Face Boss: The Memoir of a Western Kentucky Coal Miner

By Michael D. Guillerman

Face Boss tells a story that few people have heard: what it is really like to labor inside the dark and dangerous world of a vast underground coal mine. With unflinching honesty, as well as considerable humor and insight, Michael Guillerman recalls his nearly eighteen years of working as both a union miner and a salaried section foreman-or “face boss”-at the Peabody Coal Company's Camp No. 2 mine in Union County, Kentucky.

Guillerman undertook this memoir because of the many misconceptions about coal mining that were evidenced most recently in the media coverage of the 2006 Sago Mine disaster. Shedding some much-needed light on this little-understood topic, Face Boss is riveting, authentic, and often raw. Guillerman describes in stark detail the risks, dangers, and uncertainties of coal mining: the wildcat and contract strikes, layoffs, shutdowns, mine fires, methane ignitions, squeezes, and injuries. But he also discusses the good times that emerged despite perilous working conditions: the camaraderie and immense sense of accomplishment that came with mining hundreds of tons of coal every day. Along the way, Guillerman spices his narrative with numerous anecdotes from his many years on the job and discusses race relations within mining culture and the expanding role of women in the industry.

While the book contributes significantly to the general knowledge of contemporary mining, Face Boss is also a tribute to those men and women who toil anonymously beneath the rolling hills of western Kentucky and the other coal-rich regions of the United States. More than just the story of one man's life and career, it is a stirring testament to the ingenuity, courage, and perseverance of the American coal miner.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: University of Tennessee Press
• Release date: Mar 14, 2009
• ISBN: 9781572339002

Book preview

FACE BOSS

THE MEMOIR OF A

WESTERN KENTUCKY

COAL MINER

Michael D. Guillerman

The University of Tennessee Press

Knoxville

Copyright © 2009 by The University of Tennessee Press / Knoxville. All Rights Reserved. Manufactured in the United States of America.

Cloth: first printing, 2009. Paper: first printing, 2009.

Frontispiece: Michael D. Guillerman, ca. 1982, standing in the shack of No. 5 Unit, next to the safety board. Unless otherwise credited, photographs and illustrations are courtesy of the author.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Guillerman, Michael D., 1944–

Face boss: the memoir of a western Kentucky coal miner / Michael D. Guillerman.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN-13: 978-1-57233-693-3

ISBN-10: 1-57233-693-5

ISBN: 978-1-57233-773-2 (electronic)

1. Guillerman, Michael D., 1944–

2. Coal miners—Kentucky—Union County—Biography. 3. Coal mining—Kentucky—Union County—History—20th century. 4. Mining camps—Kentucky—Union County—History—20th century. 5. Peabody Coal Company—Biography. 6. United Mine Workers of America—Biography. 7. Labor union members—Kentucky—Union County—Biography. 8. Union County (Ky.)—Biography. 9. Union County (Ky.)—History—20th century. 10. Union County (Ky.)—Social conditions—20th century. I. Title.

HD8039.M62U6266 2009

622’.334092—dc22

[B]

2008032079

TO MARIE

who has stood with me through

thick and thin, good times and bad,

without fear or doubt.

She gave me the strength and

courage to forge ahead.

