The Last Hurrah! Ernest Team went to the National Playoffs

On the surface the 1937 season seemed like the R&P Baseball League’s greatest glory!  The championship team, Ernest, carried the league’s banner into the National Amateur Baseball Federation finals in Dayton, Ohio.  No coal town baseball team from the County had ever reached such heights before.  In the minds of the people of the time – and often in their memories today – it was a splendid and spectacular climax.

But looking back, we can see that at the same time other forces were at work which would spell the end for the venerable coal town league.  The coming of unionization to the region in 1933 created new attitudes and new practices which weakened company support for the teams.  The companies cut funds for the teams and no longer provided “hired players” – those exceptionally talented men who were given easy jobs in the mines in exchange for their diamond exploits.  Some of these older stars – “Cofy” Davis, “Stusch” Salva, Arley Shaffer, and Mel “Powerhouse” King – continued to play for enjoyment.  But the team rosters carried youngsters like John Toten, Edward “Huskie” Hess, and Kennard “Ken” Bishop, who were true amateurs.  As the Ernest manager Mel King recalled about 1937, “I played the younger players of Ernest itself.  There were no longer any ‘hired players.’ You could not have asked any more of them.  They played better than most people expected.”

The new labor situation meant other changes, too.  There was no longer time off from work for play.  The McIntyre team suffered an embarrassing forfeit during the 1937 season because they were still working the mine and missed the start of the first game of a double-header.  And, perhaps reflecting the more democratic spirit which accompanied unionization, in 1937 the Ernest team officials even allowed players to elect their own manager.

All these changes helped to make the 1937 season an unusual one.  Organizational problems troubled the league.  Ten teams started the season, but only seven were sound enough to finish.  An unusually large number of lop-sided contests – such as Lucerne’s 25 to 1 trouncing of McIntyre, a league record for scoring – testify to the wide talent gap among the teams. The fortunes of the McIntyre team suggest the turbulent state of the league and the lack of balance.  Barely respectable in the first half of the season, McIntyre reversed itself in the second half to finish comfortably on top, eclipsing more touted teams like Yatesboro, Lucerne, and Ernest.  Amid such chaos, it is not surprising that frustrations mounted.  Controversy clouded the County playoff series between Ernest and Plumville.  Ernest’s “square-shooting” manager Mel King was even rumored to be involved in an alleged bribery attempt of an opposing pitcher.

What unionization began; international affairs finished.  Within four years, America entered World War II.  The war effort drained time and talent from the fields and the league’s decline became irreversible.  Paradoxically, the R&P League, which was an important and vital part of life in Western Pennsylvania for over a decade, did not enjoy national recognition until its declining years.  But, for the moment, the glory of Ernest’s 1937 trip to Dayton hid the weaknesses.

The road to Dayton was anything but smooth for Ernest.  They started slowly – in fact, they did not formally enter the league until close to opening day in mid-May.  Then, only a late winning surge by Ernest and a stunning upset of Lucerne by Coal Run enabled Ernest to gain a one-game advantage over Lucerne and clinch the first-half pennant.  In the second-half race, Ernest stretched its winning streak to eighteen games, but still finished three games behind the McIntyre club.  Thus, despite playing .771 baseball for the year, they were forced into a championship series with McIntyre who had played only .708 baseball.  Still, Ernest fared better than their arch-rivals Lucerne, the defending league champions.  They placed second in both halves of the season and thus were relegated to the sidelines despite playing .750 baseball overall.

Ernest won the championship series over McIntyre, three games to none, but it was not easy.  In the first game, Ernest rallied for a run in the top of the tenth to win 4 to 3.  They scored a run in the top of the ninth to win the second game 2 to 1.  The third game ended in darkness at the end of the fourteenth inning with the score tied 4 to 4.  When the game was replayed in its entirety, Ernest broke open a close 2 to 0 game with three runs in the seventh and two insurance tallies in the eighth for a deceptively easy 7 to 1 victory.  The Indiana Evening Gazette reported that “except for the last few innings of the final contest, the series was the closest and most interesting ever seen since the league was organized in 1928 and re-organized in 1934….District fans will never again witness a deluxe series as presented by McIntyre and Ernest last week.”

