. “Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen in Millstone.” In a community of less than 100, thirteen is a staggering number.
McBee grew up in Millstone. When he moved back to Millstone from South Carolina 25 years ago to be closer to his aging parents, he bought the house right next to theirs. After his parents passed, McBee’s sister moved into the family home. Her house was one of the one’s lost to the flood. Looking at where the home once stood, McBee reflected on its current state. “Just an empty lot now,” McBee said. “This is where we grew up, right here.”
The flood filled McBee’s house with about six feet of water, but he and his wife plan to rebuild. McBee has done a lot of work gutting the first floor and treating for mold. McBee cautioned me as we walked up the wobbly stairs into the house to check out his progress. “Just be careful on these steps, they’re just leaning here,” McBee said.
Then he opened the door and showed the inside. “Tore it all out. And I’ll put all the joists back, put the plywood on it, sheetrock and insulation.” McBee said. The inside of the house was down to the studs. All of the flooring had been ripped out so that the house had just a dirt floor.
But while McBee had made some progress on his house, he hadn’t been able to give much time to the wooden shed out back. That was his music room. The outside of the shed was decorated with cast iron skillets, old license plates, and carved wooden animals. “My dad’s brother carved the bear. Then my dad did the fish and the birds,” McBee said.
Nicole Musgrave
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West Virginia Public Broadcasting
McBee’s music shed that sits behind his house. The shed was filled with McBee’s music equipment and instruments, some of which had been his late father’s. The door of the shed sits off the hinges, allowing increased air flow to help cut down on mold growth.
Then McBee showed the inside of the shed. “This is my music stuff right here,” McBee said. “Mixer boards. My mic, my studio microphone — I don’t know where it’s at in here. I’m slowly getting stuff out of it here.”
Amplifiers and speakers were tossed around on their sides. Dried mud was caked over everything. Metal components were rusted and black mold had started growing on the walls. The license plates that hung above the door showed how high the water rose. “It got up to the license plates, the water did. It was to the ceiling because see here, the light?” McBee said as he pointed to the light on the drooping ceiling fan. “It had water in it, see there?”
In the small camper that McBee and his wife are living in now, McBee told me how he got into playing guitar.
“My dad played music. And I started when I was an early age, he started me out,” McBee said. “I started when I was probably about 8 years old, teaching me the basics of a flat top. Then when I was probably about 12, he brought a bass guitar home and introduced me to a bass guitar. And I really liked it and that’s what I stuck with.”
McBee’s dad was a well-known flat top guitar player in the community. He played country music in the bars and nightclubs around town. But then he got saved, trading in late nights at the bar for early mornings at church. After that, he made one request to McBee.
“He asked me one thing. He said, ‘Son, promise me that you will not take your talent into the bars, into the nightclubs.’ And I promised him that. And I play gospel, strictly gospel,” McBee said.
As a young boy, McBee traveled with his dad to different churches to play. “Evangelists would come in and they would say, ‘Well, come and help us with the music.’ And we would go. For that week we’d be in revival with them and we’d help them with the music,” McBee said. “And that’s what we did, we just went to different churches…and just have a good time with the Lord.”
As an adult, McBee continued to perform gospel music with his dad. For 20 years, they were part of a group that traveled to neighboring counties, with McBee on bass and his dad on flat top guitar. When McBee’s dad passed away several years ago, his guitars and amplifiers went to McBee. McBee had been keeping them in the music shed. It was filled with his family’s history of making music. The day of the flood, everything floated in the water for about 13 hours. McBee said it has been painful to see his dad’s guitars and amplifiers in such rough shape.
“I packed those guitars and amplifiers for him when I started about 11 or 12 years old,” McBee said, choking back tears. “And there are other guitars out there like them. But it’s not that guitar. Money could not buy them back.”
Nicole Musgrave
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West Virginia Public Broadcasting
Dean McBee cleans a mixer board in his garage. The mixer board was damaged in the July 28 flood. McBee has been trying to save the board, using a spray cleaning solution and a small paint brush to clear away mud and dirt.