CONTENTS

Preface

Acknowledgments

1. Coal in Union County

2. My First Impressions of Coal Mining

3. Millions of Tons of Coal

4. Mine Construction

5. Becoming a UMWA Coal Miner

6. Working Underground

7. Inside a Conventional Mining Unit

8. Coal Preparation on a Conventional Mining Unit

9. Loading Coal, Roof Bolting, and the Introduction of the Continuous Miner

10. Underground Beltlines: Conveying Coal to the Stockpile

11. The United Mine Workers of America

12. The Coal Boom and My First Assigned Unit

13. The Wild West

14. My First Bossing Assignment: Hard Times

15. No. 5 Unit: Good Times

16. Women in the Mines

17. Race Relations

18. Camp No. 2 Anecdotes

19. Labor Conflicts and Instability

20. Acid Rain Legislation and Mine Layoffs

21. Coal Dust Surveys and Violations

22. The Big Mine Fire of 1984 and the Push to Reopen the North

23. The TVA and the Alleged Camp Complex Improprieties of 1984

24. A New Superintendent and a Methane Ignition

25. The 1985 Camp Complex Shutdown and Reopening

26. A New Beginning

27. Super Units, Heart Problems, and an Inundation on No. 3 Unit

28. Squeezes on No. 3 and No. 5 Units

29. No. 2 Unit—My Last

Epilogue

Glossary of Mining Terms and Slang

Appendix A. Camp No. 2 Personnel

Appendix B. MSHA Commentary on Camp No. 2 Mine Fire of 1984

Appendix C. Newspaper Articles on Alleged Irregularities at Camp Complex

Appendix D. Report on October 1985 Methane Ignition

Appendix E. Report on March 1990 Inundation Accident

Notes

Index

ILLUSTRATIONS

A.G. Guillerman and His Four Eldest Sons in front of Sand Hill Grocery and Hardware

Jim Dilback

Camp No. 2 Shop and Supply House

Joy 15RU-5 Cutting Machine

Henry Sigers Tramming Acme Roof Bolter

Joy 14BU10 Loader

Room-and-Pillar Mining on Typical Conventional Unit

Concrete-Block Brattice Fitted with Man Door

Jimmie Horne Reclaiming Concrete Blocks from Brattice

Carlos Belt at Controls of Kersey Jeep

Operator Tramming S & S Supply Jeep

John Harris, Surveyor for Camp Complex Mines

John Barnwell Operating Coal Drill

Jerry Wyatt Tamping Drill Holes with Explosives

Robert Nall and Hostler Changing Bits on Cutter Bar

Mike Young Preparing to Shoot Coal Face

Fletcher Roof Bolter

Ricky Newcomb at Controls of Joy 14BU10 Loader

Richard Faulk Pulling Coal on On-Side Shuttle Car

Hugh Winstead Operating Joy 10SC10 Shuttle Car

Donnie Duckworth Drilling Hole in Mine Roof

Don Diehl Installing Four-Foot Roof Bolt

Bill Brewer Operating Continuous Miner

Continental Conveyor Belt Drive

Miners Gathered in Shack for Lunch

Author in 1975, Operating Loader on No. 7 Unit

Two Miners Scuffling

Miners in Mantrip En Route to Unit No. 5

Crew Including Women Miners

Melvin Douglas and Ed Logan

Icicles Hanging from Camp No. 2 Slope Roof

Snag Patterson Standing in High Place

Harold Diebler Shoveling Coal Ribs

Doug Rowans and Jack Edens

Red Duckworth and His Two Sons, Donnie and Ronnie

Underground Belt Line Protected by Arches

Doug Rowans Investigating Squeeze on No. 3 Unit

Partial Map of Camp No. 2 Workings

PREFACE

THERE ARE NUMEROUS REASONS that compelled me to write a memoir of my underground coal-mining experiences, not the least of which is to enlighten the public on what it is like to toil hundreds of feet below the surface in a dark and dangerous place. During my nearly eighteen years of working, both as a union miner and company boss, at the Peabody Coal Company Camp No. 2 mine, located in Union County, Kentucky, I was often questioned about the coal-mining process. I discovered very little information—and even fewer descriptive books—written on the subject from a miner’s perspective. It seemed to me that most people were ill-informed, having obtained their information primarily from movies; unfortunately, most of the films on mining that I’ve seen are trivial, humdrum drivel.

I was also aware of Union County’s rich coal-mining history, which dates to the early 1800s, and of a region abundantly blessed with natural resources. I thought of the location of the three Peabody Camp Complex coal mines, which occupied land acquired through attrition by the federal government during World War II for the construction of Camp Breckenridge, a facility that encompassed thirty-six thousand acres and housed nearly the same number of soldiers and German prisoners of war. To this day, former landowners seek restitution from the federal government for the taking of their lands by less than ethical means. They received no recompense for the vast mineral deposits that lay beneath the fertile soil, which, the government claimed, had only nuisance value.

