HURRICANE, W.Va. - A wave of pride and relief - but apparently not envy - has spread through this valley town since Andrew "Jack" Whittaker Jr. stepped forward Thursday to claim a $315 million Powerball prize, making him one of the richest men in this poor state.

Under the big black cowboy hat, the 55-year-old contractor came across on television as articulate, quick-witted and successful. In other words, say people here, he's just the person to explode stereotypical views about much-maligned West Virginians. An ambassador, you might say.

"We wear shoes; we don't marry cousins," said Gerri McClelland, a bartender at Bogey's Sports Bar, next door to the C&L; Super Serve convenience store where Whittaker bought what state officials call the most lucrative lottery ticket ever sold in the United States.

"We're hillbillies - mountaineers, I should say - but we're not as backward as some people would believe," said Mayor Raymond Peak.

For two days, this relatively well-off community 390 miles west of Baltimore has been buzzing about Whittaker's Christmas Day fortune, which, after taxes, will leave him with $113 million.

Although the construction company owner was hardly hurting, there is no hint of resentment at his windfall, even if many people briefly felt euphoric thinking they might have won.

"Him winning it means more to the community than a poor one winning," said Doug Dickson, a 58-year-old retiree, Thursday night. "He can put that money into his business and build jobs - paychecks for the boys."

Whittaker - who was in New York yesterday and was whisked by limousine from the Today show to Good Morning America - has pledged to put 25 laid-off employees back to work, in addition to buying himself a helicopter he has been eyeing and giving his wife, Jewell, a long-desired trip to Israel.

He also plans to pay a tithe to several churches, though it is not clear which ones. That, more than seeing a prosperous man win big, troubles some here in the Bible Belt, where churches dot the rolling landscape and the phone book has five pages of church listings.

Despite his good intentions, not everyone thinks churches should accept lottery money when pastors preach against gambling, whether it's slots or the lottery. One church, Teays Valley Church of the Nazarene, warns in a sign on Route 34 that "Americans now spend more money on gambling than on groceries."

"I'll be so disappointed if they accept that [money]," said Paul Riddle, 42, a chemical operator at a nearby Bayer plant. "We're in the Bible Belt, and that will loosen the belt one notch."

Then again, Riddle pointed to the beer he was drinking at Bogey's and admitted he is not a very good Baptist.

One pastor acknowledged the conundrum the churches face. "It's sort of talking out of both sides of the mouth," said the Rev. Ken Toler, pastor of Teays Valley Church of God.

Would his church take money if Whittaker offered? "It'd be something we'd really have to pray about," he said. "To my knowledge it's not something we have to deal with."

Peak, who at 74 has been mayor nearly half his life, said he sees no conflict because to him the purchase of a lottery ticket is an act of charity.

"I consider it more donating to schools and senior citizens because I don't expect to win," he said with a chuckle.

Some people, of course, would be happy to take Whittaker's money. One woman asked a clerk at the C&L; to pass along her name and number. She said she needed help paying medical bills. A receptionist for Whittaker's lawyer said a man called to ask for money even though he has never met Whittaker.

The state of West Virginia will get its cut without having to ask. Its $11 million share of the winnings will slice a projected $30 million state budget deficit by a third, state officials say.

Hurricane, pronounced "HURR-uh-cun," got its name when surveyors arrived in 1774 and saw oddly bent trees. The city enjoyed a past life as a bustling railroad town, and now, with more than 5,000 residents and a faded downtown, it is a bedroom community for Charleston, the state capital, and Huntington, both less than a half-hour's drive on Interstate 64.

That trend has brought a measure of prosperity for Teays Valley. Ramshackle trailers still hug the hollows and elsewhere, but mini-mansions are sprouting in new subdivisions. Whittaker's two-story brick house, while more modest than some, sits on a large lot in the 16-year-old Rosehill Acres neighborhood in Scott Depot.

Growing Putnam County, home to 52,000, is among the wealthiest in long-struggling West Virginia. Its per capita income of $24,879 is fifth-highest among the state's 55 counties but lower than the national average.

The state as a whole is not doing as well. It is second-poorest nationally behind Mississippi and is among the oldest of states, with a median age over 38. Last year the population shrank faster than that of any state except North Dakota.

This week's Powerball frenzy attracted rich and poor alike. Whittaker bought $100 worth of tickets as he does whenever the jackpot hits $100 million.

Lorenelle White, sales director at a Huntington television station, also bought tickets, and for a time thought she might be the lucky winner. Awaking early Thursday she caught a glimpse of C&L; Super Serve on TV. Knowing only that one of their tickets had at least one of the winning numbers, she ran to wake up her husband, Bill.

"I thought, it's us, we finally did it!" she recalled. Turns out they won $3.

Frank Thomas, a 57-year-old phone company worker, felt his heart thump when he learned where the winning ticket was bought. I said, "Oh, oh, oh." That quickly turned to "ugh."

No problem, said Thomas. He got a "vicarious thrill" being so close to such wealth. Whittaker, he said, is "a fellow hillbilly. What the hey."

Randy Hammond had quite a start himself. His mother called Thursday morning. He was sound asleep in his apartment over Bogey's, resting after a Christmas night spent drinking. He is such a bar regular that he keeps items there in a cubicle he calls his "office."

"Did you win the lottery?" she asked. Not likely, he said. Turn on the TV, she said. He did and saw a nationally televised spectacle unfolding next door outside the C&L.;

"My neighbor was on the Today show; Katie Couric was interviewing my neighbor," he said. Hammond leaped up, ran onto a deck and, in just underwear, looked out upon a mob of news cameras.

He is proud a West Virginian won and counts himself a fan of Whittaker's generous plan for his riches. "I would've been the dummy who retired everybody I knew by first name," Hammond said in a twang heard often in these parts.

Whittaker said yesterday that he has taken over a project from another contractor in hope of putting employees back to work. "I may not make any money on the project," he told NBC, "but I'll break even and put those guys to work." He added, "I think it's really meant for me to do a lot with this money."

Whittaker is going back to work after New Year's. He has always worked hard, so much so that his next-door neighbor of seven years barely knows him.

"He just doesn't seem to be around much," said Jeffrey Burdette. All he knows is that Whittaker always wears a cowboy hat and waves as he drives past in his Navigator sport utility vehicle.

Whittaker insisted the jackpot wouldn't change his life much. But clearly it has. Just one example: He has a publicist.