The Coal Miner's War

By Randall R Reese

Anger ignites among the miners, but Louis Tikas, trying to heal after Pennsylvania strikebreakers murdered his wife and child, is determined to stay out of the inevitable battle with the Colorado coal field corporation thugs sent in to wreak havoc on the strikers and their families. When the beautiful and strong-willed Mary Dunn and her 10-year-old son Carson arrive in Ludlow and get caught in the crossfire, Louis can no longer stay silent.

Based on a multiple award-winning screenplay, The Coal Miner's War is a fictional account of a watershed moment in labor history that unfolded in Colorado on April 20, 1914, dubbed the "Ludlow Massacre."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Randall R Reese
• Release date: May 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736823910

Book preview

1

The clouds had gathered above as if to mourn the tragedy that had befallen on the small town of Ludlow. Darkness spread through the graveyard, slowly swallowing every patch of light. A light rain fell on the crowd of mourners that stood alongside the closed caskets, mixing with the tears shed in grief and anger.

Some said the mines were a death wish, a suicide mission. Others—those that owned the mines and lived off endangering the lives of those less fortunate than themselves— preferred to see mining as an opportunity to enrich themselves. However, when the miners decided to take charge of what they deserved, the outcome was often catastrophic.

Louis Tikas, a man in his mid-thirties, stood among the crowd of mourners. Quietly, with his feet set apart, he watched the priest perform last rites. The dead lay peacefully in their caskets, looking up toward the sky, their faces pale and serene. Louis wondered if soot still streaked the lines on the faces of these people, who were finally out of their misery.

Louis knew that all that mattered to the mine owners was how much money they could make out of the mines. The safety of the workers wasn’t even an afterthought. Here, as in so many coal mines across the country that year, the mine collapsed, leaving four wives who no longer had a husband and ten fatherless children. Louis remembered the men from a few days ago, when their hearts beat and their faces brimmed with life, overlaid, as always, with dirt. He closed his eyes and balled his fists. His anger simmered, and he opened his hands and scanned the rest of the faces. The miners looked as angry as he felt, but the wives looked at their husbands with fear, knowing it could be them being lowered into the ground next.

The loss was heavy in the gathering. It was like a thick blanket of sadness placed on top of the graveyard. Louis released the breath he didn’t know he was holding and turned to walk out of the cemetery, leaving the families to grieve. He knew the feeling all too well.

Louis shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled along the sidewalk of the main street. A couple passed by. There was a silence in the air, an eerie vacuum created from the disaster of the previous night. Louis walked on, looking up at the sky and then at the buildings around him.

Shops and saloons lined the sidewalks. Louis walked past a dry goods store, a bank, and a hotel, all owned by the mine owner, Colorado Fuel & Iron, and turned into an alley that led to a row of ramshackle houses. He could see the mountains rise in the distance, well beyond the blur of dirt around the houses.

A movement in the distance caught Louis’s eye. He squinted and walked closer still. Clenching his teeth, he broke into a run, dodging the people walking in the streets. He stopped outside a clapboard shack, identical to the other poorly built houses on the road, and stepped back just in time to avoid a dresser being tossed out.

Stop! Stop! What are you doing? Louis said with despair at one of the men wearing a gray uniform carrying a chest of drawers.

What does it look like we’re doing? The company told us to evict the family, so we’re evicting. They can’t live here anymore, the man replied with blatant mockery. He huffed and headed back into the house.

Her husband hasn’t even been buried yet! Why are you kicking them out to the street now? Louis yelled.

Look, pal. Company houses are for people that work for the company. The guy that lived here ain’t working for the company anymore, the roughneck overlooking the others said.

Yeah, he ain’t going to be doing much but lying around.

The men began to laugh, but Louis did his best to ignore them.

He had a wife and three children. Where are they going to go? Louis knew that this was not unexpected; however, he thought that the company would have at least shown a little bit of decency toward the families of their deceased workers.

Not our problem. Hey, you ain’t married, are ya? Maybe they should move in with you. She’s going to be looking for a husband real soon!

The men broke out into laughter again, but Louis was already on his way toward them, trying to stop them from throwing out more furniture. The man standing outside took hold of him just in time, locking his arms in a grip behind his back. The two others walked up and punched him in the gut, forcing him to the ground as he gasped for breath. He faintly heard the chains around the door and the click of a padlock. The men laughed and walked away.

As the sound of their footsteps faded, Louis turned over and tried to get up while wiping the blood trickling down his mouth when he noticed an outstretched hand. He took it and stood up. It was George Lawson, a sandy-haired coal worker. He brushed himself off as George gave him a sad smile.

I thought this country went to war to eliminate slavery, Louis commented, looking at the heavy padlock.

You’d never know it. At least in this town, it doesn’t matter the color of your skin—white, black, red, yellow. If you work in the mines, you might as well be a slave. Hell, that coal dust sinks right into your skin. Sometimes you can’t tell if someone is a Negro or not, and it’s like it’s 1861 all over again, George said just as a train whistle blew out in the distance.