I reflected on the thousands of miners drawn here from surrounding states and all walks of life—men and women who toiled at the Camp Complex mines, especially the nearly seven hundred miners who worked at the Camp No. 2 mine during its twenty-one years of operation. I considered the vital role the mines played in Union County, affecting thousands of families and impacting the social and economic fabric of the community. I thought of the often turbulent eighteen-year period I worked in the mines: the wildcat and contract strikes, layoffs, shutdowns, reopenings, criminal investigations, mine fires, methane ignitions, squeezes, and injuries, all of which seemed to be part of everyday life for many mining families. I also thought of the good times: the camaraderie and the sense of joy and accomplishment that came with mining coal, along with the good pay and other benefits.

I felt that this important history should be recorded in a tell-all memoir, because if it were not, it would all soon be forgotten. This story is based mostly on my experiences working as a face boss and the many trials, tribulations, and accomplishments associated with this position during the volatile 1980s, when the powerful United Mine Workers of America (UMWA) union was at its pinnacle. I believe that the vast majority of coal miners who worked during this era will concur with this memoir’s contents and that it will foster in them an array of recollections of their own experiences.

For non-miners, this book will take them into a world unlike anything they may have envisioned, a rough-and-tough, testosterone-driven environment—in some ways the epitome of a man’s world, yet one that was flexible enough to accommodate women. These readers will learn about the complex intricacies of the mining processes and the equipment used to extract one of our country’s most valuable natural resources. I think they will be amazed at the sheer vastness of the mines, which lie hundreds of feet below ground and extend for miles in all directions. They may also be taken aback by the crude antics and horseplay that pervade the mine atmosphere but at the same time be impressed by the remarkable ingenuity, perseverance, and courage of the coal miner.

Finally, I hope that this book will prove a lasting testament to the miners whose lives I have described. Many of them are no longer living.

I began writing this history and memoir in October 2005. As I was doing my research, the tragic Sago mine disaster occurred. While watching the endless news reports of the tragedy, I was struck by how little people actually knew about underground coal mining—an industry so vital to our country and its insatiable appetite for energy. I was embarrassed as I listened to clueless news anchors stumble through their broadcasts, displaying unintelligible mine maps, and I was disappointed by the input from so-called mining experts, most of whom were vague, ill-prepared, or uninformed. This sorry situation gave me added incentive to describe in detail the mining process and leave little to the imagination of inquisitive readers. Some readers may find portions of my account too detailed, and if so, I recommend that they skim those pages—though I do feel my descriptions serve a constructive purpose. Because mining methods and technology are constantly and rapidly advancing, what is relevant today may not be so tomorrow. Thus, I feel this emphasis on detail is important—for historical purposes if for no other. Consider, for example, the fate of the conventional mining unit: it represented the dominant type of mining throughout the coal industry up until the mid-1980s, but now it is almost obsolete.

I have added a comprehensive glossary of mining terminology and slang to the back of this book, and I recommend that readers, before they tackle the text, familiarize themselves with these terms. Doing so will unquestionably aid their understanding of a dark and remarkable world.

I have one last hope for this book: that it will be helpful to anyone who may be considering a mining career, though it may prove a deterrent.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

IN RESEARCHING AND WRITING THIS MEMOIR I communicated with many former Camp No. 2 miners who shared their recollections of working at the mine during its many years of operation. For their cooperation and consideration, I wish to acknowledge, in alphabetical order, the following individuals: Jerry Baird, Jim Beasley, Carroll Browning, Junior Chandler, Mike Clark, Pat Cooper, Arnold Culver, Malcolm Franklin, Dan Guillerman, Terry Hird, Richard Holdman, Jimmie Horne, John Jose, Doug Ladd, Kenny LaPradd, Elizabeth Lofton, Ed Logan, Ron Omer, Dale Osborn, Jerry Sheffer, John Steelman, and Jim Young. Others who helped me include Sharon Buckman, Carrie Dillard, and Paula Smith.

A special word of gratitude goes to my wife, Marie, to whom this memoir is dedicated. Without her steadfastness, loyalty, love, and support, there would have been no book.