Ernest moved another step forward on the road to Dayton in the County championship with Plumville, but while that series was less difficult on the field, it was more fraught with controversy.  The problems began on Sunday, August 14, two weeks before Ernest was to meet Indiana County League champion Plumville.  Ernest manager Mel King hired Lud “Lefty” Smith, an old friend and former teammate from King’s Yatesboro career, to pitch against Revloc in a non-league, Sunday encounter.  This was not an unusual strategy.  King wanted his regular pitching staff well rested and primed for more meaningful league games because they were locked in a tight league race.  By the 19th of August Manager Don Bowser of Plumville was “worried and concerned” over Smith’s stint at Revloc.  Merle Agnello, sports writer for the Gazette, underscored the problem when he wrote, “It must be remembered that Smith is a regular with Plumville…who will meet the R&P League titlist (either Ernest or McIntyre) in a 5-game series soon.”  When Ernest pounded Smith to a 7 to 2 victory in the first game of the series, the ugliness began, with rumors circulating that Ernest had paid Smith to allow the R&P champs to win.  Agnello responded to the rumors with a reasoned article in the Gazette showing that Ernest had acted in good faith, but nonetheless during the rest of the series, Mel King and his team heard the taunts from the Plumville fans about “buying Smith.”

The “Smith at Revloc” controversy proved to be mild compared to the “Smith in Pittsburgh” controversy which also flared up the start of the Ernest-Plumville series.  Lud Smith, “who practically earned his summer living as a member of the Plumville staff,” signed to pitch for Wildwood of the Greater Pittsburgh League in their playoff series with Reston.  Agnello reported, “It was little wonder that Manager Bowser and his townspeople became disgusted – all because Smith decided he could make a few dollars by pitching for both teams.”  Looking backward, Mel King placed the event in better perspective by recalling, “It was still the Depression. Smith had a pretty good-sized family – perhaps four children – and he didn’t have a very high paying job.”

Smith’s double duty was not only against the local league rules, but also apparently against the national rules.  Later, the State NABF commissioner ruled that Smith had been ineligible to pitch for Plumville in the series because he had already pitched for a team engaged in the national playoffs.  Smith’s indiscretion aroused the moral indignation of Agnello who wrote, “It was a shame to see Plumville take it on the chin from such unjust play of Smith.”

“Take it on the chin” is exactly what Plumville did.  In that first game of the series, played on Monday, the 30th of August, Ernest exploded against Smith for four runs in the first inning and added one each in the second and third innings.  It turned out that Smith had pitched on the previous two days for Wildwood in their series.  His efforts for Plumville on the third day fell short.  Agnello summed it up in his “Sportseer” column, “How could he fool himself by trying that foolish ‘iron man’ stunt?”

The Plumville team lost the second game 6 to, and the following morning a demoralized Manager Bowser announced that he refused to continue the playoffs.  Bowser’s statement agreed with what Agnello wrote: “Without his ace hurler his team cannot stand up against the R&P League finalists.”  Late that day the distraught manager relented and sent his charges into the fray behind the rubbery arm of lanky “Slim” Lingenfelter.  The old-timer’s tantalizing slow curves and off-speed pitches baffled the Ernest batters.  The resulting 4 to 1 victory for Plumville kept the Indiana County League champs alive.  Ernest, however, edged Lingenfelter 2 to 1 in a twelve-inning fourth game to wrap up the playoff after “Slim” had pitched hitless ball for nine frames.  Ernest became eligible for the national championship.

By today’s standards the amount of newspaper ink devoted to this series and the controversy was enormous.  It provides one index of the continuing attraction of amateur baseball in the late 1930s.  Yet, by the standards of earlier years, amateur baseball in Indiana County had declined.  The Ernest-Plumville series showed a net profit of only $1.25, a far cry from the approximately thirteen hundred dollars once collected at a single Lucerne-Waterman game in the R&P League.

