For my mother,
without whom I would be nothing.
And for my Gram,
who I could feel looking down on me throughout this whole process,
patiently listening to my complaints thrown at the universe
and telling me “OK. Now get moving.”
What is left of Saint Cyril and Methodius Church sits at 41 East Ruddle Street in Coaldale, Pennsylvania, a true shell of its former self. The beautiful stained glass windows that Slovak miners bought with limited wages have been replaced by boards, the altar and pews where so many prayers were said have been repurposed or sold, and the faithful parishioners that once filled the building have since died or moved on. For outsiders, it is easy to overlook the fact that this church, with its lonely steeple that sits above a lonely street in a lonely town, was witness to nearly a century’s worth of vibrant history. For those who once lived or still live in the area, however, the memories of days past resonate deeply and serve as a constant reminder of what no longer is.
Saint Cyril and Methodius Church serves as an apt metaphor for Coaldale and its entire surrounding region. The counties and towns that make up the anthracite coal mining region of northeastern Pennsylvania have seen a steady, and very painful, decline over the second half of the 20th century. As anthracite, and coal in general, slowly became more and more obsolete, these towns lost their lifeblood, and the bedrock of once proud communities was undermined. The result was, and is, a deep-seated anxiety and fear about the disappearance of a way of life. For people whose great-grandparents, grandparents and parents worked in the mines and forged lives in the neighboring towns, letting go is extremely difficult. In the anthracite region, roots run as deep as the veins of coal beneath the Appalachian Mountains, and all it takes is one trip “up the line” to realize why people feel so connected to their hometowns. This powerful attachment to place has spanned generations of often hardscrabble existence in Coaldale and the surrounding towns, but now faces an existential challenge in the form of deindustrialization.
The anthracite coal mining regions of Pennsylvania provide a unique lens through which to view American society. The history of towns like Coaldale is the history of a somewhat forgotten United States in which immigrants struggled in harsh labor conditions to build what they could of the American dream. Their efforts resulted in the creation of multicultural and fundamentally American towns that became home for generations of laborers and their families. Though the work was never easy, a sense of pride of place emanated from places like Coaldale, and a distinctive way of life became entrenched in the regional psyche. Because of this, deindustrialization and the ensuing collapse of American industrial towns had a profound impact on living, breathing individuals as well as on American society as a whole. People from Coaldale and places like it found themselves caught in the grip of historical factors beyond their control, pining for the return of a bygone era. The purpose of this thesis is to provide historical context for the collapse of US industrial towns through an intimate portrait of one particular place. Only by giving voice to those who built and populated these forgotten towns is it possible to understand the magnitude of what has been lost – and why that loss matters not just to the descendants of coal miners, but to the nation as a whole.
A significant amount of work has been done concerning the causes and impacts of decline in the coal regions, so this thesis is an effort to expand upon that work while providing a slightly different perspective on the story. More specifically, it provides a framework with which to understand why people hold such deep connections to the region, and why collapse has been so painful. In order to do so, this paper begins by providing historical grounding for the anthracite industry and its instrumental role in creating the region. Next, it discusses the people who populated, and populate, the coal regions, closely examining the Euro-American immigrant experience and the creation of a distinct regional identity. The following three sections make an effort to get at the heart of what connects people to the place and what they feel has been lost, starting with a shared struggle, continuing with a shared community experience and ending with a culture of resistance and resilience. Finally, the last portion provides some detail on the causes of decline and the impacts it had on entire communities, eventually concluding with insight into how this process greatly affects American society today.
The Place
Coaldale, together with the neighboring towns of Lansford, Summit Hill, Tamaqua and Nesquehoning, sits in a section of the Northern Appalachian Mountains known to locals as the Panther Valley. The area, which straddles Carbon and Schuylkill Counties and lies a mere 40 miles from the relatively large city of Allentown, is nonetheless remote. A rugged mountainous terrain, dense forests, harsh weather and unforgivingly treacherous access led the surrounding region’s original native inhabitants to refer to it as the “Towamensing,” or “wild place,” reserved for tribal exiles and refugees.[1] Once immense mineral wealth was discovered beneath the Panther Valley, however, this formerly uninhabitable region provided the setting for a cluster of unlikely and distinctly Appalachian communities with rich cultures.
As many of the local town and county names suggest, there was one fundamental reason for the establishment of Panther Valley settlements: hard rock anthracite coal. This mineral differs from the more commonly found soft bituminous in a variety of ways. For one, anthracite is found significantly deeper beneath the earth, leading to a higher carbon content and burn efficiency. As a result, it burns cleaner, hotter and slower than other kinds of coal, making it an invaluable resource for various industries that rely on steam, smelting or any form of heat. Nineteenth century entrepreneurs and industrialists recognized this fact, and when it was discovered by a backcountry outdoorsman that nearly 95% of the US’ anthracite reserves lay beneath a 484 square mile area in Eastern Pennsylvania, investment poured into the remote region.[2] The result was vast industrialization and the establishment of a far-reaching market for anthracite coal. In fact, by the last decade of the 19th century, the coal regions of northeastern Pennsylvania supplied 16% of the nation’s total energy consumption.[3]
For a country in the midst of an industrial revolution, anthracite was almost irreplaceable, and it became the backbone of the American economy. As a testament to the resource’s importance, the Pennsylvania State government passed a resolution in 1915 to establish a commission whose sole responsibility was to “investigate the cause or causes of the raise of said price of anthracite coal either by operators of anthracite mines or dealers in anthracite coal.”[4] The result of the commission’s investigation was an extremely lengthy report in which they devoted a great deal of government time, effort and resources to exploring ways that the price of anthracite could be reduced. The mere existence of this investigation illustrates the extent to which the government was willing to go to remedy ills in the anthracite economy and provide cheap coal to industries and individuals – thus reinforcing the early 20th century importance of the anthracite supply to the state and country in general.
This sentiment was echoed by anthracite pioneer Josiah White in an 1838 report on the use of anthracite in smelting iron, “We view this success [of substitution anthracite for charcoal or coke]… as an earners of much benefit to our company, to the individuals who are, or may be, engaged in the iron business, and to the State at large.”[5] It is not an overstatement to say that the progress of industrialization across the country was dependent on places like the Panther Valley and their ability to quickly provide massive amounts of coal. In order to meet that pressing demand, large corporations emerged that streamlined supply lines in coal country and amassed huge profits in the process.
For Coaldale and its surrounding towns, the dominant company for many years was known as Lehigh Coal and Navigation, or “The Old Company.” The organization, which was incorporated in 1822 following the merger of Lehigh Coal Company and Lehigh Navigation Company, owned 8,000 acres of coal lands in the southern anthracite field and served as one of the major players in the region for over a century.[6] In fact, the Company is widely attributed with being “the first to introduce anthracite upon the seaboard, and to bring it into use,” thereby solidifying it as a stalwart corporate power and driver of the industrial revolution.[7]
The numbers alone tell the story of the company’s regional supremacy as, during its 146 year existence, LC&N grew its operations exponentially, from producing minimal amounts of coal at its founding to 454,258 tons in 1850, 3,529,094 in 1913, and 3,657,688 in 1934.[8] However, coal was not the company’s only source of profit, as its interests extended to shipment, canal building, civil engineering projects and diversified forms of investment. As the company’s 1904 annual report to LC&N’s board of managers reveals, the organization was heavily financially involved in an amalgamation of a wide variety of assets, including multiple railroads, canals, mine operations, real estate ventures, and stores.[9] Thus, while Lehigh Coal and Navigation was a coal mining company at its heart, its shareholders’ main interest was making money. The result was an extremely lucrative and heavily consolidated company that owned a total of $17,822,022 in securities by 1939.[10]
Because of LC&N’s immense wealth and success in Panther Valley, it had a relative stranglehold on the region. Although they were not traditional company towns in the sense that worker housing, stores and facilities were entirely owned by LC&N, Coaldale and its surrounding boroughs were nonetheless fundamentally impacted by the pervasiveness of the company and its operations. An example of this comes from company billboards and signs that were erected all over town saying things like, “Everybody’s goal is mine more coal,” or “A car more a day makes extra pay.” Further, the company provided a great deal of financial support for civic organizations, community organizations, churches and various facilities, including a community pool for Coaldale, Summit Hill and Lansford that was made possible by a land grant and $50,000 dollar donation.[11]
Indeed, there was truly no escaping the presence of mining in the coal regions, as each town was built around its own colliery, making the landscape perpetually scarred, the streets covered in coal dust and the air filled with the sound of colliery whistles or coal trains. In addition to this, Lehigh Coal and Navigation employed droves of workers for its various operations, making a huge proportion of Panther Valley residents either directly or indirectly dependent on the company for their incomes. Thus, LC&N effectively wove itself into the fabric of Panther Valley towns and made itself nearly irreplaceable for the survival of these communities.
The Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company, though often glorified in history, spent a great deal of its energy keeping a firm grasp on the people of the region. In order to keep labor costs low, the company ensured that the people of Panther Valley were reliant on LC&N for a majority of their wages, and it kept a steady stream of immigrants coming into the area to serve as strikebreakers or replacements. Throughout the late 19th and the first half of the 20th century, the company’s influence spread so extensively into every aspect of the town that many people paid rent for their homes, tabs in company stores and various other expenses directly to LC&N. The combination of church dues and company debts being deducted from paychecks often resulted in negative balances for miners and their families, ensuring a state of continuing servitude to the company.
The People
The story of the people who make up Pennsylvania’s anthracite coal mining region is a uniquely American one. Like much of the rest of the United States, this area was built, worked and populated by immigrants who came to chase their American dream. Because anthracite was such big business and companies needed endless supplies of labor to work dangerous jobs, the coal region became an unlikely “land of opportunity.” First came the English/Welsh, Irish and German immigrants, who respectively made up 31%, 41% and 18% of the region’s foreign-born population through the 1880s.[12] As is consistent with the larger trend of American immigration, however, the towns in northeastern Pennsylvania saw a huge influx of Eastern European migrants beginning around the 1890s. In fact, people from places like Slovakia, Poland, Russia, Lithuania and Greece went from comprising 10% of the foreign-born population in 1880 to constituting 51% in 1900.[13]
This fact was particularly important for the development of Panther Valley and the anthracite region in general for a variety of reasons. For one, many of the immigrants stayed in touch with their “old country” roots and created strong communities based on cultural identities. This manifested in pervasive ethnic pride that lasted for generations, as exemplified by Irene Gangawere, who lived her whole life in the United States but nonetheless referred to herself as “Slovak, true-blue Slovak.”[14] Because of this, newcomers were more able to adapt to a foreign land with the help of others who spoke their language, understood their beliefs and followed their traditions.
George Harvan, a lifetime resident of the Panther Valley and an avid documentary photographer of the region, described this process in an interview conducted in 1997. While recounting the story of his father’s arrival from Slovakia into the anthracite region, he said, “There was a small town called Kudloce… In fact, a lot of the people in Lansford came from that village. I guess it was familiarity, so that when they came here they came from that village, almost to another village.”[15] This was a widespread experience, as other area residents, including Amalia Galgoci, told similar stories of maintaining lifelong coal town friendships that had begun in small villages in Slovakia.[16] This led to a fundamentally Euro-American phenomenon in which people from far-flung places attempted to meld into US society while continuing to nurture what was important to their culture. The immigrant-American, instrumental to this country’s history, was the dominant demographic in the coal regions. This form of plurality is fundamental to understanding the history of the Panther Valley, as well as its development over the 20th century.
The presence of different immigrant groups created a multicultural patchwork of neighborhoods and towns in the coal regions that manifested in interesting ways. For example, immigrant groups naturally tended to gravitate toward others who spoke their language and shared their culture, so even small towns were sometimes surprisingly segregated. Multiple former residents have talked about the “Irish neighborhoods” or “Slovak neighborhoods” and how one would feel like a foreigner if he or she set foot in the wrong part of town.[17] This self-segregation can be illustrated by the sheer number of churches in Coaldale. This single borough, which is a couple of square miles, was once home to a startling number of congregations, all of which were based upon ethnicity and sect. Specifically, Coaldale churches included “the Evangelical Church, St. John’s Primitive Church, Welsh Congregational, St. Mary’s Church (with a largely Irish constituency), St. Mary’s Russian Orthodox, St. John’s Greek, St. John’s Lithuanian, and SS. Cyril and Methodius Church (for the close to four hundred Catholic Slovak families.)”[18] This proliferation of churches reflected the central importance of cultural traditions and the powerful pull of familiarity on immigrant communities.
There was a widely understood hierarchy in Panther Valley towns that impacted different groups of immigrants in different ways. Because the English and Welsh had come to the region earlier than Eastern Europeans, had previous mining experience, and could speak English, they often attained positions of authority. George Harvan, whose family was Slovak, said, “Welsh and the English…more or less controlled everything. I mean, [we] were second class citizens then…they looked down on you…people…didn’t particularly take to the people who couldn’t read or speak English.”[19] This sentiment often leached from the mines into other town operations, as Harvan further describes that, “if you were a Slovak or Polish, you could never belong to the fire company. You had to be Welsh or English…they were the bosses.”[20] Inevitably, this discriminatory hierarchy served to alienate and antagonize ethnic groups and create a certain amount of distrust between old-timers and newcomers.
However, this distrust often eroded with the generations. Towns in the Panther Valley were too small to allow for absolute cultural isolation. Interaction with other workers, students and neighbors from different ethnic backgrounds was an everyday fact of life. The men worked in the same mines, the women shopped in the same stores and everyone used the same town facilities. As the children and grandchildren of first generation immigrants went to school together, played in the streets and socialized at community facilities, heterogeneous groups of “American” kids of different ethnic backgrounds emerged. Unlike many of their parents, most of these young people were born in the United States and spoke English as their first language, therefore making them better able to transcend ethnic boundaries. The result was an increasing number of children and young adults in the Panther Valley like Lillian Verona, who described her world by saying “There were Italians, Slovaks, and Irish on our street. My girlfriend’s mother was Dutch and her father was Irish. My other girlfriends were Protestant. Growing up, I had friends of all different religions.”[21]
Growing up in the coal regions was a singular experience, and children who resided there were irrevocably shaped by their surroundings and shared experiences. John Pollack, Stephanie Hutta and Paul Hutta, all of whom grew up in the Panther Valley, illustrated this phenomenon as they recounted stories of their childhoods in Lansford and Coaldale. Though they grew up in different towns, their reminiscences were strikingly similar. When they weren’t doing chores or schoolwork, they all spent a great deal of their time outside, unsupervised and often in harm’s way. Stephanie Hutta described how as a very young child, she and her younger brother would leave the house in the morning and not come back until nightfall, often starting a fire by the creek to cook potatoes for themselves for lunch. In one instance, six-year-old Stephanie and her brother were passing through a narrow coal train tunnel, known as the Hauto Tunnel, a dangerous shortcut to a popular swimming spot on the other side of the mountain. About half way through, the siblings felt an ominous rumble that signified the approach of a coal train. They were forced to step up onto a slippery pipe with their backs against the wall in order to keep from being crushed. After the freight passed Stephanie ran from the smoke-filled tunnel, but her brother was nowhere to be seen. “My mother is going to kill me,” she thought, until she saw her little brother emerging from the tunnel covered in soot, but thankfully and miraculously still alive.[22]
The mention of the Hauto tunnel struck a chord with John Pollack and Paul Hutta, who shared memories of similar childhood dangers. Paul Hutta described the swimming hole that sat on the other side of the tunnel saying, “We used to swim pretty close to the dam and there was a little whirlpool where water got pulled in that could suck you under if you weren’t careful. A lot of times younger kids would get pulled under and we would have to go down and get them. You’d dive down there and those kids would be sucked up against the grate leading into the dam and you’d have to pry ‘em off like flies off a screen door.”[23] Shared experiences like these forged unique identities in many Panther Valley children, tying them to the place and to each other. To the groups of children that cooked potatoes outside, squeezed through Hauto tunnel and saved each other from drowning, their ethnic backgrounds gradually became less defining than their emergent sense of multicultural identity as second and third generation Americans. Although they were still very much in touch with their cultural roots, these generations no longer viewed themselves as solely European, but as European-American. Therefore, the anthracite region served as a crucible in which people became American and saw themselves distinct products of coal country.