All of McBee’s guitars, including his dad’s, have been drying out at his other sister’s house. He has hope that some of them can be saved. McBee said his dad’s amplifiers are too far gone to fix. But he planned to keep them anyway.
“And people say, ‘What are you gonna do with them?’ I say, ‘They’ll sit right there. I will look at them everyday. Because as long as I got them, I got my dad,’” McBee said.
There have been some bright spots for McBee since the flood. A friend bought him a new bass and amplifier to replace ones he lost. Now, he’s been able to play every Sunday at church again. And McBee’s sister cleaned up his flat top guitar. He had recently gotten it back from her, and already he felt relief being able to play again.
“I’m not down and out no more,” McBee said. “When I’m feeling down, I can go get my guitar. And it just makes me feel better when I can play my guitar.”
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This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the Folklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council.
The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.
Folkways reporter Zack Harold interviews musician, songwriter, painter and former preacher Abe Partridge about his podcast “Alabama Astronaut,” which chronicles the world of Appalachian snake handling churches and the unique genre of music found within their walls.
This story originally aired in the Nov. 4, 2022 episode of Inside Appalachia.
Folkways reporter Zack Harold interviews musician, songwriter, painter and former preacher Abe Partridge about his podcast Alabama Astronaut, which chronicles the world of Appalachian snake handling churches and the unique genre of music found within their walls.
The following conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Harold: Can you give us a brief introduction on how you became familiar with the world of snake handling churches?
Partridge: I guess it depends on how far we want to go back, but I pastored in Middlesboro, Kentucky when I was in my mid 20s. I went through a crisis of faith, I guess you could say, and I was in the process of leaving the church.
During that time, I met a guy by the name of Jamie Coots, who was pretty well known in the serpent handling faith. We probably had a 30 or 45 minute conversation, but in that 30 or 45 minutes, it was a real striking conversation that I never forgot. He gave me his phone number — I think he knew that I was struggling.
Well, I started playing songs and painting and stuff like that. I was touring on the West Coast with artists by the name of Jerry Joseph and this other Alabamian from Birmingham named Will Stewart. He had a song that he wrote called “Brush Arbor.” It had a line in it that mentioned “copperheads and the Holy Ghost.” And I thought that was odd. I asked Will what it was about and he’s like, “It’s about a book I read called ‘Salvation on Sand Mountain.’” I read it at the beginning of the pandemic. And guess who’s in it? Jamie Coots.
So I said, “I’m going to go find this serpent handling church and I’m going to go.” Well, I found a few. And at every one that I went to, I had heard songs that I never knew — that I’d never heard before. And I had spent a large portion of my life in church.
Courtesy
Musician, singer-songwriter, painter, podcaster and former preacher Abe Partridge
Harold: For people that haven’t heard the podcast — what makes it special, compared to church music they might be familiar with?
Patridge: It differs, number one, in the lyrical content. These people happen to believe a certain passage of scripture that’s found in the book of Mark, chapter 16, verses 18 and 19. It draws from Jesus’ last words to his disciples before he ascended into heaven. And the last things that he told his disciples was there were five signs that were going to follow them that believe. Very quickly, the five are: cast out devils, laying hands on the sick and they shall recover, speaking in tongues, “they shall take up serpents,” and then “if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.”
Now there are hundreds of millions of Pentecostals that exist on planet Earth. And nearly all of those Pentecostals will do three of those signs — speaking in tongues, they profess to cast out devils and they profess to lay hands on the sick and then they recover. But outside of these few believers, I’m not aware of any other ones in the world where they literally take up serpents and literally, if they consume a poison that it does not hurt them.
So whenever you hear a song that references those, you know that it had to originate within this sect of believers — because there is literally no other sect of believers on planet Earth that falls under the realm of Christianity that believe these things.
Harold: The musical style is also unique. How would you describe that?
Partridge: Dennis Covington wrote the book “Salvation on Sand Mountain.” He described it as a mixture of Salvation Army and acid rock. And then other people have called it rockabilly, rock and roll, rock and roll sacred music. I call it serpent handling gospel music. They just call it music.