COAL IN UNION COUNTY

ON AN EARLY MORNING IN JUNE 1974, I found myself sitting in a steel mantrip packed with coal miners and parked at the top of the 1,600-foot Peabody Camp No. 2 mine slope. I was twenty-nine years old, and this would be my first venture into a coal mine. As I nervously peered into the darkness below, I was filled with self-doubt and feelings of vulnerability. I kept telling myself that I was up to the task and had done the right thing by giving up a secure, safe job for this unknown and dangerous world. As the mantrip began slowly descending, my heart raced, though I tried not to show any apprehension to the miners sitting nearby. Knowing they had a cherry aboard, they were doing their best to scare the hell out of me, feeding me tales of impending doom and the peril that lay before me once we reached the bottom of the mine slope—that is, they said, if the hoist rope didn’t break during the descent.

Thirty-three years later, driving the winding country roads through the hills of Union County, I often think of that first day in the mine and the ensuing tumultuous years when I worked underground as a union miner and, later, as a salaried face boss.

As I meander along the narrow roadways through the gently rolling hills and lush valleys, I continue to be awed by the natural beauty and richness of the Union County countryside, the place where my maternal ancestors settled in the early 1800s. A casual visitor driving through this picturesque region may not be aware that beneath the pastoral panorama lie some of the richest coal and oil deposits in the United States. Like most things of great value and beauty, this abundance and richness didn’t happen overnight; it took millions of years to reach its current state.

According to the Kentucky Geological Survey, some 323 million years earlier and during what geologists refer to as the Pennsylvanian Period, the area that is now Kentucky was near the equator. This tropical climate allowed lush vegetation to accumulate into widespread peat bogs from which coal would eventually form. In a process called coalification, the peat underwent several chemical and physical changes over a period of millions of years. Peat deposits were quite varied and contained everything from pristine plant parts such as roots, bark, and spores to decayed plants and animals. Peat deposits typically formed in waterlogged environments, such as bogs and swamps, where plant debris accumulated.

For the peat to become coal, it had to be buried by sediment, which compacted the peat and squeezed out water during the first stages of burial. As sea levels rose, swamps spread across what is now Kentucky. Ultimately, shallow seas covered the swamps more than fifty times during the Pennsylvanian Period, which spanned 33 million years. Continued burial and the addition of heat caused, over time, the complex hydrocarbon compounds in the peat to break down and alter in a variety of ways. The gaseous alteration products such as methane were typically expelled from the deposit, which became increasingly carbon-rich as the other elements dispersed. The stages of this trend proceeded from plant debris through peat, lignite (or immature brown coal), sub-bituminous coal, bituminous coal, and, finally, anthracite (or mature coal). Over the many millions of years, the fossilization of numerous plant and animal remains occurred within the coal deposits. During my years working underground, I observed many fossils. These were mostly small sea shells, leaves, and fish skeletons, but on one occasion, I saw a highly defined giant spider web at least twelve feet in diameter. It was located at the top of a large roof fall in a slate bed.

Because of the squeezing and water loss that accompanied the compaction of peat after burial, it is estimated that it took ten vertical feet of original peat material to produce one vertical foot of bituminous coal in eastern and western Kentucky. Bituminous coal in Kentucky is concentrated in two regions: the Eastern Kentucky Coal Field and the Western Kentucky Coal Field. The Eastern Kentucky Coal Field is the larger of the two and is part of the Appalachian Basin; the Western Kentucky Coal Field lies within the Illinois Basin. All mined coal in Kentucky is bituminous.

Coal occurs in 57 of Kentucky’s 120 counties, including 20 counties in the Western Kentucky Coal Field and 37 counties in the Eastern Kentucky Coal Field. Coal is mined from approximately 45 different seams in Eastern Kentucky and from about 10 seams in Western Kentucky.¹

In 2002, there were 427 mines operating in Kentucky, which produced 131.4 million tons of coal. Two hundred thirty-three underground mines accounted for 61.5 percent of Kentucky’s production, and 194 surface mines accounted for 38.5 percent. Kentucky has always been at or near the top of coal production in the United States. The gross value of coal mined and processed in Kentucky during the fiscal year 2000–01 was $3.14 billion.²