Shared Struggle
From their inception, anthracite towns were places of hardship and struggle, where lives were carved out of the rugged landscape through hard work and perseverance. Most prominently, the region’s primary industry was one of the most dangerous and backbreaking professions for any laborer to be involved in. Anthracite miners descended every day into shafts that ran hundreds of feet beneath the ground, spending eight or more hours in darkness doing extremely physically demanding work. Compensation was meager, and certainly not commensurate with the level of risk that laborers took every shift. For as much money as the LNC Company made in its anthracite operations, very little of it trickled down to laborers. In fact, as company shareholders in the region were reaping the monetary benefit of selling close to 50 million tons of coal in 1950, miners were getting paid 9.3 percent less than the median household income in the US.[24] Specific wages fluctuated with the times, but underpayment remained a relative constant throughout the 20th century. In Mike Sabron’s era, which was in the late 30s, the lowest paid laborers in the mines earned 57.8 cents per hour, and they were happy to get it.[25]
Mine disasters that resulted in serious injury or loss of life were not uncommon, and virtually every person in the Panther Valley was either personally affected or knew someone who was affected by a mining accident. Because of the nature of the work, significant numbers of men were injured or killed on the job each year, even after safety regulations and precautions were taken. As late as 1948, 10,987 men were injured or killed in Pennsylvania underground anthracite operations.[26] As an illustration of the expendability of workers, this startling casualty number almost never stands alone in company or government mine reports, as it is often coupled with “days lost,” “hours lost,” and “tons lost.”[27] Thus, human lives were all too often portrayed as numbers and life-changing injuries or death were viewed through the lens of how they impacted the company’s bottom line. In other words, the occurrence of a mine disaster was not a tragedy in human terms, but in convenience terms. For people whose fathers, brothers, sons and relatives worked in the mines, however, disasters hit home. Paul Hutta described being in school, hearing the scream of the disaster-signifying colliery whistle, and being prompted by the nuns to “get on your knees and start praying for whoever’s dad that was.”[28] This was not an unusual occurrence, and the sight of a “black ambulance with a red cross” became the somber signal that another man had fallen victim to the dangers of his trade.[29]
The dangers were many, and harrowing accounts of death and injury were commonplace. Mike Sabron’s stepfather was killed while “he was repairing the shaft and some ice broke loose from above and hit him in the head.”[30] George Harvan’s father was the victim of “a very violent explosion. His buddy was killed…My father was so badly injured, they never thought he would live. He had thousands and thousands of black and blue marks all through his body, just from the force of the blast. It was like a tattoo, where the coal dirt had blown into his skin. He never liked the mines after that. He didn’t feel comfortable in there.”[31]
Stephanie Hutta’s father was also the victim of a mine explosion, which “left him virtually blind. It was hard for him to get work after that. There was certainly nothing like worker’s compensation in those days. If you got hurt, that was your problem, not theirs.”[32] Ella Stohl’s father “went in with his buddy to check the hole that they were supposed to blast and they got caught. When they went in to check it, the blast went off. That’s how they were killed.”[33] Theresa Pavlocak’s husband was killed when “they were going with these cars over the rails, they were going around the curve and the fellow that was driving the motor…was going kind of fast…and ran off the tracks, and when the car pinned him up against the timber, they said he looked like Christ on the cross, because it caught the hips and the two legs and an arm. Till they pulled him out of there, it was quite a while. [He] lived like that until midnight. He was twenty eight years old.”[34]
These stories from just a small sampling of Panther Valley residents illustrate some larger truths. Most obviously, mining was extremely perilous work, with hazards around every corner. The men who descended deep into the earth to extract coal literally risked life and limb to power the United States. As Gabe Ferrence, a strip miner and Panther Valley resident who was able to avoid underground mining described, “I saw forty different ways you could get killed down there.”[35] Second, tragedy was commonplace in the coal regions and coping with death or serious injury almost came with the territory. That being said, the biggest lesson is that, though the company’s numbers help to tell the quantitative story, they discount the real, human narrative of this place. The fact that workers were seen as expendable by companies should not taint the fact that these were individual lives impacted in harrowing fashion for the pursuit of profit. The people of the Panther Valley were tough, but they were not immune to tragedy.
The dangers for miners were not limited to mine disasters; there were also slowly progressing health issues that affected their ability to work. Most infamously, the nearly ubiquitous occurrence of black lung impacted a huge proportion of miners and underground laborers. Black lung, formally known as Coal Worker’s Pneumoconiosis, is a pulmonary disease that results from extended exposure to coal dust.[36] As miners drilled into veins of coal and spent full days breathing in the dust because of poorly ventilated shafts, their lungs were becoming irreversibly damaged. The result was, and is, “impairment, disability and premature death.”[37] This was a reality that many miners recognized, but could do nothing about. Their families needed food on the table, so they continued working and breathing in the toxicity.
Black lung disease was widespread in the Panther Valley and it impacted every generation of miners. George Harvan discussed his memory of his father’s condition, saying “He would just wheeze when he breathed, you could hardly stand it. In fact, it would be so annoying after a while, you would have to leave the room…He would just wheeze and wheeze. He came up with the cancer later on. As I said, I never heard him complain, though.”[38] Harvan’s father had developed serious black lung by the age of 65, debilitating him to the point where walking proved difficult. For many who experienced it, black lung signified a slow and painful decline, but Andrew Harvan’s stoicism about his health was not unique. While it is difficult to say that every Panther Valley resident with black lung accepted it as par for the course, a great number of them speak, or tellingly don’t speak, about the disease as if it is simply a fact of life. Men tended to work in the mines with black lung until they physically could not, as their families relied on their paychecks and they saw no other option. It was as simple as that.
Although the traditional narrative on coal towns tends to focus on the struggle of the miners, the women also often bore tremendous burdens. In addition to being homemakers who raised children, cooked meals and did the housework, many of them took in boarders, tended large gardens, preserved food and stretched every hard-earned cent. Their work was labor-intensive, and their hours were often excruciatingly long. Working from before dawn to long after dusk was a nearly universal experience for women throughout the Panther Valley, who often married young, had multiple children and were subject to traditional gender roles. Theresa Pavlocak said, “Very few men did any work in the kitchen…We had it hard. Our boys went to Catholic school, so between my husband and the boys, I’d have twenty, twenty-one shirts in the wash. At that time, they weren’t perma-press. You had to iron them. We had a big basement, like a rec-room. We had a clothesline strung along there, and as you’d iron the shirts, you’d hang them up on the rope there. When they dried up, then you’d take them up in the closet.”[39]
On top of their work at home, when times got difficult or husbands became unable to work for any reason, women stepped up to support the family. Though very few women worked for the mining companies, there were other industries, most prominently garment factories, that exclusively hired women. One such factory in the Panther Valley was the Rosenau Brothers’ Factory, or Kiddie Kloes, where a combination of women young and old performed a variety of tasks, including sewing, bundling and hemming. They provided vital supplemental incomes, and sometimes primary incomes, for families that were struggling to make ends meet. As Anna Meyers, a resident of the Panther Valley and worker at Kiddie Kloes, describes, “A lot [of] people went to the factories to work after the mines closed down. Well, mostly ladies…They used to always say, years ago, it was the ladies that kept the families together when the war was, and when the men would always be out on strike, ladies would go to work and kept the families together…There was nothing but for the ladies to go out and work.”[40]
Children also often started working at a very young age. Most commonly, young boys would work in the breaker picking slate from coal, logging very long hours under terrible conditions. These “breaker boys” sat along coal chutes and were in charge of ensuring that only anthracite exited the breaker and went to market. Hand injuries were common and lots of the boys later developed black lung from the ever-present coal dust. Irene Gangaware’s father “started as a slate picker; he said he was eleven. He’d be going to work, picking slate at No.8 colliery at that time. His lunch bucket was hitting the ground, that’s how short he was…”.[41]
Child laborers were common in the pre-WWII era, as they were relied on not only to pick slate, but also to drive mules, open colliery doors and perform other miscellaneous and often hazardous tasks. Even following a great deal of public pressure at the beginning of the 20th century to improve conditions for children in the mines, the 1907 Pennsylvania General Assembly passed a child labor law that “[fixed] the age limit of boys in and about the mines to 14 years.”[42] This regulation, while a significant improvement over the status quo, still allowed young boys to perform dangerous work in anthracite mines. In addition, boys continued to work full-time jobs outside of the mines to help support their families. Tom Strohl, a resident of Nesquehoning, explained that he “quit school when I was fourteen years of age. I started to work in the silk mill for twelve cents an hour in 1928.”[43] This type of experience was not confined to boys, as girls also entered the workforce at young ages. Theresa Pavlocak, who lived in Lansford, “quit [school] because my brother was leaving to be a priest…The railroad ticket was fifty dollars to come home every summer, and my dad couldn’t afford that. I had to go work to help out. Coal mines weren’t working. So I worked in that factory for twenty-five years.”[44] Children of succeeding generations were frequently forced to grow up quickly in the coal regions.
