A union, a community and doing the next right thing

After historic floods swept through McDowell County, W.Va., this February, the community looked like a war zone.

Mud choked the roads, power lines were left dangling, and many homes were in splinters. “Our snowplows weren’t plowing snow, they were plowing mud,” says Debbie Elmore, the McDowell County school and community liaison with Reconnecting McDowell, an AFT initiative aimed at improving education outcomes in McDowell County.

And now that the waters have receded, the mud has dried up and turned McDowell County’s deep mountain hollows into swirling pits of dust, she says.

This isn’t the first time McDowell County—counted among the top 10 poorest counties in the nation—has faced disaster, or even flooding. In 2001 and 2002, it experienced two record-setting 100-year floods, just 10 months apart. The 2001 flood left 1,500 people homeless. In 2002, the water level rushed from shin- to chest-deep in a matter of minutes. This time around, the rain dumped even more water just as quickly, dwarfing the previous floods by four feet. Nearly two months later, some residents remain stranded, unable to cross washed-out bridges. Many lack internet access, making it even harder to stay connected or seek help.

“This flood made a tough place even tougher,” says Mark Kemp, who also works with Reconnecting McDowell. “McDowell was already struggling, and now we have families who’ve lost everything.”

For students, the disaster means recovering from yet another traumatic event. The flood closed schools for nearly a month, which has led to more than lost learning time; nearly 70 percent of McDowell students rely on the schools for lunch. Kemp estimates that about 10 percent of kids remained stranded on March 13, the first day back, because roads and bridges still weren’t passable.

For AFT-West Virginia, it means mobilizing, again, to do what unions do—show up where they are needed most.

‘Whatever needs to be done’

Unions members, Kemp says, are known for doing “the next right thing,” no matter what it is.

For him, that meant donning an apron, rolling up his sleeves, and helping prepare and serve between 1,200 and 1,500 meals a day with donated ingredients and an army of volunteers.

That isn’t his job, technically. But as he puts it, “The job title should just be: whatever needs to be done. That’s what union work is. We’re trying to do the most good for the most people. We may be educators, but how do you teach a hungry kid? How do you run a school system if your teachers are homeless or your students can’t cross a washed-out bridge?”

The massive feeding effort was spearheaded by Latin Appalachian, a local restaurant owned by Roberto Diaz—known as “taco man”—and his wife, Sarah Diaz, who is also the principal of Welch Elementary School. The couple took to Facebook and invited everyone who could make their way down to come and eat free of charge. Then they experienced a flood of a different kind: people showing up with crock pots, cans of collard greens, a few slices of bread and whatever else they could spare to help feed their neighbors.

“Some people, we knew their stories, and they were the people who really needed it, but they were always the most apologetic, asking if there wasn’t someone else who needed it more,” says Kemp. “We had to say, ‘no, we’re feeding everybody. Go ahead and eat.’”

Inside the restaurant, a row of tables lined with donated supplies became what they called the “fellowship tables.” There, families could sit down to a hot meal, children could eat surrounded by caring adults, and exhausted parents could breathe.

Books, bears and porch visits

Elmore, Sarah Diaz and assistant superintendent Amanda Fragile Peyton wanted to see their students smile again. Through the AFT’s Reading Opens the World initiative, Elmore was able to put together bags of books and bundle them together with teddy bears donated through a drive organized by Peyton.

“Some kids lost everything,” says Elmore. “We wanted to get books back into their hands—something familiar, something joyful.”

Before school started back up, McDowell teachers made their way to as many houses as they could for “porch visits,” where they gave out the teddy bears and books and hugs. “The kids were so excited to see their teachers,” Elmore says. “And the teachers were so excited to see their kids are safe.”

Students received more books through Reading Opens the World the first week of school and even more will go to Welch Elementary School’s library.

No headlines, just help

There’s no ribbon-cutting ceremony for books, soup and teddy bears, but this is how McDowell County survives. Through community.

“People here say they’re of McDowell, not from it,” Kemp says. “It’s like a family member. Even folks who left carry that connection.”

It’s a place that’s been let down again and again, but what remains is a community that still shows up.

“Even people who lost their homes will give you the shirt off their back,” Elmore says. “It’s just who they are.”

A union lifting a community

At its core, this recovery isn’t just about rebuilding—it’s about being there for your neighbors. “We’ve always believed the union’s role is broader than bargaining tables,” Kemp says. “It’s about lifting communities. That’s the spirit of McDowell, and that’s what we’re doing. You don’t ask permission to do the right thing. You just do it.”

Still, Kemp hopes for an easier future for McDowell County, where resilience isn’t an everyday requirement. “Folks here are among the most resilient you’ll find anywhere,” he says. “And while strength and perseverance are admirable traits, I can’t help but think that being resilient should have limited duration.”

In the meantime, McDowell has demonstrated that solidarity isn’t just a slogan. It’s a soup kitchen. A bag of books. A porch visit. A fellowship table.

And a union, doing the next right thing.

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[Melanie Boyer]