the dark and the damp

8/3/2019 The Dark and the Damp

1/180


2/180


3/180


4/180


5/180


6/180


7/180


8/180


9/180


10/180


11/180


12/180


13/180


14/180


15/180


16/180


17/180


18/180


19/180


20/180


21/180


22/180


23/180


24/180


25/180


26/180


27/180


28/180


29/180


30/180


31/180


32/180


33/180


34/180


35/180


36/180


37/180


38/180


39/180


40/180


41/180


42/180


43/180


44/180


45/180


46/180


47/180


48/180


49/180


50/180


51/180


52/180


53/180


54/180


55/180


56/180


57/180


58/180


59/180


60/180


61/180


62/180


63/180


64/180


65/180


66/180


67/180


68/180


69/180


70/180


71/180


72/180


73/180


74/180


75/180


76/180


77/180


78/180


79/180


80/180


81/180


82/180


83/180


84/180


85/180


86/180


87/180


88/180


89/180


90/180


91/180


92/180


93/180


94/180


95/180


96/180


97/180


98/180


99/180


100/180


101/180


102/180


103/180


104/180


105/180


106/180


107/180


108/180


109/180


110/180


111/180


112/180


113/180


114/180


115/180


116/180


117/180


118/180


119/180


120/180


121/180


122/180


123/180


124/180


125/180


126/180


127/180


128/180


129/180


130/180


131/180


132/180


133/180


134/180


135/180


136/180


137/180

129

I was delighted with this initial success. A few months later I was in Chicago and I went to seeMiss Monroe. We ate lunch together, where I told her my story. We returned to her office and sheasked me to sign the poets' scroll of Poetry which hung there. It was a large framed sheepskinwhich could be removed from its glass protection. I wrote my name on this scroll and I wasthrilled to see the names of Joyce Kilmer, Carl Sandburg, Marion Strobel, Sara Teasdale andmany other prominent poets on it.

When I left Miss Monroe that day I was resolved to become a poet. I wanted to be known as the"Miners' poet." I thought that would be great, and I later published a brochure of twenty poemswhich I named Pan With a Pick . I had one hundred and fifty of these small books printed andgave them to my friends. My later publication, Black Diamonds contained some of the poems thatwere published in this first, including "Black Astronomy."

I was comfortably seated in the "Chewing gum car" when I saw my father come through the door.He was searching each seat as he walked through the car, looking for me, and I stood up to attracthis attention. It was January 10, 1919, and pay day.

"Did you get your pay, Jock?" my father inquired as he stopped beside my seat.

"My pay! Why, you always get my pay. Didn't you get it?"

"You're a man now, Son. Go draw your pay and hurry up. This train will leave in a few minutes."

I got off the train, walked into the pay office at the mine, asked for my money, and the paymastergave me an envelope that showed my wages for the past two weeks. After the union dues andother deductions were made I had one hundred and twenty-eight dollars in cash inside theenvelope.

I had never drawn my own pay before. I had a rough idea of my earnings but my father took eachpay and I did not know exactly what I had earned. If I wanted a dollar I'd ask my father and henever refused my requests.

When I got back on the train my seat was occupied. I started to search for my father and foundhim in another car relaxed and smoking his pipe.

"Here's my money, Dad," I said. "You could have gotten it and kept me from losing my seat."

"That's your money, Jock. I don't want it."

"What do you mean, 'my money?' Do I get all of this?"

"You're twenty-one, Son. From now on you keep your wages."

"Am I my own boss now?" I questioned, realizing that I had passed my twenty-first birthday twodays before.

"That's right. You're on your own."


138/180

The Dark and The Damp

130

I held out my hand and my father clasped it. I looked into his dark blue eyes and I hesitated amoment before I spoke. "Dad," I said. "I've dug my last lump of coal. I'm through today."

"What're you going to do? You've got a lot of money there be careful."

I was looking out the train window into the distance. hardly heard my father's question. Then Ilooked into his quizzical eyes. "Well, Dad," I said. "I'm going to buy a good foxhound."

That night when I sat at the supper table my mind was too preoccupied to do much talking. I wasthinking about being twenty-one years old and my own boss. I didn't know what to do, so I wentinto my room and dressed in my best clothes, came into the living room, and told my parents thatI was going to town. It was over a mile to Twelve Points, a suburb of Terre Haute and the coaldiggers' gathering place. I had one hundred and twenty-eight dollars in my pocket, and I felt as if I had enough money to retire.

I visited all the saloons that night looking for my buddies and feeling the importance of coming of age. I had never more than tasted liquor, and I did not drink then. I was in training all the time forboxing and liquor was not my idea of a good training diet. I stopped in a pool room and played a

game of eight ball with Fat DePugh who met all corners. He was manager of this pool room forhis father. I won the game and left the pool room with my money intact and crossed the street toWest's Drug Store where I ordered an ice cream soda and placed a dollar bill on the counter.When I had finished the soda I picked up my ninety cents change and went down to the theatrewhere Leroy Wilson played the piano to accompany the silent pictures. I paid ten cents admissionto the show, watched a silent picture and walked home that night through the snow.

I felt lonesome when I went to bed. I was not going to dig coal again. I was twenty-one years oldand I felt as if I were not a part of my own family any more. It was one thing to be able to do as Ipleased, but it was another thing to feel ostracized from my own family. The whole event wasstrange to meand I did not like it.

I did not go to work the next morning. I got up with my father and ate breakfast as usual. Whenhe picked up his bucket and went through the kitchen door that morning I felt a lump in my throatthat hurt. I was free to stay home but my Dad was a slave to lifehe had to go to keep the familysecure. I had a hundred and twenty-seven dollars and eighty centsI was a capitalist.

After Dick and Honor had gone to school that morning I asked my mother to let Fay stay home sowe all could go together to do some shopping. They were excited over the interurban trip intoTerre Haute. Mother bought Fay, then in high school, a new dress and shoes to wear, and herself a new coat, and presents for Honor and Dick. We stopped at the confectionery store and orderedice cream sundaes, and when our shopping was over we rode a taxi home. One day with them,having this money to spend, was worth all the time I had spent in the mines and I was still part of the family despite the curse of having lived twenty-one years.


139/180


140/180


132

6

#/

$ !.


141/180

133

The SESTET

CHAPTER XII

To shovel broken moons

in mining cars

WHEN I CAME INTO HIS OFFICE Frank Rush was sprawled out on a large table working on amine map. He was a wiry man of average height, his hair streaked with grey. It had been overseven years since I had talked to him, but there was little change and I would have recognizedhim anywhere.

"Jock Wilson," he roared. "I've been expecting you." He moved back and got down from the tableand shook my hand warmly.

"You still remember me, Mr. Rush? I'm surprised."

"I've had some good I.C.S. reports on your work."

"I'm looking for a job," I said. "And I thought I'd come in to see you."

"I've got one that's cut out for you," he said, motioning to a chair. "I want a property survey of theCudgel Coal Company at Oakland City, Indiana. I'll go down there and spend a couple of dayswith you.

"I'm ready to start."

"We'll leave Monday morning from Union Station at four A.M. I'll meet you at the station. Beprepared to stay at least two weeks."

"Yes, sir," I replied. I was wondering how much money the trip would cost but it wasunnecessary to ask, for Mr. Rush continued: "We pay all expenses in advance. I can start you attwice the union scale for day wages in the mine."

"That's ten dollars a day, with expenses paid." I said. "I hope I'm worth that much. Ill be slow onthe job."

"I expect that," Frank Rush laughed. "I'll take the chance. By the way, that pay rate's on an hourlyscale. If you work ten hours a day you get ten hours pay."

"Eight hours is enough for me."

"I do this to encourage the field crews to get their work completed. I'm handling over sixty minesin Indiana and we have contracts in Kentucky and Illinois. I've got five field crews and you'llmake six. There's plenty of work to keep six more busy."

I went home that night thinking about my new job and wondering if I could do the work. Myparents were proud that I had found the kind of work that I wanted to do.


142/180


134

"Jock, if you keep plugging, you're going to get some place in the coal fields," my father said."The miners need men like you. We need union leaders from the ranks who know what the coaldiggers are up against. You look like you're going places, and I'm glad of it. You won't have towork your guts out like I have all of my life."

We arrived in Oakland City before noon and the whole crew registered at the Cherry Hotel. Therewere four men in our party besides Frank Rush. Stephenson, Lister and Brooks were chain menwith myself as party chief. Mr. Rush acted as a guide to show me how to proceed on a new job.When we went out to the mine that afternoon, I thought the tipple looked familiar because of theunique position of the mine whistle on top of it. There was only one mine I had ever known withthe whistle on top of the tipple. All the others I had been around had the whistle on top of theengine room above the steam boilers. Gudgel was a new mine and there were fewer than twentyminers working there during that summer.