Ernest now prepared for the trip to Dayton.  Manager King reinforced his regular roster by adding Frank “Whitey” Marken, a catcher from Yatesboro, and Alfred “Zip” Zentner, a pitcher from Lucerne Mines.  Tourney officials made the arrangements for the team.  Steve Cox and Joe Getz, the owners of the Pittsburgh Sport Shop and sponsors of the Federation leagues in Pennsylvania, brought the details to Ernest prior to the team’s departure. Ernest was to be lodged in the Miami, a downtown Dayton hotel.  Their room and board were to be paid by the Federation.  Prior to leaving, Mel King and “Cofy” Davis approached Leslie W. Householder of the R&P Coal Company for a donation to meet other expenses and were given approximately fifty dollars.  The team arranged to borrow cars to make the trip.  Mel King remembers driving a new Dodge belonging to the Ernest tipple foreman Dave Watkins.  “It never ran right again,” Mell mused afterward.  A squad of fifteen players and a few club officials accompanied by sportswriter Agnello left Indiana County on Friday morning, September 11, for the 250-mile trip – a trip they remember today as being extremely long.

Their arrival in Dayton late Friday was much like the season they had just completed, a bit mixed up.  The team reached Dayton too late to participate in the opening parade sponsored by the city’s civic organizations.  Despite their team’s missing the parade, the R&P Coal Company’s sign was somehow carried in the parade.

In Dayton, the Indiana Countians made two important discoveries which made their disappointment at not making the parade seem minor. Mel King learned that the spit ball was outlawed in tourney play.  In effect that sidelined one of their ace pitchers, Arthur “Cofy” Davis, a vintage practitioner of the spitter.  Without his stuff “Cofy” would not be able to contribute much.  Manager King would be reduced to only three hurlers, Vincent “Runt” O’Hara, Alfred “Zip” Zentner, and the young “Ken” Bishop.  A fourth possible pitcher was Leo “Poley” Levitz, but he was not really to be counted on.

Without pitching depth things looked bleak for Ernest in the double elimination tournament.  Unless it rained there would be a game every day.  Mel King asked Steve Cox and Joe Getz why they had not informed him of the spitter ban when they had visited Ernest to decide.  They told him that it was simply a matter that had slipped their minds.  Later, Mel King recalled that if he had known the situation, he could have added such stellar moundsmen as “Stusch” Salva, “Bill” Ruddock, or even Lud Smith.

The second discovery came on Saturday when they arrived at the field assigned for their first game and found that their first opponent would be the Kramer team from neighboring Jefferson County, Pennsylvania.  The two teams played poorly, perhaps with good cause.  Kramer had completed its baseball playoff only the day before.  Ernest perhaps felt the fatigue of the previous day’s trip.  Agnello reported “that the game would have been shameful enough for youngsters of the grades.”  Kramer jumped off to a 6 to 3 lead after three innings.  Ernest closed to 6 to 6 after five and a half innings and took an 8 to 7 lead in the top of the seventh.  Kramer iced the game with four runs in the bottom of the seventh, winning 11 to 8.

Mel King had elected to pitch Zentner inf the first game.  “Zip,” noted for his control, surprisingly walked seven.  King remembers, “It was the only time I saw him get a beating like that.”  Zentner, making no alibis, would later say, “It was just one of those days.”  But there may have been other reasons.  The tourney used baseballs of two sizes, the official National League ball and the smaller official American League ball.  Zentner remembers he “just couldn’t get used to the change in the size.”  The Ernest mound staff was so limited that Manager King really had no choice but to allow Zentner to go the entire distance.  Later the Ernest players would recall that they felt they should not have lost that game to their next-door rivals.  Perhaps this was the biggest disappointment of the tourney for them.

