"NO WATER"

If necessity is the mother of invention, then desperation is certainly one of the family. Such was my experience many years ago during a miserable business trip to coal country that turned godawful.

My early years in the communications field were discouraging. Having been trained as an urban policy planner, I was displaced in the mid-1970s and began working in industrial product publicity, writing news releases about innovative uses of woven wire cloth, polyurethane decking and gypsum wallboard.

            One boss at my Cleveland, Ohio, PR firm took deviant pleasure in assigning me case studies at coal preparation plants across West Virginia. This involved donning steel-toed boots, coveralls, safety glasses and hard hat while venturing into haunting metal structures near mines where tons of raw coal flooded conveyor belts, spewing toxic dust and debris as giant machines belched and roared. My job was to interview plant managers and direct a photography crew. We would visit multiple prep plants before seeking refuge in some nearby motel. The photographers and I drank heavily to forget the monotony of our days and mask the mediocre food we consumed by night.

            But through all the bad times there remains one bright memory. My crew and I had checked into dreary mountaineer lodging on a crummy mid-March evening, covered in grime and coal dust. We lumbered to our rooms, only to reappear seconds later like cartoon characters with the same stunned looks. No water. No water from the sinks or showers. No water for the toilets to flush. No water! What the … ? I raced to the front desk where I was informed of a water main break affecting a 20-mile radius. What the … ? The bedraggled motel clerk read my mind. “No use trying to get a reservation anywhere in this part of the state.”

            I huddled with my guys to concoct a plan. It was dark, and we were hungry and exhausted. Our next prep plant visit was at 7 a.m. We were stumped until I had a crazy idea: “We’ll empty all the ice machines in as many trash cans as we can find.”

            “Then what?” one of the photogs asked. “We melt the ice on our room radiators and take ‘pioneer’ showers.” Minutes later, when my mates and I strolled into the dining room with freshly washed faces and damp hair, the other patrons looked at us as if we had arrived by spaceship. Not exactly a happy ending but a pleasant one of briefly beating the odds as a PR misfit in coal country.

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