Two Sago Mine workers commit suicide

MORGANTOWN, W.Va. - Two miners whose jobs included watching for safety hazards inside the Sago Mine before the deadly explosion last January committed suicide in the past month.

Neither man had been blamed for the disaster that killed 12 of their comrades, and neither one's family has definitively linked the suicides to the accident. But those who knew the men say there is little doubt the tragedy haunted them.

"I'm not sure anybody ever gets over it," said Vickie Boni, the ex-wife of one of them. "You live with it every day."

Both men were working at the Sago Mine on the day of the blast and had been questioned by investigators along with dozens of other witnesses. One former co-worker said at least one of the men felt investigators were treating him as if he had done something wrong.

John Nelson Boni, whose job that day was to maintain water pumps, shot himself Saturday at his home in Volga, State Police said.

William Lee "Flea" Chisolm, the 47-year-old dispatcher responsible for monitoring carbon monoxide alarms and communicating with crews underground that morning, shot himself at his Belington home Aug. 29, authorities said Tuesday.

State and federal mine-safety agencies have not determined the cause of the Jan. 2 blast. But a spokeswomen for both agencies said that both men had been thoroughly interviewed and there had been no plans to talk with them again.

Mine owner International Coal Group has said it believes a lightning bolt somehow ignited methane gas that had accumulated naturally in a sealed-off section of the mine.

Boni, who was certified as a fireboss and occasionally conducted pre-shift inspections to ensure the safety of incoming crews, told investigators he had detected low levels of methane in that area five days earlier and reported his findings to a supervisor, who was not alarmed.

As for Chisholm, he told investigators that a carbon monoxide alarm had sounded about 20 minutes before the explosion. Following ICG procedure, he alerted a crew inside the mine and asked it to verify the alarm because the system that had a history of malfunctions.

At a hearing in May, ICG executive Sam Kitts said miners are not required to evacuate when there is an alarm; they verify it, then decide how to proceed.

"The dispatcher did what he was supposed to do. He notified a maintenance person who was then able to go up and check the sensor before they would have again advanced onto the section," Kitts testified.

Friends and family said Boni retired shortly after the accident, in which the sole survivor among those trapped by the blast was a severely injured Randal McCloy Jr. Chisolm had taken a leave of absence but remained an employee, according to ICG. "We believe that Mr. Chisolm was a very good, hardworking employee," ICG spokesman Ira Gamm said.

"Our thoughts and prayers go out to each of their families," Gamm said in a statement.

Boni's ex-wife said he had never discussed the accident with her, but "I'm sure it had weighed on his mind." Vickie Boni, who divorced Boni 15 years ago but saw him when he picked up their daughter for visits, said her own father died in a coal mine accident when she was a teenager. "It's something you never get over," she said.

Chisolm did not, the sheriff said. Relatives told investigators Chisolm had been depressed about personal matters and drinking heavily in the weeks before his death. Chisolm's obituary also said he had been ill. Members of the Chisolm family did not immediately return telephone messages Tuesday.

Chisolm's brother had visited just before the suicide. As he prepared to leave, Chisolm called out "and more or less said, `I'll be seeing you,'" the sheriff said.

Chisolm had 11 years of mining experience and had worked at Sago for a year before the accident. Boni had worked as a coal miner for 36 years and had been at Sago for more than a year.

On the morning of the blast, Boni was not in charge of safety; rather, he was restarting a water pump in the mine. He escaped with co-worker Ron Grall and the rest of their crew. Boni and Grall spoke a few weeks later.

"He said he just had enough of it," Grall said Tuesday. "The job wasn't stressful. It was just the way the investigators treated him. They treated me the same way. They acted like it was our fault, like we did it.

"The way I look at it, it wasn't nobody's fault," he said. "It was one of those freaks of nature that hardly ever happens. It probably happens once in a hundred years, and it may never happen again."

ICG provided grief counseling to Sago employees after the accident and has since renewed the offer.

The words of Homer Hickam at the Sago Miner's Memorial.

January 15, 2006

Families of the Sago miners, Governor Manchin, Mrs. Manchin, Senator Byrd, Senator Rockefeller, West Virginians, friends, neighbors, all who have come here today to remember those brave men who have gone on before us, who ventured into the darkness but instead showed us the light, a light that shines on all West Virginians and the nation today:

It is a great honor to be here. I am accompanied by three men I grew up with, the rocket boys of Coalwood: Roy Lee Cooke, Jimmie O'Dell Carroll, and Billy Rose. My wife Linda, an Alabama girl, is here with me as well.

As this tragedy unfolded, the national media kept asking me: Who are these men? And why are they coal miners? And what kind of men would still mine the deep coal?

One answer came early after the miners were recovered. It was revealed that, as his life dwindled, Martin Toler had written this: It wasn't bad. I just went to sleep. Tell all I'll see them on the other side. I love you.