Ernest bounded back in the next day against a “stellar” Akron team.  Vincent “Runt” O’Hara, Ernest’s ace southpaw, pitched “…a beautiful game,” allowing only four hits in a game played on the University of Dayton diamond.  “Huskie” Hess and Mel King each collected two hits for Ernest.  The fact that there 3 to 1 victory was recorded against a pitcher who had been brought in as a ringer – he was then toiling in the Cleveland Indians farm system – made the victory even sweeter.  The game provided one of the most memorable moments of baseball in the entire trip.  One of King’s hits became known as the famous graveyard shot.  It was a prodigious clout that left the playing field and landed among the tombstones of the neighboring cemetery.  There it ricocheted off the first one and then another of the marble markers while the poor Akron outfielder chased it.  O’Hara still recalls that King laughed so hard he could hardly circle the bases, a task made more difficult by his periodic leaping into the air and clapping his hands.  He ended up with only a triple, but Ernest was still in the running for the national crown.

Ernest’s quest for glory ended the next day on Dayton’s Kuhn’s Field.  It was their third game in three days, and the lack of pitching depth took its toll.  The young and relatively inexperienced “Ken” Bishop started.  The even more inexperienced Leo “Poley” Levitz followed him.  “Cofy” Davis, limited to a slow roundhouse curve because of the spitter ban, came next.  A tired “Zip” Zentner finished up.

For eleven innings the pride of Indiana County and a team of “hospitable” southerners from Birmingham, Alabama, traded leads.  Then Birmingham, the home team, pulled off a successful squeeze play to plate the winning tally.  Ernest had lost 11 to 10 and was out of the tournament.  Third baseman “Huskie” Hess still remembers that frustrating bunt.  He was playing too deep because of problems with the grass infield and was unable to make the play from his position at third.  It was an uncommon game with an unusual score to end an unconventional season.

The season did not, however, necessarily have to end for Mel King at that point.  The Birmingham team was so impressed with him that they offered to pay his expenses to stay on and play for them under an assumed name.  King declined, but it might have proved to be an interesting event if he had loaned himself to the Alabama team.  The next day Birmingham played Ernest’s neighbors from Jefferson County.  It would have, without doubt, been difficult for King to disguise himself from the Kramer team.

Interestingly, none of the Ernest players remembers the controversy over the umpiring in the third game.  Agnello reported in the Gazette at that time that “the melee was one of those unsatisfying contests to both due to the rather awkward umpiring.  Time and time again decisions were disputed and reversed; …the work of Umpires Schwartz and Minzler was far from satisfactory.  In fact, umpiring of the Dayton official’s association was criticized throughout the first 3 days of play – a “black eye” to tourney heads.  A couple of decisions caused the downfall of the Ernest team.”  In interviews with the players they never mention it.  If asked about the umpiring, they say that it was fine.  Perhaps it is that the warm memories of the Dayton tourney have over the years cooled this brief moment of dispute.

For the Indiana Countians, however, there was more to the tourney than the games themselves. “Huskie” Hess, the young Ernest infielder recalls that it was his first venture outside Pennsylvania and his first real trip away from home.  His memories are of the stay in Dayton’s Miami Hotel where he and Mike “Suey” Swanlek attempted to crash a dance on Saturday night.  He was also impressed with the large number of baseball fields in the city of Dayton and experienced the strangeness of playing on a field with a grass infield.  He had grown up playing on nothing but the totally dirt diamonds of the Indiana County coal towns.

Mel King remembers that he and some of the team wandered into a large Jewish wedding reception at the hotel and helped themselves to the goodies on the buffet table before being “run out.”  He also recalls the fans asking where Ernest, Pennsylvania was, the good size of the crowds in attendance at the Dayton games, and a couple of carloads of Ernest fans arriving for the Sunday game.  There were also several major league scouts in the stands who might give a young player his big break.  King recalls telling his young shortstop John Toten, whom he remembers as one of the best infielders he played with in the R&P League, to play his ordinary game and not to be nervous because of the scouts.

