Barely inside a mine

Tragedy in the mines of Appalachia; why does it take tragedy to waken us to the cold facts that life in the hills is an existence of sacrifice from a few so the rest of us can merely flip a switch to get our light or turn a knob to stay warm? The bigger question is once we become aware of these people's borderline lives and misery, why do we so soon forget them? Folks, I've been in one of these large corporate mines near Norton Virginia, and I've worked around coal handling facilities there and at several power houses in West Virginia and I quickly realized the coal industry is one not made for humans; it needs all the mechanization possible. At first, I refused to go into the shaft. As far as I knew, I wasn't claustrophobic but I didn't want to go deep inside and then find out that I really was such. After a sweet promise of being fired if I didn't go in, I figured it best if my kids had something to eat whether I was dead or alive and I bravely "volunteered" to take the plunge. The large mine had a nice concrete entrance looking much like a highway tunnel, but just past that entry the floor began a gradual slope toward the darkest darkness imaginable. As we moved beyond daylight, the dirty lamps strung along the ceiling were mocked by the cold harshness of the rock walls and by the sheer intensity of the blackness and we had not reached the coal veins; they were many thousands of feet further and deeper into the bowels of the mountain. I could smell the coal, and there was an oppressive heaviness in the air as we walked deeper into the narrowing shaft. All the while trains of low coal-cars were moving in and out of the deep with the drivers of the electric tow engines lying nearly flat on their backs and sporting wide, toothy grins on their Al Jolson faces when they saw us flatlanders shakily entering their domain. We finally arrived at location of the broken conduit and after a few hours work had it replaced and electrons were again powering some piece of machinery far below. Even though I was tired from the work, and more tired from being scared silly, I walked much faster on my way to the outside world than I did going in. Yet these mountain people live with this and much worse everyday, and even though they may look like it is second hand to them, they always know in the back of their minds that each trip into the darkness may be their last; it is a very tough life and livelihood, but it is what they do because it is all there is to do. Each evening the families pensively await the return of their loved ones from the mines; it is a difficult life for everyone who cherishes or cares for someone. You may say they could leave the mines and seek better elsewhere, and many do so. I will say this though; if you are a part of the ridges and the ridges are part of you, it is nearly impossible to leave them. For these good human beings of the hills and hollows, it is much like selling their souls when they are forced to move away. The coal will keep going to the power houses and factories, the energy corporations will become wealthier and more powerful, and the miners will work until they die, one way or another.
As for my part of this saga; the next day the entire crew I was part of was fired.