It's Not a Dusty Old Story, It's a Beginning
My Evening Experience on the Anniversary of The Darr Mine Disaster
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It’s Not a Dusty Old Story, It’s a Beginning
I listened to a speech last night that made the hair on my arms prickle with a feeling of some long worked at energy, finally slipping into place. The venue was an old stone church turned historical society. Run by that so rare example of a small-town volunteer team who work together like a well-oiled portal fan, pulling in fresh air so the whole coal mine can breathe. Let me try to set the scene, because you may think places like this don’t exist anymore.
Not a spot of dust on any of the hundreds of curated coal mining artifacts, labeled carefully and correctly. This fills me with the compulsion to go and dust my whole studio. I’m sure it will pass. Not my passing of the dust test. My need to do the dusting.
The red, white, and blue of the American flag in all its creative forms; buntings, standard flags both old and new versions, some old for real, others old in spirit. WE THE PEOPLE calligraphed in bold up behind the now de-consecrated sanctuary. Before a word is spoken, you feel the America. The kind that feels no need to apologize for itself. The audience settles into the old church pews, with custom cushions so you want to keep sitting. Every pew is full. Before the official presentation begins, we are invited to stand and with a formality so close to forgotten, we say the Pledge of Allegiance together. Why does this feel radical? I knew to expect it, having been to these events, but it still shocks me. Just as shocking is my perfect repeating of each word, after so many years of disuse. I want more of this.
After a quick prayer and moment of silence for dead coal miners, which is the reason we are all here, Mr. John Hepple begins his program. Today is December 19th, the 117th anniversary of the Darr Mine Disaster and he has been giving this presentation every year to share the history of our little corner of Southwestern Pennsylvania coal, which is really the history of all Americans. He proudly, and rightly, explains that even though he does this annually, it is never the same speech. He finds new wrinkles, new stories to unearth each time. I can feel Erika Johnson, who is sitting in the pew behind me, smile to herself. She does the same with every Ruins tour. We take pride also, in saying that no two Ruins Tours are alike. They are history, but they are also now, and you as a guest, are a part of that now.
Tonight, we learn basic coal mine vocabulary. We learn about the importance of safety lamps and how they worked. We learn about how exactly the methane and the coal dust created the first ignition spark that then triggered dozens more explosions moving with lightning speed through the entire labyrinth of the Darr tunnel system. We learn the difficult truth that there is still no final agreed upon fact as to who, if anyone, was at fault for the most devastating coal mining disaster in Pennsylvania history. We learn that men still carried canaries into coal mines all the way up to the modern year of 1968.
Then, Mr. Hepple introduces us to the people. The hard to hear details of women who lost not just husband. Not just father. But brother too. Whole families wiped out. Just made widows throwing themselves into the frigid Youghiogheny River in suicidal despair. We see Ellis Island paperwork, we look carefully at old photographs to pinpoint three-piece suits, differences in hat styles, the rough hands of men who worked with the mine horses. A good story is in the details, and Mr. Hepple has the magic that keeps his audience quiet, rapt, and grateful to be in the room.
But then came the ending. That’s when he did that thing that only master storytellers understand. He turned the whole old evening on its head and made it about the right now. He shared photos of our Darr Mine Memorial Mosaics, that project that so many of us sunk our energy into in 2024. Mr. Hepple shared one of his favorite memories from childhood. Sitting at the kitchen table with his grandfather, the old patch hunky from Pricedale, asking him why he was a coal miner. His grandfather’s answer now reverberates in all of our ears. “I mined coal, so YOU don’t have to.”
Mr. Hepple explained that the 239 mosaic miner tags point, not to a dusty old story, but to a beginning. We have the luxury to make art because they made the ultimate sacrifice. The responsibility to make the best art we can is implied. He made me stand and be acknowledged for what he sees as the beginning of something new. It has taken me ten years to get to that moment last night that felt better than any award or grant or magazine article. The moment when an old patch hunky who comes from coal gave me the nod and said, well done, Rachel.
You can begin to learn more, much more, about the Darr here.
You can listen to John Hepple, The Preservationist episode of The Ruins Podcast here.
You can become a member of or donate to The Rostraver Historical Society, here.
You can visit The Darr Memorial Mosaics at milemarker 105.5 on The Great Allegheny Passage Bike Trail.
Thank you for being here with me as I keep digging for optimism.
Some days with a hammer, some days with a shovel. And some days with a pen.
Thank you for sharing your beautiful stories with us. And, congratulations on all of your hard work, dedication, and vision to creating something so powerful and moving. You've literally become the canary that sings about the coal mine. <3
I love your writing as much as your art. You have a gift for both.