Other hardships were prevalent in coal region communities, affecting men, women and children in equal measure. The towns’ close proximity to heavy industry meant that the surrounding environment was severely degraded. The Schuylkill River, for example, which ran through the heart of Panther Valley, was so polluted from mine waste that it was completely devoid of any form of life. In fact, the river took on a toxic orange hue and became essentially useless for anything but dumping runoff. Further, the burning of anthracite for use in industry often filled the air with coal dust and ash that would periodically settle upon the towns. Paul Hutta talks about being a kid in Coaldale and walking up streets covered with a thin layer of fine white dust that had come from neighboring factories. Evidence of this pollution persists to this day, even after close to half a century of industrial inactivity. Perhaps the most striking example of this comes from just outside of Panther Valley where a large zinc plant operated for many years. The plant let off so many polluted fumes that the adjacent hillside was completely stripped of vegetation, with life only resurfacing recently, many decades after the plant finally closed.
In discussing the coal regions, history tends to focus on these manifold difficulties and hardships but, while they are inarguably an important part of understanding these communities, they tell only one part of the story.
Shared Community Experience
Despite and sometimes even because of the shared hardships, a strong sense of community developed in the Panther Valley. For all of their differences, people tended to recognize each other as being cut from the same cloth, stitched by hard work, struggle, sacrifice and resilience. While it would be an oversimplification to say that everyone in the region appreciated each other, there was an undeniable connection that came from shared experience in the mines, downtowns, churches, bars, schools, community facilities and sports venues of the area. Ziggie Whitecavage, a former anthracite resident, said in an interview later on in life, “[Former miners] have a tendency to meet in bars, social clubs, service clubs. I don’t know…it’s inborn. Once a coal cracker, right…That never gets away from you.”[45] This recognition of the uniqueness of life in the coal regions formed the bedrock for people’s connection to the place. Coal country and its people were truly one of a kind, and they had immense pride in this fact.
People worked hard to build institutions that supported strong communities and quality of life. Community centered upon and was structured by a variety of crucial elements. In the Panther Valley, institutions ranging from churches to bars served as social hubs for residents of the area, and their importance was clear. As Paul Hutta joked, “there used to be a bar or a church on pretty much every corner up here.”[46] Churches, in particular, were a major focus in the coal regions, serving as places of worship, cultural centers, support groups, sources of ethnic pride and connection to the old country. They were so engrained in Panther Valley society that “the church had the practice…to take money off your paycheck for church dues.”[47] In other words, many of the local churches had deals with the LC&N company that allowed them to deduct money directly from miners’ paychecks before they were even distributed. The result of this was the presence of a significant number of ornate and monumental churches built with a working class population’s dues. Coaldale alone had eight different ethnic churches, all of which had thriving congregations.[48]
People poured their hearts and souls into these churches, deriving a great sense of community and belonging from them. Evidence of this comes in a variety of forms, even beyond their self-sacrificing monetary support. For example, during the Second World War, when soldiers sent letters home to their Slovak parents in Coaldale, bilingual volunteers at the church provided translation services to anyone from the congregation in need.[49] Through the generations, families ensured that their children were involved with the church by insisting that they go to various forms of religious school, participate in sacraments and pageantries, and serve as altar children. Paul Hutta, whose father was the sextant at St. Cyril and Methodius church in Coaldale, was one such child. Because of the nature of his father’s occupation, however, Mr. Hutta’s connection to the church was much more intimate, a fact that often came back to haunt him. In his description, because his family lived so close to the church, “whenever altar boys didn’t show up, the nuns would come banging on my door to replace them. I couldn’t say no.” Beyond this, Paul Hutta describes going with his father to the cemetery in wintertime to dig graves in ground that was frozen solid.[50] While instances like these may have made a young Paul Hutta’s connection to the church inconvenient at times, there is no arguing its centrality to his life. Indeed, churches were focal points in the Panther Valley, promoting pride of ethnicity, pride of religion, pride of community and pride of place. As a result, they played a pivotal role in connecting people to each other and to the towns they lived in.
An entirely different bastion of Panther Valley community building was the neighborhood bar. These were hard-drinking towns, and watering holes existed on almost every street. Miners had a multitude of places to choose from, including the “The Rod and Gun Club,” “The Polish Club,” “The American Legion,” “AmVets,” “Kanuch’s” and converted parlors of homes.[51] They never had far to go, as the nearest bar was often less than a few blocks away from home, and there was always a convenient place to stop on the way home from work. As Mike Sabron explained, “As soon as you left work that was the first stop you made, to get a shot and a beer. Then you shoot the shit with the guys…[The bars were busy] till three, four, five in the morning.”[52]
Miners enjoyed darts, pool, cards and the like to pass time and socialize, sometimes even starting leagues for the various bar games. Bars were so popular, in fact, that Paul Hutta remembered, “When I was a kid, on Halloween, my buddy and I used to go around to all the bars and the guys would pay us to wrestle. We made pretty good money that way.”[53] While this was not necessarily widespread practice, it does reveal a few things about bar culture in the Panther Valley. For one, there were enough well populated bars for two resourceful boys to earn enough cash to make it worth their while to forego other Halloween festivities. In addition, the nature of the entertainment suggests a certain level of inebriation that Paul and his friend were able to capitalize on, which in turn reveals the heavy drinking culture that existed in the Panther Valley.
While the centrality of bars in daily life in the coal region seems to be nothing but an interesting side note, the truth is that, they served an important purpose. The presence of these bars created communities out of coworkers as men bonded while they were “washing down the coal dust” with alcohol. Churches always had an ethnic element to them, but bars mixed men from all different nationalities, thereby helping to build the shared experience of living in coal country. Community was built on barstools, and for men like Stephanie Hutta’s nearly blind miner father who tottered up the street to his local bar to socialize with other old-timers until the day he died, bars were an integral part of life in the Valley.
As hard as people in the Panther Valley worked, a great deal of emphasis was also put on recreation and leisure. Sunday picnics were common, there was a community pool in Lansford that drew kids and adults alike, and parades for various holidays periodically marched up and down main streets. Dances and parties at various halls or country clubs occurred quite frequently. Certain events and facilities attracted large portions of town populations and promoted community. For example, high school football games were a major source of excitement and pride, as each town in the Panther Valley had its own team. Vibrant rivalries, such as that between Coaldale High and Lansford High, often played out on Thanksgiving Day in front of large crowds that packed into the local stadium.
Spectators were treated to games in which teams battled for every yard, slogging through mud and snow towards the end zone. This hardscrabble style of play pitted local boys against each other, often resulting in large pile-ups in the middle of the field. Paul Hutta, who played for a team that combined the boys from all of the small Catholic high schools in Coaldale, described the lawlessness in these scrums, saying with a chuckle, “You’d be in one of those piles and you’d see some exposed skin and you’d bite it. Could be the guy on the other team’s arm, could be your buddy’s, could be your own. It didn’t matter.”[54] As tough as the games were, the impacts of high school football extended well beyond the final score. Team pride drew communities together and the high attendance at games demonstrated how strong the support bases were for these multi-cultural teams in each town. The mere fact that Lansford and Coaldale, which take up a few square miles each and are separated by a very short distance, could maintain strong football rivalries across the years suggests the vitality of these towns. In addition, the social interaction that came with kids participating in sports and communities joining together to support them served to further strengthen community sentiment and pride of place. Indeed, the existence of so many diverse opportunities for recreation and leisure in the Panther Valley helped bring people together and promote a sense of home.
Another important pillar of community in the Panther Valley was the presence of vibrant and bustling downtown commercial districts. Lansford’s Ridge Street, in particular, was full of independent stores, shops and theaters that made up the beating heart of the town. Stephanie Hutta, who was born and raised in Lansford, described the street saying, “At Christmas time this town used to light up. You know the town in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’? This street used to look like that.”[55] Despite the hardscrabble nature of the work that supported the coal region, the classic image of a picturesque small town commercial district where everyone knew each other very much described Ridge Street. Emily Hutta, daughter of Stephanie and native of the coal regions, illustrated this with a story of her own. After spending decades living away from the Panther Valley, Emily returned to the area for her grandmother’s funeral. Following the service, at which she listened to her relatives discuss how “Oggie the [Slovak] undertaker had done pretty well for himself,” Emily went into a local grocery store for a snack. Seeing her come in, the owner of the shop said, “You. You’re a Hutta. Don’t eat. Your Aunt Julie has plenty of food for you at her house.”[56] An experience like this might prove stifling or uncomfortable for some, but for many of those who grew up in the coal regions, this sense of unbroken belonging is part of what continues to connect them to this place. For Emily Hutta, who lived all over the world, a short interaction with the owner of a small grocery store in a fading town was a poignant reminder that, regardless of how long she was away, she had roots that ran deep into the Panther Valley’s scarred soil. This is a sentiment shared by a great many people who lived in the coal regions. Coal country was home, and a community in which shop owners felt inclined to ensure the well-being of their own loomed large in the hearts of those who stayed as well as those who moved away.