At three o'clock when that whistle sounded I thought I'd heard a ghost speak from the past. It wasthe old Hamilton whistle and I discovered the same company that operated the Hamilton Mine

owned this one. It seems the Hamilton Mine had caught on fire and the hole was sealed over andabandoned, and the tipple that was over the Hamilton shaft had been torn down and reconstructedover the Gudgel Mine.

After Frank Rush walked over the job with me and pointed out what to do and suggested how todo it, I felt that I could handle the work. We ran a traverse around six hundred and forty acres of ground and surveyed two parcels outside of this area that the company owned. I followed Frank Rush's advice and when I wanted information about section stones I would find some old residentin the area and my troubles were usually over.

I completed that job and received a telephone call from Frank Rush to go to Petersburg, Indiana,for a survey inside the City Mine, located there. Here I found the thickest vein of coal I have ever

seen. There was a sandrock roof over it, a sandrock bottom under it, and the coal was fourteenfeet thick. I noticed a four inch streak of slate near the center of this vein. The miners would shootthe lower part with powder and the coal would slip at this dirty band in the center. The upperseven feet was timbered to keep it in place. When a room was worked out to the property linethese timbers were pulled and the upper portion of the coal was left suspended without support. Ina few days this portion collapsed and the miners had thousands of tons of coal to load withoutusing powder to shoot it down.

My correspondence with the main office required an hour or two of work each night after I'dspent eight hours in the mine and my day was usually ten hours long. We were strangers in thesetowns and our leisure time was spent in playing pool or going to shows. Occasionally we wouldmeet girls and take them to a show or go to a dance with them. About the time we would become

acquainted with enough people to begin to feel at home our job would be completed and wewould move to another place.

After finishing the work at Oakland City, I went to Petersburg, Buckskin, Francisco and Bicknellbefore I got a chance to return to Terre Haute. I had been on the road over three months and wasbeginning to wonder if I liked surveying. I had four mines at Bicknell to survey before this jobwas completed, and I began to want to go home for a week. I liked the work but I did not want tobe on the road all the time. Besides, had several hundred dollars saved up and wanted to go homeand spend some of it.


143/180

135

I did not keep the office posted on my progress at the last mine I surveyed in Bicknell and whenthe job was completed I packed up my tools and returned to Terre Haute. Mr. Rush was furious.He gave me to understand that I was to come into the office only when instructed to do so and thefirm would not pay expenses for running up and down the road on the train. I listened until I hadheard all I wanted to hear.

"Mr. Rush," I said. "Make out my time, I'm not going back on the road. I don't like it. I'mthrough."

"Now, let's don't get excited, Jock," he said. "There's a lot of work to be done in these mines andwe'll never get caught up.

"You're the only one excited," I answered, "I didn't know when I started this work that I wasgoing to live in hotels all of the time. I'm sorry but I don't want any more of it."

I walked out of the office and went home. I had thought that I'd like to work for Frank Rush, butwe both had quick tempers. I did several special jobs for him in later years and

we were always good friends, but we never did find a way for me to live in Terre Haute and work all over the state.

When I got home there was a letter for me from the U. S. Marine Recruiting Officer, especiallyinviting former military men into the corps and offering a two-year enlistment for service in theArmy of Occupation in Germany. I spent a few days with my family and then enlisted for specialduty in the Marine Corps.

I was sent to Parris Island, South Carolina, for boot training and it was in this camp I learned why

Marines never forget how to drill. We were on the drill field ten minutes after breakfast in themorning, drilled until noon, took one hour for lunch, fell out and drilled until darkevery day. Iwas there six weeks and transferred to Quantico, Virginia, to complete training.

Quantico in 1919 had one of the best rifle ranges in the corps and I spent the mornings drillingand the afternoons firing on the range where I made sharpshooter on record day. Once a week wetook hikes of about twenty-five miles under full marching orders, which included, besides a rifle,a pack on our backs that weighed sixty pounds. On my first trip I carried the full equipment butfigured out a short cut for the second one. I rolled my blanket full of paper and left that morningcarrying about four pounds strapped to my shoulders. We had been on the road about two hourswhen our sergeant decided a few marching commands were in order.

"Company fix bayonets!" he roared, and we reached over our shoulders, removed thebayonet from its case and placed it on our rifle as we marched down the road. The column wasfour men wide and almost a thousand men long. We were divided into many marching groups of about one hundred and fifty men. While the sergeant was walking down the marching fileschecking over the rifles with fixed bayonets my group passed a man with a wagon load of applesthat was going the opposite direction to our line of march. I looked down the road and I could seethe sergeant was a long way ahead so I took my rifle, jammed the bayonet into the apples when Ipassed and came up with two big juicy ones sticking on it. The sergeant did not see the move, butI did not know that Captain Baptist was on the rear of my platoon.


144/180


136

"Platoonnnn, halt!" he roared and I felt the cold chills creeping up my back. I steppedback into line but I did not have time to remove the apples from my bayonet.

"Who stepped out of this formation?" he bellowed. "You therewhat's your name?"

"Private Wilson, sirThirteenth Replacement Battalion," I answered. And I had visions of beingshot at sunrise.

He looked me over carefully. "What in hell's sticking on that bayonet?"

"Nothing sir," I answered, removing my rifle and acting surprised when I saw the apples. "Jesus,"I said. "How'd those things get on there?" I looked up as my sergeant ran up to the halted column.

"That's a hell of a question," Captain Baptist roared. "Lock him up!"

The sergeant shoved me down the road and my pack collapsed when he pushed.

"Hold on there" the captain fumed. "Unroll that pack! "

I slipped my pack off my shoulders, laid it on the ground, and unrolled its paper stuffing.

"Can you explain that paper, Wilson?" the captain questioned sarcastically.

"Yes sir," I said. "I've picked up the wrong pack as sure as hellI thought that pack wasn't heavyenough for mine!"

Captain Baptist looked at me for a moment and turned to the sergeant. "Double time that boot tothe brig, and throw the goddam key away." He turned to the column, "Forward March!" And themen marched past as I rolled my blanket up into a pack again.

The sergeant started me dogtrotting down the road, but we hadn't gone a half mile until he hadhad enough, the same as I had. He slowed me down to a walk and marched me back to theguardhouse where I was put into a cell and left for the night. The next morning the sergeant of theguard marched me before Major Berry, Jr., where I stood rigidly at attention for a court-martial. Iheard the sergeant read off a list of misbehavior charges that sounded as if it had broken everylaw in the Marine Corps from insubordination up to and including treason. I expected to get ayear at hard labor.

"How long have you been in the Marine Corps?" Major Berry questioned.

"Two months, sir," I answered expecting the worst.

"What have you got to say for yourself?"

"I was framed, sir," I answered, looking straight ahead.

"Three days, piss and punknext case!" The major snapped.

"About face," the sergeant commanded. "Forward March!"


145/180

137

I turned and marched out of the room and back to the guardhouse where I was assigned to the"oyster shell brigade" surfacing the roads inside the camp area.

For the next three days I carried oyster shells from a stock pile, two buckets at a time, anddumped them on the road. I got one meal a day that was a full meal. My breakfast and dinnerwere bread and water. When my three days passed I was released and sent back to my platoon.

A few days later I went to the boxing show with my buddy Donald Smith, who was from IowaUniversity and a private in the Thirteenth Replacement Battalion. I watched a few bouts anddecided that I was going to apply for a tryout on the Quantico Boxing Team. But the opportunitycame unexpectedly, and that very night when Sergeant Lang, who had marched me back to thebrig, appeared to fight and his opponent defaulted. Sergeant Lang challenged anybody in thehouse at 165 pounds, and Donald Smith bellowed out: "That's usHold the pivot! "

We left our seats and went back stage into the gym where the boxing coach gave me a pair of trunks, shoes, and equipment from the Marine Corps Supply. I dressed hurriedly, fol- lowedDonald Smith down the aisle, and we both crawled into the ring. Donald placed me in my cornerand laced a pair of gloves on my hands. The referee announced my name and called us to the

center of the ring for instructions. We returned to our corners and when the bell sounded westepped into the center and began what I was to remember as the bloodiest fight I have ever had.We were both deliberate in our movements, right handed, and both boxing for a haymaker. Thefirst round was slow as we felt each other out, but I figured I could whip him when I came out forthe second round. Sergeant Lang cut me over my left eye and I could taste the blood that ran overmy face into the corners of my mouth. We were perspiring like mine mules, our gloves soakedwith blood, and perspiration and the mixture was smeared all over our bodies. Between roundsDonald Smith wiped the blood from my face and fanned me with a towel while the refereedaubed alum on the cut.

