PART FIVE
From its humble beginnings as a small women's outreach group, the Center began making an impact on the community. When it became clear that the organization needed a permanent home, one of the original founders, Franki Rutherford, spearheaded an effort to secure a space. She, along with dedicated other women, persuaded the school district to give them an old, abandoned school house in Carlotta. The battered brown brick three storey structure was in total disrepair - no working facilities, holes in the ceilings, windows broken and only one or two usable rooms in the entire building. But this eyesore of a relic had what realtors call 'good bones' - as well as wide hallways and tall windows to let in the sunlight. And, best of all, it was situated in the middle of the picture-postcard scenery that was endemic to McDowell County. Lush tree cover hills rise all around and across the street is a striking white church with a classic New England style steeple. A stream snakes behind the Center and the sound of its constantly rushing water fills the yard and soothes the soul.
With her neighbors, Franki set about making the old school house into a vibrant community gathering place. First operating out of just the kitchen and getting one rest room working, they slowly expanded to three floors and repaired most of the old building. A place that for years had taught children was now being used to instruct adults. In the not too distant past, you could find an operating day care center, filled computer training classes and packed GED courses. Unfortunately, recent budget cuts have caused the Center to scale back the popular programs; now, increasingly, they are forced to operate on a day to day basis in an effort to serve the valley's disenfranchised.
The cutbacks on Federal funds has been particularly hard on Franki Rutherford as she struggles long hours, seven days a week to keep the Center going. Still, she never waivers in her mission. Many, including Marsha and herself, have missed paychecks and none have any insurance. It is a strong, tireless band of workers, mostly women, who will not be beaten back by the nation's new priorities. Rutherford says, "There are no new Federal policies that are supportive to help new people out of poverty. The programs that we have had are being eliminated. We don't even speak to the middle class that much anymore. There is such a wide divide between the ultra wealthy and all the rest of us. And there's a few up here that are getting wealthier and wealthier. And the rest of us are getting poorer and poorer. And the ones at the bottom are barely surviving." The pain clearly registers on her care-worn face. "A whole bunch of America is sliding back."
Yet, despite these setbacks, and perhaps partially because of them, the Carlotta Center has grown into the most important institution in the Big Creek area. More than any other governmental or private effort, it has been the heart of the struggle to better the lives of the citizens of McDowell County. What started out as a small group of pioneers determined to create a safe place where people could get training, their GEDs, daycare, housing assistance and food has coalesced into something even more primal: a haven for hope.
As we enter the Center, we meet Marsha's friend and Board member, Dovena Collins. Like Marsha, she, too, was as victim of brutal domestic violence. She escaped that horror and is working to make life better for her two children, Brandon and Tabitha. Determined to be a role model for her children so they can avoid all the pain and suffering she endured, Dovena is studying hard to get her GED. In what sounds like a scene right out of an old Frank Capra movie, all three spend the evenings in their small mountain home studying together. Brandon often plays the parent and guides his mother though her homework while they sit around their kitchen table. "He's helping me out, teaching me some," Dovena says. "And I try to help him out, you know? We all support each other. That's how we always do it here in the hills."
We head to an upstairs classroom that serves as Marsha's office - a space she shares with a beautiful, dynamic young women named Kem Short. Kem, the resident philosopher and poet of the group, recently lost her home in the endless torrential floods that hit McDowell County. But that tragedy hasn't diffused her focus. A true firebrand, she has a passion for the poor and knows what needs to be done. More than anyone else in the Center, she is angry at her government for not reaching out to do more to help the less fortunate. "We've gotten to be very mean in this country," she claims, "we've gotten to be very selfish. The poor get less one percent of our federal budget. So why do we resent that one percent? When you look at the breakdown on what they spend on defense, what they spend on interior and things like that, why is one percent so resented? Why is it such a hard thing for us to do? The Bible tells us the poor will always be with us. And so that means if they're going to be always with us, somebody has got to take care of them!"
We sit in the big window classroom, listening as her indignation grows, "I think the thing that frustrates me the most in this country, is that we tout this whole thing about the American dream. But it is meant only for certain people," she says heatedly. "We take the American dream away from kids before they even get a taste of it. It is meant for those of wealth. Parents who live in poverty don't talk about dreams to their kids. If you can't pay the bills, provide the food, provide the clothing and take care of the bare necessities, you certainly don't encourage your children to dream. Because somewhere along the way, somebody is going to squash that dream." Short looks around the room as if to search for someone to prove her wrong.
Marsha nods in agreement at her desk, busily preparing the logistics for an intervention to help yet another unfortunate family - the Cooks up in Warrior Mine Hallow. They have no walls inside their house and the ceiling looks like a patchwork quilt. The sink is falling through the floor and blankets serve as draperies for windows. Timpson has arranged to have students from Davidson and Carnegie Mellon come down to repair the damage.
What makes these women so driven, so intent? What keeps them so optimistic in the face of such pessimism? They have no health insurance. Often they are not paid. Many only work sporadically as the budget is slashed in Washington. Marsha looks up as Kem Short finishes. The smile recedes from her face and there is suddenly a rare visible sadness in her eyes. "Sometime I get real resentful, bitter," she says. "It's like McDowell is the little ugly redheaded stepchild, as people say. America is ashamed to admit we exist. I think the real pain is from not being acknowledged. America no longer believes they have poor. They don't want to admit we are here. It's like we are an embarrassment, you know?"
Then she takes a deep breath and her smile reappears, bigger than ever. "I have got to get to work," she says in a firm voice. "I have students to teach how to help and love others through service."