“Zip” Zentner recalls that the players did not venture much out of the downtown hotel where they roomed two men to a room, but that a few did visit a couple of night spots.  Most of the memories, however, are of baseball.  Overall there is the impression that there was a real feeling on behalf of the team that they went to Dayton to play baseball, that they felt serious about their chances in the tourney, and that they gave it most of their attention.

Merle Agnello’s “Sportseer” column of September 14, 1937, gives some indication of the players’ seriousness and their superstitious nature. “Unfortunately,” Agnello wrote, “I missed the bus transporting the players from the hotel to the playing field Sunday afternoon, and had to hire a taxi to reach the University of Dayton diamond.  Because Ernest won on Sunday, they were determined from having me board the bus today for Kuhn’s field and went as far as to pay my taxi fare to the park! Can anyone imagine such superstition – as much as I wanted Ernest to win, they insisted that my presence was a ‘jinx’.”

Following the defeat, the players and club officials began their trek back to Indiana County.  They arrived the next day following an all-night trip.  While it was a quest for glory ended, a dream not come true, it is still a part of the Indiana County heritage – that trip to the national finals in Dayton.

The Ernest Mining Plant

The story of the Ernest plant began in 1902, when officials of the Rochester and Pittsburgh Coal and Iron Company started looking to Indiana County in search of new coal fields. In May 1903, the rails of the Buffalo, Rochester and Pittsburgh Railway reached the new town of Ernest, and the first coal was shipped the same month. From the early days of its existence, the Ernest plant was a marvel of engineering. In an era when most coal companies were dependent upon the lowly mule for motive power, the R&P’s new operation utilized electric motors to haul coal to the steel tipple where a system of endless chains hoisted it up a long incline into the plant for cleaning and grading.

cleaning plant
Cleaning plant, ca. 1910, featuring electric hauling system

Within three years of its opening, the plant underwent the first of several renovations as the R&P constantly searched for more efficient mining and preparation methods to produce, clean, size, and market coal. In 1906, Heyl and Patterson of Pittsburgh constructed the first washing plant. This firm had also built the original tipple and most of the buildings used for coal storage and preparation at Ernest. The Fairmont Machinery Company and McNally-Pittsburgh also did important work for the R&P as the complex at Ernest expanded.

The R&P also established a coke industry at Ernest and eventually built a battery of 278 beehive coke ovens at the plant. Coke production figures from the Ernest ovens reflect general economic trends of the first half of the twentieth century as well as the effects of the later development of more sophisticated methods of making coke. By the mid-1920s, lack of demand for coke caused the temporary shutdown of the line of coke ovens at Ernest. The plant began production again in 1929, with the addition of mechanical unloading to replace the old hand drawing method. Annual production ebbed and flowed until a World War II peak of 145,977 tons was reached.

While the manufacture of coke formed a significant part of the activities at the Ernest plant, the mining, processing, and sale of clean fuel remained the prime factor in the success of the operation. In the early days, railroads, primarily the B R & P, consumed the greatest percentage of Ernest’s coal. It was particularly desired as high grade stoker coal for passenger engines. By the mid-1920s, the original tipple had been remodeled, and a huge bin constructed for storage of clean, sized, coking coal. In the next decade, a “dry” plant for cleaning coal by air, and a “wet” plant for cleaning coal with water, were installed at Ernest to bring the operation up to date.

loaded cars
Loaded railroad cars at the coke ovens

By the beginning of World War II, the Ernest coal plant began to resemble the plant best remembered by most Indiana Countians. As the war effort increased, Ernest kept pace with a growing need for coal; and in 1945, the mining and preparation plant worked together to produce over a million tons of coal. In 1952, the McNally plant was built on the hillside behind the original site. Using a wet cleaning method to separate the coal from impurities, the McNally plant had a capacity of fifty tons per hour for coking coal. R&P later expanded this plant to clean four hundred tons per hour, and it contained all of the cleaning equipment used at Ernest.