"Keep it up, Jock," Donald encouraged. "We'll split the dough."

I was breathing too hard to answer, but I laughed to myself at Donald Smith's generosity as thebell sounded. When the fourth round ended I felt as if I had loaded twenty tons of coal withoutstopping and when the judges called the fight a draw I spat a mouth full of blood on the floor andsmiled at Sergeant Lang. We shook hands and went back to the dressing rooms where he askedme to report for the boxing team which, I learned, he captained.

During the next four months I boxed every other week and Donald Smith was my manager. Wedivided the fifteen dollars we received for each fight, which was the same amount win, lose, ordraw. And we always went into Quantico for a big T-bone steak to celebrate.

When President Woodrow Wilson returned to Washington, D. C., from the Versailles Peace

Conference at Paris, a special detachment of U. S. Marines was sent there to meet him. We weresent to the Union Station as a guard of honor, and we stood at "present arms" for over thirtyminutes waiting for the President to pass through the station. When he did arrive I was tooexhausted from holding a sixteen pound rifle in front of my face on a hot summer day inWashington to appreciate the fact that one of our great presidents was passing and I was salutinghim. It was a moment I will never forget, but it was coupled with too much misery and I was gladwhen it was over. After the President returned from Europe, Congress passed a law to remove theArmy of Occupation, and a few months later I was on my way home with an honorable dischargefrom the U. S. Marine Corps and headed back to survey coal mines.


146/180


138

I was still in uniform the night I met Libby Lynam in Twelve Points and she invited me to visitthe November Fair that St. Ann's Church was celebrating that week. Libby was bookkeeper for acoal company and I'd known her for a long time. She was selling chances on several turkeys thatwere being raffled off by the church and I bought three of these tickets at the bargain price of twenty-five cents. After I'd promised to visit the fair later, I left Libby and went down the street tobuy a suit of clothes. While being measured I looked up and saw her enter the store and I smiledas I watched her salesmanship. The clerks gathered around her and I saw them digging for moneyas she passed the tickets around the group.

"How about you, Mr. Wilson?" she smiled. "Only ten cents a chancethree for a quarter."

MeI've got all I can handle with the three I just bought.

"Oh, you've already bought some?" she answered, smiling, "I wanted to sell you a chance."

"Don't be funnyI just bought these from you!"

"What do you mean, I haven't seen you since the Rose-Wabash football game."

"Wait a minute, Libby," I protested. "Somebody's nuts I don't know whether it's you or me--"

"I'm not Libby Lynam, if that's where you bought your tickets. I'm Lenny, her twin sister."

"I've heard that gag before," I laughed. "But I'll tell you what I'll dogo get this twin sister of yours and I'll buy a dollar's worth of tickets."

"I don't know where to find her. We separated an hour ago."

"That's a good excuse," I said.

"The dance starts at nine," she laughed. "Will that bargain hold until then?"

"It's a sale any time you show up with your twinI've known you for a year, Libby, and I'venever seen anybody who looked enough like you to be a twin."

"You mean you've known both of us and didn't know one from the other," she insisted. "I'llstraighten you out laterbe sure to have that dollar handy." I watched her walk out of the storeand one of the clerks yelled back to me:

"That gal's got you hooked, Jockshe's got a twin sister that's her double."

"Yeah," I answered. "She's got a fist full of chances to sell too!"

I was pitching pennies with Father Duffy at squares on a checkerboard design, trying to win aquarter when I felt somebody jerk my arm. Then I turned around. Two girls were smiling at mewho were identical in appearance and I reached for my pocketbook before either of them couldspeak. I removed a dollar bill, offered it one of them, and she grinned, pointing to the other.


147/180

139

"It's Lenny's sale."

"Here, you big prune," Lenny laughed. "I sold you these tickets."

I traded my dollar for a dozen chances. "Where do you get that 'prune' stuff? " I asked, trying toact offended.

"Why that's a compliment," she answered. "I love prunes."

"Even big prunes like me?"

"Maybe," she said.

When I looked into her Irish eyes I knew that Lenny Lynam was the girl I was going to marry.We held each other's gaze a moment as the music from the gymnasium sounded through the hallsof the school building. I took Lenny's arm and we walked toward the dance listening to "There'slong, long trail a' winding into the land of my dreams"

We spent the next couple of hours dancing together and near midnight I took Lenny home. Therewas a light burning in the front room when we arrived.

"Dad's up yet," she informed me. "When I introduce you to Dad don't tell him you work in themines. He's always preaching about the way West Virginia coal is shipped into Indiana."

"I'm a Hoosier," I assured her. "Is your father an operator?"

She laughed. "He's a coal digger, but he won't let us girls go with anybody who works in a mine.Tell him you're an engineer."

We went inside where Lenny's father was seated in a rocking chair with his suspenders slipped

off his shoulders and reading the evening paper through a pair of shell glasses. Her home wasfilled with quaint furnishings and religious pictures on the walls.

d, I'd like you to meet Jock Wilson," Lenny said walking into the room.

"Wilson," he repeated, looking over his glasses. He nodded but he made no attempt to shakehands. I sat down in the front room with Mr. Lynam while Lenny went into the kitchen to makecoffee. The old man read a few minutes longer, laid the paper down, and peeked over his glassesat me.

"Wilson," he said half to himself. "Any kin to the Wilsons around Kettle Creek?" His Irish accentwas noticeable and the quizzical expression in his eyes got me to laughing inwardly.

"You mean old Kettle Creek Mine?"

"That gang of rough 'n tumble Wilsons around Kettle Creek. I know 'em all. They're troublemakers. Boozers"

"My Dad's Commodore Wilson," I butted in. But I held my tongue in my cheek because myfamily came from that part of Indiana.


148/180


140

He studied me before picking up the paper again. After he'd read a few lines he laid it aside oncemore. "Jock Wilson," he said looking over his glasses again. "Sounds Scotch."

"It sounds right. I'm Scotch-Irish and French."

"What's your work?" he persisted.

"Nothing. I just got discharged from the Marine Corps." "When you're working, what's your job?"

"Lenny," I called into the kitchen. "Your father's going to keep turning over stones until he findsout I'm a coal digger."

The old man stood up and hitched his galluses over his shoulders. "Get to hell out of here," heblurted. "No bloody coal digger's going to marry my daughter."

I jumped up and started for the front door, thought about Lenny, changed my mind and walkedback to the old man. "Mr. Lynam," I scowled into his cold eyes. "I'm a Wilson. I'm from KettleCreek and I'm a coal digger. If I take a notion to marry your daughter and she consents, it's none

of your business."

I left the old man speechless and walked into the kitchen where Lenny was laughing herself intotears. "I think your pappy likes coal diggers now," I explained, trying to make it sound like anapology.

She stepped closer and straightened the khaki tie around my neck. "Oh, he loves them," sheassured me. "He'd never admit it but you've got him on your side right now."

When I looked into her eyes I was positive that I had fallen in love. "Would you marry a coaldigger, Lenny? " I whispered.

She did not answer then but when our lips met it seemed I had known her foreverand I knewshe would.

The idea of leaving the coal mines began to form in my mind after this meeting with Lenny. Shewas a student at Indiana State Normal College, and we planned to get married after we both hadcompleted college.

When I accepted a job with Shourds-Stoner Engineers of Terre Haute it was conditioned in myown thoughts with returning to Rose Poly.

My first assignment sent me to the Big American Mine at Bicknell, Indiana, which producedmore coal in a day than any other mine in the state. The average production of most mines wasabout twenty-five hundred tons each working day, but the Big American hoisted around fivethousand tons in eight hours.

When I went down Indiana's behemoth of coal I was conscious for the first time of the machine-age. There were no mules inside the mine. All coal was gathered from the face with electricmotors and the tunnels were filled with electric lights that made them seem like city boulevards.


149/180

141

Motors on the main line were trolley type and speeded fifty cars a trip over the rails to the shaftbottom. Even the miners wore caps with electric lamps. As I looked about these luminous tunnelswhere machines were displacing the miner I felt a tug for something that was lost, and I seemedto grow old in that moment.

I thought about the smoking oil lamps that burned with a sallow flamethe paraffin sunshine thatgave more illumination before the carbide light brightened and spread the darkness apart likecurtains. Even the old miner who labored with pick and shovel and who sweated his way throughthe solid coal was not a part of the Big American. It was the machine mine where the miners'faces were clean and the hand that was calloused grew soft in the gloves, that pulled levers. I wasin a strange maze of electric lights, concrete pillars, and odd looking machines; but I longed forthe grimy face of a sweaty coal digger.

