A Grade A Save, Behind The Walls Of An A Frame

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin."

As I perused through the finely worded brochure - tattooed with the most charming Cabins, I wondered aloud, "A frame, why A-framed? Why not call it peaked or pyramid or triangle? A-framed seems a little pretentious somehow, like it has been rated-and supersedes all expectations, deserving the top grade - A." I said smirking, crinkling my nose, in disgust.

Brad, my boyfriend, as always - pointed out the obvious, "It looks like the letter A, Sue." he snorted, a little put off - by my attitude.

More proof I suppose, of just how desperately I needed a break. I was in a mood, I mean, who cared what shape the cabin was? It was shelter from the elements, and a beautiful shelter, at that. The scenery was spectacular, right out of a fairytale. The trees were perfectly draped with snow, blanketing the entire landscape. It was the proverbial winter wonderland. I tried to lighten the mood by joking, "did you order this? Because it's perfect." Brad, unamused, kept his eyes on the road and never looked my way.

It was turning into a longer drive than we had anticipated. The weather on the mountain could be a little unpredictable. Still, we didn’t talk much as we drove.

I sat antsy, holding my phone - like it was some form of lifeline, useless without Wi-Fi, listening to the only channel available, country - 1073.3. As boldly announced by the deep southern voice streaming through the speakers.

Staring out the window, I began to relax, watching the snow as it swirled around, dancing carelessly with the wipers. Becoming lost in the twirling motion, mesmerized as the flakes flew hopelessly into the headlights.

I needed to get out of this funk. I had been stuck in it for nearly two weeks now, holding on to a grudge of sorts and extremely irritated.

I struggled getting my thoughts together, frustrated over this promised piece that was now becoming less and less likely to find fruition. I had spent the last two months, pouring my heart into this story, my story, that had received minimal attention and relatively no reward. I was beginning to think maybe I wasn’t cut out for this job after all.

As we reached the cabin and lugged our suitcases to the room through the weather -opening the door, we were greeted with the warm glow of a beautifully lit fireplace. Followed by the aroma of freshly baked, still warm snickerdoodle cookies and hot chocolate wafting in the air like a newly formed promise of a better day.

Every bitter, grouchy muscle melted at the incredible efforts Brad had put into making me feel better. He smiled as he watched my face light up.

He always seemed to know just what I needed, sweeping me away from the drama for a relaxing weekend - booking this cozy cabin at this remote location for some anonymity and rebooting. It was working too.

The icing on the cake was sitting in the steamy jacuzzi while hundreds of delicate snowflakes danced all around, melting as it met our skin.

~~~~

I was young, a freshman in college, when I accepted this job, my dream job - as an editor of the small towns paper. Not a big deal to most, but for me, it was the perfect opportunity to spend my time wrapped up in words. Vocabulary; sentences and phrases with all the ability they have to create or change a picture or perspective.

Powerful - if you think about it.

The job itself was simple, I was the person in charge of determining the final content of a text, for the newspaper, which is what I was going to school for. On the job training and all its experiences, firsthand.

I met Brad there, he worked in the office, lead reporter. He was the best at finding the story in the story. I was excited to finally be able to work on a story side by side with him. We approached things so differently. He was so good for me, he really made me think, trying to see more than what the surface offered.

We we’re getting an early start for a potentially long meeting with a small group of people from a neighboring town.

Monday morning, I would be reporting on a news story, a follow-up on some suspicious water conditions. Doesn't sound exciting, however, the water is suspected of making a large portion of that community sick. A story of environmental injustice and bad decision making.

Brad had poured over what little information we had. Seemingly, it all began in 2020, when the city switched its drinking water supply from Huntington's water system to the Ohio river - in a cost-saving move. Inadequate treatment and testing of the water resulted in a series of major water quality and health issues for many of the residents in this small town. A serious topic, and an excellent opportunity to put my word-play skills and Brad's amazing sleuth methods to good work.

In the midst of reviewing all the facts and data on this particular story, it was becoming obvious that this was unfolding into a tale - desperate to be told. Although it had the potential to save and change many lives, it also held some severe consequences for some. Making a difference like that, for so many would impact and change my life as well.

Deep down we all want to change the world. Even if it was only in the tiny corner of my world - here in the unassuming hills of West Virginia.

This could be the story to change so many things, and I was determined to follow the facts and get to the answers - no matter the cost. Little did I know what that could mean. Brad was sure to let me know; this story could potentially bring out the dark and seedy side of some of people we were sure to encounter. He needed me to be prepared.

