Ask any kid who grew up in Mather: what still sits in the center of town? and they’ll tell you no lies. It’s the Liars Den, a six-pillared edifice of relaxation, rumination, spicy jokes and sports talk, the forever home of hometown memories, tall tales and the Saturday evening concerts, back in the day when the town had its own band.
This photo, taken by Tara Kinsell for her 2010 Observer Reporter story “Truth’s out about Liar’s Den” shows the original gazebo, as it was reaching the end of the line after over 80 years of constant use, abuse, repaintings and repairs.
The cutline of the photo notes that the red, white and star-spangled paint job was done in 2002 when the Mather Mine Memorial was dedicated to the 194 men who died in the explosion of May 19, 1928.
By 2017, the old den had been dismantled and a new one put up in the same spot to keep the spirit of Mather’s coal mining past alive. One of the old poles stands in the center, a totem to the tall tales and words of wisdom that were once spoken here.
This was the place hard working miners met before and after shifts, to brag, commiserate and keep an account of the dangerous conditions they lived with every day. No kids — or wives — were invited to share in these confabs that mixed observation with experience, gossip with innuendo, common sense and rowdy humor. Boys to men grew up wondering what was going on there, then followed their dads and big brothers into the mine and found out.
When the names of the men who died that day were unveiled on the monument in 2002, there were still some old timers around who remembered the sound of the blast that shook the town. These days, there is no one left who heard it. But the gas and coal dust explosion and the terrible days that followed were documented as they happened by reporters who were there to cover the catastrophe that killed a quarter of the men who lived in Mather.
Tony Bupka’s book “Mather Mine Disaster” is a collection of every published word.
It was here at the gazebo, only a block away from the mine entrance, that women and children gathered, waiting for news of their husbands and sons still missing in the mine and reporters caught their raw pain and turned it into written history.
Mather resident William Litten posted on the Mather Facebook page, “Tony grew up at 627 six street. His dad died in that explosion.”
Reason enough for his kid to grow up to gather every detail of this personal disaster and make sure it is not forgotten.
The book appears to be self-published, and there’s no sign when it was released or any personal information about its author. Its preface thanks the newspaper publishers of all the articles for allowing their stories to be republished and includes the Commonwealth Report of the Department of Mines that led to new safety legislation. The words Tony adds seem to be his own memories in stoic detail, including reflections on fateful decisions that lead to either life or death for the men who either did or didn’t take their shifts that day. Mike Mullen’s alarm clock didn’t go off. Joe Guidi told his father he had a strange feeling something was going to happen. “He replaced his pit lamp and went home. They brought his father home in a coffin later.” Black Steve took Saturday off to help his neighbor. The Mather baseball team came out early to play the Nemacolin Buckeyes. Outfielder Charles Haber went back for his tools and didn’t make it. Tony Bupka notes, “There was a veil of strangeness that was reflected in some of the victims….it brings to contemplation that unfathomable puzzle which has perplexed human minds since history began. Is there an all powerful omniscient force that governs our lives?”
Jon Osso, who owns a copy of this rare book, made a PDF copy in 2013 and shared it with me as I wrote this story and with the Mather Facebook page. He also shared his own reflections on the mysterious nature of a fateful coincidence that resonates with him: “My great grandfather, great uncle and a cousin were killed in the explosion. My grandfather (Charles Madlock, Jr.) was 18 and had injured his foot in the mine the day before the explosion. His mother told him he should not go to work that day. …Needless to say had he gone to work my mother would nave never been born and I wouldn’t be here either.”
The PDF copy of “Mather Mine Disaster” is available to read on Don Whoolery’s Facebook page “You Were a Mather Kid if you remember….”