I left the mine early one afternoon to get out ahead of the rush when the shift ended. As I changedmy clothes in the wash house I noticed a half dozen men already under the showers. I picked up abar of yellow laundry soap and walked towards the men, but I stopped short when I noticed oneof the bathers staring at me. He moved away from the water when I laid down the soap and keptmy eyes fixed on the naked miner.

"All right, McQuade," I said. "It's pay day."

"Don't get funny, you sonuvabitch," he protested. "Unless you're looking for trouble."

"I wouldn't say that, little boy. Let's call it unfinished business." I walked up to Londos McQuadeand smashed a left jab into his nose, and he fell back into a steam pipe hanging on the wall. Hebounced out with a scream and tried to get around me, but I pushed him back into the middle of the floor. I could see a red streak across his back where the steam pipe burned his flesh, but all Icould think about were the times he had taken advantage of me when we were kids and he wasthe bully of Jasonville. The other men were watching us but followed the miners code and didn'tinterfere. When it dawned upon McQuade that he had to fight his way out, he crowded me with

awkward blows that I ducked; and I slashed back without mercy. With an old ring trick I feinted aleft jab and when he raised his guard to stop the blow I sunk my right into the pit of his stomachand he dropped to his knees. He dragged himself up. "I've had enough," he whined. "Jesus Christ,Jock, kids don't know no better"

"Look, McQuade," I cut him short. "I took it when you had the difference. I'm still not satisfied."

"I can't fight, goddamit"

"The hell you can't," I roared. Stepping forward I dropped him on his face with another clout inthe midsection that smacked loud enough to make me feel different toward Londos McQuade. AsI looked at him on the floor something changed inside of me and I heard myself say, "I'm sorry

Londos." I stooped down and helped one of the miners drag him over to a bench and set him onit. I picked up my soap and went under the showers, but I kept one eye on McQuade to see whathe intended to do. When I finished my bath and started to leave he stood up and offered his hand.

"I had it coming, Jock," he said. "Forget it."

"I've already forgotten it," I answered, and we shook hands.


150/180


142

During the next month something changed in me, I was b ginning to lose interest in boxing. BudTaylor opened in the Knights of Columbus Auditorium and I left Pop Wedele's stable to work with Bud. At that time "The Hoosier Sparkplug" was the uncrowned Bantam Weight Championof the world and popular enough to draw all of the fighters around Terre Haute into his new gym.I watched boxers come and go from Taylor's gym and some of the seasoned ring men that cameto Terre Haute for matches were washed up and didn' know it. I could see they weren't gettingany place, so I made up my mind to quit. When Lee Sullivan matched me with Bud Dehavenfrom Paris, Illinois, he made the match without my consent, and I objected. I went down to BudTaylor's gym and tried to cancel the fight, but Lee laughed at me.

"He's a set-up," Lee insisted. "Fast Black whipped him last week. You can take Dehaven. It's easydough."

"I don't care if Bud Dehaven's got both arms brokenI'm through with this nose-punching. FastBlack made a monkey out of me. Any place but Terre Haute he'd have knocked me colder than awelldigger's ass. Get Ira Hall. Get Danny Cohen. Either one can whip Dehaven."

"Dehaven's after your hide. If you want to keep your rep around here you'd better kick hell out of Dehaven."

"Well, maybe," I answered. "But I'm whipped before I start."

I was right on that point. I met Bud Dehaven in the K. of C. Auditorium, and I knew I'd made amistake before the first round ended. He was a southpaw and it was my first experience with aleft handed fighter. I tried all the tricks that I knew to get at Dehaven, but he was too clever to betrapped, and I spent four rounds of getting myself beaten into a pulp before I figured out how toslip under his guard. Lee Sullivan was in my corner and he kept telling me to change over andfight left-handed, but it was useless for me even to try. I remembered Fast Black had whippedBud and I'd boxed Fast Black, so I tried bouncing off the ropes and landed my first solid punch

when I did it. For the next two rounds I tried to imitate everything I'd seen Fast Black do before,and I had Bud Dehaven slowed down when the fight ended. I lost the fight, and I knew I wasthrough when I crawled through the ropes to go into the dressing room. My lip was split open andit took five stitches to sew it up. I went over to Bud Dehaven and shook his hand.

"Good luck, Bud," I said. "That left hand of yours will get you somewhere."


151/180

143

The SESTET

CHAPTER XIII

I gathered inspiration

by the tons

GLENDORA COAL is a unique deposit that lies in a large area near Sullivan, Indiana. The veinis nearly five feet thick, located about two hundred and fifty feet below the surface. From itsposition underground this coal is considered part of the num- ber five vein, but it is actually afreak pocket of coal of semi- anthracite quality, being hard and very glossy. One feature that setsit apart from any other deposit found in Indiana is the absence of impurities. Glendora contains nosulphur streaks as all the other Hoosier veins do. It is a deposit of pure carbon, and excellent fuelfor domestic use.

When I was hired by the Consolidated Indiana Coal Company to develop this mine I had justpassed my twenty-second birthday. I soon realized that I had undertaken a responsibility that even

a veteran mine surveyor might hesitate to assume. The job involved sinking an air shaft into thecoal, then driving a tunnel over three hundred feet from this air shaft to an exact location wherethe main shaft would eventually come down. By sinking the air shaft first and developing themine bottom from this hole the usual method of sinking mines was reversed. The normal way isto sink the main shaft into the coal and develop the bottom of the mine before the air shaft issunk. Then the two holes are connected by a tunnel.

I shouldered the responsibility of this shaft with an egotistic confidence that is only known toyouth. It was a blind faith that had not been shaken by doubt. I realized the importance of the job,but I did not consider what would happen if it failed. Shaft sinking requires specialized minersand thousands of dollars. At Glendora the whole project was a gamble where the operators bet afortune they had selected the right man to supervise, despite his lack of experience. To miss the

spot, even by a few feet, could ruin the whole mine plan as it would require "slabbing" orremoving parts of the support pillars which would eventually cause the mine to "squeeze." Whena mine goes into a squeeze it means the narrow pillars are being pushed down into the fireclaybottom from the enormous overburden of rock and this results in losing the pit.

It was six months before tunnels had been developed enough to mark out where the shaft wouldcome through. I had made several independent surveys and checked one against the other before Ifelt secure about the results. When I took my work to Robert L. McCormick, who was Professorof Civil Engineering at Rose Polytechnic Institute, he gave me his approval and I was confident.

We could hear the sinkers drilling above our heads as we listened below, but the sound throughthe rock indicated the drills were a long way off course. It was a worrisome sound and it causedme to grow a year older every day I sweated out listening to it.

"I'd hate to be responsible for that shaft," I overheard one miner speaking to his buddy for mybenefit.

"Sounds mighty funny to me," another answered. "I'd say that hole's off twenty yards."

"D'ya figger it's that close? I've been around a lot of sinkin' and, by God, that hole's off a mile."


152/180


144

"Maybe it is," I'd cut in. "But I've got fifty dollars that says it'll come through right where it'smarked out:'

There was no answer to this. They'd grin at each other knowingly and I'd grow another year olderlooking at them.

When the Glendora shaft finally broke through, on the exact spot, my reputation was established.The experience was invaluable, for it convinced me that the ears can deceive and stopped mefrom turning prematurely grey headed.

Glendora coal is gaseous. This menace kept the fire-boss busy during working hours, but it wasan idle day for the miners when I found a board blocking the main entry and chalked with largeletters--" Gas Keep Out ." My buddy had stopped to fix his light so I snuffed the open flame on mycarbide lamp and lit the safety lamp hooked to my belt, as it was necessary for me to inspect theface of this entry in the day's routine. It was about ninety feet to the coal face and I walkedstooped over with my safety lantern showing a dim light to travel by.

Nearing the face I heard my buddy following and coughing as though he were gagged. Then hestepped across the boar with his open light. The gas was ignited. And I was trapped.

When I saw the flame expand along the roof it scared me but time was precious and I had to takeit. I sucked a deep breath and fell to the bottom, jerking my coat for head cover and shoving myhands under my body. The flame rolled over me and a flash explosion filled the entry with stiflingheat. It was over in a few seconds, and I crawled forward, but the realization of burning clothesstruck me when a sharp pain seared my back. I shed my coat, got up, and ran to escape the hot airand fanned my shirt afire before reaching the cross-entry a few feet beyond the warning sign.When I turned into the cool air around the corner of the rib, it felt like stepping into a wintermorning. I dropped my lamp, gulped the soothing air into my lungs, and tore at my clothes.

