“What’s the deal with that West Virginia high school football coach who went missing?”

It was a question from my brother, in from Atlanta, during a moment of idle conversation over the week of Thanksgiving at the Fields homestead in Ashland, Kentucky.

“Huh?” I eloquently replied.

I certainly hadn’t heard of the story, so I looked it up. Turns out, it was a high school coach in Virginia. Initially, I had a chuckle at yet another example of West Virginia’s existence serving as a point of confusion for the rest of the nation. It wasn’t even the first time this had been a source of vexation for my family.

A few years ago, my sister, who lives in Boston, had to deal with the cancellation of a connecting flight to Charleston when she was coming in to visit. The folks at the airline in Boston

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