Union County, situated in the western part of the state and bordering both Illinois and Indiana, was the fifty-sixth Kentucky county to be formed; it was taken from part of Henderson County on January 15, 1811. Union is relatively small as Kentucky counties go, consisting of 343 square miles and having a population of 15,500 citizens. Along its northern and western border, for a distance of 36 miles, the Ohio River flows in long, majestic curves. On the northeast border lies Henderson County and to the southwest is Crittenden County, which is separated from Union by the Tradewater River. Webster County borders Union in the southeast. The landscape is generally rolling to hilly, with vast expanses of fertile ground in the river-bottoms area along the Ohio River and the northeastern section of the county—an area once called the flats.³ Ninety-four percent of the land is fertile farmland with 83 percent in cultivation. No other county in the state can claim such attributes. Union County continues a rich tradition as one of the top corn-, wheat-, and soybean-producing counties in the state. For example, in 2007 it was ranked first for Kentucky corn production with a harvest of 14,820,000 bushels from 95,000 acres—an average of 156 bushels per acre.⁴ It also ranks high in livestock production.

Because Union County’s soil is abundantly fertile, it was and continues to be in high demand by farmers, commanding premium prices. During the 1970s, typical farmland sold for an average of nearly $2,000 dollars per acre, which, fortunately, helped to deter strip-mining concerns.⁵

Below Union County’s fertile land lie eighteen numbered coal seams of varying thicknesses. Five of them are considered major veins: the Baker (No. 13), Paradise (No. 12), Herrin (No. 13), Springfield (No. 9), and Davis (No. 6) seams. The No. 9 is the most valuable and mined coal seam not only in Union County but also for the entire Western Kentucky Coal Field. Fortunately for Union County, this thick vein of coal is, on average, 330 feet below the surface, which has made it financially unfeasible for strip miners to remove the overburden to reach the coal seam. Strip ratio feasibility is determined by dividing the amount of overburden, in this case 330 feet, by the thickness of the coal seam, which averages 5 feet in Union County. To Union County’s good fortune, this formula yields a result of 66, which is considered much too high and thus unprofitable, especially when added to the high cost per acre. Strip-mine operators prefer strip ratios in the low 20s, which is the reason why so many such mines are found in the surrounding counties of Hopkins, Muhlenberg, and Ohio, along with nearby counties in southern Indiana and Illinois.⁶

Strip mines, before stringent reclamation laws were put in effect, left a gouged and devastated landscape, a sorry blight rendering much of the land useless for further development. Some of the most striking examples of this devastation can be found in the Eastern Coal Field of Appalachia, which was beset for generations by unethical, devastating, and irreversible coal mining practices. The result was often a toxic environment along with abject poverty and hopelessness.

According to the Appalachian Voice Front Porch Blog, in Kentucky in 1979 there were 47,190 people employed in mining. In 2002 that number had dropped to 17,042 people, a loss of 30,148 mining jobs. During this same period, coal production increased from 67,067,653 tons to 131,402,797 tons—almost double the tonnage but with only a fifth of the labor. Much of this was attributed to the practices of strip mining, which competes with underground coal mining and strips not only the coal from the land but the miners of their jobs.⁷

Mountain top removal is now in vogue in this hapless region. In this form of mining, entire mountains are clear-cut and their tops blown off in one huge explosion, which exposes the coal seam for cheap recovery. At the same time, however, the practice leaves a devastated landscape just as strip mining had done (though operators claim that the level ground resulting from mountain top removal ultimately creates spaces where schools, hospitals, and other facilities can be constructed).

Although Union County is small as Kentucky counties go, it is always at or near the top in agricultural, coal, and oil production. For example, between the years 1836 and 1999, Union County coal mines produced 289,907,954 tons of coal, making it fourth in the Western Kentucky Coal Field for total tons mined. Also noteworthy is the fact that Union County in 2000 produced 601,000 barrels of oil, mostly from the 360-million-year-old Mississippian Age Chester sandstones and carbonates that underlie the county. These astounding numbers are a tribute to the resourceful people who reside in this county and the cornucopia of natural resources with which they are blessed.⁸

MY FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF COAL MINING

IN JUNE 1920, my father, Antonin Tony Gaston Guillermin, seventeen years of age and having witnessed firsthand the horrors of World War I, immigrated to the United States from Lyon, France, to reside at the Owsley Brown Estate at Harrods Creek, near Louisville, Kentucky. He had learned English from listening to and talking with American soldiers, and his move to America was sponsored by Owsley Brown, owner of what would later become the mega-conglomerate Brown Foreman Distillery Corporation. Brown and his wife wanted to hire a young French servant/caretaker and had been introduced to my father by the American consul general, David Herrick.

