January 3, 2011

Larry J. Durdines - Musician, historian was self-employed antique dealer

Larry J. Durdines, 58, of Jefferson, died Firday, July 23, 2010 in UPMC-Presbyterian Hospital in Pittsburgh.
He was born January 3, 1952, in Clarksville, a son of Elizabeth Krencik Durdines Sevec of Washington and the late John L. Durdines.
He was a graduate of Bethlehem-Center High School and attended Penn State University in State College.
A self-employed antique dealer, Mr. Durdines formerly worked for Ohio Barge Line as a first mate.
A musician, was co-founder of the Grinders Blues Band.
Mr. Durdines was a student of local history and collector of United Mine Workers of America memorabilia and artifacts from his hometown of Clarksville and the surrounding areas.
He authored a blog, Ten Mile Creek Country at http://tenmilecreekcountry.blogspot.com/, which featured images and stories of the towns and people along and near the Ten Mile Creek in Southwestern Pennsylvania.
He was a member of the Clarksville Centennial Committee and contributed to the history book published for last year's celebration.
Surviving, in addition to his mother, are a son, Casey Durdines of California, PA; a brother John Tebalt of Dayton, OH; stepfather John Sevec, a niece; a nephew; and several aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Deceased are his grandparents, John and Anna Durdines and Thomas and Frances Krencik.
Memorial contributions may be made to the Greene County Historical Society Museum 918 Rolling Meadows Road, Waynesburg, PA 15370.

4 comments:

  1. Im so sorry to hear this.Larry was a great musician and a great friend.I have some good videos of him playing our old jam nights.Rest in peace,my friend.

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  2. May Angels Lead You In, The Kid. I miss you. - The Old Bat Cadet, Karen Magers.

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  3. I did know you Larry, but I think I know the passion you had for history and preserving the spirit of our heritage. May you never be forgotten and be remembered always even as you remembered.

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  4. I was born the son of a miner
    In the summer of 1915
    My mother she worked at the company store
    In the north of the County of Greene

    In the fall, our food was aplenty
    In the winter we all nearly died
    The hours were long and her back was not strong
    And we wondered why she never cried

    We spent our youth working harder
    Than most could ever design
    When the shaft became to narrow
    The job would always be mine

    Summer nights we all would swelter
    And when the sound of the shoes came near
    For we knew the outhouse would be cleaner
    But the honey dippers we feared

    In the spring of 1920
    When the flu swept through our town
    Two sisters and my dear mother
    My father did lie in the ground

    My father he took on a lady
    With no children to call her own
    Though she was cruel to my brother
    She kept us with food in the home

    The dust from the mine would blacken
    The darkest pits of your hell
    And each morning we would awaken
    To the sound of a new day’s work bell

    Then came the spring of ‘28
    And the day was hotter than hell
    The day that the old shaft exploded
    And nearly 200 men fell.

    The foreman said he was hopeful
    My brother and I had doubt
    And we knew our father’s fate had been written
    When the canary never flew out

    I was just 13, my brother was 9
    When we set out on our own
    Our stepmother had taken another
    And our house was no longer our home


    One day by the bridge we were sleeping
    My brother he never awoke
    It was December and the flu he had taken
    And my heart had once again broke

    I picked up an old guitar one day
    And I told this story in song
    Said I’ll be damned if I ever return to that mine
    For my heart can sometimes be wrong

    And now with three children and a wife of my own
    I find myself desperate and blue
    There’s no work I can find that’s not in a mine
    I must break my promise held true

    Winter’s closing in and I have heard tell
    That the old mine is hiring again
    And though I swore that I’d never go back to that place
    We’re so hungry that we blow in the wind

    So I hang my head low and I stand in the line
    And I grab up my helmet and pick
    I head back to the place where I know I will die
    And I dig until I am sick

    The very same shaft of hell
    Where my father had taken his last breath
    And though I can now feed my children
    This mine will bring me my death

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