THE NINTH OF TEN--A COAL MINER'S SURPRISE

(BY THOMAS BALISH)

It was a rainy day in May in the Bellevue Section of the City of Scranton, a small blue-collar community in the heart of Pennsylvania’s Hard Coal (Anthracite) Mining District. At 6 a. m. on that Tuesday, May 19, 1938, twenty coal-miners, all clad in long-sleeved shirts and overalls, were crowded into their favorite, smoke-filled saloon preparing for the start of their typical work day.

Six days a week, this beer garden/barroom was the first stop in the start of their long day in the mines. These twenty men--no women worked in the mines in those days--faced 10 hours of back-breaking labor, each day, deep (sometimes over a mile down into the earth) inside the rich, coal, coal-gas and coal-dust-laden mines of Northeastern Pennsylvania. Their faces were rugged--long and stern, tired and mostly sad. They had walked into Balish’s Cafe a few minutes earlier with miner’s hats on their heads and black metal lunch boxes under their arms. They were proud, strong men, most ranging from 20 to 40 years in age; almost all of them recently arrived immigrants from various Slovak countries in Europe--Displaced Persons (DPs) as they were commonly known. There were a lot of languages spoken--Polish, Ukrainian, Czechoslovakian, Lithuanian, Hungarian and others which, over the years, had blended into a local, unique, mix of an easily understood neighborhood tongue.

Other than a few casual greetings, such as, “Yakshimash?--How are you?” or “Dobsheh!--Good!”, there wasn’t very much talking going on. This was Breakfast Time!

Serious breakfast time. It was very quiet, almost solemn--not even a radio was on; and television had not even been invented. All twenty were lined up along the 30 foot long, hand-carved, mahogany bar; some sitting on the wooden stools, some standing, some with a foot resting on the shiny brass rail that ran the length of the classic bar. Some were smoking cigars, some cigarettes; as they leaned forward, arms and elbows planted firmly, and stared across the bar at their own dark images in the huge, wall-mounted mirrors behind the bar. The large mirrors were framed by four stout, hand-carved, split mahogany pillars that matched the bar and added an additional small touch of class to this favored neighborhood eating and drinking establishment. Piled high on shelves against the mirrors were row upon row of bottled whiskey, bourbon, gin and....a lot of VODKA. Three beer spouts (taps) were mounted in a console built into the back of the bar. The beer was forced up from three large, pressurized kegs in the basement through shiny copper pipes that coiled through a box filled with large chunks of fresh ice. Lined up on the tan colored, linoleum floor, along the length of the bar’s brass rail, were five glistening, brass spittoons which commonly experienced the splatter and twang of much vigorous service. The top of the bar was lined with black metal lunch boxes, black miner’s hats (hard hats with attached kerosene lamps), tall glasses of cold beer, shot glasses of “Four Roses” whiskey and six large, glass bowls full to the brim with fresh, raw eggs. This was the scene, the surroundings and setting, as the miners prepared to start their typical work day--with a good breakfast.

The owner of the saloon stood proud and tall behind the bar, arms folded across his broad chest, as he surveyed the crowd and admired what he saw. These were all his good friends and neighbors; here, in his very own barroom. A few years earlier, he was one of them--six long days a week deep in the mines. God and fortune had been good to him--an immigrant, a DP from Ukraine, himself. Twenty years in the mines and he had saved enough to buy his very own business. He was a truly contented man. Standing behind the bar with him, about ten feet away, was his eldest son, Harry. Harry was a handsome, six foot, broadly built, red-headed youngster, looking very much like his dad. Dan was proud of his entire family. He and his wife, Mary, were already blessed with eight children--six boys and two girls--and the saloon business was going well.

The “Miner’s Breakfast” started with two of the raw eggs, each cracked on the rim of the beer glass, and dropped into the cold beer. Each miner then chugged (gulped) his shot of strong “Four Roses.” After a brief gasp and grimace, they went on to quench their burning throats with the soothing, cool and nutritious, raw egg and beer concoction. They imbibed in this way at least two or three times. This breakfast could have been the world’s first “Boiler Maker” of sorts, but it was great deal more. It was the required sustenance for the start of a hard day in the mines. It was a part of the culture of the times and a cherished tradition of the coal miners.

As breakfast came to a close, the somberness of the group was suddenly broken by the loud, almost screeching, cry of a young girl running down the enclosed stairway from the living chambers directly above the cafe. “It’s a boy, it’s a boy, daddy, it’s a boy!” She ran behind the bar and warmly hugged her father as she jumped with joy and continued to proclaim the happy news. A roar of congratulations and applause broke out from the miners. Everyone was elated! Dan, the proud father, immediately shouted, “Drinks are on the house--with a White Owl Cigar for everyone!” Once the drinks were poured and the cigars were lighted, the oldest of the miners stood up straight and tall, almost at attention; lifted his full shot glass high above his head and reached it out toward everyone, exclaiming in a very excited and strong voice, “Nozdrovyeh!--Good Health!--to the new baby boy!” Just as soon as the spirited toast was over and the empty shot glasses were pounded back onto the bar, another miner quickly started, and all soon joined in, singing the happy refrain: “For he’s a jolly good fellow. For he’s a jolly good fellow. For he’s a jolly good f-e-l-l-o-w, that nobody can deny!” They all shook hands and again offered congratulations to the happy father. So it was that the Seventh Son of a proud Ukrainian Family was welcomed into the world--the Ninth in a large Catholic Family on its way to a total of ten children.

Tuesday, May 19, 1938--what had begun as another sullen and routine work day for these coal miners and their friends, had turned into one of life’s great pleasures--a time to celebrate, to drink, to sing and rejoice. They were now merrily chattering and joking as they put on their hard hats, grabbed their lunch boxes and headed off to work.. With the memories of this happy occasion, this day in the mines would not seem so long.


Copyright@Thomas Balish.

All Rights Reserved.