The Breaker Boys

By Donna Sauritch Basile

Scorned and rejected from an upper-class way of life because of a father's pride, thirteen-year-old Christen Saurich and her family are uprooted and thrust into unsuspecting turmoil and intrigue awaiting them in a small town in Pennsylvania. Her father's cousin, Heinri, along with his wife Anna and son Sam, help them settle in a small mining town where her father has taken a job. Shortly after her family moves to the coal patch, her father is killed in a mining accident. With nowhere to turn and no resources, Chris takes a job to help support her mother and sister, Gezzelle. Disguised as a boy, she takes a job in the coal breakers. It is 1899 when a blind eye is turned toward child labor and child abuse. It's grueling work. She sits hunched over for hours, separating impurities from the newly mined coal while breathing in noxious dust. It is a noisy and filthy place. Many high-spirited boys lose their lives falling into the chutes, smothered by an avalanche of coal, or are mangled in the massive machinery. Fear, despair, and solitude become her teachers. Stern and relentless, she learns from them. Time pushes her forward into a stark and unforgiving way of life. Chris's faith and unrelenting courage are consistently challenged. Foreboding times are approaching: influenza, devastating mine explosions, and finally a miners' strike that leaves them in despair. Addie Paige comes into their lives, and everything changes. A new path is forged, and finally hope is within their grasp.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645692881

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Breaker Boys

Donna Sauritch Basile and Christan Basile Jones

Copyright © 2019 by Donna Sauritch Basile and Christan Basile Jones

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Breaker Boys

Papa’s Decision

The Funeral

Collecting Coal From Tracks

Chris Starts in Breakers: Haircut

Payday in the Breakers

Murder in the Patch

The Bully

Wishing on the Moon

Delilah

Telling Bobby

Christmas in the Patch

Trapped in the Mine

Influenza in Our Patch

The Beast

The Storm

Addie Paige

Addie Goes Home Again

The Gold Butterfly

Dirty Roy

The Scofield Mine Disaster

Fear of Strike

Bobby’s Threat

Leaving the Patch

The Paige House

Finding Ethan

The Christmas Train

Dedication

In Memory of The Breaker Boys

These young boys, ages nine to fifteen, were in a league of their own. They worked tirelessly, day after day, in grueling and life-threatening conditions with little wages. The breaker boys were high-spirited, cheerful, and full of tricks. Their survival depended on their cunning and they lived by their wits.

In Honor of Coal Miners, Past and Present

Little did the miners know they were living with a horrifying monster in their midst. Whereupon men willingly walked into its large mouth, deep into its belly to extract black lumps of treasure: riches that would pay bills, put food on tables and roofs over heads. The fiendish monster would kill and maim without mercy, randomly selecting its victims. It lured the men back, day after day, leaving their lungs filled with its deadly, black dust, and daring them to come back for more.

The breaker boys and coal miners are memorialized because they act as historical touchstones. They link the past to the present and enable us to remember and respect the sacrifice of so many who have worked and died in coal mines and breakers. They were of crucial importance to the success of the coal industry and the Industrial Revolution.

Acknowledgements

God put this dream in my heart and has sustained me through this long, arduous journey,

filling me with the strength and courage I needed to write and publish my story.

Joel Osteen inspired me to never give up on a dream: Do it afraid, he said.

I took a leap of faith and I did it afraid.

Francine Seman-Mendicino, for bringing my vision for this book’s cover to life,

and capturing the true spirit of The Breaker Boys.

Francine’s granddaughter, Vianna, for inspiring the cover image.

I appreciate and am so grateful for my family and friends

who encouraged me and never gave up on me and this endeavor.

A special thanks and tribute to my daughter, Chris, who has been with me

on this long journey. With her articulate writing and editing, she has

helped me make The Breaker Boys authentic and colorful.

Cayce Jones: our treasure.

I am indeed blessed.

The Breaker Boys

I glared down on Dirty Roy with raw hatred. Dirty Roy, the filthy swine who violated young boys.

My shaking hand still held tight the bloody board while I watched him slide down the wall of the mine, barely conscious.

Ya really hit him hard, Chris, cried Sam. Oh my god, there’s blood everywhere.

With Sam and Bobby behind me, I crouched down and dropped the board. I clenched the lantern within inches of his distorted face. The wretchedness of his rotten breath hung still in the air. Tobacco juice lined the creases of his mouth and formed pools in his straggled beard.

You deserve to die, I scowled in a voice that wasn’t my own.

The light from the lantern showed a glare in his demonic gaze that gripped me with fear. I froze when a wicked chortle escaped his foul hollow mouth, mocking me. I’ll kill youn’s little bastards with my bare hands, he slurred, holding the side of his bloody head.

