~More 1989~

Fog descending over East River Mountains, Bluefield, WV. Photo by Mel Grubb.

1989 is one of those years that I don't remember "fondly". I moved in with my boyfriend (fiance) from the radio station...his name was Mark. He was fired from the station where we worked together, and went to work at another station. I quit my job, and just kind of floundered around, doing temp work.

In June, he was offered a position at a radio station in Bluefield, WV (we were still living in Charleston at the time). He accepted, and we made the move 100 miles to the south, to Bluefield. Talk about culture shock. Bluefield was very small (in comparison to Charleston) and there were no available apartments for rent when we got there. There was, however, a single wide trailer available, so that is where we lived. I was able to sign on with a temp agency there, and worked sporadic temp jobs. Mark was "the morning guy" at the radio station, and a manager, so it was a step-up for him.

I remember first arriving there and seeing the sign "Welcome to Bluefield; Nature's Air Conditioned City" and wondering what that meant. Bluefield is referred to as The Southern Gateway to West Virginia. Bluefield is nestled in the Southern Appalachian Mountain Range. Its relatively high elevation is responsible for its moderate summer climate which earned the city its title.

Right after we moved in, I went to the animal shelter and adopted a kitten, because, a house is not a home without a kitten! I chose a tiny torti and named her Katie. She immediately became my baby and I spoiled her rotten.

With the lack of steady work there for me, I fell behind paying my debtors. An opportunity arose for me to go to NY and work for the telephone company. There was a strike going on, and they were looking for people to man the phones in their call centers. My best friend from high school worked there and got me on as a temp. I flew up there and lived with my Dad, and worked 10 hour days to pay off my credit cards. Of course, no one warned me that I would have to cross picket lines every day, and would be considered a "scab"....how lovely. I endured 8 weeks, paid off all of my cards, and returned to West Virginia in time for Christmas.

What about you? What were YOU doing in 1989?