In all the books I have written, I have never captured in so few words a message so powerful or eloquent: It wasn't bad. I just went to sleep. Tell all I'll see them on the other side. I love you.

I believe Mr. Toler was writing for all of the men who were with him that day. These were obviously not ordinary men.

But what made these men so extraordinary? And how did they become the men they were? Men of honor. Men you could trust. Men who practiced a dangerous profession. Men who dug coal from beneath a jealous mountain.

Part of the answer is where they lived. Look around you. This is a place where many lessons are learned, of true things that shape people as surely as rivers carve valleys, or rain melts mountains, or currents push apart the sea. Here, miners still walk with a trudging grace to and from vast, deep mines. And in the schools, the children still learn and the teachers teach, and, in snowy white churches built on hillside cuts, the preachers still preach, and God, who we have no doubt is also a West Virginian, still does his work, too. The people endure here as they always have for they understand that God has determined that there is no joy greater than hard work, and that there is no water holier than the sweat off a man's brow.

In such a place as this, a dozen men may die, but death can never destroy how they lived their lives, or why.

As I watched the events of this tragedy unfold, I kept being reminded of Coalwood, the mining town where I grew up. Back then, I thought life in that little town was pretty ordinary, even though nearly all the men who lived there worked in the mine and, all too often, some of them died or were hurt. My grandfather lost both his legs in the Coalwood mine and lived in pain until the day he died. My father lost the sight in an eye while trying to rescue trapped miners. After that he worked in the mine for fifteen more years. He died of black lung.

When I began to write my books about growing up in West Virginia, I was surprised to discover, upon reflection, that maybe it wasn't such an ordinary place at all. I realized that in a place where maybe everybody should be afraid-after all, every day the men went off to work in a deep, dark, and dangerous coal mine- instead they had adopted a philosophy of life that consisted of these basic attitudes:

We are proud of who we are. We stand up for what we believe. We keep our families together. We trust in God but rely on ourselves.

By adhering to these simple approaches to life, they became a people who were not afraid to do what had to be done, to mine the deep coal, and to do it with integrity and honor.

The first time my dad ever took me in the mine was when I was in high school. He wanted to show me where he worked, what he did for a living. I have to confess I was pretty impressed. But what I recall most of all was what he said to me while we were down there. He put his spot of light in my face and explained to me what mining meant to him. He said, "Every day, I ride the mantrip down the main line, get out and walk back into the gob and feel the air pressure on my face. I know the mine like I know a man, can sense things about it that aren't right even when everything on paper says it is. Every day there's something that needs to be done, because men will be hurt if it isn't done, or the coal the company's promised to load won't get loaded. Coal is the life blood of this country. If we fail, the country fails."

And then he said, "There's no men in the world like miners, Sonny. They're good men, strong men. The best there is. I think no matter what you do with your life, no matter where you go or who you know, you will never know such good and strong men."

Over time, though I would meet many famous people from astronauts to actors to Presidents, I came to realize my father was right. There are no better men than coal miners. And he was right about something else, too:

If coal fails, our country fails.

The American economy rests on the back of the coal miner. We could not prosper without him. God in His wisdom provided this country with an abundance of coal, and he also gave us the American coal miner who glories in his work. A television interviewer asked me to describe work in a coal mine and I called it "beautiful." He was astonished that I would say such a thing so I went on to explain that, yes, it's hard work but, when it all comes together, it's like watching and listening to a great symphony: the continuous mining machines, the shuttle cars, the roof bolters, the ventilation brattices, the conveyor belts, all in concert, all accomplishing their great task. Yes, it is a beautiful thing to see.

There is a beauty in anything well done, and that goes for a life well lived.

How and why these men died will be studied now and in the future. Many lessons will be learned. And many other miners will live because of what is learned. This is right and proper.

But how and why these men lived, that is perhaps the more important thing to be studied. We know this much for certain: They were men who loved their families. They were men who worked hard. They were men of integrity, and honor. And they were also men who laughed and knew how to tell a good story. Of course they could. They were West Virginians!

And so we come together on this day to recall these men, and to glory in their presence among us, if only for a little while. We also come in hope that this service will help the families with their great loss and to know the honor we wish to accord them.

No matter what else might be said or done concerning these events, let us forever be reminded of who these men really were and what they believed, and who their families are, and who West Virginians are, and what we believe, too.

There are those now in the world who would turn our nation into a land of fear and the frightened. It's laughable, really. How little they understand who we are, that we are still the home of the brave. They need look no further than right here in this state for proof.

For in this place, this old place, this ancient place, this glorious and beautiful and sometimes fearsome place of mountains and mines, there still lives a people like the miners of Sago and their families, people who yet believe in the old ways, the old virtues, the old truths; who still lift their heads from the darkness to the light, and say for the nation and all the world to hear:

We are proud of who we are.
We stand up for what we believe.
We keep our families together.
We trust in God.

We do what needs to be done.

We are not afraid.

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