By the early 1960s, R&P officials decided that coal could no longer be mined profitably at Ernest. In 1965, the plant was closed. Within a few years, equipment and buildings gradually disappeared from the landscape as scrap companies dismantled the mining operation that had taken over fifty years to construct. But the McNally preparation plant and the skeleton of the coking coal bin still remain on the blackened site. These, the foundations of the coke ovens, and a brick office and machine shop are all that survive of the R & P’s Ernest operations, an Indiana County landmark to remember with pride.

cleaning plant 50s
The Ernest cleaning plant operative in the 1950s

The Ernest Mine Disaster of 1916

Located just four miles north of Indiana, PA, lies the mining town of Ernest, established in 1903 by the Rochester and Pittsburgh Coal Company.  In its infancy Ernest was known locally as a “model mining village” of 156 houses, 2 churches, a school, and a community center. During the first several years of development at the site the R&P opened four drift type mines in the upper Freeport E coal seam and built 274 beehive coke ovens which by 1909 had an annual production of 17,946 tons.  By the close of 1906 more than one thousand men worked at the operation.

Newspaper headlines today still attest that mining is a hazardous occupation.  In the early 1900s it was even more hazardous.  Modern attitudes toward mining safety were only slowly developing, and the inadequate mining technology of those days sometimes created dangerous conditions of its own.  Moreover, the advent of huge mining operations, such as the Ernest works, increased the potential for underground accidents.  With odds like those it is not surprising that Indiana County’s first major mining disaster happened in Ernest.  Nonetheless, by the standards of the day the Ernest mines were not regarded as particularly dangerous. In 1906, the Pennsylvania state mine inspector noted in his annual report that the mines at Ernest were in good condition and well ventilated by Capell, Robinson and Clark Fans.

On February 5, 1910, the town got a preview of the dangerous possibilities when an explosion of dust and accumulated gas occurred near the face of No. 5 room off No. 11 entry, resulting in the deaths of eleven men. County Coroner James S. Hammers held an inquest in the weeks that followed, and the jurors determined that the dead miners had succumbed to the “afterdamp,” a mixture of gases remaining in a mine after a fire or explosion of firedamp (methane). Families buried their dead; the town mourned.  The miners who remained went back to their underground livelihoods, and for the next six years the mines at Ernest produced coal without a major disaster.

tipple ernest
The town of Ernest stood to the left of this “Old Tipple,” replaced in the mid 1920s

On the morning of February 11, 1916, miners’ wives in Ernest rose early as usual, put pots of oatmeal on their stoves, and packed their husbands’ dinner pails.  The women filled the “buckets,” which resembled a double boiler with two compartments, with several thick sandwiches. Hot tea or coffee went in the bottom part. Miners habitually carried large quantities of food and drink into the mines in case of a cave-in which could imprison them for hours or even days.  While women performed morning chores and sleepy children ate their breakfasts, the Ernest miners on first shift gathered their tools together in preparation for the day’s work. Each man supplied his own pick and shovel, carbide for his lamp, and powder and squibs for “shooting down” the coal.

Several improvements in the years preceding 1916 had made mining somewhat easier and safer for the men working in Ernest No. 2. That year, the R&P purchased twenty-one electric cutting machines for the plant, greatly reducing the amount of work done by hand. With the increased availability of electric cap lamps, only certain portions of the mine were worked with open carbide lights.

Many of the miners who entered the No. 2 mine on the morning of Friday, February 11, 1916, were not, however, wearing the safer, battery-operated cap lamps.  The new electric cap lamps were cumbersome to wear and the batteries often leaked acid. Besides the men who worked in the fifteenth right room of headings three and four felt safe working with the older carbide lights; gas had never before been discovered in this part of the mine. Ordinarily, forty-three men mined coal in this area, but due to the funeral of one of the crew, the working force was reduced that day. Another miner, Amos Craven missed the man trip on Friday morning because his alarm clock had failed to go off. After waiting for him for a few minutes, the rest of the men climbed into the motorized man trip, and, setting their dinner pails on the floor between their feet, left the daylight behind them.