Fear turned to terror, and my bravado diminished quickly. I reached back for Bobby’s arm. I bit down hard on my lip and tasted blood. What were we thinking? The three of us were still no match for Dirty Roy.

His overbearing shadow danced against the wall of the mine as he staggered to his feet. Without warning, he lunged forward. His full force thrust against me and knocked me back, taking the boys with me. His fat hands clamped hard onto my boots when he pulled me toward him and snuffed out the lantern.

In the pitch-black behind me, the screams of Sam and Bobby pierced my ears. Their hands groped and pulled my coat, choking me in a desperate attempt to get me away from Dirty Roy.

I gasped for air in panic. I squirmed and wriggled in the darkness and struggled to escape. He grunted like a wild beast and yanked my legs in a violent frenzy. My head dragged along the unforgiving lumps of coal. Shards of slate and shale ripped my back raw as he pulled me further into the bowels of the cavern.

The smell of sour sweat and lack of air was suffocating. My heartbeat exploded in my ears and drowned out the cries behind me. With a jerk, he tripped and stumbled backward onto the side of an old cave-in. His relentless grip held steadfast on my boots. I thrashed wildly and finally freed one of my legs and pummeled his face with the heel of my boot, which he took with him.

His bloodcurdling outcry bounded from wall-to-wall and echoed throughout the mine as he plunged into the abandoned elevator shaft. A loud ruckus, a thud, and then nothing at all. All sounds just plain stopped. Just like after Mama snapped a chicken’s neck before chopping its head off.

Surely, the chain of events that brought us face-to-face with pure evil were the cause of our actions. In these undertakings, we claim our own defense.

Papa’s Decision

The sound of breaking glass and loud voices woke me that muggy night in late August. For as long as I can remember, the large white house on Charleroi hill had been home. Mama and Papa and Papa’s family came from Austria many years ago. My sister, Gezzelle, and I were born here.

When I look back on that day in 1899, it seems like only yesterday. Hollering and cursing in thick German accents bellowed throughout the downstairs. I tiptoed from my bed to the top of the stairs and clung to the large wooden banister. I eased myself down onto the first step and leaned forward with a craned neck to see what was going on.

Is last time you come to factory smelling like Mondschein whiskey. Lignelli, come again and tell to me how he is going to kill you with his bare hands if you do not pay money you owe him.

"I am your father and boss, and you are done at Works, you schweinhund! You leave from my house and never show your face to me again."

Grandfather and Papa were standing toe-to-toe, both red in the face, when Uncle Engelbert, the peacekeeper, grabbed Papa from behind and restrained him.

You go to hell, old man, slurred Papa. Spit flew from his mouth in a drunken stupor. Shadows from candlelight flashed in and out of the rooms. The gaslights were turned up high. Controlled chaos filled the house.

Mama scurried behind Uncle Engelbert, Papa’s younger brother, and escorted my staggering father toward the stairs. I quickly ran back to my room and quietly closed the door. I peered through the keyhole and watched them struggle to get him to his room.

I tried to wake Gezzie, but it was a futile effort. She just groaned and put a pillow over her head. She was such a sound sleeper that it was impossible to wake her.

The last few weeks, there had been constant turmoil between Grandfather and Papa, but such violence I had never seen or heard before. Not surprising, they had the same aggressive temperament.

As I lay in bed, the strong aroma of coffee permeated my room. I could hear muffled voices and slamming doors until I finally fell asleep. The next morning while dressing, I filled Gezzie in on the events of the previous evening, not realizing then the impact it would have on us for the rest of our lives. Little did I know, it was the beginning of our perpetual nightmare.

My only and older sibling, often my competitor, raced me down the back stairs into the kitchen. Aunt Minnie gave us a disapproving look as we bounded for the dining room to get the dishes and silverware to set the table. That Saturday was breakfast as usual, so I thought. Aunt Minnie carried a plate of eggs and sausage followed by Mama with bacon and toast. The smell that wafted behind them made my stomach growl. We assembled and filled our plates at the sideboard, then took our places at the table. Papa’s chair was blatantly empty, and the absence of breakfast banter was obvious. A loud creak on the back stairs caused each of us to freeze in our actions. We all dreaded the inevitable.

Gezzie and I exchanged a fearful glance, having experienced Papa’s wrath on more than one occasion. My father had a way of making the entire family on edge at any given moment. The tension was palpable. Papa swaggered in unshaven and looking disheveled. With eyes red and glassy, he stood at the side buffet and poured a cup of coffee.

Grandfather pushed himself away from the table and threw down his napkin on his half-eaten plate in disgust. He stood up, knocking his chair over along with my milk. Stunned, I watched the milk drip down my arm on to my lap. I sat very still, my heart pounding, dreading what was to come. Grandfather stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the screen door so hard that I thought it fell off.

