Sibling Assignment #63: Silver Valley Voices

Silver Valley Girl assigned this week's sibling assignment and it's pretty straightforward:

What is it about telling people you were born and raised in Kellogg that gives you a sense of pride?

InlandEmpireGirl's post remembering the good times is here. Silver Valley Girl's will be coming before long.

Kellogg and the Silver Valley has dominated my instruction the last two class meetings in the American Working Class Literature/Research Writing course I help teach.

Wednesday I read a paper I wrote about coming to need the poetry of Richard Hugo as a way of sorting out what I experienced growing up in Kellogg. Today I showed the film "You Are My Sunshine" which unfolds the story of the 1972 Sunshine Mine Fire with interviews with survivors of the fire.

I can hear myself speaking with pride in my voice as I talk about being from Kellogg, even as many of the things I talk about, the danger, death, pollution, disasters, and other dark things, color my stories and insights.

Today, I've been haunted by "You Are My Sunshine". I've watched the film at least ten times and each time the way the miners, and some others, talk about the mine fire unsettles me. On a day to day basis, I work with highly articulate, highly educated fellow instructors. Regularly, I hear polished speech, advanced vocabulary, conversation that is stimulating and genuine.

What unsettles me is that the voices of the miners are the voices I listened to all through my youth and that I slowly left behind after I was nearly killed in the Zinc Plant and as I pursued college degrees.

Today I was proud to know that the essence of my being is rooted in the men's voices of the Silver Valley.

How can I describe those voices? How can I describe the emotion that wells up inside as I hear these men speak?

Here's the best I can do.

My experience working in the Bunker Hill Zinc Plant was that I was in the midst something larger than I could understand and that had the power to injure, or even kill me, at any moment. And I wasn't underground. I've never worked underground.

My sense, though, when I read stories and books about mining and as I listen to miners speak in person or on film, is that to go into a mine is to enter into the most powerful of all natural environments. It is going into the heart of gravity. The earth is shifting, buckling. Men are in tunnels and gravity is always pulling down. That means nature's force's inclination is to pull down the roofs above the miners. Rocks burst. The hard rock is stubborn and must be blown loose with explosives and powerful drills.

Moreover, going into the depth of nature is to tunnel into heat. With technological genius, the minding industry has devised ventilation systems to combat the heat, but miners often work beyond the reach of these systems.

The miners' voices in "You Are My Sunshine", as well as the deeply lined looks on their faces, were colored by awe, by trying to talk about an incomprehensible fire in a work place defined by natural forces always just beyond human control.

Their voices were proud without being in the least bit haughty; they were courageous without being defiant. Their voices spoke of expertise. They knew the mine. At the same time, they spoke of things that were so far beyond understanding that there was bewilderment, a kind of humility, a respect. Sometimes their sentences were jumbled; often they were searching for how to say what they had experienced, not out of a lack of intelligence, but because when it comes to talking about men being killed in a mine, there really isn't polished language for it.

What I'm trying to say is that I could always hear this tone in the voices I grew up with. I didn't understand it at the time, but as I remember hearing the men in my life talk, I now believe that the mine or the plant or the smelter or the phosphoric acid plant was always in their voices.

I am proud of these voices I grew up with and as I grow older I understand more deeply all the time that we all live in a world beyond our comprehension, and that when I can hear my own voice colored by this humbling fact, I realize I came by this knowledge and my voice very honestly.

The Onion: Ripping People Like Me

Would you find it odd to learn that the people in this life I often find the weirdest and the ripest for satire are people who share my world view?

My world view is to the left of center with a strong seasoning of libertarnianism and a devotion to the Christian faith. I don't know exactly how that can be, but I'm pretty much done trying to explain my own, let alone anyone else's, contradictory nature.

I've always loved fun poked at Christianity, and relished any satire of the denomination I belong to, Episcopalianism. There's so much to make fun of, ranging from the absurdity of the virgin birth and resurrection to, in Episcopalianism, the garb of the clergy, the wide variety of social and ecclesiastical positions that Episcopalians hold, the consumption of alcohol (when two or more Episcopalians are gathered, there's always a fifth), and so on.