~~~~

We were sitting by the fountain, next to an incredibly stunning - locally hand-made stained-glass wall - when he approached us. Dressed to the nines and completely unassuming. So, we were caught off guard when he began screaming profanities at us. He was tugging on Brads arm as the waiter tried to remove him.

He pulled a bottle of frozen water out of his jacket and threw it, hitting me in the face. Brad jumped up and began to help the waiter detain him, until security arrived.

As I sat, pressing a napkin to my face in a daze - watching actual stars sparkling and flashing like a Vegas light show. I could feel the warm stream of blood as it began running down my face, dripping steadily on the snow-white linen tablecloths and staining my new dress. I wondered aloud, "is this a joke, how is this happening?"

I could see Brad kneeling atop this well-dressed man, like a calf in a rodeo show. He was moving his lips, looking directly at me, but all I could hear was a high-pitched humming. I squinted and closed my eyes, trying to make it stop, but awoke on the floor next to this bottle throwing madman.

Wanting to retreat to the room, I tried to stand. Surprisingly - I stood straight up, with the aid of two well-built cowboys - there for the rodeo, I suppose.

They collected us all into a small room, where a very gentle, soft-spoken woman helped me onto a cot. Brad and the “Walter Johnson”, Wanna-Be - sat across from me, now in tears and apologizing profusely.

After a dose of tequila and a couple Vicodin, I was ready to rumble, as they say. I mean, what the actual font identifier was going on here anyway?

~~~~

As the tempers in the room began to mellow, the well-dressed man pulled himself together and introduced himself, properly.

"I am so sorry to have hurt you miss Little, my name is Lyle Carter, and I am from Miami county, where all the trouble with the water is occurring." His face was red, and he kept looking at the floor, "I heard that there would be reporters staying here, and I intended on shattering the stain-glass behind you, as a way to get your attention.

My daughter, Isabella fell sick from the contamination in our drinking water. She passed away a week ago, it is all being swept under the rugs, padding the wallets of the elite." He began to cry as he presented me with a picture of his beautiful 6-year-old daughter.

"This was her before she got sick, and this is how she looked a week ago. I only want answers, I don't want another family to suffer as mine has." I looked at Brad and saw the tears forming in his eyes.

Lyle spoke again, his voice cracking as he said, "I don't blame you if you want to press charges, I hurt you, and I should be punished, I hope you can forgive me."

I tried to stand, but was still a little wobbly, a mixture of the blow and the pain concoction.

So, I stayed seated and reached over, taking his hands in mine.

"Mr. Carter, I have no intention of pressing charges." Pointing to Brad I continued. "This is Brad Hepler, he and I were sent here to get the truth about what has been happening in Bloomburg. I promise you sir, we will not fail Isabella, we will get to the truth, no matter what that means."

~~~~

Monday morning the meeting uncovered other stories similar to Isabella’s. Brad and I could hardly collect the information quick enough.

Shortly after, we packed up and were on the road. Headed back to the paper, with a dire sense of urgency. We had uncovered some information that could really make some changes for those directly involved.

Later that afternoon, we met with the local police department, who were in the process of contacting the FBI. The water investigation was now a criminal investigation, with the support of doctors, scientists, journalists, and citizen activists—that shined a light on the city’s severe mismanagement of its drinking water and forced a reckoning over how such a scandal could have been allowed to happen.

Even more alarming were findings reported in September 2020 by a Bloomburg pediatrician Heidi-Attica: The incidence of elevated blood-lead levels in children citywide had nearly doubled since 2020—and nearly tripled in certain neighborhoods. As Heidi-Attica noted, “Lead is one of the most damning things you can do to a child in their entire life-course trajectory.” In Bloomburg, nearly 9,000 children were supplied lead-contaminated water for 18 months. Many resulting in death.

I learned quickly that this was indeed the story I needed to be focused on. If I had any skills in in using my words to persuade and correct, I would be employing them with overtime.

I am in superhero mode and will not stop until justice prevails.

To learn more about the outcome and the processes currently taking shape, please grab a copy of the Hearld-Dispatch.