In the mid 1960s as a young lawyer working in Charleston, West Virginia, I was assigned to a team representing the firm’s coal mining clients.
One of my first cases involved alleged violations of an early Federal Coal Mine Health and Safety Act enforced by the U. S. Department of Labor. After reviewing the charges, I realized I had no knowledge of how the mine operated or of the equipment mentioned in the charges. I thought the only way to solve this problem was to go underground in the mine in question and see it and the equipment, in real time.
After the firm agreed to let me do that, I called the head of the safety team at the mine whom I had met in earlier meetings. When I explained what I wanted to do, he asked me if I had ever been into a mine before. When I said, “No,” he chuckled a bit and said he would be glad to take me. We agreed on a date “mantrip.” Another safety lecture was given and we boarded the “mantrip.”
The area of the mine I needed to see was well into the mine, so the trip covered a lot of ground. We moved quickly and, because the only light was from the trolley head light and our lamps, I was not able to see many details of the areas we passed through. The area I needed to see was called a conventional mining section, which involved drilling into the coal seam on a specific pattern, inserting explosives, setting off a blast and scooping up the loosened coal and placing it on conveyor belts to the outside.
There were other sections using different mining procedures, which I briefly visited on the trip to my section. When we arrived there, I was introduced to the section foreman and several other men in the area. They took me to the area they were about to mine where I could see the drilling machine at work. Several other miners passed by, and I could see them asking who I was and why I was here. I could see a few smiles, which should have been a warning that my surprise was getting closer.
When the drilling machine finished drilling and backed away, the blast crew began inserting the explosives. My guide said it was time to leave the area. I was taken back to an open area well away from the blast site where my guide suggested we sit on a small pile of coal.
Other miners gathered in a group in another part of the area. In a few minutes one of those men called my guide to come to him. He said he would be right back, and I heard the first call of “fire in the hole” the traditional blaster’s warning an explosion was about to go off. In rapid succession I heard two more warnings.
I quicky learned that an explosion underground is more felt than heard. I was lifted off the pile of coal both by the force of the explosion and my reaction to it. I came straight up, hit the top of my helmet on the roof of the mine and fell back on the coal pile. It took a moment for me to realize I was ok when six or so miners and my guide rushed up laughing and helped me up.
Several said, “Congratulations! Welcome to coal mining.” I had received my initiation to coal mining! After they dusted me off and made sure I was all right, I was taken back to the blast site so I could see the displaced coal being scooped up to be transported to a belt head and taken out of the mine. Also, I was able to watch a team of roof bolters secure the newly exposed roof of the mine. This was one of the most dangerous jobs in an underground coal mine and, seeing that, greatly enhanced my deep respect for the world of coal miners. After about a half day in the mine, I had the information I needed, and it was time to leave this fascinating workplace.
The miners in the section gathered around to say goodbye and to tell me I was welcome to come back anytime. I had one more surprise in store for me. After changing out of my mining clothes, my guide said he thought I would be back in the mines before too long and I would need the bag he handed me. It contained my boots, coverall, belt and my hard hat, which I have proudly worn on many trips into many mines over my working career and which I have with me today.
By Page Henley
This story was originally published in “Our Neighborhood,” a quarterly publication that focused on the lives of RWC residents – one story at a time.