Back at home the miners’ wives did breakfast dishes, sent children off to school and began the day’s cleaning and washing. As early afternoon approached, clerks in the company store set out fresh fruits and vegetables; miners sometimes stopped on their way home to pick up something extra for supper. At school, children watched the clock restlessly, awaiting the dismissal hour. In Ernest No. 2 the men mined and loaded coal. By that evening, twenty-seven of them were dead.

ernest building
The original mine office in Ernest. The First Aid Team met in this building.

No one on the outside heard the sound of the explosion. “Butch” Tortella, a retired miner, was a small boy at the time of the tragedy, but he remembers it was Jimmy Moody, the motorman, who brought to news to the surface.   When he took his locomotive back into the mine late that afternoon to bring out the loaded mine cars, Moody discovered the body of one of the miners only about a mile from the entrance.  Hurrying back to the surface, he quickly summoned help. No whistle or siren blew to alert the rest of the town, for large crowds could have made rescue work more difficult. The miners were changing shifts at the time of the explosion, making it impossible at first to tell how many men had been in the mine. One of the men, Ben O’Hara, was just walking out of the mine when he felt the force of the explosion on his back. While on his way to the entrance of the mine he had passed George Bunton, Jr., going to work and as soon as O’Hara realized what had happened, he started back after his friend. Before he reached Bunton, however, O’Hara encountered two other men lying on the floor of the mine. He succeeded in dragging both fallen miners to safety and went back after Bunton, but was unable to reach him. Bunton’s body was brought to the surface shortly before 9:00 p.m. that evening. The exact time of the tragedy was later determined from a watch found hanging from a pocket of one of the dead men. The watch was smashed and the hands pointed to 3:20 p.m.

Rescue teams formed rapidly at the mouth of the mine as word of the explosion spread to Indiana. Crews from nearby mining towns arrived by automobile, and Thomas Lowther of Indiana took charge of the rescue attempts. All available doctors and nurses from the Indiana Hospital rushed to Ernest, together with Dr. C. Paul Reed of Homer City and Dr. F.F. Moore of Lucerne. Officials of the R&P and of the Buffalo, Rochester and Pittsburgh Railway hurried to the scene in a special train from Punxsutawney, arriving in Ernest shortly before 8:00 p.m. F.M. Fritchman, general superintendent of the coal company, was early on the scene and assisted in the direction of the mine rescuers. A specially equipped mine rescue care came from Pittsburgh on the tracks of the B.R.&P. and by night fall every mining town in the district was represented by a rescue team.

Pennsylvania state troopers were summoned and prevented families and friends of the trapped miners from passing over the bridge leading to the mouth of the mine. An Indiana newspaper reported that there was “no great excitement” at the site; only the “silently weeping women, wringing their hands and giving vent to little cries of despair, and the hushed whispers of the crowd” could be heard.

By nightfall on Friday the rescue teams were organized and working their way into the mine. The first crew to report back told of barriers of tangled debris, but fortunately there was little fire due to the lack of oxygen at the scene of the explosion. Teams dug through the debris after clearing part of the main road and rebuilding the mine brattices as they advanced. The first of the bodies was brought to the surface about 4:30 a.m. on Saturday and the others at various intervals until daylight. A special train carried the dead to Indiana where morticians prepared the bodies for burial.

By Saturday evening, little more than twenty-four hours after the explosion, three Indiana undertakers had finished embalming of the twenty-six dead miners. Reports later estimated that nearly three thousand people, some moved by the tragedy, others merely curious, viewed the bodies as they lay in three separate Indiana store buildings. “The condition of the bodies,” noted the Indiana Evening Gazette, “was remarkable; of course a few, who had been more severely burned…presented horrible sights.” On Monday afternoon funeral services were held according to the religious affiliations of the dead. A large trench was dug at St. Bernard’s Roman Catholic Cemetery in Indiana; twelve of the miners were laid there in a single grave. Two of the men were immigrants who had arrived alone in America. As they spoke little English and had few friends, their full names were never known. Later, the body of Pompia George was recovered from the mine, bringing the total number of dead to twenty-seven. The long grave at St. Bernard’s was reopened to receive his body.

