What does a good beating in Benwood cost?

At an age when the brain has not fully ripened, I had a summer job as an underground coal miner at the Shoemaker Mine in Benwood, West Virginia. Although the coal came out from under the ground on the Ohio River the miners went in and out of the mine right in the heart of Benwood. Friday was payday, and nothing is more volatile than a coal miner with a paycheck in his pocket. The temporary exit from the mine which was under development was in the yard of a home right in the middle of Benwood. 

It was a strange way to leave work on a Friday morning after a midnight shift in the mine. The miners could exit the mine and walk across the street to a bar where the paychecks could be cashed. It did not take long for this young man to get to much beer and too little oxygen to the brain. Pumped up on stupidity and masculinity I got the brilliant idea to challenge a much larger miner to a fight. 

This is the way the challenge was to take place. Each of us would place our entire paycheck on the bar. The survivor of the battle would get both the checks. Anyone with eyesight could see who the loser was going to be except me. By the grace of God, and a kind sober miner an end was put to my insane idea. The fight never took place. 

To this day I still have my original teeth. Had my plan to pay $1,200 for a beating succeeded, the dental repair alone would have taken weeks to payoff. Thankfully I did not have to go though life explaining how I lost an ear, or my eyesight. In the end I realized the cost of beer could exceed any imaginable price. 

After that experience I was offered a few beatings at a much more reasonable discount. I learned quickly to turn down the offers. One incident comes to mind. One of the first jobs I ever had was as a highway inspector. At the time the interstate highway was being constructed through Wheeling. My job was as the inspector on the demolition in East Wheeling.  A large crane with a clamshell bucket was being used to tear down buildings. The crane was piling up the rubble in a huge pile for trucks to haul away. 

An older man was picking through the rubble to salvage copper and other items he could sell. It was a dangerous thing for the man to do because the crane could inadvertently drop something on him. I had the job of telling the man he must cease and leave. The fellow was belligerent when I told him to stop. He refused and told me as he reached in his pocket for what I assumed was a straight razor " I am going to cut you from your asshole to your appetite."  I told him that would be a large cut and I would prefer a different solution.  At that point I left and had the police resolve the problem. The moral of the story is know when to hold em, and know when to fold em.