Silence encircled the table. We all sat motionless with all eyes on Papa. He turned toward the kitchen door and held his cup in the air with disdain. Auf Wiedersehen, Mein Papa, he bellowed. In a loud and detached tone, he let it be known that he had terminated his employment at the Works and would be taking a job with the Salem Coal Mine.

Papa acted as if he was leaving on his own accord, not that he was banished from his father’s home. Arrangements had been made, and we would be leaving that day without any warning or even a thought for us. The true reason for our sudden departure wouldn’t be realized until much later. He had threatened many times to go into the coal mines, but never acted on it until now.

Papa’s cousin Heinri had tried to persuade him to go into the coal mine for years, but Grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. The look on Mama’s face was that of complete surprise. I knew then that Papa hadn’t talked it over with her and made the decision on his own.

Gezzie sighed under her breath. I watched the blood drain from her face. The family was taken by outright shock. Glassblowing was an honor and tradition that began in Austria many years ago in Grandfather’s family and had been passed down for generations. When Papa announced that he was going to leave the glassworks and go into the coal mines, he not only disgraced himself, but his family as well.

Boundaries had been crossed. The integrity of the Saurich name had been jeopardized.

Marta. Girls, go get your things packed up,’’ commanded Papa, pulling his watch from his pocket. We go in six hours," he yelled, storming out of the dining room.

Uncle Engelbert stood up quickly and darted after him. John, what in the hell is wrong with you? Have you gone mad? You can’t just pick up and run off like this, he cried, following Papa to the stairs while he tried to reason with him.

Grandmother left the room visibly upset. Aunt Emma followed her but paused in the doorway long enough to turn back and glare at Mama.

This is your doing, Marta, scowled Aunt Minnie with fire in her eyes and finger pointed at her from across the table. You, Marta, are the blame for this.

That’s enough, Minnie, scolded Aunt Freda.

Mama said with her eyes lowered, I know nothing of this. She never dared to speak out of turn. She knew her place.

Mama’s family had, at one time, great wealth in Austria. Her father inherited a vast fortune and squandered it away on poor investments. His penchant for risk-taking led to his untimely demise. Mama was barely seventeen when she and her mother were rendered penniless. She left school to take a position as housekeeper for Papa’s family to provide for herself and her ailing mother. Papa was enthralled with her fair beauty. To the dismay of his family, he married Mama after pursuing for only a few short months. Ten years his junior, from the moment he laid eyes on her, Papa wanted her. And he always got what he wanted. His mother and eldest sisters considered her beneath their class and viewed her as an opportunist.

Come, girls, hurry, pleaded Aunt Freda. We don’t have much time. I’ll help you.

There was no turning back. Stubbornness and fate would take hold. The entire house was turned on its head. Upstairs, I began to pack, feeling sick. I felt unsettled, and my stomach was in a jumbled knot while I walked into the bathroom and sat on the edge that encircled the large porcelain tub.

I ran my fingers along the mahogany border, and I picked up a bottle of lavender bath oil and lifted it to my nose. It brought back a special memory of a bath prepared just for me by Aunt Freda. It was the day of my First Holy Communion. She pulled my hair in an upsweep and crowned it with lilies of the valley flowers. Out of the corner of my eye, through the open window, I caught the rope swing that I helped Grandfather put up. I could smell Grandmother’s wild wisteria, branches wound tight around the porch poles. They looked like old craggy fingers that held on for dear life.

Chris, yelled Aunt Freda, don’t forget your toothbrushes. She hurriedly helped us select a few dresses with the promise that the rest of our belongings would be sent on later.

The time had come to say goodbye to the family. Everyone was there except Grandfather. The irony of this awkward scene played out when we all gathered in the entrance hall, dressed in our traveling clothes. We would not be taking a pleasure trip to Pittsburgh this time. We were being displaced from the only home we knew. The acrid mixture of perspiration and the linseed oiled banister competed with Papa’s bay rum aftershave.

Papa leaned into the mirror next to the coat rack and smoothed his hair down with his hands. This was not the same crazed, unkempt figure from this morning but a well-groomed gentleman. The silk-patterned Windsor tie that I had never seen before today complimented the dark gray suit that he wore. He picked off his crowned bowler from the hat peg and tucked it under his arm and gave his reflection a nod of approval.

I noticed a stream of sunlight that streaked through the stained-glass window and danced splashes of red and blue on my favorite dress. It was white with an embroidered pink daisy on the bodice. Gezzie’s was identical except her daisy was yellow.