Resilience and Resistance
Another powerful unifying element in the history of the Panther Valley is a remarkable tradition of resistance that manifested across generations and circumstances. John Pollack, known to those close to him as Zano, described childhood summers scouring slag heaps for scattered pieces of coal to heat his family’s home through the region’s harsh winters. This was known as picking coal, and because anthracite was expensive relative to miners’ wages, it was a widespread practice. In a perfect illustration of the way the LC&N Company treated the communities it exploited, executives hired coal cops to patrol the refuse piles to ensure that none of the region’s residents, who could not afford to buy coal from the company, collected free coal from the discard piles that ringed the breakers. Zano, who began picking coal at a very young age, knew that the slag heaps closest to LC&N operations were the most productive for coal picking and, if one were willing to take the risk, he could acquire twice the amount of coal in half the time. The problem was that the company cops were more likely to patrol these areas and inflict punishment. Eight year old Zano, whose boyhood pragmatism drew him to these plentiful slag heaps, was caught by the authorities, beaten thoroughly with a baton, and relieved of his burlap sack full of a morning’s worth of coal. He recalled that the worst part about the episode was seeing his hard earned anthracite being dumped out as he helplessly lay on the ground.[57] While this story reveals a great deal about the company’s willingness to oppress and control the residents of the area, the way in which Zano told it reveals even more about the people themselves. Even as he described the beating he received, it became clear that an undeterred John Pollack stubbornly returned to that slag heap many more times over the years to pick the company’s coal.
As boys like Zano grew older, they learned to run alongside company trains full of coal, “trip the hopper,” or open the hatch on the back of the train, and cause the anthracite to spill out onto the tracks. Then, everyone from kids to old “babushkas” who had been alerted to the windfall would scurry up and snatch up as much free coal as possible.[58] The nods, wry smiles and chuckles that greet this story from other coal country old timers reveal something inherent about the people of the anthracite region. They were beaten and oppressed by the forces of industrial capitalism, but never broken. The difficulties they faced established a tradition of resistance that resonated throughout entire communities and embedded itself in the people.
This tradition of resistance has deep roots in the Panther Valley, and evidence of its fills the region’s history. One of the most famous examples was the mysterious and militant labor organization known as the Molly Maguires. Though their activities in the coal regions of Pennsylvania are difficult to trace, the Mollies are deeply entrenched in the folklore of the region, representing a legendary and heroic bastion of opposition to the mighty coal companies. The group’s origins trace back to Ireland, and their presence in the anthracite region was attributed to the massive influx of Irish immigrants in the second half of the 19th century. Throughout the middle to late 1800s, the murders of a scattering of coal company officials were attributed to the Mollies, and their name became synonymous with violent miner resistance. As a result, coal bosses often used the organization’s reputation and name to justify persecution of outspoken or resistant community leaders, whether they had any affiliation or not. This occurred in a variety of instances in the Panther Valley, including the 1876 murder of Benjamin Yost, who was the chief of police of Tamaqua. All four men tried and convicted were Irish and accused of being Molly Maguires.[59]
The most legendary instance, however, occurred in 1877 and has been burned into the psyche of successive generations of anthracite coal miners. After a private undercover Pinkerton detective infiltrated the “organization” and went to regional railroad baron and district attorney Franklin Gowen with the names of four suspected violent Mollies, trials were conducted.[60] Alexander Campbell, Edward Kelly, Michael Doyle and John Donohue, all of whom lived in and around the Panther Valley, were tried for murder, convicted and sentenced to death. Their trials were far from fair. As a New York Times article from the period explained, “Mr. Kalofas [Edward Kelly’s defense attorney] also contemplates assailing the array of jurors, urging irregularity in selection as a bar to the process of the trial at this time.”[61] In other words, the defense attorney for Kelly believed that the jury was not constituted of his peers, therefore making it unable to fairly hand out a verdict. In fact, none of the jurors for this particular trial were Irish-Catholic; instead the jury was constituted of mostly Protestant Pennsylvania-Germans. In addition to this, coal company prosecutors represented the commonwealth, and the convictions were made based mostly upon the Pinkerton detective’s testimony.[62] Predictably, Kelly, “a mere boy in age and experience,” didn’t stand “a chance for his escape,” and was sentenced to death alongside the rest of the accused Mollies.[63]
On the day of their hanging, Kelly and the three other Irishmen were taken from their cells in the Mauch Chunk jail and led to the gallows. Prior to his exit, however, one of the men, Alexander Campbell, swept his hand across the dirty floor and pressed it against the wall of his cell, leaving a dark handprint. According to legend, he proclaimed, “This handprint will remain as proof of my innocence.” After his hanging, the mark remained for decades, allegedly through multiple re-paintings, countless washes and even a few wall replacements.[64] To this day, the handprint persists and serves as a haunting reminder of the region’s tumultuous history.
Regardless of whether this legend is completely accurate or not, its existence is a source of pride for the people of Panther Valley, who view their history as rooted in resistance to oppression. As Gabe Ferrence said over a century after the trial, “Molly Maguires, at least somebody had the guts to do something about it; many people pitied them.”[65] The struggle of the martyred Molly Maguires continued inside the hearts of little boys picking coal and young men tripping hoppers, and, whether they knew it or not, these successive generations of anthracite region residents were carrying on a deep seated legacy of resistance.
This sentiment propelled workers of the anthracite region to organize against coal companies effectively and often. For many, the highpoint of these efforts was the historic Anthracite Strike of 1902. While the strike itself occurred in 1902, its origins date to a lesser known confrontation in 1900. After coming to loggerheads with coal bosses in 1900 over their unwillingness to deal with the United Mine Workers, the organization’s young leader, John Mitchell, called for a strike. His expectations were understandably low, as only 8,000 of the 150,000 anthracite workers belonged to the union and a great many of the miners were non-English speaking immigrants who were originally introduced as scabs. To everyone’s surprise, however, immigrant miners stood steadfastly with their fellow laborers against the coal companies, thereby ensuring collective power.[66] While political pressure on both sides made the results of this strike mixed, it revealed a huge amount of organizing strength and solidarity in the anthracite community. Miners in hard coal country, whether English speaking or not, proved that they were poised to seize a better workplace with an unprecedented level of collective strength.
This newfound strength manifested in the Great Anthracite Strike of 1902, which began in May and ran for 163 days, claiming multiple casualties and bringing the industry to a standstill. The dispute was focused chiefly on miner’s wages and hours and was so significant to the American economy that President Theodore Roosevelt spoke of it in extreme fashion, saying it would cause “untold misery…with the certainty of riots which might develop into social war.”[67] Originally, the leadership of the UMWA was reluctant to get involved in a strike that they saw as ill timed and unprepared. In fact, George Hartlein, who was the secretary of the organization’s District 1, warned against a “strike for the sake of striking.”[68] Even John Mitchell, who had become revered in coal country after 1900, saw the strike as potentially harmful to the progress the union had made.
However, the rhetoric used by miners and representatives from individual districts reveals the passion with which a significant portion of the anthracite labor force operated. In their eyes, injustice was rampant in the coal industry, and workers faced the brunt of it. As a delegate from Llewellyn argued, “I believe our noble leader and all our officers have been as conservative as any labor leaders the world has ever seen. I claim that through their action we have actually gone down on our knees to the operators. Shall we go on our knees again? No, we shall not lick their feet.”[69] Further, a representative from District 7 said, “If we do fight I want to fight standing up and not lying on my back. We have a better show for winning now than we did in 1900.”[70] Finally, a delegate from District 9 argued that the union’s members wholeheartedly supported a strike, saying, “In the meeting that selected me as the delegate to this convention the members went wild. They were solidly in favor of striking for better conditions.”[71]
Eventually, the pressure from individual districts and their miners pushed the organization into confrontation with coal bosses. The ensuing fight lasted over five months, with both sides unwilling to concede their demands until President Roosevelt and J.P. Morgan got personally involved in the arbitration.[72] The result, after the precedent-shifting intervention of the government as a peacemaker, was an agreement on nine-hour days and a raise in pay for mine workers. This outcome, combined with a new government attitude towards labor disputes, proved to be extremely significant for the ongoing collective bargaining struggle across the country.
