Coal Tattoo By John O’Brien, Jr. 11/8/2014 Back in the 1995, I was working in a coal mine in Alabama. There had been an accident, men died, and we were sent to find ways to get more coal, safer. Kids were the 3rd, 4th generation to go down in the mine. They were 16. Each morning at 7 a.m., 20-30 men entered the mine elevator at a time, called the shaft. It went down 2,000 feet. We piled out, and 4 men each got in a little rail car. Very like a roller coaster car, from not so long ago. My right knee, then the guy across from me’s left knee, then my left knee, then his right, then the guy next to me’s right knee, etc. 4 men, 8 knees, to each car. We then jerked, rattled, bumped, shifted, rolled down the tracks, to the digging site. It got blacker as we rolled. Each man wore a hard hat, with a spotlight attached. We also carried “cardinals”, modeled after the auld days, when they actually did have a live cardinal. If the bird died, there was gas, run. Now, it is an electronic sensor. If it beeps, run. Arrival at the day’s dig site was about 7:40 a.m. Digging was in three prongs: the dig – a massive teeth grinding machine, bigger than a snow plow, that ate away at a tunnel; scooper then conveyed the loosened coal and rock back to a monster bed, like those old paper drive truck beds, that hauled it out; and then a safety crew, that shot massive ribar (metal corded rods), capped with a large metal plate, into the walls and ceiling – THAT is what held it all from falling – when it didn’t fall. Do first tunnel was the dig, 2nd the scoop and 3rd the ribar. Each crew would go in, dig in, pull back, and next crew would go in to that same tunnel; 3 tunnels operating at all times, except when they, or something, broke. If your light was off, you could not see your hand if front of your face. In many of the forks, water was ankle to knee high. You brought your lunch, and somehow, some, still brought their cigarettes. At 2:10, men moved back to the rail car, and rattled back to the elevator shaft. On top around 3, they took turns into the showers. The eyeliner acquired never left. Ears, eyes, throat … For a 16, 18 year old, the money was fantastic. A new pickup truck, an apartment at 18 or 19 … they turned 60, by their 40th birthday. The money was no longer fantastic. Because they worked in a coal mine, they were not eligible for health insurance. period. In an ironic twist, I left that job, and returned to Cleveland, to accept a job with the American Cancer Society. Though I love the song Coal Tattoo, and sing it incessantly, Paddy Reilly’s version of this song, Working Man, is also stuck in my head and my heart, ever since: “Working Man” by Rita MacNeil T’is a working man I am And I’ve been down underground And I swear to God If I ever see the sun Oh for any length of time I can hold it in my mind I never again Will go down underground At the age of sixteen years Oh he quarrels with his peers He vowed they’d never See another one In the dark recess of the mine Where you age before your time And the coal dust lies heavy On your lungs Tis a working man I am And I’ve been down underground And I swear to God If I ever see the sun Oh for any length of time I can hold it in my mind I never again Will go down underground At the age of sixty four He will greet you at the door And he will gently lead you By the arm Through the dark recess of the mine He will take you back in time And he’ll tell you of The hardships that were had Tis a working man I am And I’ve been down underground And I swear to God If I ever see the sun Oh for any length of time I can hold it in my mind I never again will go down underground youtube/watch?v=pT9H5tQ-rY0
Posted on: Sun, 09 Nov 2014 04:35:42 +0000
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