Children’s clothing was not their specialty, but Aunt Emma and Aunt Minnie made all of our Sunday best. Although they were our spinster aunts, truth be told, they were the most interesting and exciting. Gezzie and I had heard many scandalous secrets with our ears pushed up tight against the heating grate from our adjoining bedrooms. We tried hard to stifle our giggles while soft-spoken voices spilled out through the opening. They told provocative tales and seem to revel in other’s misfortunes—pure gossip. On occasion, there were aloud readings from salacious novels so offensive that we could have been struck down in an instant by the Almighty just for listening.

They were the best dressmakers in Charleroi and women of substantial means in their own right. Patrons came from miles around to seek their extraordinary creations. I’m certain that’s where they picked up all their tittle-tattle, since they rarely left the house.

They each offered slight hugs. Behave and mind your manners, Aunt Minnie added with a quick pat on my head.

After a long embrace, Aunt Freda abruptly brushed a tear from her cheek and straightened her skirt. The scent of her lavender perfume enveloped me. She was the youngest of my aunts and a rare beauty. She favored no one in the family. Mama said that she looked like an island girl because of her blue-black glossy hair and dark skin.

A whirlwind of memories flooded my mind, particularly those delightful Saturdays that included streetcar rides downtown with her. Our first stop was always the tobacconist, where we would pick up Grandfather’s pipe tobacco. It was a special mixture that consisted of unusual Turkish blends. Incidentally, that’s where Harold worked. He was one of Aunt Freda’s love interests, with whom she flirted shamelessly. Grandfather gravely disapproved of him. Maybe because he was married.

At the end of our excursion, Gezzie and I would be deliciously bribed with extralarge chocolate fizzes from Wagner’s Drugstore. It was Aunt Freda’s surefire way to guarantee that the name Harold Peckenpaugh would never cross our lips.

Uncle Engelbert stopped long enough to plop down the large trunk that he was dragging through the hall. Wiping his sullen face with a handkerchief, he winked at Gezzie and me and slipped us each a quarter. He tweaked our noses and tried to get a smile from us.

Grandmother’s soft arms wrapped around me; her apron smelled of apples. I think she liked me best because I was the image of my father. Gez favored Mama’s side of the family, light hair and skin. Mein Klein, Christen, you be good girl, she whispered.

I thought of her draping a large apron around me and plopping a glob of dough on the table for me to roll out. If I peeled the apples, she would let me bake my own little pie. I stepped back and watched as Grandmother clung tight to my stoic father, her eldest and favorite son. Grandmother slighted everyone else at times, even Grandfather. She always put Papa first. Mein Johnny, Mein Johnny, she whispered as she sobbed quietly. Her mood was somber.

My aunts took their turn bidding him a tearful farewell. The exchange between Mama, Grandmother, and my aunts was obviously constrained. There were no tears for Mama. The aunts hurried behind Grandmother and headed toward the kitchen to retrieve jams, cookies, and breads for our journey. There was no mention of Grandfather.

Gezzie fidgeted and complained about everything from her itchy collar down to her too-tight Mary Janes. Mama instructed us to wait out by the road while she busied herself helping Papa.

Where is Grandfather, I whispered to Gezzie as we walked onto the porch. He should be here.

"How would I know? You are his Kleiny Shatten, always following him around," she retorted.

I dropped my satchel and darted toward the cellar door. I knew Grandfather would be there. Grandfather, I called out and began walking down the steps.

The cellar was vacant except for his workbench that was covered with feather-flies randomly spread over the top. I would stand for hours, next to his bench, watching him tie his fish-flies. His best and most beautiful ones came from brightly colored feathers that I snatched from Aunt Freda’s hats. She never even missed them.

Gezzie called me from the top of the stairs. I grabbed a bright green feather-fly and carefully shoved it into the pocket of my dress. I remember well that hot, dreadful morning. I felt a sense of panic when a large carriage, pulled by an old workhorse, rambling up the street, making small dust clouds.

Uncle Engelbert shook Papa’s hand, and they talked for a while. They were both tall and strikingly handsome. Their black hair combed the same way, and they shared Grandmother’s olive skin. The only difference was in the eyes. Uncle Engelbert’s were brown, and Papa’s were emerald-green, like mine. They parted, and Uncle Engelbert walked down the street toward town. Perhaps he would bring Grandfather back, and he would insist that we stay.

A hairy armed man wiped his face with his shirt before helping Papa load the last of our belongings. The wheels on the carriage moved slowly. I looked back and watched Grandmother and my aunts until they got smaller and smaller and finally disappeared around the corner.

We quickly arrived at the Twelve Street Station. We waited on the platform with Mama while Papa purchased our tickets. A group of businessmen paused in their step to tip their hats at Mama. She quickly turned her head. The attention clearly made her uncomfortable. I never gave much thought to how striking she was. On this day, she