For the anthracite region in general and the Panther Valley more specifically, the way in which this strike was instigated and carried out reveals a great deal about the culture. For one, the fact that the miners themselves were the catalyst of this historic strike says a lot about their faith in collective action and willingness to sacrifice for better conditions. In addition, it shows that these workers were never keen on shying away from confrontation with their oppressive bosses. This fact feeds directly into the region’s tradition of resistance, as miners drew upon a hard-earned toughness that they shared with previous generations. Further, this dramatic effort empowered future generations to strike and fight for their labor rights, as they saw their parents and grandparents do. Thus, while history tends to focus on dramatic episodes such as the Anthracite Strike of 1902 as singular and isolated moments of widespread resistance, they were actually a representation of continued efforts by miners to get what they deserved.
The tradition of resistance did not reside solely with miners, as women of the coal regions also had a strong sense of the struggle. In fact, during the Strike of 1902, women played a pivotal role in Panther Valley organizing efforts. After the strike was called, labor leaders spent a great deal of time organizing workers and ensuring their membership in the Union. One such leader was Mary Harris, commonly known as Mother Jones, who was revered for her legendary exploits in labor battles across the country. While she helped organize for various trades, Mother Jones spent most of her time fighting for coal miners because in her eyes “The story of coal is always the same. It is a dark story. For a second’s more sunlight, men must fight like tigers. For the privilege of seeing the color of their children’s eyes by the light of the sun, fathers must fight like beasts in the jungle. That life may have something of decency, something of beauty – a picture, a new dress, a bit of cheap lace fluttering in the window – for this, men who work down in the mines must struggle and lose, struggle and win.”[73]
Following the announcement of the strike, Mother Jones set out into the Panther Valley to bring miners into the fray. When she reached Coaldale she discovered that “the miners were not permitted to assemble in any hall. It was necessary to win the strike in that district that the Coaldale miners be organized.”[74] In response, Mother Jones “went to a nearby mining town that was thoroughly organized and asked the women if they would help me get the Coaldale men out. This was in McAdoo. I told them to leave their men at home to take care of the family. I asked them to put on their kitchen clothes and bring mops and brooms with them and a couple of tin pans. We marched over the mountains fifteen miles, beating on the tin pans as if they were cymbals… when the miners in the Coaldale camp started to go to work they were met by the McAdoo women who were beating on their pans and shouting, ‘Join the union! Join the union!’ They joined, every last man of them, and we got so enthusiastic that we organized the street car men who promised to haul no scabs for the coal companies. As there were no other groups to organize we marched over the mountains home, beating on our pans and singing patriotic songs.”[75] This episode, while dramatic, was characteristic of the fighting spirit that permeated anthracite communities. Women were often at least as supportive of collective worker action as men. Even children participated, as breaker boys walked out of work in various instances to protest grievances unique to their condition.[76] All of this suggests that the proliferation of labor battles in the Panther Valley and its surrounding communities was less a result of top down organization and more of a manifestation of a fundamentally engrained sense of resilience and resistance in the people.
In the decades following the strike of 1902, this militancy remained strong. Miners and their families were constantly in battles for higher wages or better working conditions, making strikes in the Panther Valley a relatively common occurrence.
By the late 30s, organized labor was powerful in the region, and workers used it to their advantage. Mike Sabron, who started working in the mines in the late 30s and continued until the 70s, explained this phenomenon saying, “We got our conditions whenever we fought. I think that there were more strikes in the Panther Valley than all the rest of the hard coal industry put together. Every little thing, there was a strike.”[77] These strikes took a variety of forms, and they often involved large numbers of miners. In some instances, thousands of miners would walk out in response to the mistreatment of one colleague.[78] Other times, laborers would stage sit down strikes inside the mines and spend days underground not doing any work. These types of strikes took massive amounts of coordination, and miners would bring food with them into the mines to extend their ability to endure.
The most revealing strikes that took place in the Panther Valley across the first half of the 20th century were known as “wildcat” strikes. These were organized actions that occurred without sanctioning from the United Mine Workers. While the UMWA was instrumental in helping coal workers make major strides toward improvement of the labor environment, its relationship with the anthracite community was not always ideal. Because bituminous miners in western Pennsylvania and West Virginia were much more numerous, the union tended to focus on their needs before anthracite workers, and people in the Panther Valley recognized this fact. This prioritization led to growing distrust and resentment, which manifested in independent wildcat strikes.
Breaking out periodically, worker-led walkouts had mixed success. In 1918, 25,000 workers broke with the union to demand a wage increase, but faced a great deal of difficulty in the face of patriotism for the war effort.[79] In 1920, however, wildcat strikes comprised of roughly 100,000 men that broke out in response to the union’s insufficient wage negotiations had a bit more success. In this instance, workers went on “vacation” that was not sanctioned by the UMWA, and their efforts were initially effective. However, after the first wave of enthusiasm, the unsupported miners were forced to return to work and traditional union representation.[80] Perhaps the most glaring instance of worker dissidence against the union occurred in 1943 when close to 25,000 workers struck against the UMWA itself for increasing the cost of membership dues by fifty cents per month. For miners who had little money to spare, this increase felt like an unnecessary expenditure that would only benefit union officials who got an increase in pay. In addition, neglect of the anthracite community by the union remained, and John L. Lewis, the revered president of the organization, had not visited the area in several years.[81] In this context, hard coal workers turned directly against their union and were only corralled because of upcoming wage increase negotiations.
The distrust remained, however, and John L. Lewis, who was a hero in many other mining communities, became a flawed leader in Eastern Pennsylvania. This sentiment was expressed years later by Gabe Ferrence, who said, “…John L. Lewis was baloney…John L. Lewis let us down, here in the valley. They used to think he was such a great president. He was a dictator; he was no damn good.”[82] Thus, even the UMWA, which was supposed to be the miners’ advocate, had some difficulty keeping the anthracite community in check. This suggests a culture in the Panther Valley that did not deal well with mistreatment and neglect. Miners and their families fought hard and consistently to establish conditions under which they could construct a modest livelihood.
In spite of oppression or neglect from titanic forces such as the LC&N and UMWA, the people of Panther Valley demonstrated defiance at every level. From Zano and his burlap sack of coal to the instigators of the Strike of 1902, “coal crackers” took pride in their firm and steadfast history of resilience and resistance.
Self Reliance
Resilience was not limited to picket lines and coal mines, as many Panther Valley families exhibited remarkable resourcefulness and self-reliance in their everyday lives. Home goods and food products were often beyond their means, so people made their own. From stripping the down from goose feathers for comforters, to cutting up flour sacks to use as kitchen towels, nothing went to waste. Backyard chicken coops were so common in Coaldale that one of Paul Hutta’s first jobs was going door-to-door cleaning them, which he still remembers as one of his most lucrative boyhood occupations.[83] Not only this, according to Mike Sabron, “everybody made booze. We made whiskey, beer and everything.”[84]
“I used to dread the days when we would have to help mom do all of the canning,” Julie Boyle recalled. A local farmer would come into town to sell his goods about once a week and his last customer was always Julie’s mother, who would take whatever the farmer had left at a substantial discount. Then Julie and her siblings would spend many hours helping their mother can and preserve the bounty for future use. This type of story was not uncommon in the coal regions, as families often kept poultry in their yards, grew vegetables, canned extra food, used every part of an animal bought at the butcher and relied on skills gained in the old country to survive thin times.[85]
In combination with this, residents often took on odd jobs to supplement primary incomes. Some men painted houses or provided handyman services around the area, women took in laundry or boarders, and children helped the ice man deliver ice or ran paper routes for one of the many different local newspapers.[86] This resourcefulness emerged out of necessity and a recognition that, in order to live comfortably, people had to rely upon themselves.
