Last December when I was thinking about ideas for my thesis film project, my mind wandered back to the Christmas Eves of my childhood I spent with my dad’s family in our hometown of Madisonville, the heart of the Western Kentucky Coalfield region. My Granddaddy Harlan “Red” Maddox had been a coal miner for 40 years, and he and my Mamaw Maddox raised six children in their small, modest home at the edge of town just across from the local cemetery. Oma was a founding member of The Lighthouse Pentecostal Church and lived her life in service to her family and church community. 

Granddaddy and Mamaw Maddox in front of their house on West Center Street.

For those who don’t know, a mamaw is Appalachian-speak for a grandmother, specifically a no-nonsense kind of granny who is a salt of the Earth type who is always the backbone of her community, wherever she is found. If you need something done right, a mamaw is your woman. A mamaw is who you call when a prayer chain need to be set up for the sick in her church. A mamaw makes sure all the kids get on the bus to make it to Sunday school on time. A mamaw makes sure she hand-sews you your own special quilt by the time you turn ten. A mamaw will also not hesitate to cut a switch off the nearest tree and whip you into shape if you act the fool at a family picnic, not that it’s ever necessary. 

A young Harlan "Red" and Oma Maddox.

One specific memory came to mind that didn’t have anything to do with the impending arrival of Santa Claus or who was bringing the turkey for dinner. It was the Christmas Eve of 1988 and I was 18. As Granddaddy Red had passed away the year before, I decided I would spend Christmas Eve day with Mamaw getting her house ready for the big dinner that night. I thought I was up for a big day of dusting and vacuuming. Instead we ended up at our family plot at the town cemetery where we ran into a grieving widow with her daughter standing there crying over the fresh grave of her recently deceased husband. 

Mamaw, to my horror, made a beeline for the widow and immediately started engaging her in conversation. I fully expected the lady to whack my granny with her purse for intruding on such a tender moment on the most important of holidays, but she did not. As I walked close enough to hear their conversation, Mamaw turned and pointed at our family’s headstones. She said, “This is my Red, and this is my Judy…” Then she pointed at me and said, “And this is my Julia.” I waved hello sheepishly and the ladies started to giggle.

Mamaw let that widow know that she understood her, knew what she was going through because she had just been there herself, and most importantly, she let the widow know her husband was not all alone out there. Granddaddy and the rest of our departed would be there for him should he get lonely. 

When the widow and her daughter got in their car to leave, they were laughing and happy, relieved at the thought that their man was now in such good company. As they drove away, I started to cry. I’d never seen anyone spin such tremendous grief into laughter the way Mamaw had just done right in front of me. 

I said, “Mamaw, how did you know to do that?” 

She said to me, in a voice that only comes with age and experience, “Honey, never let anyone sit alone in their grief, especially if it’s a pain you know.” 

The setting for our story, Madisonville, Kentucky. The "Heart of the Coal Field."

Growing up in Kentucky in the 1970s and ‘80s, the idea of going to film school was just unimaginable to me. That was something rich yankee kids got to do, certainly not something for a “hick from the sticks” like me. And yet, here I am at 51, living in Queens, New York, finally going to film school at City College of New York. Stories like A Coalfield Christmas are the ones I most like to tell. They’re little slices of middle American life that, while most people may not know about, they can certainly relate to. While you may not have a mamaw, you most certainly know an abuela, or a bubbe, or a nana who is just like mine, doing her best with what she has to make a better world for her family and community. 

My kindergarten picture, Hall Street School, 1975

This project has an incredible cast of west Kentucky locals both in front of and behind the camera. The teacher who first taught me how to read a script, Carol Niswonger, is playing the part of my Mamaw.  She has my family’s blessing. Ella Brown-Terry, a recent graduate of my alma mater, Murray High School, with be playing me. My sister and my niece, Melissa and Ella Parker will be playing the Widow and Daughter. My cousin Scott Oldham will be playing the ghost of Gary, the husband of the widow. My father, Dick Maddox, will be playing the ghost of Granddaddy Red. Sturgis native and Murray State University graduate Mark Lamb is my co-producer. My classmate, Prabhat Gurung, will be my trusted cinematographer. He and I will be flying to Kentucky to begin pre-production in the middle of November. We will be filming in the Madisonville and Sturgis areas during Thanksgiving week.

The funds we raise will be used to pay for travel expenses, location and equipment rental, food, lodging, additional production insurance, and to pay my actors and production team a little bit for their time and talents. We will follow Covid-safe protocols to do our best to diminish any risk of infection. What money we may have left over will be used for post-production expenses like editing, sound design, and color correction. Should we surpass our initial Seed and Spark goal of $10,000, we will use those funds to pay to enter our film into key film festivals to ensure its best placement for future success. As this is a thesis film, gaining entry into festivals like The Louisville Festival of Film, or The Atlanta Film Festival is the best way to have it gain the critical approval it deserves. Once the film is completed, all donors will be sent a private link to watch the film at their leisure. 

If this Kentucky-made, home-grown film is something you’d like to see, please give to our campaign and share about it on your social media. Every little bit means a lot to us, so I thank you for your support!

Much love,

Julia Maddox