While living at the Brown Estate, my father attended Spencerian Business College in Louisville, graduating in June 1925. Soon afterward, he secured a job as timekeeper at the construction site of the Uniontown Lock and Dam No. 49, situated on the Ohio River three miles below Uniontown, Kentucky. It was there that he would eventually meet his future wife—and my mother—Mary Catherine Jessie Jenkins. She was a Union County native whose great-grandparents were some of the earliest settlers in the county, dating back to the early 1800s.

In 1929 my parents bought a home across the highway from my mother’s parents, John R. and Mattie Jenkins. The old wood-sided, one-and-a-half-story house was situated on a large lot fronting Highway 130, which led into Uniontown; this area was known as the Sand Hill. Uniontown, situated just below the Sand Hill in the Ohio River floodplain, was flooded almost every year, with some inundations worse than others. When flooded, Uniontown citizens sought refuge in surrounding areas, especially the Sand Hill, only a couple of hundred feet from the rising flood waters but safely out of harm’s way. My grand-parents owned a few acres of land on the Sand Hill, some of which were devoted to a large apple orchard. During floods the orchard became a tent city, filled to capacity with Uniontown residents seeking refuge from the rising waters.

After the devastating 1936 flood, during which Uniontown was nearly washed off the map, my father decided to open a grocery business on the Sand Hill. He had left his job at the Lock and Dam No. 49 site during the Great Depression, around 1929, to serve two years as boss of a Works Progress Administration (WPA) crew installing a sewer-line network in the city of Uniontown. It was also during this period that he Americanized the spelling of his surname, changing Guillermin to Guillerman.

My father’s grocery store, built from a wooden structure he found floating in the Ohio River flood waters, flourished for nearly twenty-five years. I was born on July 31, 1944, and at about twelve years of age I began helping in the store, as did my four older brothers, who by now had all left home; they served tours of duty in the U.S. Army and afterwards pursued advanced educations and careers.

Working in the store at this young age was exciting and challenging. I remember fondly my father’s many regular customers, including the coal miners and oil men who stopped by each day. These men were usually on their way to work and stopped to pick up items for their lunch buckets: lunchmeat, cakes, candy bars, potato chips, chewing gum, and plugs of chewing tobacco. Many of them bought small bags of Bull Durham cigarette tobacco and papers, rolling their own cigarettes to save money. Young and impressionable, I wondered, from reading signs posted in the store, why minors couldn’t buy firearms or alcohol, drive cars, or enter certain establishments. Confusing the word minors with miners, I thought those men who worked underground must be a mean and dangerous bunch. I was also fascinated by the miners’ eyes, wondering why they wore eye makeup, not realizing it was coal dust residue.

One miner in particular comes to mind when I think of the mascara eyes. His name was James Smitty Smith, and he was a friendly, talkative man with longish blond hair. He lived about a mile from the store on a gravel road that ran beside our house. His eyes were always darkly outlined with coal dust, more so than those of any of other miners who stopped by; they contrasted strikingly with his blonde hair and fair skin. Smith, like many miners at the time, was an avid squirrel hunter, and he took me on hunting trips in the Uniontown river bottoms just off Rock Forge Road. This was a special treat for me; though I loved hunting, no one else in my family pursued the pastime.

Our next-door neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Crockett and their children, were the mining family I knew best during this period. Bill Crockett was a lifelong coal miner from Providence, Kentucky, and he moved next door to us in the early 1950s. Mrs. Crockett’s name was Gertrude, and their children’s names were Wilfred, Terry, Stella, and Gloria.

What I remember most about Bill Crockett was his gentle and kind disposition. During all the years growing up next door, I never heard him utter a curse word or raise his voice in anger, no matter what the circumstances were. When I was a teenager, this (along with my experiences working in the grocery store) led me to conclude that all coal miners were like Bill Crockett and James Smith—gentle, kind, and considerate. Many years later I would learn firsthand that this was not necessarily the case—in fact, far from it.

