Square led his students back to the classroom, all of them walking stiffly in their heavy new boots. They walked past the mine superintendent’s office where Cable watched them parade by. Song squared her shoulders and showed off in her red helmet. Mole came out on the porch and said something, and then he and Cable laughed and went back inside. Song’s lip went out a bit, but she kept marching.
In the classroom, Square began his prepared lessons. There was so much to teach. He began with how a mine was laid out and some of the terms miners used to describe the geological features, such as ribs, the roof, and the face. He also reminded them there were hazards everywhere and nearly an infinite number of ways miners could get themselves killed or seriously injured. Coal miners, he said, could be electrocuted, crushed beneath roof falls, poisoned by carbon monoxide, blown up by methane, run over by any number of machines, cut to pieces by continuous miners, and eviscerated by exploding pillars, not to mention all the knocks and contusions inevitable in tight spaces.
Over time, coal miners were prey to rock dust silicosis, coal dust pneumoconiosis—black lung—sprung backs, busted knees, amputations, broken legs, broken arms, broken heads, and crushed fingers, toes, and nearly every other part of the anatomy. Square did not hold back from using examples. He named names of miners he’d known who had suffered each of the awful possibilities. “Your daddy,” he told the Harper brothers, “wasn’t in the mine, but he was high up on a steel walkway that was slick from rain. One false step . . .”
“Daddy was always so sure-footed too,” Chevrolet said sadly.
Song recalled Constable Petrie’s suspicions about Squirrel’s death. As far as she knew, he hadn’t investigated further. The next time she saw him, she would have to ask him about that.
Square went on. “You Highcoal boys all know Mr. Tolliver. He’s got a wooden leg. He lost his real leg when a bunch of coal cars ran away on the main line. That was before we started using conveyor belts.”
“His peg leg don’t seem to slow him down none,” Ford said.
“He nearly bled to death before we could get him out,” Square said. “And he was in pain for a long time. That’s why he started drinking ’shine.”
“Guess that’s why he started making it too,” Chevrolet put in.
Square took off his shirt to display a pink scar about two inches long on his back. “Roof bolt got me bad,” he said. “You get tired when you’re walking, you straighten up, and they take a piece out of your hide.”
“I ain’t never gonna get tired down there,” Ford piped. “The army got me in good shape. Ain’t no roof bolt gonna get hold of me.”
“The army got you in shape in one way, but not the mining way,” Square said. “You’ll see what I mean once you’re down there.”
In the next nine working days, Square taught his red caps the basics of ventilation, and how to read mine maps, and how to set timbers and build cribs to support the roof and the ribs. They learned about the different kinds of underground coal mining, the traditional but obsolete way of undercutting the face, drilling it, and shooting it with dynamite, and the modern methods of continuous mining machines with spinning cutting heads. They learned about computerized long wall and short wall hardware that tore through vast lengths of coal. They learned to recognize shuttle cars, loaders, cutting machines, drilling machines, scoops, rock dusters, locomotives, and the little electric cars called jeeps.
Then Square loaded them up in his SUV and took them along a dirt road back into a hollow where there was a small mine in the side of a mountain. He called it a “punch mine,” and the three miners who were working it were outside, sitting on benches having lunch. “Y’all be careful with them shiny new red caps,” one of them called as Square led his students inside. Since they weren’t wearing helmet lamps, they didn’t go very far, but Square used a flashlight to point out roof bolts, timbers, and cribs. He tapped on the rock overhead with a brass-capped stick, telling them what to listen for when trying to find out if it was a good or bad roof. He walked them over to an entry where the coal was low so they could get a sense of what it was like. Song had always loved to learn new things. “I think I’m looking forward to going inside the mine,” she told Gilberto.
“Not me,” he answered, looking at the roof with worried eyes. “Not with a whole mountain on top of me. I’m plenty scared.”
“You’ll be all right,” Song answered.
“I keep thinking about all the ways there is to get hurt.”
“Then don’t think about it.”
“But Mr. Block said we should think about safety all the time.”
He had her there.
On Thursday afternoon, Square’s lesson was on the use of the self-contained self-rescuers, which he called by its initials SCSR. Ess-See-Ess-Are.
“This is the first line of defense when air becomes bad,” Square explained, holding up a small aluminum box with a belt clip on it. “Carbon monoxide is a killer gas in a mine. Sometimes miners just call it See-Oh. No matter what it’s called, it’s a silent killer that will put you to sleep and you never wake up. You can’t see it, and you can’t smell it. That’s why your foreman carries with him what they call a spotter or gas monitor. They’re electronic devices that can detect the percentages of the various gases in the air. He’ll be checking it all the time, to make sure there’s not too much CO. He’ll also check for methane, which is an explosive gas.”
Song raised her hand. “What causes methane and CO to get into the air?”
“Good question—I was just getting to it. Methane naturally seeps out of the coal. It’s part of the same process that created the coal out of dead plants. CO is caused by something burning. Methane, maybe. Sometimes—and this is the worst thing that can happen in a mine because it’s so hard to put out—the coal itself catches on fire.” He lifted a pair of goggles from the table. “Where there’s anything burning, there’s going to be smoke. In that case, wearing goggles like these will help you see where you’re going. A pair is included in every SCSR pack.”