Shorty ripped the remains of what was once a flannel shirt off my back, and a stinging sensationpossessed my flesh with the odor of burning cloth filling my nostrils. For a few moments I wasgasping for breath and too shocked to speak until the stupid carelessness of the accident made meangry.

"Shorty," I blurted. "Can't you read?" I tripped the lighter on my carbide lamp and tears wereglistening in Shorty's eyes when the light flashed in his face.

was too late," he retorted, rubbing his eyes, "when I saw that board." He removed his coat and putit over my shoulders.

"Gripes, that's hot," I gritted my teeth. "You sure as hell got me fried to order."

Shorty examined my back. "It'll blister some," he commented. "You'd better get out'n here."

I followed him along the entry where the cool air flowed around my body and reduced the stingas well as my temper. I could see Shorty wipe his eyes as we stooped through the tunnel.

"Shorty," I spoke without anger, "I wouldn't feel that way about it."

He snorted, "Goddamit, I swallowed a big chew of Five Brothers. I'm sick."


153/180

145

"Skip it," I said. "I thought you was crying."

"My eyes watered so's I couldn't see when I hit the main north," he explained. "Who's thatcoming inside?"

I could see two lights bobbing toward us as we traveled through the tunnel. "Somebody lookingfor us," I answered. "We're the only two working."

Before we reached them I recognized the superintendent and pit-boss.

"What's goin' on down here?" Dock Hawkins, the pit-boss, questioned as we met in the entry.

"Sounded like the whole mine blowed up," Theo Thompson said. "We heard it on top."

"My safety lamp got too hot and exploded," I lied. "It set the main north off."

"That shirt o' his'n had fuzz all over it," Shorty cut in. "That's what ketched it afire that a'way."

"Le'me see 'at tongue," Dock demanded and I stuck it out for inspection. He examined itcarefully. "Looks clear to me," he said and stepped aside for the superintendent to check.

"You didn't swallow any fire," the superintendent confirmed. "Keep out'n that main north till weget it cleared up."

"It's a fire trap," I agreed. "We'd better get curtains in there before the men come down."

"I found that out yesterday," Dock Hawkins emphasized. "This air ain't doin' burns like them nogood. Get 'em pizened an' they's mighty nasty."

Thompson unfolded the portable canvas. "Get on this stretcher," he ordered.

"I can walk faster," I answered, leading the way through the tunnel where the damp air soothedmy stinging flesh.

First aid for burns, around coal mines, is messya daubing with cotton swabs dipped in linseedoil. It only took five minutes to get me greased enough for a pair of St. Anthony's nurses to work an hour removing the oil for better treatment.

After a few uncomfortable days I was none the worse from the accident, but the experience

cradled thoughts in my mind that priced a lump of coal only in sweat and blood. From thehospital window I watched people passing on the street and thought they were secure in a betterway of living, no matter how humble, for they moved in the light of day. It was not hard toconvince myself that going to school was a lot safer than crawling around coal mines, so Idecided to return for another season of engineering study and football at Rose Poly.

That fall everything seemed to move in a sweeping orbit to make me native to this college worldthat was not crowned with boulder stars and sandrock skies.


154/180


146

Before the term was a week old, I was elected class president and captain of the annual class"scrap." By doing this, my class- mates unwittingly removed my strange feeling of being an out-sider and gave me a sense of belonging.

When October stippled the Hoosier greens, I got off the streetcar at the city limits to follow awinding mile of footpath through the campus hills. It was a long walk, but far too short for eyesaccustomed to the dark and ears that had been tutored by bird song, deadened from rumbling carwheels. The mines had starved my senses and I felt gluttonous where tulip poplars and sycamoresstood yellow among the scarlet blackgums and bronzed white oaks. When I passed the pawpawgrove it made my mouth water to taste the mellow banana odor that bloated the morningfreshness.

I felt inspired when I entered the classrooms. The idea of making a living above ground, that hadseemed so remote before the Glendora gas explosion, was now shaping into something desirable.

Even November was benevolent, and returned the old days of Red Roof to me again. The patternwas natural, for I carried my shotgun to classes and hunted the fields back to Terre Haute during

the open rabbit season. I kept my gun in the military arsenal and the only evidence of criticismwas a conspicuous sign on the bulletin board one morning which read: No Hunting On Campus .

Still I wondered if it were possible for a coal digger to find happiness in the sunshine, for therewere moments came to me when I longed to return to old friends among the miners. The more Ithought about it the more I realized that the pull of the mines was a lure stronger than the will of man. I tried to figure ways of earning a livelihood above ground, but none seemed to interest me


155/180


156/180


148

Perhaps I captured more of Whitman's barbaric yawp than

# !

,52

#

1

'$

Following the injury I had to be taught how to walk again. My clothes draped my body like ragson a scarecrow and I was depressed in spirit. The future was plotted now and I did not need a mapto find the way, for the trail was familiar that jutted the dawn and dropped into perpetualmidnight. However, I convinced myself of one thing. I could still use the library and study:

/

2

/.

,5 8


157/180

149

It was late summer before I was strong enough to follow the woods again and I was longing toreturn. So I welcomed a hunting trip some friends offered, into southern Indiana, where theWabash River bottoms are generous with butternuts, shagbark hickory, horse chestnuts andhazelnuts for the hungry fox squirrels to gather.

Hap Willis, Ray Mulvehill, and Charles Patton drove past my home at four A.M. and I joinedthem for a sixty mile ride to the bottoms. All three were public servants, and politics was the topicof interest as we rolled over the countryside that morning.

"jock," Hap Willis asked. "Why in hell don't you work for the county surveyor?"

"My old man's a coal digger," I answered. "You wouldn't be working there if your dad wasn'tcounty commissioner."

"Neither would I," Ray Mulvehill added. "You might as well get on the band wagon. What's yourpolitics?"

"Off hand, I'd say anything that would put me in the surveyor's office. You name it."

"Republican," Hap beamed.

"Democrat," Ray snapped.

"You'd better shuffle the deck and deal over," I commented. "I'm a socialist."

"You'd better set up and take notice," Patton butted in. "Here's the best squirrel woods in the Stateof Indiana. Keep your eyes open or you might get bit."

Nobody answered him. Hap pulled off the gravel into a bottoms road winding through thehorseweeds and sycamores along the Wabash.

We got out of the car but the deep forest was something that carried me beyond the spirit of themoment. While we loaded our guns I listened to the cardinals whistling along the river and Icould hear the jay birds announcing our arrival through the woods. It was my first time in manymonths to be out in the open and with each breath of the cool, clean air I could taste the sweetnessof the Hoosier morning. I laid my shotgun over my arm and walked out into the bottoms, eager tolose myself.

About seven o'clock that morning I found Ray Mulvehill seated on a log, watching a largebutternut tree. We had been shooting at intervals all morning, but we were not hunting together

and I had four fox squirrels.

"Any luck?" I called to Ray as I walked towards him.

"Not so loud," he cautioned. "I've got a squirrel up this treeought o' be down any minute."

"Come here, Junior," I said looking up in the tree at a squirrel's nest near the top. I raised myshotgun and fired into the nest and it seemed to burst open when the charge struck. Two squirrelsleaped clear of the nest. One was dead when it struck the ground, but the other was crippled and


158/180


150

tried to escape into the underbrush. I started for the crippled animal intending to grab it by the tailand crack its skull on my gun barrel. As I caught the squirrel, Ray Mulvehill fired and I fell whenthe gun exploded. I looked at him and watched the blood leave his face as he turned sickly white.He had the gun pointed at me and he still had another barrel to fire.

"Are you hit?" he asked excitedly.

"I don't know," I answered, trying to squirm out of the way of the gun. "But somethinghappened." I could not feel any pain and I wasn't interested in anything but that shotgun pointedinto my face.

"Where're you hit?"

"Never mind," I answered, waving my hand. "Point that gun away." I felt a pain surge through myleg and when I looked down I could see a stream of blood gush from my boot. I held my foot upto Ray Mulvehill.

"Pull that boot off! I groaned. I expected my foot to stay in the boot when he pulled it off, and I

wanted to get at the stub to apply a tourniquet. When he tried to remove the boot it would notcome off. I'd had them made to order for wear in the mines by a Wisconsin trapper and I think theheavy moose hide leather in these boots kept my leg from being shot off. Ray took a knife and cutthe raw hide lace out of the boot, pulled it off and we examined the wound.

The whole charge had entered my right leg, about two inches above the ankle, in a spread aboutthe size of a silver dollar, and it was gushing blood in rhythm with my heartbeats. The flesh wasturning blue and it was puffed up and spongy.