By Monday morning, February 14, coal company officials and Pennsylvania state mine inspectors started the investigation of the Ernest explosion. James E. Roderick, chief of the Department of Mines at Harrisburg, arrived that evening to take charge personally. B.M. Clark of Punxsutawney, assistant to R&P President Lucius Waterman Robinson, stated publicly that at least half a dozen theories as to the cause of the explosion had been advanced. A miner named Nord, who survived the blast, stated that he was about fourteen hundred feet inside the mine when the first detonation occurred. He was knocked about twenty feet and landed against one of the mine ribs. Before Nord could get to his feet a second explosion erupted and knocked him unconscious. His proximity to the mouth of the mine prevented him from breathing the poisonous fumes caused by the blast. Nord seemed positive that two explosions took place in the fifteenth right room of headings three and four, about a mile and a quarter from the entrance.

first aid team
Ernest First Aid Team, pre-World War I. These men administered emergency treatment outside the mine to the victims of the disaster.

Investigations carried out by a five-man team of Pennsylvania state mine inspectors from five districts concurred with the account given by Nord from his hospital bed. On February 15, three days after the disaster, the inspection team submitted its findings to Roderick. Their document is printed in full in the Report of the Department of Mines of Pennsylvania for the year ending 1916. It states that the inspection team entered Ernest No. 2 on Monday, February 14, and made an investigation of all rooms, butts and entries. They found loaded mine cars blown off the track, a ventilation door forced through its frame and a badly wrecked mining machine. They also found evidence of intense heat and “considerable force” surrounding rooms No. 14 and No. 15 right entry, all the way to room No. 8, but not extending to any other area of the mine. After completely examining the section where the disaster happened and noting all conditions caused by the explosion, all members of the tam concluded that “a body of explosive gas, which had accumulated on a fall*…was forced down by another fall of the upper strata and was ignited by the open carbide lights of the miners working on the pillar of 14 ½ entry.” The report noted that “all persons working in the vicinity were burned and afterwards suffocated by the afterdamp.” Investigators had “no criticism to offer in regard to the work of the mine superintendent, the mine foreman and his assistants who were in charge…as no explosive gas was ever previously discovered in No. 14 ½ or No. 15 right entry…in this part of No. 2 mine.” The tam concluded by making some recommendations to aid in the prevention of similar accidents, including the use of locked safety lamps in any pillar working within a reasonable distance of places where falls could possibly occur.

Unfortunately, the Ernest disaster was only one of many tragedies of this type. Available records show that there were 170 gas and dust explosions in Pennsylvania bituminous mines from 1878 through 1932, resulting in 1984 fatalities or an average of about 12 fatalities in each explosion. Of this total, eight-five of the explosions are classified as being characterized by marked violence; of these eighty-five, forty explosions, or forty-seven percent of the total, were caused by open lights. In the thirteen years from 1920 to 1932, however, there were only seven explosions from this source. The widespread, if belated, use of electric cap lamps in Pennsylvania bituminous mines after 1920 undoubtedly contributed to the decrease of explosion of this type.

The problem of correctly designating mines are gaseous or nongaseous took longer to resolve. The first attempts at careful classification came in 1909, but over the next years, the records showed scores of cases in which so-called nongaseous mines experienced severe explosions. As a result, the United States Bureau of Mines in 1933 began to consider all coal mines, if not gaseous, at least potentially gaseous. With the continued increase of research directed toward the science of mine health and safety, especially in the last ten years, the mining industry can look forward to the day when major mining disasters will take their place with the Ernest explosion of 1916 – in the past.

*A “fall” results from a sudden dropping of rock from the roof, leaving in its place a gap or hollow which may be several feet in diameter. Any formation of gas in the area quickly rises to the roof filling the pocket left by the fall. (In the early 1900s it was a common practice for miners to burn up small gas deposits over falls by igniting them with their carbide lights).