Though this was a period I remember nostalgically, as might be expected when thinking of one’s teenage years, I also recall the unpleasant times, and there were many of those. Working in the store, I discovered how difficult it was for many miners to support their families. For long periods the Uniontown Coal Mine had three-day work weeks, and many of the miners couldn’t earn enough in wages to pay their bills, which made for difficult circumstances for everyone involved. Several of my father’s customers were miners, and I remember them stopping by the store for groceries and not having any money. My father extended them credit, which he did for anyone else who needed it, and many of those bills were never paid. Some were in the hundreds of dollars, a considerable amount at that time. Even when the miners went back to work full-time or had money from other jobs, a few refused to pay off their credit notes. They conveniently forgot how generous my father had been in providing them and their families with groceries during the hard times, when they would have had nothing to eat if not for him. On occasion my father was forced to garnishee the wages of the most hardboiled of his debtors, which caused hard feelings.

I remember two instances when, as a youth, I bore the brunt of this animosity and was verbally accosted by adults, middle-aged men, who owed my father money. I never told my father about one of the incidents, which occurred when I was about fourteen years old, but I did on the other occasion, when I was younger. At the time I was about eleven years old and playing near the Uniontown water tower, which was situated on the Sand Hill overlooking Uniontown, not far from our home and on land owned by my grandparents’ family. I watched as a crew of several men worked around the base of the tower. After a while, a couple of them noticed me and came over, asking me if I was the son of A.G.G. When I told them I was, they began making derogatory remarks about him, which upset me. After they were finished with their unkind words, I ran to the store, where Dad was working.

My father was known to have a well-rounded, vibrant, and pleasant personality; he was well liked by most who knew him. He never used profanity or drank alcohol, unless it was a small glass of wine during supper. He was an avid reader and also had a deep affection for the American West. He enjoyed playing the accordion and harmonica in his spare time and socializing with friends. It took a lot to upset my father, but when it happened, look out! Back at the store I excitedly told him what these two men had said about him. I’ll never forget the look on his face. He immediately left the store and briskly walked toward the water tower, some five hundred feet distant. I followed along close behind, eagerly anticipating what my father might do.

Boldly approaching the group of men, he asked which of them had spoken badly of him to his son. No one said a word. The men sheepishly looked away or at the ground, acting innocent and clueless, as if they didn’t know what he was talking about. Seeing that the two men who had spoken to me had now lost their loose tongues, and emboldened by my father’s presence, I pointed them out. They began stammering and stuttering, denying having said anything to me and implying that I had made it all up. My father, his brows furrowed and teeth clenched, told me to stay put. He then quickly walked in their direction, right up in their faces. I couldn’t hear what Dad said, but I noticed the two men’s faces turn ashen white. They lowered their heads in apparent fear and submission, most likely thinking they were going to get the hell beaten out of them. Not uttering a word, they were obviously frightened of my father, who had a reputation (I later learned) for being able to take care of himself, something he had proven many times during his days of bossing the WPA crew. (Also, my father had taken up boxing after immigrating to this country and had fought in several amateur matches when he was living in Louisville.) Afterward, when I played near the water tower, I never heard a word from those men again. I even walked among them like some proud little rooster, daring them to say something.

For many years my father’s grocery store was a profitable enterprise, and he and my sainted mother managed to raise six sons from its proceeds, along with feeding us well (sometimes too well, I might add). Beginning in the late 1950s, the business began to suffer, and my father lost interest in the store. He also made a couple of bad investments, which cost him a considerable amount of money. Somehow my father suffered through this difficult and stressful period, but eventually, for a host of reasons, he closed the grocery in the early 1960s, converting it to a rental apartment. My brothers and I have many fond memories of the period when the store was in business, often reminiscing about those good ole days.

The closing of the store was not the most difficult loss my family suffered, however. One year before I was born, and after having four sons prior, my parents were finally blessed with a beautiful baby girl named Joan Maxine. On February 23, 1943, only five years later, Joan was riding on the shoulders of one of her big brothers, when she somehow lost her balance and fell off backwards, striking her head on the concrete apron of the basement steps. She died a few days later of an undiagnosed brain aneurism. My entire family was grief stricken, but especially my father who was inconsolable for months. Each day during that period he would walk a quarter-mile to St. Agnes cemetery and mourn at her graveside.