Harold: So how is this tradition being passed down?
Partridge: The same way that music was passed down for all the centuries before man had access to means of recording. Person to person, church to church. I have yet to meet a serpent handling musician that had any type of formal training in music. They pass down both the songs and the style of their playing, I guess you would say, orally.
Harold: But you’ve got churches all the way from Alabama up into West Virginia. It’s a pretty big swath of territory. Are they visiting one another and passing along songs? How does that cultural exchange happen?
Partridge: The serpent handlers know each other. They sometimes have special meetings they call them “homecomings.” Sometimes they have meetings called “revivals.” And people will travel from the other churches to attend. I’ve actually been in services before where, if you listen to the audio, you would assume there was only one guitar player. But in actuality, there were multiple guitar players. They pass the guitar along as each one feels led. But they play the same style, because it all derives from their sacred music.
Harold: Has there been a change over the years in the kind of music that the snake handling churches are playing? Or has it maintained some kind of consistency?
Partridge: I wouldn’t call them “changes,” I would call them “tweaks” with the introduction of electric instruments, probably in the ‘60s. But before that even, they were playing acoustic instruments, and they were playing the same type of songs they’re playing now.
It’s still actively, right now in 2022, being passed down. And I’ve got hundreds of hours of recordings that show this kind of music being played back into the ‘50s.
Harold: It seems the depth you’ve gone into all this — is it all just about the music? Or is there something else behind it too?
Partridge: So it’s always been music first. That was my goal. But I will tell you this, if it was just about the music, I wouldn’t still be going. I’ve already got hundreds of hours of recordings. I could put a record out but two weeks ago, I was still there.
It’s actually helped rekindle my own faith. I wouldn’t necessarily like to line out what that looks like. And, you know, I’m not going to start picking up snakes. But I have witnessed things in the moment that felt absolutely supernatural.
Harold: So you’ve got the recordings. What’s the plan to present those to the public?
Partridge: We have released the Coots Duo album, which is an album that we recorded inside of the Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus’ Name in Middlesboro, Kentucky — which is Jamie Coots’ old church — with his son Cody, and his wife, Cassie.
Cody happens to be a fourth generation serpent handler, serpent handling preacher and songwriter. So we’ve recorded music with them. And we’ve already put that out on our website. It’s already available for download.
Courtesy
The Coots Duo album, produced by Partridge, features snake handling preacher Cody Coots and his wife Cassie.
The goal is to create a documentary record that is captured within the church. But now I need to find the most powerful moments and get these things mixed and mastered — which I do not personally have the skills to do. So that’s where we’re at right now.
And let me tell you when it gets done, it is going to blow your mind. Because it’s so good.
Harold: This is one of the most compelling podcasts I’ve heard in a long time. It gives a peek into a side of American culture that I don’t think a whole lot of people have thought about. A lot of people don’t even know exists. And it handles it with such respect and an apparent love of the subject matter.
Partridge: It’s not hard to treat them with respect. It’s not hard, but it never gets done. I think the overall theme is, there’s a lot of people in this world. And like Dr. Hood said in the podcast, if we’re going to have diversity in this country then it requires a respect.
You can find more information about the Alabama Astronaut podcast, the Coots Duo album and Partridge’s other projects at AlabamaAstronaut.com.
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This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the Folklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council.
The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.
For many Black communities throughout the country, music is an essential component of end-of-life rituals. When a loved one dies, families often call upon a skilled singer to perform at a funeral as a way to offer comfort and healing. In Charleston, West Virginia 41-year-old Michelle Dyess is one of the go-to singers that people request when it’s time to plan a funeral.
This story originally aired in the Oct. 21, 2022 episode of Inside Appalachia.
For many Black communities throughout the country, music is an essential component of end-of-life rituals. When a loved one dies, families often call upon a skilled singer to perform at a funeral as a way to offer comfort and healing. In Charleston, West Virginia 41-year-old Michelle Dyess is one of the go-to singers that people request when it’s time to plan a funeral.
