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Knox Mine Disaster: 50 Years Later

The small group of men fleeing onrushing water through the Knox Coal Co.’s River Slope Mine tore frantically at the pile of debris before them, trying to clear a way to the air shaft through which they hoped to escape.

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But even when they managed to reach the bottom of the 10-foot-by-10-foot Eagle Shaft, they found it was a good 50 feet to the surface – straight up the dirt and rock walls.

Miner Amedeo “Paul” Pancotti was not ready to quit.

“For 10 minutes he climbed, seeking holds wherever he could before reaching the surface, at one time depending on an inch-wide sapling for support,” according to the Carnegie Commission, which would award him a medal for his actions that day.

“Once outside the shaft, Pancotti ran to the mine office and alerted officials to the location of the other men, who were then rescued.”

It was mid-afternoon, Jan. 22, 1959, 50 years ago Thursday. About three hours earlier the roof in a portion of the anthracite coal mine under the Susquehanna River near Port Griffith, Jenkins Township, had given way. A torrent of ice and water immediately poured in, sending workers fleeing for their lives. By the end of the day, 69 men had gotten out of the mine. Twelve others were never seen again.

Pancotti’s daughter, Hortense Oschal of Pittston, continues to marvel at the quick thinking and determination of her father, who died in 1970.

“He rose to the occasion. He took his shoes and socks off and he climbed right up.”

Pancotti’s heroic story was just one element of that day, one of the worst in the history of the anthracite mining industry. Afterward, plugging the huge hole to end the mine flooding took many days. In the longer term, thousands of miners became temporarily or permanently unemployed and numerous mine operators and bosses as well as union leaders faced charges in court.

‘Fatally thin margin’

At 7 a.m. on that Jan. 22, 81 men reported for the day shift at the Pennsylvania Coal Co. properties in the area, which were connected. Seventy-five went to the May Shaft, with six heading to the River Slope.

According to Robert P. Wolensky, in his 1999 book, “The Knox Mine Disaster,” the situation at River Slope was a disaster in waiting.

In its pursuit of rich veins of anthracite under the river, Knox received permission from the Pennsylvania Co. to tunnel into areas with the minimum 35 feet of roof rock cover. Pennsylvania agreed, but Knox then proceeded beyond the safety “stop lines” on its maps and ended up with “a fatally thin margin somewhere between 19 inches and a few feet. It was a gamble destined for infamy.”

At about 11:30 a.m., workers at River Slope heard a cracking sound, and within minutes the roof gave way. Tons of river water, chunks of ice and debris poured in. Three men in the immediate area escaped, but another three were cut off.

With mines interconnected, the situation looked dire. When a phone call went up to the surface, Superintendent Robert Groves gave the order to all men below to evacuate. In groups they began heading for safety, but the water was rising.

Foreman Frank Handley, who had worked in the mines since becoming a mule boy at 14, took charge in his area. He calmly collected 12 men and began to lead them out through the darkness pierced by their headlamps.

“He always put a chalk arrow on the walls pointing to the way out,” said his son, also named Frank Handley. “He knew the way. He went and got them (the men) and took them through a passage. They grabbed belts and hands and kept going.”

Reaching the Hoyt Shaft, Handley and his men piled onto a cage lift and were pulled to the surface. In the first wave of escapees, a total of 36 men would reach safety, most through the May or Hoyt shafts.

There were still a lot of men underground. A group of 33, led by Pacifico “Joe” Stella and Myron Thomas, were trying to find a way out. They settled on the Eagle Shaft, a long-unused air passageway to the surface.

A small group that had separated from the main body arrived there first, only to find the bottom of the 10-foot-square shaft clogged with decades worth of debris. Realizing there was only one thing to do, they set to work clearing a way through it. But they were still 50 feet down below the surface.

Pancotti, a 33-year veteran of the mines, had carried a fellow miner on his back part of the way so the ailing man would not fall behind. He had not come this far to die.

The hand-over-hand climb, digging his feet into the sides of the shaft along the way, took Pancotti a good 10 minutes. Perhaps the worst part was at the top, where he had to climb over a layer of ice.

Up on top at last, he was making his way for help, his feet and hands bloody, when he met fellow employee Bill Hastie and told him what was going on.

It was about 2:45 in the afternoon. In time, all 33 men would be raised.

“If it weren’t for my father, they would all have been lost down there,” Oschal said.

Word spread slowly

Meanwhile, television and print journalists and photographers had arrived at the scene, and hundreds of spectators had gathered at the river bank, watching a huge whirlpool of water tearing into the mine opening. Still, word spread slowly among the men’s relatives.

Handley’s daughter, Maureen, was a cheerleader at West Side Central Catholic High School in Kingston.

“I was in the gym when someone said ‘Did you hear about the terrible mine accident?’” she said. “My heart sank; I was scared to death to call home.”

Said Frank Handley the son, “He didn’t call our house until after supper that night. He got to a house in Pittston and called my mother and said he was all right.”

Tina Desuta, another of Pancotti’s daughters, is still amazed that her school day in Exeter proceeded normally, with no mention of the unfolding disaster that had engulfed students’ families.

“I was just walking home from school with a friend and he said ‘Haven’t you heard?’ I know I went home, but I just don’t remember it. I must have been in shock.”

She remembers seeing her father only late that evening.

As the day drew to a close, two facts became obvious to authorities at the scene. Twelve men were missing, with no way to search for them, and some way had to be found to stop the water rushing into the interconnected mines.

In a desperate move that continued over several days, mining cars were thrown from shore into the breakthrough area. Later, a railroad track was rerouted, and huge rail gondolas designed to carry many tons of coal were run off the end of the track into the abyss as well.

When the gap was finally plugged, water could be pumped out of the mines, and in March work began on a coffer dam to divert the Susquehanna away from the breakthrough area so that a permanent concrete seal could be installed.

According to Wolensky, the often-repeated story that the Knox disaster ended deep mining through much of Northeastern Pennsylvania is not true. Relatively few mines were flooded, he said, and the water was eventually removed.

COMMEMORATIVE EVENTS

TODAY: 10 a.m., memorial Mass, St. John The Evangelist Catholic Church, William St., Pittston.

6 p.m., Bill Hastie and Bob Wolensky speak on the Schooley Shaft disaster of 1947, Exeter Town Hall, 1101 Wyoming Ave.

TUESDAY: 7 p.m., video documentary followed by discussion. Earth Conservancy, 101 S. Main St., Ashley.

MONDAY-THURSDAY: Display and video presentation for groups of 8 or more. Call 654-6209 or 357-9564 to reserve.

THURSDAY: 10 a.m.-1 p.m., display and video presentation; 11:20, candle lighting and blessing ceremony. Overlook Professional Center, 200 Overlook Dr., Pittston.

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