When I was in college, I used to get my hands on the Wittenberg Door from time to time, a Christian satire publication, written and published by Christians, and I loved it.

When it comes to politics, I realize that people I admire and agree with are totally lampoonable (is that a word?). Peace demonstrators, pro-choice fanatics, feminists, enforcers of political correctness, Affirmative Action: at a level not difficult to unearth, it all has levels of silliness, whether the silliness is being exposed by Rush Limbaugh or Jon Stewart.

The vehicle I trust most for satire of all kinds, whether political, social, sports-related, media-related, or realted to current pop events is The Onion.

The Onion knows no sacred cows. Whether it's Barry Bonds, alzheimer's patients, welfare mothers, obesity, Hillary Clinton, the Bush Administration, illegal immigrants, Democrats, Republicans, Tom Hanks, Paris Hilton, PETA, the events surrounding 9/11 or anyone or anything else, The Onion will satirize it.

Media are always criticized for having an agenda, of favoring one social/political perspective over another. The Onion cannot be criticized for leaning one way or another. Everything is fair game and at least once a week I laugh out loud at a piece that I can't believe they actually ran because, by most standards, it is so irreverent, so politically incorrect.

It's this even-handed justice, of seeing everything as potentially ridiculous, that makes The Onion irresistable to me. If I ever start getting self-righteous or begin to see something in absolute terms, along comes The Onion and blasts it apart.

I was a teenager in Kellogg when the Sunshine Mine fire occurred and it was one of the most sober and grievous disasters in Idaho, if not USA history. In my adult years, I've tried to follow other mining disasters and try to understand the neglect and loss that causes and follows them.

So, I couldn't believe it when The Onion found a way to satirize mining disasters. If anything was going to say to me that The Onion went too far, it would be the following piece, but in some deeply comic place in my soul, I found this funny and it gave me a certain persepctive on these mining tragedies and the people who lend their support to those trapped and their families:

Dozens Trapped In Candlelight Vigil For Coal Miners

HARLAN COUNTY, KY—A candlelight vigil Tuesday night outside the Drum Ridge mine, where eight coal miners are believed to be confined, left an estimated 55 residents trapped with no means of socially acceptable escape.

Attendees said they had originally hoped that the vigil would last "two or three hours at most." But as the gathering stretched into its fourth hour in freezing weather with no word of the miners' fate, their faith began to waver.

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Area residents attempt to burn through their votive candle supply in an attempt to escape the vigil.

"I've been here a long time lending my emotional support, and I don't see any way out," Evarts resident Rebecca Sayles said. "I'm praying they find those men very, very soon."

With no food, a dwindling supply of hot coffee, the mine office's restrooms padlocked for the night, and the sole heat source the flickering flames of votive candles, hope was fading fast for a positive conclusion, or even just a conclusion, to the vigil.

"I can't believe it's only 10:30 p.m.," said South Wallins resident Pat Meacham, who said he had checked his watch nearly two dozen times since arriving. "The seconds, they feel like minutes, and the minutes, like hours. There's no end in sight."

Candlelight-vigil participants report that the presence of 28 relatives of the trapped miners is preventing an easy exit. One attendant noted that many family members were inadvertently blocking every route to the parking lot.

Many vigil participants reported a "suffocating" atmosphere, one worsened by the singing of church hymns and emotionally charged interactions with the miners' loved ones.

Though they were aware of the dangerous emotional conditions at vigils, many participants said they had ignored the warnings.

"I've been here four hours," said local realtor Margaret Clayton . "Every time I try to walk over to Mrs. Knauer to tell her goodnight, she has this 'the father of my children is trapped 350 feet underground' look on her face, and I just can't do it."

Attendees report that they have been "racking their brains," trying to think of a way to get out.

"The Stevens used the 'leaving to get more candles' tactic," local business owner Mark Peters said. "That was two hours ago, and I have faith that they were successful."

He added: "Right now, I'm praying for a miracle, such as an urgent phone call."

Near the five-hour mark, many attendees said they began to wonder about the rules, if any, of candlelight-vigil etiquette. Some were uncertain whether they could leave once news of the miners' fate was delivered, or if they would have to first wait for the emergence of a miner.

