Remembering a Disaster

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If there was one absolute destination in my mind during my most recent weekend jaunt, it was to Hyden, Kentucky. Usually when I go to places that are smaller than their map location dots it's for a musical reason. While there is a musical connect to Hyden (the legendary Osborne Brothers, the bluegrass duo that had the hit with "Rocky Top," are from there), this pilgrimage was more somber in nature. I was going to pay tribute to the victims of a disaster. You and I may take for granted the notion of working in a safe, comfortable environment. (I frequently tell people who say "thank you for your service" that my worst enemy in the Navy was a paper cut, not facing an enemy with a machine gun.) We also may take for granted the things we have as a result of coal, not thinking about what that coal has cost in human life. They always refer to them as "disasters," and for good reason. The loss of life can be staggering. Even when "a few" die, it's still a disaster. There's no price tag that can be put on a human being's life, especially to his/her loved ones. The Hurricane Creek disaster was the first one I remember in my life. Maybe because by that age (ten) I was paying attention to "news" as something more than what my parents watched while my brother and I played after dinner. Maybe because it was so soon after Christmas. For whatever reason, the Hurricane Creek disaster has always been engrained in my mind. On December 30, 1970, the volatile coal dust inside the Hurricane Creek mine ignited, causing an explosion. Thirty eight men inside were killed. One man, working near the entrance, was blown backward by the force of the blast (about sixty feet, according to news reports). He turned out to be the sole survivor. It remains (and may it ever) the worst coal mining disaster in Kentucky. In the early 2010s a memorial was erected on the site of the former mine entrance. I had to see this. At the gate leading to the memorial is one of those Kentucky historical markers, telling the story of the Hurricane Creek Mining Disaster. On the other side of the entrance is a poignant sign: "Miners Memorial in memory of those who gave their lives for black gold." Reverential doesn't begin to describe it. Only the sound of the creek's water broke the silence. The pathway is covered by 19 pairs of beams, mimicking the beams that support the roof of a mine shaft. On each beam a miner's helmet hangs with the name of one of the 38 victims. The day I was there some of the hats were decorated with flowers and a "happy birthday" sign. Past the beams there is a statue of a single miner, looking at the beams as if paying his respects. On the back of the pedestal is the name of the lone survivor (A.T. Collins, who died in 2007) of the explosion. Behind him a wall has 38 plaques, detailing each victim of the disaster (and, to show how the tragedy was compounded, listing the names of relatives who also died that day). In the middle, behind the miner's statue, is a more detailed explanation of the memorial: This memorial is dedicated to the 38 men who died here in the explosions in mine shafts 15 and 16, on December 30, 1970. Miners who gave so much that future generations may benefit with a better life. They sacrificed for their families, labored, and lost their lives. We honor them so they will never be forgotten. I didn't really have to go to the Hurricane Creek Disaster Memorial to remember what happened in Hyden in 1970, but I'm very glad I did. It was a somber and sobering visit. My prayers for the family members who cannot forget that day, for a completely different reason.