Long ago, a businessman I knew in West Virginia told me the story of how, even longer ago, he paid his first and only bribe.

He and his partners weren’t West Virginians themselves, but they had started a coal company that would depend on substantial holdings in the state, purchased from a defunct former operator. Through some combination of a swindle and their own inexperience, one of the properties turned out to be an environmental disaster that would bankrupt them before they ever mined their first ton.

A more seasoned West Virginia businessman suggested to these fellows that there were ways around such problems and that introductions could be made. So these men — corporate types more familiar with boardrooms than backrooms — set out to try a little corruption.

It was easier than they thought, until they got to the price. This was back when a quarter of a million dollars could buy a grand mansion, so they were hard-pressed to come up with that much cash — and it had to be cash. So they went to their banks and took the money from their personal accounts in discrete sums in multiple withdrawals and sent their novice bagman to make the delivery.

Seasick with fear of going to prison but desperate for deliverance from a predicament that would turn his bold career move into personal bankruptcy, the businessman still had to ask one question: “Why does it have to be so much?”

The laughing answer: “You’re lucky, there aren’t many of these good deals around anymore."

And it was worth it. The taxpayers got stuck with the bill for cleaning up the old mine and the new company took flight, eventually making many millions for its founders. That company is now long gone, and so are all the men who taught and learned that expensive lesson in how West Virginia politics worked.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about that bundle of cash in a grease-stained burger bag and........

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