"I don't think I can leave until they find at least one of the miners," said gas station attendant Stuart Jenkins, who claimed that he was going to "pass out" if he didn't get to eat soon. "Maybe two, if the first one brought out is dead."

After the arrival of the WHAS-11 I-Team news van at approximately 11:30 p.m., the remaining vigil attendees reported that any hope for escape had been eliminated.

"I just want to go home," Harlan County resident Susan Rafferty said. "But now I'm cornered in every direction by the bereaved, and the whole state is watching."

Rescue crews, working feverishly to reach the trapped miners, asked to be allowed to continue their rescue operation without interruption.

"We understand that many in attendance are impatient," rescue worker Brian Turner said. "However, we can't stop every two minutes to answer questions about what kind of progress we're making, or how long we think it'll take to bring a drill from out of town, or what time the liquor store down the road closes."

When local pastor Michael Sloane arrived with 20 boxes of additional candles at approximately 12:20 a.m., adding untold hours to the vigil, one participant enjoyed a unique perspective. Ron Chernow, who had managed to escape from the candlelight vigil three hours earlier through a small opening in the emotional wreckage, spoke from his warm couch as he watched the live coverage on WHAS-11.

"My heart goes out to the victims of this awful situation," he said


Are there things that just should't be satirized? I don't know. But somehow I found comic relief in this piece.

I keep hearing that our culture has lost its sense of humor. Certainly I hear time and time again that there are things in life that just aren't funny.

The Onion helps me resist those hectoring, self-righteous voices. Sometimes it's laughing at things that helps me achieve an equilibrium within myself to feel sadness more deeply and helps me strengten my resolve in realtion to things in life I hold dear.

Sometimes I need a little distance so my feelings of grief and outrage and commitment can have a rest.

Laughter is refreshing. It doesn't cancel out my other feelings.

It helps renew and strenghten them.

Three Beautiful Things 05/17/07: Needing Hugo, Sunshine, Vitality

1. In October 2002 I gave a public lecture to commemorate the twenty year anniversary of the death of Montana poet Richard Hugo. I've reworked this lecture several times and presented my newest version of "On Needing Richard Hugo" to our students in Am. Working Class Lit/Research Writing. It went over very well.

2. I also showed the video "You Are My Sunshine", featuring interviews with miner who survived the 1972 Sunshine Mine fire and others. A deep hush came over the room.

3. I loved working with poems exploring what gives life vitality in my Lit of Comedy class tonight. I hope my students are understanding better how poetry works and are losing the idea that poetry requires deciphering and looking for hidden meaning or reading between the lines. I hope they are learning to let the poems work on them rather than always working one the poems.

Sunshine Mine Fire Poetry

I plan to write a series of poems that all have the Sunshine Mine fire as a part of their story. I don't find the poems that narrate what happened in the mine during the disaster to be very satisfying. For me, poems that have the fire as an almost off-stage event, but an event that unsettles everyday details of the survivors' lives work better for me. Here's my first:

Free

Down in the Jewell Shaft of the Sunshine Mine
The men called bologna horse cock
And the miner who loved horse cock most was
Carl Nash. His hands chewed and bloody
From shoveling mine car after mine car of muck,
At lunch Carl unfolded a cloth napkin on the lunchroom
Table and laid out his horse cock and onion sandwich,
Prayed thanks, and ate it like bread at the communion rail.

Billy trudged down two houses after each snow fall
And heaved shovel after shovel into tall berms to clear
The way for Carl Nash to tell Billy he shovelled snow
Like a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest
And drive his Rambler Ambassador on to the glass road
Leading up Big Creek Gulch and day shift at the Sunshine Mine.

When the mine fire hit the lunch room at the 4100
Level, Carl Nash died with a cloth napkin unfolded
And dropped his nose into his spongy horse cock sandwich.
Months later snow fell hard and deep and Billy
Trudged down and offered to shovel snow for Mrs. Nash,
Who thanked him very much but couldn’t afford to pay him
Like Carl did. Billy trudged back toward home
And turned around and knocked again on Mrs. Nash’s door
And said, “It’s okay. I’ll shovel your walk for free.”