Square showed them how to flip the lever on the SCSR pack and remove the cover. He took out the flimsy goggles and set them aside and then held up a gray plastic module with a white plastic bag hanging from it. Attached to the module was a mouthpiece and nose clips with a thin cloth strap. To demonstrate how to use it, Square put the strap over his neck, then put the mouthpiece in his mouth and clipped on the nose clips.
After removing the mouthpiece, Square said, “An SCSR is a self-contained oxygen breathing apparatus. It’ll last about an hour if you’re resting. The harder you work, the more oxygen you use, so it goes faster. You’ll be issued a SCSR and attach it to your belt. You’ll go nowhere in the mine without it. Everybody with me on this?”
When all nodded, Square asked Song to come up and try on the apparatus.
Song took the canister and flipped the lever on top. It was not easy to open, but she managed and drew out the assembly inside. She slipped its strap over her head, twisted the mouthpiece, and put on the nose clips, then took a breath. “It doesn’t work,” she complained.
Square chuckled. “That’s because it’s empty. I just want you to be able to operate it. Here, put your goggles on.”
Song put the goggles on and put the mouthpiece back into her mouth and breathed around its edges.
“You look like a fish,” Chevrolet said and the others laughed.
One by one, each student tried on the rebreathers and each got laughed at. Gilberto had the most difficulty. “It makes me feel sick,” he confessed.
“If you ever have to use one of these for real, you’ll do it,” Square assured him. “Your instincts for survival will take over.”
Gilberto hastily unstrapped the rebreather and put it down on the table. “I am afraid of it,” he said. “I am starting to be afraid of everything.”
“That’s okay,” Square said. “I want you to be a little afraid. I also want you to remember being afraid later on, because after a while, yo
u won’t be afraid at all, and you’ll start thinking nothing can happen to you in the mine. That’s when you’ll get hurt.”
When no one commented, Square continued. “Tomorrow, you’ll go into the mine. I’ll go with you for orientation. Then Monday through Friday for the next month, you’ll put in a regular shift with the day miners. During that time, you’ll be moved around to the various sections, do a lot of jobs, always under the supervision of experienced miners and foremen. After your probation period is over, and if you’ve done well, you’ll be able to paint your helmets black. What I’m saying is tomorrow’s the first real day of your career as coal miners. Show up here at five thirty so I can get you ready to go in. Any questions?”
“Can I operate a continuous miner tomorrow?” Chevrolet asked. “It looks like fun.”
“No. But you’ll see one.”
“Can I operate anything?”
Square smiled. “Sure. How does a number four shovel sound?”
Chevrolet narrowed his eyes. “Like work.”
Twenty
Song stood with the other students on the porch of the Cardinal and watched the trucks and cars containing the miners of the hoot-owl shift passing by, bound for home. Several of the veterans tooted their horns at them and called out rude comments such as “You’ll be sor-r-r-r-y!” and “Don’t get them pretty helmets all dirty now!”
The time had come for Square Block’s students to walk in their new hard-toe boots to the mine. Song had worn them everywhere, but they were still stiff. The other red caps complained theirs were too. Now it didn’t matter. They were going inside the mine, stiff boots or not.
It was still dark, and their breath made little clouds of steam in the cold air. Day-shift miners were driving or walking past in the direction of the mine. Rhonda came out on the porch. “You red caps gonna just stand here all day or are you going to work?”
“We’re trying to get up the nerve,” Justin confessed.
Rhonda crossed her arms and looked up the street to the tipple grounds. “My husband was killed in that hole.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” Ford said.
Rhonda laughed. “Honey, I’m just reminding you what you’re about to do. You go inside; you hold hands with death all day. That’s just the way of it. But Henry, that would be Old Henry, used to tell me he’d rather mine coal than anything in the world. So you take the bad and you take the good. Some folks believe your days are numbered anyhow, so you might as well do something you love until you step up to heaven.”
Gilberto swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he confessed. “Having an entire mountain on top of me. That is muy asustadizo, very scary.” He looked with stricken eyes at his classmates. “I might need some help today.”
“If you get scared, just reach out and hold my hand, Gilberto,” Song said. “And don’t any of you boys say a thing about it!”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothing,” Chevrolet said. “Hell, I might want to hold your hand myself.”
“I wouldn’t mind holding your hand now,” Justin said with a shy smile.
Song smiled encouragingly. “Anytime you need to.”
“Okay, that’s our plan,” Ford said. “We hold Song’s hand if we get scared.”
“Agreed,” Justin said.
“Remember, I’ve only got two hands,” Song reminded them.
Rhonda checked her watch. “Don’t make me get my broom and chase y’all off my porch. Get on with you! Time to go to work!”
GO TO WORK they did, feeling self-conscious as they walked onto the tipple grounds and caught the eye of the day shifters. “Nice clean clothes,” one of the miners said with a knowing grin. “That ain’t gonna last long!”
“Welcome, red caps,” Square said in the classroom. “Take a seat. I’m gonna tell you what we’re gonna do and then we’re gonna go do it.” He quickly reviewed the steps every miner took before descending into the mine.