I hobbled to my automatic shotgun and fired five shots in rapid succession into the air, reloaded,and repeated the signal and thus brought Patton and Hap Willis to our aid.

We fixed a tourniquet out of a handkerchief, and tied it around my ankle, but Hap Willis decidedto put a wad of chewing tobacco on the wound. He claimed it would suck the poison out andinsisted it was the only thing to do. I did not like the thought of placing tobacco upon an openwound but by this time I was in too much pain to offer much protest. The result was CharleyPatton, Hap Willis, and Ray Mulvehill started chewing tobacco and spitting juice to the fourwinds to make a poultice for my ankle. When they wrapped the stuff around my wound theyprobably tied all the germs in Vigo County in the bandanna handkerchief that held the poultice.

They carried me to the car and for the third time in little more than a year I was headed for St.Anthony's Hospital in Terre Haute.

While the doctor probed my leg for shot I held Ray Mulvehill's hand. Every time he inserted thesteel probe into the open wound I sent Ray to his knees yowling and got myself to laughing.

The doctor removed eleven pellets from my leg before I started to figure how many remained asthe shot had struck the bone and some traveled around the ankle. Others went upalong the boneand could be felt almost to my knees.

"What would happen if some of those shots couldn't be located? " I was thinking of leadpoisoning.


159/180

151

"Nothing," the doctor answered. "Charlie Birger's carrying more lead in his body than you've gotin your leg."

"In that case the job's done," I answered. "I don't want any more removed. It hurts too much."

I got a shot for lockjaw and spent the next month in St. Anthony's waiting for my leg to heal.

Dad Willis was a fox hunter after my own heart but I always thought Hap only went along for theride, to argue with me and listen to Dode Purcell play his guitar. He would squat around the fireand drink moonshine while he thought up something to start a good argument, then he'd keep itgoing until his father would get disgusted.

It was late autumn now. We waited at the foot of the hogbac where our campfire crowded thewooded slope that lifted above our heads into the cool October night. Dad's shoulders slumped as

he stood with one hand shoved into his hip pocket, squeezed a bottle of moonshine in the other,and leaned forward his scrawny neck stretched out as if he were trying to meet the dogs halfway.Somewhere, in the surrounding woods, the hounds had been cruising for twenty minutes withoutbaying and the old man was always crabbed until the dogs struck fresh fox spoor. I could see theknotty quid in his stubbled jaw shift to the opposite side and his toothless gums chomp up anddown.

"A'body ought to skin them mutts alive," he grumbled under his breath. "A'body ought to hideand taller them biscuiteatin'" The old man stopped short, removed a pair of glasses from hispocket, set them on his nose and peeked over the rims as he turned around where the firelightfused his stubby whiskers into a coppery glow. His lips puckered and he spat a stream of tobacco

juice into the blazing logs where it made a hissing noise and disappeared in steam. "Hell's pecker,

Dade, can't we have some box music? Them dockdang pups you guys fetched is too young to runwith Drum Major!"

Hap squatted on his heels and grinned at his father. "The hell you say. You think that walker of yo'rn is the only dog that ever jumped a fox. All three of our dogs is over a year old."

"Must be the weather," Dad chuckled. "These moonlight nights makes a fox plumb jittery." Heplaced a bony hand to his mouth and dislodged the tobacco quid into his fist, spit into theunderbrush and placed the bottle to his lips.

"I'd rather pick a drizzling night myself," Dode agreed walking to the grub box and removing hisguitar lying across the crate. He sat down before the fire strumming his long fingers across the

strings as his chubby face beamed in the firelight.

"Roxa bugled ten minutes ago," I said. "If there's a fox in these woods my dog will straighten himout." I grinned at Dode and listened to the soft chords coming from his fingers touching the tautstrings. His jaws bulged from the tobacco between his teeth but did not clog the soft tenor thatflowed from his throat.


160/180


161/180

153

"Why in hell don't you go to work?" Hap snorted. "The operators offered you a contract and yougoofy bastards turned it down! Last week John L. banged his big sledge-hammer fist on the tableand stomped out of the conference"

"Look, stupid," I cut in, again. "You're one of my best friends. I think a lot of you and I like yourdad despite the fact that he sired such a stupid assI'll forgive him. I'd rather fox hunt with youand your dad than anybody I've ever been out with. Now, let me explain this little barnstormingexit Mister Lewis just pulled off for the benefit of the newsmen. When he smashed that sledge-hammer fist down on the table," I lowered my voice to a whisper. "It was a groundhog codesignal." I laughed to myself when I saw where this fabrication was leading me. "That was John L.hitting the jungle drum and telegraphing all the coal diggers in the United States to sit tightdon't go down tomorrow." I kicked at the fire and waited for Hap to let my yarn sink in.

"Sing on, you big liar," he snorted. "I'm still listenin'."

"Sure the operators offered us a contract but the gravy was all on their side of the plate. We wanta contract that's got a little gravy in it for the coal digger!"

"Shut up, dockdang it, and listen to me," Dad Willis bellowed. "I'm president of the Indiana FoxHunters' Association and so help me I'll throw you both out of the organization if you don't stopthis rag-chewin'. I'm going to quit coming out here to fox hunt with you guysyou don't want tofox huntall you want to do is argue." Dad squared his wiry frame and champed his jaws. Hespat a stream of tobacco juice into the underbrush and wiped his knotty fist across his whiskerymouth. "I'll stay home! I'll stay home and I'll see that you don't take my dogs out too! Now keepyour mouths shut and listen for some open air op'ry to commence."

Hap did not answer. I saw his mouth stretch into a grin and I knew he was waiting for the old manto get interested in the dogs again before he said anything. He wanted to get me fighting mad sohe could have some fun ribbing me about working on a salary for the operators' organization andstill fighting for the coal digger. Hap Willis knew that surveyors for coal companies are not union

men and they are paid a salary by the company. A surveyor's interest, therefore, is supposed to beon the operator's side of all arguments, but that did not bother me. I was always with the coaldigger in any problem that came up. Hap Willis was my buddy and we wouldn't come to blows,but anybody who heard us arguing would believe we were enemies. Hap did not know that I keptmy union card paid up, that I was still a coal digger despite straddling the fence by working as arepresentative of the operator.

Dode was fingering soft chords again and I smiled as I watched the shadows dancing around thecampfire to his music.

"Hold it, Dode they's talkin' to us," Dad Willis interrupted, shifting his weight from one foot tothe other. A silence followed and the hounds' baying voices came from the darkened knobs.

"It's time they's singin' some ear music," Dad snorted. "Hell's pecker, even that suck-egg mutt o'Jock's could jump a fox if a'body gives him all night to do it."

"Baloney, Dad," I said, "Roxa bugled cold track ten minutes ago. That fox track's too cold. It'slikely last night's running."


162/180


163/180

155

"I was thinkin"bout grub," Dad said, removing a bandanna from his coat pocket and unwrappinga set of false teeth. Then he dislodged a chew of tobacco into his hand and tossed it into thebushes. He placed the teeth inside his mouth and his lips bulged out over them."

"Lookit," Dode snickered. "Dad's puffed up like a buttermilk biscuit! Looks like he's readyin' tolay an egg."

"Wouldn't surprise me if the old man would lay an e Hap cut in. "But I'd hate to hear the cacklin'if he did."

Dad Willis grinned and he was all teeth. He pointed to the crate. "Fetch out them vittles. It plumbhungries me to sniff coffee a'bilin' out in the woods 'mongst these smelly hills."

"It's appetizin'," Dode agreed. "I always said I wouldn't swap a fox-hunt meal for a preacherdinner and that's includin' the dumplings."

"Who would?" Dad snorted. "They's somethin' nature-like ben' out here under the trees, eatin'with a'body's fingers and a pack of foxhounds furnishin' the music. I reckon fox-huntin's 'bout as

close to heaven as I'll ever get so I don't aim to miss any. I'd thank you for that bottle." I passedthe bottle over to Dad and saw his Adam's apple jump three times before he pulled the bottle fromhis lips and wiped a sleeve across his mouth.

Hap removed a cardboard box from the crate and took out a piece of cold fried chicken before heplaced the box beside the fire. Dad was pouring coffee so I walked to the crate for a bag of cornbread I'd brought from home. I held the bag for Dad to fish out a piece and then passed it onto Dode.

"Them's mighty fittin' vittles," Dad chortled as we squatted around the fire and listened to themixed quartet of fox-hound voices baying a trail-song under the stars.

Roxa was crowding Hoosier Beau for the lead and Drum Major was trailing the pack when theycircled back for the run along the ridge.