Because of the hardships and the constant presence of struggle, for some, coal country was a place where “you did it all on your own.”[87] Lillian Verona, a lifelong resident of the region, explained, “I always felt if I had to get anything, I had to get it myself or I wasn’t going to get it. I’ve never been handed anything yet in my life-ever. Everything I got myself…the hard way, work and struggle.”[88]
This is not to say that people did not help each other. “My mother never turned anyone away who was down on their luck looking for food or work,” Stephanie Hutta remembered. “We didn’t have much, but she always gave them something.”[89] This generosity of spirit, along with hard work, resilience and resistance to oppression, allowed people in the Panther Valley to not only survive, but to build communities for themselves that they cherished. As Mike Sabron said, “I want to die here, baby. I worked hard for this.”[90]
The Decline
In June 1954, following anthracite’s long, slow fall from its place of supremacy in the American energy market, the Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company closed its doors. With the emergence of oil, gas and new technologies that made strip mining bituminous coal easier, deep mining for hard rock anthracite was less profitable, and its production fell tens of millions of tons each decade.[91] Following a temporary wartime boom, the industry entered into a full stop downward spiral, and employment numbers fell quickly. In the Pennsylvania anthracite region, numbers of miners fell from over 90,000 in 1940 to just about 20,000 in 1960 and less than 7,000 in 1970.[92] The Panther Valley was no exception to this trend, and hard times meant less work, so LC&N began cutting back on shifts for local miners. Eventually the company cut its losses and abandoned all mining operations in the Valley, thereby pulling the plug on the region’s only major industry.[93]
The true irony of this story was that the final decisive blow to LC&N came in the form of a labor strike carried out by the miners of the Panther Valley. Following the “layoff of men at the No.14 colliery near Tamaqua,” miners “took the whole valley out on strike.”[94] Despite warnings from various sources, including John L. Lewis, that the company would close if they did not return to work, the people of the Valley stood strong like they had so many times before. Unlike past successes, however, this strike gave LC&N an excuse to shut down operations, declare bankruptcy and abandon the Valley almost entirely.
The implications of closure were huge for everyone in the area, as it meant the end of the region’s lifeblood. Employment, which had always depended on the mines, became scarce and the towns were unable to economically support their populations. As a result, men were forced to seek jobs in other places, including Bethlehem Steel, Allentown Mack Truck and the General Motors plant in Linden, New Jersey. The natural progression was a significant outmigration of families and young people, who were forced to pursue opportunities to support themselves elsewhere. This occurred steadily over the course of the second half of the twentieth century, and population numbers fell significantly. Coaldale alone went from 6,163 people in 1940, to 2,531 in 1990.[95]
Collapse of the region’s central industry resonated beyond mine closures and decreased employment numbers, as entire communities were systematically undermined. The dismantling of this kind of community does not occur all at once, rather, it takes decades of neglect and exploitation to drain a once vibrant soul. Evidence of this fact presents itself on Lehigh Street, at the very upper reaches of Coaldale. The street’s entire eastern end, now covered in grass and trees, was once the place of a manmade disaster unique to coal country. As the Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company began cutting back its operations in the No.8 and No.9 mines, which have veins that run underneath the near entirety of Coaldale, the miners engaged in what locals referred to as “robbing the pillars.” When extracting from a vein of anthracite, miners would leave supporting pillars of coal to brace against the top and bottom rock of the mine shaft to prevent collapse. As soon as the vein ran dry or the site became inactive for any reason, workers were told to knock down these pillars and extract the remaining coal as they retreated. Though this made financial sense for the company, it proved disastrous for the surrounding area, as the remaining wooden support timbers rotted over time and mines began collapsing. The result in Coaldale has been periodic mine subsidence, causing homes to literally fall into the mines, including 23 homes in a single occurrence on East Lehigh Street.[96] The remnants of these homes have been removed, and their foundations have been overgrown, leaving nothing behind but memories of their existence.
For towns in coal country, this phenomenon has occurred both literally and figuratively. As houses on Lehigh Street were robbed of their pillars, so were entire communities like Coaldale. Communities are built and supported by things that bring people together: work, churches, recreational facilities, organizations, parades, bustling downtowns, bars and schools. These are the metaphorical pillars on which towns like Coaldale sit, transforming a few square miles of buildings into a hometown. For this particular place and so many others like it, however, those pillars have been systematically robbed for over half a century, resulting in a community that faces a similar fate to the houses on Lehigh Street. It is a harsh reality, and one that has been mostly passed over by those who are not affected. Yet, for those who consider themselves rooted in the Panther Valley, the process represents a fundamental attack on the regional identity that they worked so hard to build.
For towns in the Panther Valley, and indeed towns all across the formerly industrialized United States, hardship is embedded in the soul, and regional identities are founded in struggle. Yet, the fight that former miners and industrial laborers currently face cannot be won by sheer toughness and will. As the forces of capitalism decide that they no longer have use for American heavy industry, places like the Panther Valley, whose economies were extremely undiversified, are left behind to fend for themselves. In this way, a place that was built on the strength of the people’s backs is now being dismantled by forces outside of their control, and the ensuing feeling of helplessness is pervasive.
In a manifestation of this sentiment, in 2016, a New York City millionaire with no discernible connection to the ethic and lived experience of towns like these galvanized the support of disaffected Americans and won the presidential election with overwhelming support from industrial America, including the Panther Valley. For many Americans, this came as a complete shock, but for those who had been left behind by capitalism and forgotten by political leaders, Donald Trump seemed to promise all of the right things. In particular, the slogan “Make America Great Again” struck right at the heart of what people were yearning for, including the reinvigoration of communities that had been undermined by the disappearance of industry. In other words, residents of industrial America were pining for the way things used to be. Given this, it is imperative to understand the broader story of deindustrialization and its impacts on American society – and to pay particular attention to what people from these forgotten places feel has changed. For the Panther Valley specifically, recognizing the struggle, sacrifice, resilience and toughness that it took to build their communities is crucial to understanding why current residents feel like they have lost so much.
Today, when Julie Boyle looks out of her parlor window, she sees a town that is very different from the one that exists in her memory. The homes and buildings are the same, but the life within them has faded. Down the street, the bar that her late husband used to frequent is boarded up. Around the corner, a garment factory lies dormant, its white paint crackling around a bright yellow sign that still reads “Factory Outlet.” Saint Cyril and Methodius Church, the beautiful Slovak Catholic church where she was baptized, stares blankly at the occasional passerby, its stained glass windows sold to the highest bidder and replaced with wooden planks. The entire town is quiet, as wholesale dilapidation has led to increased crime rates and a worrying trend of opioid overdoses that wreaks havoc on the town’s young people.
Mrs. Boyle, who is 87years old, knows all too well the direction in which her hometown is headed. After being prompted by her niece to talk about how Coaldale has changed, she said, “I have to make sure my doors and windows are all locked up at night now. I never used to have to do that. I always just left my front door unlocked and didn’t worry about it.”[97] This statement, while said in passing, speaks volumes about the changes in the Panther Valley. Since the mines closed and people began moving away, the notion of community has dissolved pillar by pillar. From the Panther Valley School District, which is now one of the worst in Pennsylvania, to the large crack in Lansford’s community pool, to the replacement of local stores with a large Wal-Mart outside of town, things that used to make the region a wonderful place to live no longer exist. When this current state of the Panther Valley is juxtaposed with the locality’s heyday in the minds of those who remember, a profound sense of loss fills the void.
Yet, despite all of this, Julie Boyle will stay in her half of a double on Coaldale’s 2nd street. Much like the mines beneath her feet, Julie’s roots run deep here. This is the place where she was born and raised, where she worked, fell in love, got married, raised kids and lived a full life. Times are certainly tough, but they have been before. For an outsider looking in, Coaldale and the Panther Valley have all but succumbed to their fate of complete collapse. However, for those who still feel the struggle and sacrifice of those who came before them, this is a place worth fighting for. The challenges are many and the odds are great, but if there is anything that history demonstrates, it is that the Panther Valley and its people do not give up easily. For, like the region’s white birch trees that only grow on the slag heaps, people here are defined by an intense connection to this place. For them, this remote valley, with its scarred hillsides, black soil and unassuming towns was, is and always will be, home.
[1] Thomas Dublin and Walter Licht. The Face of Decline. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2005) P.10
[2] H.H. Stoek. The Pennsylvania Anthracite Coal Field: Extract from the Twenty-second annual report of the [U.S. Geological] survey, 1900-1901. Part III–Coal, oil, cement. (Washington: Government Print Office, 1902)
[3] U.S. Bureau of the Census, Historical Statistics of the United States: Colonial Times to 1957 (Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1960), p.355
[4] Pennsylvania. Commission to Investigate the Increase in the Cost of Anthracite Coal in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania., . (1917). Report of the Commission to Investigate the Increase in the Cost of Anthracite Coal in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania: to the governor and Legislature, pursuant to joint resolution of June 15, 1915. Testimony not included.
[5] Richard Richardson. Memoir of Josiah White: Showing his connection with the introduction and use of anthracite coal and iron, and the construction of some of the canals and railroads of Pennsylvania, etc. (Philadelphia, J.B. Lippincott & co., 1873), P.101
[6] W. Julian Parton. The Death of a Great Company. (Easton, Canal History and Technology Press, 1986), p.2
[7] Honestas. A Defence of the Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company from the Assaults Made Upon its Interests (Philadelphia, J. Harding, 1840)
[8] Pennsylvania. Commission to Investigate the Increase in the Cost of Anthracite Coal in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania., . (1917). Report of the Commission to Investigate the Increase in the Cost of Anthracite Coal in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania: to the governor and Legislature, pursuant to joint resolution of June 15, 1915. Testimony not included.
