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the coal was so low that they could barely make it through, twenty-four inches maybe. And they had to work in that all day long. Sometimes they had to work in three or four inches of water. They didn't make much money. And then they didn't get paid for any work they did other than the coal they loaded. They'd hang a little check on the car—maybe it would be five tons in there. They'd get fifty, sixty cents a ton. You can see how much they had to do to make a few dollars. My brothers went into the mines when they were around sixteen years old and French, my oldest brother, died first with silicosis and heart problems. Let's see, he died in 1949 with an enlarged heart and silicosis, and he was only thrity-nine years old. And Green, he wasn't in too good a physical condition, either, but he still lived to be about in his 70s. He still had what they called Black Lung—silicosis, same thing. He died of a heart attack, but he still had silicosis. It's hard work, dirty, dusty. You got coal dust, you got rock dust that they use to hold the dust down which is like cement. And all this gets in your lungs. It gets all coal miners. It gets them all sooner or later. It's dangerous because of methane gas formations in holes, and dust hanging in the air. A spark from DC power could set it off, and there'd be an explosion. And history will show you how many people have lost their lives in explosions and slate falls, and gas explosions. And then on top of that, if that don't get you, silicosis will sooner or later. Pressed Flowers The flowers that bloom in the picture Are not the ones that bloom in my heart eternally. These come from shady banks of early spring And grassy nooks along fenced yards Mostly hidden from view. They are kissed by morning dews And caressed by soft winds. They bloom away from busy streets God's gifts to man. Always look below Tufted azure carpets in the spring And gold coverlets in the ssummer. From Spring's wonder To autumn's myriad colors, they bloom They blow and nod. Just there for me to pick. I press their beauty between soft sheets of paper And protect them by glass. Then I set them on tables And relish their beauty Long after winter's chill has come. -Chessie I. Cornette 60 ...