Wednesday marked the 100th anniversary of the rescue of five western Kentucky men who were trapped underground after a Livingston County zinc and fluorspar mine caved in, burying them alive without food for more than six days.
To commemorate the survival tale and recognize the rescue efforts at the Hudson Mine, the Livingston County Historical and Genealogical Society partnered with the Ben E. Clement Mineral Museum to host a centennial celebration. The event over the weekend featured a breakdown of what led to the cave-in and how the community came together for the rescue operation, discussions about how mine safety regulations have evolved since the cave-in and a live music performance with tunes about the Hudson Mine collapse and gospel songs workers would have listened to a century ago.
Andrea Clement, vice president of the Clement Mineral Museum’s board of directors, said Saturday’s event was an opportunity to bring together community members who have been shaped by the region’s fluorspar and coal mining industries along with descendants of the five Hudson Mine cave-in survivors and those who helped rescue them.
“This was probably the first time in 100 years that all of our families [are] represented [and] are back in one spot in the same place at the same time,” Clement said.
Against all odds, all found alive inside collapsed mine
The Hudson Mine started operations in the 1890s in the Illinois-Kentucky Fluorspar District along the Ohio River. In addition to mining the mineral known for its vibrant colors, workers at the site just outside of Salem, Kentucky, also extracted zinc.
At this site was an abandoned pit 90 feet deep that had accumulated water along with old mining poles, timber, wood chips and other refuse. Some of the mine shafts where workers extracted zinc and fluorspar were dug under this pit.
Bo Moodie comes from generations of fluorspar mine operators, and was passed down stories of the Hudson Mine rescue. Based on first-hand accounts and primary sources, he said the 1926 cave-in seemed inevitable – so much so that the more experienced miners would tell the younger ones what to do if they ever heard water rushing into the shafts.
“It wasn't really so much if this happens as when this happens: ‘This is what you're going to need to do to survive,’” Moodie said.
That’s exactly what happened on the night of Aug. 5, 1926.
The weight of the materials in the pit caused a wall inside the mine to collapse – quickly flooding the underground shafts beneath it. Two workers managed to escape by getting into a mud bucket that men above the surface lifted up through the main shaft.
At the time the floodwaters hit, four workers – George Cattilla, Randolph Cobb, Harry Watson and U.B. Wilson – were inside of a cave-like space called a stope extracting zinc. A fifth man, Roy James, heard the floodwaters coming, and ran up into the stope to warn the others. But by the time he got to them, the flooding had blocked their way out. The five miners were then trapped without food and with little drinking water more than a hundred feet below the surface. Their only sources of light were carbide lights on their hats – which relied on the chemical reaction between calcium carbide pellets and water to produce a white flame.
As news of the collapse spread, nearby mines shut down operations and sent over workers to aid with rescue efforts. Several drills and water pumps were brought in to try and remove the water and muck, but some had to be replaced as the machines kept either breaking down or clogging up. The rescuers also attempted to get air to the trapped men by using drills to bore holes in the ground to the approximate area of the stope.
The crowd that gathered around the industrial site was so big that Kentucky’s National Guard had to be called in to corral the more than 500 people that had gathered to gawk, to pray and to help support rescue efforts. Clement said the surrounding community was not going to give up on the entombed miners.
“Someone would say all that for just five guys. I mean, is it really too small?” Clement said. “It wasn't a major effort for like 100 people. It was five. Would you still spend that much? And the answer is yes, and they did.”
After three days underground, the trapped miners ran out of pellets to power their lamps. According to local newspapers, the five men held prayer meetings, and ultimately decided to all pencil in the same message on cloth caps on the chance that the rescue became a mission to recover their bodies: “If we are dead, when you find us, we are saved.”
Six days after the cave-in, an Evansville, Indiana, radio station had the idea to bring out a microphone and other audio equipment to see if it could be lowered into the mine and to pick up any noises the miners could be making. The mic – once installed at the bottom of the mine shaft, and with its signal amplified – brought to the surface sounds of tapping and, to the rescuers’ relief, the sounds of the miners’ voices.
With that confirmation of life, mine superintendents aboveground assembled a group of 14 workers to head down in waist-deep water and form a relay team to help the trapped men get back up to the surface. The first man to get to the men inside of the stope was Randolph Cobb’s brother Freeman.
In all, the five miners were trapped for 153 hours before finally walking out of the mine in the early morning hours of Aug. 12, 1926. Local newspapers later reported that the freed miners planned to seek other careers after they escaped death underground.
Community, then and now
Moodie said the rescue would not have been possible without the surrounding communities banding together in the face of potential tragedy.
“We all have common roots, common goals, common ancestry, and so it's just when somebody's in trouble, they come to help.”
Fluorspar mining continued to be the signature industry in the area surrounding Livingston and Crittenden counties until the 1970s, when it became cheaper to import the mineral than to spend resources mining it domestically.
Still, Clement said the industry and its history still unites nearby communities. Though she had already been aware of the history of the collapse, Clement said she started really digging into the surviving documentation – and the legacies of the people involved – three years ago.
“We have their firsthand account, play by play, from the men that were rescued. It's like you could not just get deep enough,” Clement said. “And finding out the people that were involved and the family members, and then finding out that the place I loved to go eat at… that they're direct descendants of one of the volunteer efforts guys that I had a picture of. It's just, it's amazing.”
Clement helped to assemble a centennial celebration of the rescue that took place this past Saturday at Marion’s Fohs Hall.
When guests walked in, they were given color-coded wristbands. Green signified friends or community members without direct connections to the Hudson Mine. Black represented descendants of those who helped rescue the trapped miners. Yellow was saved for descendants of those five miners – people who may not have been there had the community not banded together 100 years ago to save their ancestors.
The organizing committee also had nearly 200-page books printed filled with firsthand accounts, newspaper clippings, photographs, songs and poetry documenting the Hudson Mine rescue. Those books were given out for free to each household in attendance.
Clement said the community was enthusiastic about learning more about this chapter in the region’s history. But it also served as an opportunity for those unfamiliar with their family history to gain appreciation for the events their ancestors went through and survived.
“There was a joy of reconnecting people like this is where you come from…it's something to be proud about.”