[9] Annual report of the Board of Managers of the Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company to the stockholders (Philadelphia, Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company, 1904)
[10] Parton, The Death of a Great Company. P.15
[11] Parton, The Death of a Great Company P.25
[12] US Historical Census Browser, http://fisher.lib.virginia.edu/collections/stats/histcensus
[13] US Historical Census Browser, http://fisher.lib.virginia.edu/collections/stats/histcensus
[14] Irene Gangawere. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Sept. 5, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[15] George Harvan. Interview conducted by Thomas Dublin on May. 29, 1997. Miner’s Son, Miners’ Photographer: The Life and Work of George Harvan. https://www.albany.edu/jmmh/vol3/harvan/interview/interview.htm
[16] Stephanie Hutta. Personal Interview. December. 23, 2015.
[17] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[18] Dublin. The Face of Decline. P.23
[19] George Harvan. Interview conducted by Thomas Dublin on May. 29, 1997. Miner’s Son, Miners’ Photographer: The Life and Work of George Harvan. https://www.albany.edu/jmmh/vol3/harvan/interview/interview.htm
[20] George Harvan. Interview conducted by Thomas Dublin on May. 29, 1997. Miner’s Son, Miners’ Photographer: The Life and Work of George Harvan. https://www.albany.edu/jmmh/vol3/harvan/interview/interview.htm
[21] Lillian Verona. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Oct. 5, 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[22] Stephanie Hutta. Personal Interview. December. 23, 2015.
[23] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[24] Employment Records of the Mining Operations of the Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company/Children and Women Wage Earners in Anthracite Silk Mill Communities, 1907-1908. (Philadelphia, Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company)
[25] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[26] Forrest T. Moyer, et al. Injury Experience in Coal Mining, 1948. (Washington, D.C., US Bureau of Mines, 1952)
[27] Forrest T. Moyer, et al. Injury Experience in Coal Mining, 1948. (Washington, D.C., US Bureau of Mines, 1952)
[28] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[29] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[30] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[31] George Harvan. Interview conducted by Thomas Dublin on May. 29, 1997. Miner’s Son, Miners’ Photographer: The Life and Work of George Harvan. https://www.albany.edu/jmmh/vol3/harvan/interview/interview.htm
[32] Stephanie Hutta. Personal Interview. December. 23, 2015.
[33] George Strohl. Interview by Thomas Dublin on July 30. 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[34] Theresa Pavlocak. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Oct. 13. 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[35] Gabe Ferrence. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June 20. 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[36] Center for Disease Control. Mining Feature: Trend in Black Lung Cases Concerns NIOSH Researchers. (Dec. 9, 2011)
[37] Center for Disease Control. Mining Feature: Trend in Black Lung Cases Concerns NIOSH Researchers. (Dec. 9, 2011)
[38] George Harvan. Interview conducted by Thomas Dublin on May. 29, 1997. Miner’s Son, Miners’ Photographer: The Life and Work of George Harvan. https://www.albany.edu/jmmh/vol3/harvan/interview/interview.htm
[39] Theresa Pavlocak. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Oct. 13. 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[40] Anne Meyers. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Oct. 3, 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[41] Irene Gangawere. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Sept. 5, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[42] Pennsylvania. Annual Report of the Department of Mines 1909. (Harrisburg)
[43] George Strohl. Interview by Thomas Dublin on July 30. 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[44] Theresa Pavlocak. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Oct. 13. 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[45] Ziggie Whitecavage. Interview by Thomas Dublin on April. 8, 1995. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[46] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[47] George Harvan. Interview conducted by Thomas Dublin on May. 29, 1997. Miner’s Son, Miners’ Photographer: The Life and Work of George Harvan. https://www.albany.edu/jmmh/vol3/harvan/interview/interview.htm
[48] Dublin. The Face of Decline. P.23
[49] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[50] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[51] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[52] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[53] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[54] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[55] Stephanie Hutta. Personal Interview. December. 23, 2015.
[56] Emily Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 17, 2018.
[57] John Pollack. Personal Interview. Dec. 20, 2010.
[58] Stephanie Hutta. Personal Interview. December. 23, 2015.
[59] Charles Albright. The great Mollie Maguire trials: in Carbon and Schuylkill counties, Pa., brief reference to such trials, and arguments of Gen. Charles Albright and Hon. F. W. Hughes, in the case of the commonwealth vs. James Carroll, James Roarity, Hugh McGehan and James Boyle, indicted for the murder of Benjamin F. Yost, chief of police of and at Tamaqua, July 6, l876, in the Oyer and terminer of Schuylkill County…. Pottsville: Chronicle book and job rooms. (1876).
[60] Pennsylvania. Execution of Molly Maguires Historical Marker. (Sept. 9, 2006)
[61] The Molly Maguires: Kelly’s Trial to Commence at Mauch Chunk Today. The New York Times (March 29, 1876)
[62] Aimee Tabor. Historian Dispels Many Popular Beliefs Over Molly Maguire Trial. (Eckley, The Standard Speaker, 2002)
[63] The Molly Maguires: Kelly’s Trial to Commence at Mauch Chunk Today. The New York Times (March 29, 1876)
[64] History of the Old Jail Museum. (Jim Thorpe) http://www.theoldjailmuseum.com/history.html
[65] Gabe Ferrence. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June 20. 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[66] Jonathan Grossman. The Coal Strike of 1902-Turning Point in US Policy. United States Department of Labor. https://www.dol.gov/general/aboutdol/history/coalstrike
[67] Jonathan Grossman. The Coal Strike of 1902-Turning Point in US Policy. United States Department of Labor. https://www.dol.gov/general/aboutdol/history/coalstrike
[68] “Minutes of the Joint Convention of Districts One, Seven, and Nine, May 1902,” 29, Kosik Collection.
[69] “Minutes of the Joint Convention of Districts One, Seven, and Nine, May 1902,” 29, Kosik Collection.
[70] “Minutes of the Joint Convention of Districts One, Seven, and Nine, May 1902,” 29, Kosik Collection.
[71] “Minutes of the Joint Convention of Districts One, Seven, and Nine, May 1902,” 29, Kosik Collection.
[72] Jonathan Grossman. The Coal Strike of 1902-Turning Point in US Policy. United States Department of Labor. https://www.dol.gov/general/aboutdol/history/coalstrike
[73] Pennsylvania. Mary Harris “Mother” Jones Historical Marker. (Oct. 25, 2002)
[74] Mother Jones. The Autobiography of Mother Jones. (Chicago: Charles H. Kerr & Company, 1925)
[75] Mother Jones. The Autobiography of Mother Jones. (Chicago: Charles H. Kerr & Company, 1925)
[76] Perry K. Blatz. Democratic Miners. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1994), P. 123
[77] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[78] Gabe Ferrence. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June 20. 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[79] Dublin. The Face of Decline P. 50
[80] Dublin. The Face of Decline P. 54
[81] Dublin. The Face of Decline P. 87
[82] Gabe Ferrence. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June 20. 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[83] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[84] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[85] Julie Boyle. Personal Interview. Feb. 19, 2018
[86] Paul Hutta. Personal Interview. Feb. 18, 2018
[87] George Harvan. Interview conducted by Thomas Dublin on May. 29, 1997. Miner’s Son, Miners’ Photographer: The Life and Work of George Harvan. https://www.albany.edu/jmmh/vol3/harvan/interview/interview.htm
[88] Lillian Verona. Interview by Thomas Dublin on Oct. 5, 1994. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[89] Stephanie Hutta. Personal Interview. December. 23, 2015
[90] Mike Sabron. Interview by Thomas Dublin on June. 28, 1993. When the Mines Closed: Stories of Struggles in Hard Times. (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998)
[91] Dublin. The Face of Decline. P. 203 http://www.eia.doe.gov/emeu/northamerica/engdata.htm
[92] Dublin. The Face of Decline. P. 203 http://www.eia.doe.gov/emeu/northamerica/engdata.htm
[93] Parton. The Death of a Great Company. P. 80
[94] The Last Strike of the Panther Valley’s Deep Miners. The Valley Gazzette (March 1983)
[95] Population of Coaldale, PA. http://population.us/pa/coaldale/
[96] Ron Gowan. “The Day the Earth Opened 50 Years Ago Today, Coaldale Homes Lost to an Old Coal Pit” Times News Online, April 6, 2013.
[97] Julie Boyle. Personal Interview. Feb. 19, 2018