“It’s just like macaroni and cheese,” Michelle said. “You cannot have macaroni without cheese. You cannot have a successful Black funeral without singing.”
Michelle said that when planning a funeral, booking the singer is often top priority.
“I’ve gotten phone calls when somebody has died,” she said. “The morgue has not come and gotten the body yet. Before they’ve made a funeral arrangement, before they know where it’s going to be, what day, what time — they want to know if you can come sing.”
Michelle is my cousin, and she has probably sung at every single funeral that I’ve attended that has been someone related to us. And we have a large family, and Michelle is just our go-to singer. But in the Charleston community, when someone passes away, it is pretty common to see Michelle up at the pulpit singing.
Singing at a funeral makes it all come together. Even though you are grieving, you’re also able to rejoice, and celebrate that person. Michelle said the history in funeral singing is tied to the slave era.
“It’s in our roots, it’s in our blood,” she said. “It became a way to express how they really felt about their loved ones and basically how it should have been in their life. Understanding that there’s a greater glory because now they were ascending to heaven which was something far greater than what they experienced here on Earth. So it became a ritual for us to hold onto and it still is like it today.”
Michelle’s journey to singing at funerals began when someone heard her perform at church.
“Singing at church was when I had first — I don’t know if you would call it an engagement for a funeral — but is when I was first asked, you know, ‘Could you sing at so and so’s funeral?’” Michelle said.
Shanti Johnson
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Courtesy
Folkways Fellow Leeshia Lee (left) interviews her cousin, Michelle Dyess (right) in Michelle’s Charleston, West Virginia home.
Michelle’s voice is simply angelic. And it is powerful, and it is strong. But at the same time it is very peaceful and relaxing. And the things that she can do with her voice — it is definitely a gift. And that gift, she uses as a power to promote healing for families.
“For me being a singer, it is important to exemplify healing. You have a responsibility to heal and to comfort. To give hope and to give joy,” she said. “And I think that makes a great funeral. That makes you leave with a sense of hope, a sense of dignity, a sense of peace and love. And just to be able to carry on after you’ve experienced something as traumatic as death sometimes.”
Michelle doesn’t just sing a song. She actually ministers to the family. When she’s singing, she will sometimes change the lyrics to the name of the person that passed away. Or she will change them to the name of the family. Or speak to a specific situation that the person who is deceased may have gone through. Not only does she engage the audience, she uses the song to let them know that brighter days are ahead.
“Some people are so effective in your life when they go, it’s like how am I supposed to pick up the pieces to move forward in that moment,” Michelle said. “Music is so powerful that it can actually pick you up and put you where you need to be. And that’s what people want. And at Black funerals, it’s important for us to feel that because of all the infirmities and all of the weight that we’ve carried all these long years, it’s important for us to understand that it won’t always be like this. That somehow and some way, better days are coming.”
Michelle’s three daughters can all sing. But her youngest daughter Kayla has the gift and the passion for people, according to Michelle. At 14, Kayla sometimes accompanies Michelle to funerals to learn the craft of ministering through song.
“I’ve taken my kids a few times with me to minister,” Michelle said. “Kayla is one of my kids who’s getting more interested in singing. So I’m about to be passing it on to her and let them call her so she can go out and do it.”
I think the thing that makes Michelle absolutely amazing at this is that she genuinely does it out of the kindness of her heart. She does not charge families to sing at funerals. She does it because she feels that it is her gift, and that it is her way to help the family move on in their time of grief. She believes that that’s her gift and that’s what she’s supposed to do.
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This story is part of the Inside Appalachia Folkways Reporting Project, a partnership with West Virginia Public Broadcasting’s Inside Appalachia and the Folklife Program of the West Virginia Humanities Council.
The Folkways Reporting Project is made possible in part with support from Margaret A. Cargill Philanthropies to the West Virginia Public Broadcasting Foundation. Subscribe to the podcast to hear more stories of Appalachian folklife, arts, and culture.