Other than a few bleak periods, Uniontown had a rich coal mining history, its first mines dating from 1858. At this time the Highland Coal Company obtained 4,000 acres of coal rights in the Uniontown area and opened a six-foot coal seam. This mine became famous for the quality of its coal, known as the best in the Ohio Valley. In 1865, this mine was burned by Union soldiers as they retreated from the area toward the end of the Civil War.¹

From the mid-1800s to the early 1900s, Uniontown became the center of a mining and shipping business that extended from Louisville to New Orleans. Three prominent mines were operating in the Uniontown area during this period: the Interstate, Old Southland, and Kingston mines.²

The Interstate mine, which opened in 1920, was located at the north end of Uniontown, just below the Sand Hill. Railroad tracks to the mine followed along the side of the hill for about one mile. I walked these tracks each day to school, and I remember being in awe of the huge, black steam locomotive as it came around the bend to pick up loads of coal at the south end of town. To a grade school kid, the headlight appeared like the eye of a monster. The mine owned and operated a company store, which was situated near the mine site and years later occupied by Sheridan’s Grocery. My father told me of a time in 1928 when Bill Hughes, the mine owner, took him down into the mines for a tour. Because my father had never been in a coal mine before, he looked forward to the experience with trepidation. The portal was a vertical shaft some 250 feet straight down; they descended in a metal cage, the same one used to bring out the coal. The steam hoist operator, seeing that he had a new man to scare, dropped the cage down as fast as it would go, which frightened the dickens out of my father. Once on bottom, Hughes took Dad to the face of the coal and proceeded to light a match, holding it to the ceiling roof. The entire ceiling burst into flames, burning off the methane gas that had accumulated. As a result, that was my dad’s last mine tour. In 1936, this mine became the property of Highland Creek Coal Company.

The Old Southland mine was located at the south end of Uniontown, on the opposite side of the community from our property in the Sand Hill. It produced 150 tons daily and closed in 1926. It was said to be a gaseous mine, but many years later Dorothy Debo McCoy, a secretary at the mine, told me it was safe and undeserving of its dangerous reputation.

The Kingston Coal & Coke Company mine, located in the area just behind what is now called Cottingham Acres, one mile east of Uniontown, is the most infamous of all the former Uniontown mines, mostly because of some murderous violence that ensued after a labor dispute that had prompted Governor A. B. Chandler to send in troops in January 1936. These included a machine gun unit and fifteen troops from Hopkinsville, along with a detachment of twenty riflemen from Marion, Kentucky.

The violence was the result of a walkout by the Kingston miners, represented by the UMWA, who were protesting an unsatisfactory wage scale. They were soon replaced by other miners under terms of the Independent Miners Union. The striking miners retaliated with an ambush. According to the Union County Advocate, The most violent firing, practically all from close range, took place Friday morning as miners ran the gauntlet through an unexpected ambush on the Uniontown road about a mile from the mine. As six cars and a canvas-covered truck proceeded to the mine about 7:00 o’clock, there was a sudden whizzing through the air, and no car in the motorcade es-caped being hit. Firing from a distance of only a few yards away, one sniper shattered the windshield of a car in which was riding O. J. Oates, president of the company. As the paper continued, one bullet went through the top of Mr. Oates’ hat, one went across the laps of those in the rear seat, and just as they leaned over, another went across their backs. The article noted that Paul Meador was killed almost instantly by a shot through his body. It was estimated that around one hundred shots were fired on the motorcade. The slain man, Meador, was a replacement miner riding in another car with the assistant mine foreman; he was only twenty-four years old.

After the motorcade reached the mine, the firing continued from a knoll and the banks of Lost Creek, near the coal pit. National Guardsmen guarding the mines returned fire with machine guns and between seventy-five and one hundred shots were exchanged from both sides.

Later, violence continued as shots were fired at the guardsmen from a high knoll and creek bed. One mine mule was killed during this gun battle. Further precautions were soon taken to guard the mines and miners. As the Union County Advocate noted, Steel plates have been placed at windows and doors at the mine, and a wire fence encircling the property has been wired so that it can be electrified at the throw of a switch. The article further stated that "two trucks used to convey miners from this city to the shaft have been converted into armored vehicles, being lined with steel for the protection of those who ride