"Drum Major, you lazy bastard," Dad shouted into the woods. "Let yourself go." He turned to mepursing his lips and spat into the fire. "Now wouldn't that frost your balls," he grumbled. "I'mrunnin' that pot-licker in the state trials next week and he's lettin' a spindly-assed pup out-run him!I ought to blow his brains out."

"Don't take it so hard, Dad," I sympathized. "That's a good hound Dode's got."

"Hundred bucks wouldn't touch him," Dode beamed, shaking the money in his pocket. "Muchobliged for the donation."

"That hound of mine's sick," Dad Willis alibied. "He's sicker'n hell and just won't quit."

"Sounds like he's back-trathin' a rabbit," Hap laughed. "Or treed a field mouse."

"That rackabones Dad's got couldn't track a fox through a cornfield full of snow," I taunted."That's a redbone for you."


164/180


156

"Keep your britches on," Dad fumed. "That dog of mine won the state finals last year. He ain't gothis match in this neck of the woods."

"What's he got now? " Hap roared. "He's got his nose stuck up a walker's hindend or, by God, I'mdeef."

"Must be bilious," Dad snorted. "I've never heard-tell of him makin' such a poor showin'."

"Got a price on that dog of yo'rn, Jock?"

"Hell no," I answered. "That dog set me back fifty dollars at three months old. I wouldn't take twohundred for him right now. He's worth more'n that to hear Dad bellyache when old Drum Majorstarts leading the wrong end of the chase."

Dad chuckled under his breath, "I wouldn't give two-bits for that suck-egg babbler of yo'rn." Hewalked around the fire and poured a cup of steaming coffee. "They's mud here goin' to waste," hesaid.

We were drinking our second cup of coffee when Hap looked at me and said, "Them coal diggersin Pennsylvania are really hard up right now."

"Yeah," I answered. "When did you get back from Pennsylvania?"

"I read about it. I read where some guy made a special trip to visit the coal mines in Pennsylvania.He said the miners were living in filth and coal dustsaid they were sick and hungry. He wroteabout the kids being barefooted and said the women were a sorry-looking mess of rags andbones."

"He's a liar," I growled, wondering what was co "Kee talking, stupid, I guess you swallowedevery word."

"Why shouldn't I swallow it? It was right there in the magazine, with pictures to prove it. Howyou gonna get around them pictures?

"I hate to break your bubble, Hap," I said disgustedly. "I hate to tell you the truth. You don't wantto know the truth. You want to believe that coal diggers are some kind of varmints that eat coaldust and breeds like flies." I held out my cup and Hap poured some liquor into the hot coffee.

"You've got the coon treed, now," he said. "Keep yappin'."

"Dockdang it," Dad Willis roared. "If you guys start bellyachin' again I'm goin' to piss on the fireand go home."

I grinned at Dad and lowered my voice. "These writers know what the public is interested in.They know what people want to read," I argued. "They go into some mining town and what dothey do? Instead of showing the true picture of the coal diggersthey find some stumble-bumwho's too lazy to dig coal and they write a big story about him. They form the public opinion bywriting about some down-and-outer."

"Why you big goon," Hap roared. "You just said there ain't no lazy coal diggers!"


165/180


166/180


158

"And fox-hounds bellerin' sound like angels a'singin'," Dad added. "Listen to old Drum Majorleadin' that quartet. He's feelin' plumb better. He ain't sick a'tall! "

We were four weary men as we walked along the hogback toward the schoolhouse where the coaltruck was parked. The first haze of dawn softened the horizon as we looked across the broadhollow where October fields were ripened and full. Dode Purcell shifted his guitar and took adeep breath. "It's worth putterin' around a campfire all night just to stand up high like this andwatch the day gettin' born'd and listen to them birds singin'."

"Makes a'body glad they's got eyes and ears," Dad agreed, taking a deep breath. "Listen at themmeader larks. They's bustin' their lungs. It's God sure worth it, special when they's a good racelike that'n last night. I thought for awhile old Drum Major was a'goin' to poop out on me." Hestopped and looked back along the trail and Hap stepped to one side, placed a hollow cow horn tohis lips, and sent three mournful blasts bouncing through the hills.

"That'll fetch 'em humpin'," Hap said as we listened for an answer.

Dad cupped his hand to his ear for a moment. "Hand me that fox horn," he said seriously. He took the cow's horn from his son, placed it to his lips and once more the hills echoed from themelancholy bugle. And this time the hounds answered from the woods behind us. "They's headin'for the truck," Dad chuckled. "They'll beat us there."

We walked in file along the path, listening to the dawn songs of birds as Dode Purcell chorded totheir voices.


167/180

159

The SESTET

CHAPTER XIV

On pitch black rims

of granite horizons

BY MID-AUGUST OF 1922 we coal diggers around Terre Haute were tightening belts andgathering in groups, debating in strong language the issues of high prices and the threateningcloud of a wage reduction. The mines had been out since April, and a settlement was not in sightfor we wanted day wages increased from five dollars to seven-fifty a shift.

Three of us were squatted behind Fritz Roberts' barber shop, drinking home-brew, when AlexKeene edged into the circle. Alex was a mule-skinner with a thick mustache that spread across hisupper lip and drooped over his mouth like a rusty mop.

"Alex, you got two-bits? " Ted Pomeroy blurted. "If you're gonna poke that goddam sponge in

this bucket it'll cost money."

"An' you only get one poke," Taylor Hice chuckled. "Ever'-time you drop that swab into a bucketit soaks up a quartgo damit. All you gotta do's swoosh the suds out'n-that mop and they ain'tnothin' left but rag chewin'."

"Hand me that beer," Alex snickered. "I'm keepin' these handlebars till we get that seven-fifty aday." He placed his mouth to the bucket and took a deep drag. "Toler'ble brew," he said, puttingdown the growler as his lower lip reached for the rusty hairs and gathered them in like a horsecropping short grass. There was a swishing noise as Alex sucked air through his rusty mustache."We oughta take Sam Gompers and shove that five dollar contract up his ass," Alex commented,standing up and fishing a quarter from his pocket. "Where d'ya drop the nickel on the drum?"

"Pitch it on the ground," Ted said. "We'll get a refill 'dreckly." He took the gallon bucket fromTaylor Hice, who wiped his sleeve across his mouth and belched. "It'll be different now. John L.won't pussyfoot around with them swivel chair bastards in Washington---"

"If he'd been President of the Mine Workers during the war," I said, "we'd be makin' fifteen bucksa shift right-now."

"What you bellyachin' about, Jock? You're workin'---" Alex snorted.

"Like hell, I'm working," I cut in. "I quit my job the first day this strike started. I beat 'em to thepunchnobody wants surveyors on the payroll when production stops. Hell, I'd have been out ina week's time."

"If something don't happen pretty soon they'll be shippin' scabs in here from Chicago," TaylorHice commented, staring at the ground where he was scratching circles with a stick.

"Them skid-row drunks in Chicago quit coal diggin' down in Herrin, Kentucky," Ted Pomeroylaughed. "Man, you'd haft to put one of them birds in a cage to get him around another coalminethat is, them that got away."


168/180


160

"That Kentucky shootin' wasn't done by the coal diggers," Taylor said reaching for the growler."It was them Birger and Shelton mobs started that killin'."

"And they blamed the unions to cover up a gang shootin'," Alex cut in.

"That's about right," I said. "The newspapers went off half cocked and helped cover it up byblaming the miners. The operators were to blame if the coal diggers did do the shooting."

"Couldn't be anybody to blame but the operators," Ted agreed. "They shipped them scabs inthere. It's a cinch they didn't come in without somebody paying their freight. They couldn't digcoalthey didn't know how. Anyway you look at it they can't blame the unions."

Alex Keene picked up the empty gallon bucket, gathered the money from the ground, and walkeddown the alley to the corner hotel where home-brew was on sale.

"Taylor, how much longer's this strike going to last?" I asked.

"You tell me," he snickered. "By God, John L. Lewis won't start a wheel till the operators

swallow that seven-fifty contract. It's gettin' tough on these merchants at Twelve Points."

"Jerry Fitzgerald's still with us," Ted added. "We couldn't strike 'thout Jerry's Bakery."

"It's tough on the whole city," I said. "We fetch a lot of money into Terre Haute and coal diggersblow it faster'n they earn it. Go down town, they're even laying clerks off."

Ted Pomeroy looked down the alley and jumped up. "Alex, goddamit, get your soup strainer out'nthat bucket," he yelled and I turned around as Alex Keene lowered the growler and walkedtoward us sucking at his mustache.

