The Top 40

"Coal: The Lifeblood of a Country" by Homer Hickam in The Wall Street Journal on April 9, 2010 at page A17:

When I was 15 years old, my father took me down in his coal mine to convince me to become a mining engineer. Although what I really wanted to do was grow up and work for NASA, he was certain if only I went below and looked, I would see the value of his work.

While we were watching his miners, he said, "Sonny, coal is the lifeblood of this country. If coal fails, the country fails." Then, he shined his light on his men and said, "There's no men in the world like miners. They're good men, strong men. The best there is. I think no matter what you do with your life, no matter where you go or who you know, you will never know such good and strong men."

I was impressed by what he showed me and what he said, but my plans still didn't include being a mining engineer. In any case, Dad and I were met by my very angry mother at the surface who proceeded to verbally destroy both of us and send me home with my tail well tucked. "This mine's killed you, but it's not going to kill my boys," she said to Dad. When he challenged her to explain herself, she punched him in the chest and said, "Black spot, the size of a dime." That's all she had to say. Dad loved his coal mine and he loved his miners, but black lung would kill him and cripple and disable many of the men he cared about.

Accidents would also take their toll over the years. Most of the miners who worked for my father did not have happy endings. Yet, they led good and productive lives. Most of them would not have changed a thing. Good, strong men, indeed.

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Mr. Hickam is the author of the memoir "October Sky" and, most recently, the novel the "Red Helmet" (Thomas Nelson, 2008).
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The previous account reminds me of my brush with coal mining. As a boy of 16 I liked to hike with a couple of friends into high lakes in Rocky Mountain National Park where we fished for trout. We often encountered a couple of coal miners who worked the underground mines around Lafayette, Colorado. They were strong, rough men but they were good to be around for my buddies and me. They taught us some of their fishing techniques, made sure we kept our fires safe and insisted that we police up our camp. Sitting around the camp fire in the evening they would spin tales of what it was like to work the mines. Often scary stuff of cave ins, explosions, runaway mine carts and more. They'd laugh and say it takes a nit wit to work underground, but you sensed their pride in it. The danger, the difficulty, the physical prowess it took fed their souls. I doubt they would have considered anything else. Five years later the mines were closing. Natural gas was coming in and the open pit mines in Wyoming and western Colorado were opening. I often wondered where they went when the mines closed. Maybe West Virginia.

No matter what they do, they'll never take all the danger out of mining underground. It's just the nature of the game.

We sometimes meander up Rte 41 toward Centralia. It's a smoldering ghost town, the last few residents are being forced to move out because of the underground coal fires. You see the smoke coming up from the ground. Sometimes the road is altered around the fire pits and sink holes, but it is weird and wondrous at the same time. Having lived for a time in a coal town, you appreciate the miners and fear the mines.