Later this month, a volunteer paint crew will assemble at the base of Wood Hill in order to freshen up a giant block “C” in hopes of boosting civic pride in much the same way as removing graffiti from the streets has boosted the civic pride of New Yorkers.
“A few of us in the community decided it was time that we repaint the ‘C’ on the hill,” reports longtime resident Leif Nelson, who is spearheading the project. “This will be a moral victory and will freshen up the city and make it more inviting.”
Time was when students at Carbon High School took responsibility for maintaining the mountain monogram, as seen in this picture I shot in 1960. Note how no one is wearing protective gear, nor can be seen an adult supervisor. Clearly, things were very different back then, when the only way to ensure that you’d never die in a coal mining disaster when you grew up was to figure out some way to get killed as a kid.
It happens that I grew up in the shadow of Wood Hill and so I happen to know more about that mesa than any living human. All through the Nineteen Fifties Wood Hill was my playground; I’ve explored every square foot of it from Camel Back Ridge to Kenilworth. Yet I always took care to steer clear of cliffs, including the one upon which the blue and white block “C” is painted. Nor did I venture into the hole at the bottom of so-called “C” Cliff in order to explore what we knew as “C” Cave. Instead, I relied on firsthand accounts from my older brother Chuck, who described it as a dark, narrow passageway that eventually opened up into a subterranean vault approximately the size of Carlsbad Cavern. Not until years late did I finally summon the courage to explore the cave on my own, and discovered it’s naught but a shallow indentation sufficient to accommodate one—maybe two—adolescent spelunkers.
Not far from “C” Cliff towers a much taller, steeper cliff we knew as Crack Ledge, where local youngsters traditionally demonstrated their determination not to die in a coal mine disaster by leaping across the chasm. Inscribed at the base of Crack Ledge is the number 38—the number of leapers, I presume, who succeeded.
Close examination of the two precipices indicates that sometime during the past half century, the block letter has migrated from “C” Cliff to Crack Ledge. It’s a bit confusing, especially since remnants of the original haven’t entirely been erased by erosion and years of neglect. I presume the city is planning to repaint only the newer one, which is a bit of a slap in the face of those to us old to remember the first Block “C” and the bold teens who risked life and limb in order to put it there.