"I just heard them operators is talkin' turkey," Alex reported, passing the beer to Ted Pomeroy.

"They's reached an agreement. The seven-fifty scale's been accepted, I'm gonna shave this cookieduster off'n my lip. It's soured, by God. Stinks like a bar rag."

"Let's celebrate," Ted said. "That raise calls for a whing. I'm headin' for Big Ione's dump tonight."

"Go ahead," I answered, taking the growler from Ted, "We forced that raise but we can't forcethem to work these mines."

"That ain't no lie, Jock," Alex commented. "That's gonna make Indiana coal go sky high."

"What good's seven bucks and a half if a'body can't get it?" Taylor looked over the bucket andplaced his lips to the rim. He pointed down the alley. I looked up as a Fitzgerald bread truck

slowed behind the miners' commissary, filled with the token of a generous Irishman's heart.

"There's Jerry, God bless'm," I said.


169/180

161

The Riley Coal Mine is located about eight miles southeast of Terre Haute, and it's anothergaseous hole, where shot-firers were killed too often. There had been four men killed firing shotsat this mine in a period of one week when I was sent there to make an underground survey.

In a mine as dangerous as Riley I always wanted to do my work during the day shift, but this wasnot the way the operators wanted things done. They wanted me to work nights so my work wouldnot interfere with the mine production, for sometimes I would hold a trip of coal up for fifteen ortwenty minutes. I arrived at the mine about seven o'clock in the evening, with Fred Stockmasterand Joe Riddle, who were assisting. Stockmaster was a schoolmate of mine at Rose Polytechnic,studying civil engineering. Joe was an experienced miner and my right hand man.

I sent Stockmaster to the night foreman with instructions to notify the fire boss we were ready togo inside. He came back full of excitement. He said the night foreman was a surly man. "He gaveme a cussing for even thinking the company would furnish a fire boss to go inside with ourparty."

"Go tell the night boss I want to see him."

"If you want that guy, go get him yourself!" Fred grumbled. "You make more dough than I do,anyhow!"

"What's the matter, Fred?" I argued. "Afraid of the man?""I'm afraid he'll shove that stub arm into my nose," Fred laughed.

"What do you meanstub arm?" I questioned.

"He's got one arm off about here," Fred answered, striking his left arm about halfway between thewrist and elbow.

"Is he a tall slender fellow?"

"Yeah, and he looks tough!"

I laughed at Fred when he answered me. "That's Louis Greene," I said. "He just looks tough. Tellhim the surveyors want a fire boss and no monkey business."

Five minutes later Louis Greene came into the engine room with Fred on his heels.

"Since when did coal companies start furnishing fire bosses to show another fire boss through amine, Jock? " Louis grumbled. "You've got fire boss papers. It'll cost the company an extra shiftto call out the fire boss."

"It'll cost a damn sight more than that if one of us gets hurt, Louis," I argued. "It's cheaper to sendyour own man down. He knows where to look for gas. I don't know this hole."

"You've got a safety lamp and you've got a license to use it. I'm not calling our man out at thistime of night."

"I'm not too anxious to go down that hole," Fred commented. "My mother didn't raise anymorons."


170/180


162

"You're not going inside," I said. "You're going right over there in that warm corner and go tosleep."

"Go to sleep! That's my name. Aren't you going to work?"

"Sure, I'm going to work. But I'm leaving you behind just in case," I said. "If anything happenstonight, you're a witness that I demanded a fire boss to take us inside."

"I don't have to stay on top to remember that."

"Now ain't you the smart engineer," I taunted. "Suppose you go inside with me and we all getkilled. Wouldn't you make a swell witness? You'd be exhibit A, a little silent, I would say!" Istopped short and listened. Dull thuds jarred the ground and I heard the window rattle in theengine room.

"Listen," I said. "They're still shooting inside."

"That's Dode Purcell and Jack Smith, shooting. They get out around midnight," Louis Greene

said. "They're on the south side of the mine. Your job's on the north side. They won't bother you."

"That's right, Dode Purcell is shooting this hole," I said, handing Louis Greene a blueprint of themine workings and a pencil with yellow lead. "Louis, I wish you'd mark the air current on thismap. I want to know how the air is handled inside before I go down."

He took the blueprint and I watched him circle the down draft at the air shaft. He placed yellowarrows around the entries and traced the air current as it traveled through the mine. I took the mapand studied it for a few minutes. When I looked up Louis Greene had gone.

"Come here, you fellows, I want to show you something that's important." Fred and Joe cameover to the blueprint. I traced the air current out for them and I pointed out why the Riley Mine

was killing shot-firers at the rate of four a week.

"This mine's on a continuous circuit of air," I said. "It's against the state law to circulate airthrough a mine without a split in the current."

"Why's that?" Fred asked.

"Simply because an explosion any place inside will circulate smoke and gas through the wholemine. If the current split in two directions from the air shaft, then only half of the mine would beinvolved in an explosion when it happens."

"Maybe we'd better stay out," Joe Riddle suggested.

"That's horse sense, Joe. It's against my judgment to go down, but I'm not going to hang aroundthis hole until midnight waiting for shot-firers to get through."

"You really want me to stay out, Jock? " Fred asked seriously.

"That's exactly what I want you to do. Now look, Fred," I cautioned. "We're going into thefourteenth east off the main north. That's over a mile inside the mine. If we're not out by


171/180

163

midnight you get busy and find out why. We should be finished by ten-thirty or eleven o'clock.Midnight's the deadline."

"I'll be the watch dog." Fred Stockmaster answered.

"Don't go to sleep, watch dog," Joe Riddle grumbled.

Joe Riddle followed me inside the mine. We walked under the low roof until we reached thefourteenth pair of entries that were turned east off the main north. The coal was less than four feetthick and traveling through tunnels in such low coal is difficult. I carried a heavy Gurley miningtransit and moved along, half squatting, touching one hand to the bottom for support. The bottomwas a soft fire clay that was soggy with water, and the acrid odor of powder smoke choked theentry.

After we turned into the fourteenth east, I walked about six hundred feet along this entry to our

own survey station and started to work. I set the transit under the station and took a back sight ona plumb bob string Joe Riddle had suspended from the spad behind. He had a pair of six-inchembroidery hoops with a piece of tracing cloth stretched tight between the interlocking circlesand when he placed this disc behind the plumb string, with his carbide light behind the hoops, itmade the circle look like a transparent moon with the string making a black line through thecenter. We set our survey point ahead nearly three hundred feet down the tunnel where Joe drovea spad for the stations into a wooden cross-bar that was supporting the slate roof. Then we ran athree hundred foot steel tape out of its reel to measure the distance. We were jerking back andforth on the tape, whipping the steel line up and down in order to determine if the tape werecaught on some object between us, when there was a tremendous jar somewhere on the south sideof the mine. The tunnels shook like an earthquake and I knew it was an explosion. I heard theroof overhead settle with a thunderous rumble and I shouted down the entry:

"Joe, hit a break-through. It's coming in to the grass roots." My words were lost in the deafeningroar of collapsing roof. It happened too suddenly for me to do anything, and the concussion of airthat followed the collapse knocked me to the bottom and put my light out. I lay there a momentfumbling for my carbide lamp and when I found the flint wheel on the side of the lamp, I snappedit with my thumb and the carbide gas popped into a bright flame. I could see the fallen roof hadtailed out at the cross-bar where Joe Riddle had put the spad for our survey station. The entrybetween Joe Riddle and me was completely blocked and when I yelled for Joe the sound of myvoice bounced back into my ears. There was no way to penetrate that volume of slate. I was safefor the time being, but I did not know what happened to Joe.

I ran ahead to the face of the entry, crossed the open breakthrough and ran back through the

thirteenth east that was parallel to the tunnel we were working in. When I reached the main northI found the tunnel filled with black choking smoke, but I kept going. I had to find Joe Riddle.

I yelled through the smoke. There was no answer. I stumbled into the fourteenth east again andstarted through the smoke. When I reached the place where he should have been, I discovered thefallen roof had broken off about fifty feet ahead of the spot, but Joe Riddle was not there. I wasbeginning to feel dizzy as I looked at the collapsed roof. If he were under that mass of slate therewas nothing I could do about it. So I turned and ran for the bottom of the shaft but my ears beganto feel closed. I could hear a roaring in my head and I was nauseated.


172/180


164

I realized now that I was trapped and alone and wondered if I'd get out this time. The hot air madeperspiration run down my face and I knew the only thing to do was keep down near the bottomwhere the fresh air would be forced. I started to crawl, on my hands and knees, but fell on myface into the cold water along the roadway. The shock momentarily revived me and

the dark and the damp

Documents