“Any questions? You boys look a mite trepidacious.”
“I keep thinking about an old well in my village,” Gilberto confessed. “Our parents used to warn us about it. They said there were demons in it.”
“Relax, son,” Square said. “There ain’t no monsters in the coal mine. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I’ll be with you all day.”
“Square,” Ford said, “how low a roof are we gonna get into today?”
“Don’t worry about it. I want you boys to start thinking positive.” When all he got was more wide-eyed stares, Square said, “All right, let’s pray.” Everybody, including Song, bowed their heads. Today she figured she could use all the help she could get. “Heavenly Father, please look after these red caps and keep them out of trouble. Help them not to do anything too stupid, like bump their heads, or trip over things. Help them come out of the deep dark with a new understanding of what coal mining is all about. But most of all, keep them safe. That’s all, Lord. You know what’s in our hearts. All right, boys. Let’s hear an amen.”
“Amen!” the red caps echoed.
AFTER THE VETERAN miners had descended down the shaft, Square and his students went through the procedures necessary to enter the mine. In the bathhouse, the boys drew down empty baskets to see how they worked. “Why don’t they just have lockers?” Justin asked.
“Takes up less room, these baskets. Song, though, she’s got a locker in her room.”
There were actually two lockers in the tiny bathroom with a separate door allotted for women, and one had a padlock on it. It had a sticker of the great seal of West Virginia on it. The locker was surely assigned to Governor Michelle Godfrey. There was but one shower stall, and Song hoped she and Michelle would never have to compete for it. It wouldn’t be today, at least. Rhonda had told her Michelle was having to deal with a particularly rambunctious state legislature and would be in Charleston for a while. That was good news. If Song could figure out why the mine wasn’t meeting its quota, she could be out of town before the voluptuous governor returned. She never wanted to see her triumphant face again. As far as Song was concerned, if the governor wanted Cable, then she could have him. They’d make a fine pair, anyway. She could be the brains in the family, and he could stupidly mine stupid coal to his stupid heart’s content.
Square tapped on her helmet. “Pay attention, please,” he said.
Song blushed while the other red caps laughed. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“What were you thinking about?” Square asked.
“Um. Methane. I wondered why it burns.”
“Because it does,” Square said, frowning. “God made it that way.”
Song plunged on. “But why?”
“That’s a question for Preacher, I reckon.”
“I’ll be sure to ask him,” Song said dryly.
“You sure are philosophical,” Chevrolet said.
“I don’t mean to be,” Song answered, then glanced at the young man. He was practically swooning. His puppy love in her direction was all too evident.
The next step, Square said, was to go to the lamp house to receive helmet lamps and SCSRs. The lamps consisted of a light that clipped on the front of the helmet with an electrical cord leading to a thick, heavy battery with belt clips. On the battery was a brass tag with a number on it. Song’s number was 415. The lamp house supervisor, called the lamp man, took another tag just like it and hung it from a peg beneath the number 415 on a dark green board.
“It just takes a glance at the board to see who’s in the mine,” Square explained. “They see that tag hung next to 415, it means you’re inside. When you turn in your battery, the lamp man will take your tag off the board. It’s a simple system and it works.”
They next received an SCSR. Added to the weight of the lamp battery, Song now had nearly eight pounds tugging on her miner’s belt. When she clipped the light on her red helmet, the extra ounces pressed down on her head like a circular vise. She suspected a headache would soon be on its way. She walked a few steps to get t
he feel of the new equipment hanging on her, then glanced at Cable’s office, half hoping to see him watching her from the door. He wasn’t there but Mole was. He was wearing a big grin and gave her a thumb’s up. Song ignored him.
Square led them to the manlift, but it was in transition, the left side heading down with the right side coming up. When the right lift reached ground level, Song saw its freight was Cable and Bossman. Their faces were soot black. Cable’s eyes cut toward her, then looked away. He said something to Bossman who smiled, and then they trudged toward the office, their heads down in deep conversation. Song again told herself to wipe Cable from her mind. She would deal with him later, after she’d figured out what was wrong with his mine.
“Okay, red caps,” Square said. “It’s time to go below.”
The gate was open, the gate attendant smiling at the nervous novices. After being patted down by the attendant, the boys filed aboard with Song bringing up the rear. “Um, ma’am, I should pat you down for matches or lighters,” the gate attendant said.
“She doesn’t have either one, Elbow,” Square put in. “Do you, Song?”
Song shook her head but said, “If the boys get patted down, then I should too. I don’t want to be any different.”
Elbow raised his hands, then put them down. “Ma’am, I trust you. You go right ahead.”
“If Einstein’s watching, he could fine the company,” Square said.
“I’ll take that chance, Square,” Elbow said, his face crimson. “If my mrs. heard I patted Mrs. Jordan down, I guess the fine would be a little higher. If you get my meaning.”
Square laughed, as did several other men standing around pretending not to be listening.
It was time for Song to go beneath the mountains of Highcoal to learn how to be a coal miner. It seemed like a dream. Get it done, Song told herself, and stepped aboard the manlift. Chevrolet stuck out his hand and she shook it.