Louis wiped his hand across his mouth again, then dusted himself off. Sounds like the Q from Denver is coming in a little early. I have to get over to the station before the train does. Thanks for your help. Louis sighed, turning around to walk away.

George grabbed his arm. Look, Louis. There are a lot of angry people here in Ludlow. Over a hundred men have died in the mines this year, and no one gives a damn. The company doesn’t, the mayor doesn’t, and the governor doesn’t. We need to start looking out for ourselves because no one else will. A couple of folks from the United Mine Workers union are coming down from Wyoming tonight to talk. With your experience with the strike in Pennsylvania, you might be able to help us out a bit.

Anger and sadness flashed in Louis’s eyes. He pushed George’s hand away from him.

The union didn’t do anything but throw fuel on the goddamned fire in Pennsylvania! Sixteen women and children died in that strike!

No one wants to see what happened in Pennsylvania happen here. Just come to the meeting tonight. We’re just going to talk and figure out what we can do, George almost pleaded. His eyes never left Louis’s face as he took a deep breath and waited for him to answer.

There isn’t anything you can do, Louis said slowly and turned toward the train station with his head bowed, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

Mary Dunn stood at the train door, her ten-year-old son, Carson Dunn, holding her hand. The wind blew past her, blowing wisps of her brunette hair back. She sighed and put a hand on top of her hat. The station seemed relatively empty; many passengers were still in their seats or taking out the bags from their bunks.

Mary bent to pick up a travel bag, its brown leather creased and worn from use. She stepped out and helped Carson down to the platform. The duo walked hand in hand to the edge of the train platform. Mary dropped her bag and studied the town that would most likely be her home for at least a couple of weeks.

Mary’s face showed determination as she looked at the buildings. Carson followed her gaze, tilting his head. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her nose as thick smoke rose from the train, the smell of burned coal trailing behind the engine.

Well, Carson, it’s not San Francisco, she said, a little disappointed. It’s not much of anything, really, but we’re halfway to California!

Her face brightened a little as she tousled her son’s hair. It was evident that he took after her; his brown hair and blue eyes were exact copies of hers. The sun shone above the station; the dark clouds still scattered on patches of the sky. The station was wet with the drizzle earlier that morning.

How long will we have to stay here, Ma? Carson asked, looking out at the dirty town.

Oh, I suspect no more than just a couple of weeks, as usual. Just long enough to make enough money to head on west again, she said, straightening her dress. She picked up her bag and walked through the station. She made her way through some men in overalls unloading cargo from the train. They eyed her as she passed by and whistled at her. She turned back to look at them. She watched each one, then winked.

Like what you see, boys?

The men smiled at her, murmuring compliments in response as she laughed and turned around, walking toward a man with his back to her.

Men! she laughed to herself and lugged her bag behind her. Her heels clicked on the wooden platform as she approached a man wearing a Colorado & Southern Railroad agent vest.

The man turned as soon he heard the clicking of heels. Mary saw him quickly glance at the old hat on her head, her brown skirt and blouse wrinkled from the journey.

She smiled at him. Excuse me, good sir. Can you tell me where a woman can earn a little extra money around here?

The man looked at her and then her son, confusion evident on his face. He cleared his throat, thinking hard on an appropriate answer. He didn’t know what to say, his expression making Mary chuckle low to herself.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, clearly understanding what his confusion insinuated.

Why is it that whenever I ask that question, people automatically think I’m looking for the nearest whorehouse? Just because I was born with this face—she paused, circling her forefinger around her face—doesn’t mean I’m going to open my legs to every man with a fifty-cent piece. I can work in a saloon, laundry, or dry goods store. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, so I can take some ranch work.

The man reddened and looked down at the ground. I’m sorry, ma’am. Uh, you could try Red Eddie’s place. It’s a saloon a couple of blocks from here. With another mine opening up, his place is getting pretty busy. He might need some help, he said, finally looking up.

Red Eddie’s, huh? All right, I’ll stop in there and find out if he’s hiring, she said, then smiled, taking a step closer to the man, her face an inch away from his.

So . . . do you have a fifty-cent piece on you? she whispered seductively.

I . . . uh . . . I . . ., the man sputtered, looking at her with his eyes widened. His face turned a deeper shade of red.

She chuckled and stepped back, patting his cheek. Just kidding. Thanks for your help. Come on, Carson! Let’s go find us a Red Eddie, she said before turning and walking away.

Louis watched her glance back at him and smile as she left, holding her son’s hand. He shook his head, immediately turning his attention toward the other passengers. He rushed to them, helping them with their baggage. The train station filled up and came to life, people bustling to and from the train. Louis ran around the station, helping the other workers guiding the passengers with their questions.

He glanced at the town that rose behind him—its run-down buildings, cracked roads, and the layer of dust that always hovered in the air. From a distance, it hit him once again how the town had never achieved an air of permanency, though it was populated by living, breathing humans. Births and deaths happened here, but nothing seemed to leave a mark. Everything looked fleeting, like shadows in one’s nightmares that disappear upon chasing. Shaking his