The drive to Dilworth Mine was always my favorite. It only took about two minutes after leaving the office to get on Interstate 79 South. A few minutes later, after skirting around Little Washington, it was a rather straight shot down to Waynesburg and the exit to take the back roads to Dilworth. This exit provided me with one of my favorite quick food stops, Wendy's. With its dollar menu, it was a bargain stop for lunch or dinner. It only took one visit to get me hooked on its Junior Bacon Cheeseburger and Biggie Cokes, each just a dollar!

Waynesburg turned out to be a pivotal location in my work-related travels. This exit was an equidistant 30 minutes from the regional office, Dilworth Mine, the Robena Prep plant, and the Bailey Mine. Waynesburg had a lot of history and thus a lot of character. To reach Bailey Mine I had to drive through the town. It had a nice two-lane main street that went through some neighborhoods built in the 1800s. Some of the homes were mansions, but like almost every coal mine or steel town of that period, they were well past their prime.

Occasionally you would see one home immaculately maintained while most of the surrounding homes were in decay. Made me wonder about the person or family that lived in the immaculately maintained home, was it pride or stubbornness? Were they just fighting the inevitable decline of small towns, hoping, and praying for good times to return, or just keeping the family homestead in good standing since they may have lived there their whole life.
Just before the Waynesburg exit, about 5 miles, there was another exit that dumped off into a local road. There was nothing and I mean nothing at this exit. However, this exit did lead me to my very first work assignments when I worked in the regional office. Both involved the closed Robena Mine.

Consol had bought the Robena Mines #1, #2, #3, the associated Robena Prep Plant, and the Dilworth mine a few years earlier from US Steel.

The Robena Mines & the Prep Plant were located along the Monongahela River (the "Mon") about 20 miles from Pittsburgh. This mine was opened around WWII, and its coal reserves were extensive, with a peak employment of around 1,200. It supplied metallurgical coal to the Clairton Coke works that fed the steel mills around Pittsburgh. It was the economic backbone for the surrounding communities like Mather, Jefferson, and Carmichaels.

The Robena underground mines were all shut down when the underground travel distance between the working faces and the prep plant became too great. Consuming an hour to transport workers and supplies from a portal to the working face, reduced an 8-hour shift to a 6-hour shift. Two hours of no productivity really hurt the bottom line. Additionally, the distance to haul out the coal also impacted the mine's economics. The Robena mines utilized an electric rail haulage system, but with over a 10-mile haul, the effort (as in $) and risk (as in a roof falls and related maintenance) of keeping the 10-mile-long rail haul route open put an additional cost burden on the mine.

The Dilworth mine, located a few miles north, near Rices Landing was opened up in the early 1970s. Although the initial 10 years of the mine's life utilized the room and pillar mining method, it was built with a modern conveyor belt haulage system. Its coal rose to the surface near Rices Landing on the Mon river, via a slope entry. The coal was then loaded onto barges and shipped a few miles downriver to the much older Robena Prep Plant. Dilworth had a fair amount of coal reserves remaining; thus a longwall mining unit was added in the early 80's.

A couple of notes about longwall mining;

First, it is a much more productive means of removing coal. With its dual cutting heads slicing off 30-36 inch deep swaths of coal along a 600-foot-wide face, the tons per shift, aka production rate, dwarfed that of any Continuous Miner (CM) units.
Secondly there is nothing in the world (above or below ground) like it. It is the purest form of converting electrical energy into mechanical energy that I have ever experienced. With other devices that convert energy like pumps, motors, fans, gas turbines, jet engines, and so on, nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to standing 3-4 feet away from the brute force being generated by those twin 400 hp cutting motors as they dig into the coal face. It's Man versus Mother Nature at its best.
Note; Longwall units have increased in size significantly since the '80s, the face widths now exceed 1000 ft and the machines can cut up to 42 inches deep. The cutting head's horsepower now exceeds 800hp. Technology marches on.

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I had just taken the position as Project Engineer at Consol's Eastern Region. My three initial tasks at Robena involved backfilling an old air shaft site, demolishing an old portal and installing a 1 mile natural gas line. They were rather small projects but provided me with some field experience that I needed.

Topping off the old Robena # 3-Kirby Air Shaft was needed because the initial backfilling that had been done two years earlier had settled about 20 feet. Something "settling 20 feet" may sound like a lot but if it's a 600-foot-deep air shaft that is less than 5%. It was an easy task where I lined up a local contractor with a backhoe to excavate the needed material from the nearby hillside and top off the shaft.

It only took half a day for the contractor to fill the void and leave a 5 ft mound on top. I had the contractor also pile up mounds of dirt at the shaft entrance just off the gravel road, hoping that would keep any teenage partiers from getting close to it.

Several months after the work had been completed I stopped by the site to see if the 5-foot mound had settled. Fortunately, it did not. I figured this would be my last stop at this location forever, so instead of heading back to the Interstate I went up further into the holler. Not having any idea of what I would find. I figured I was not trespassing it logically seemed to be part of the old mine property. As I trekked further I convinced myself that maybe there was a mine borehole or power line that needed my attention. This gave me a reason to proceed further. After a few hundred yards the road took a sharp turn upwards, the spinning back tires required that I put the company tuck into 4-wheel drive. I climbed the gravel road for about another 2 miles to a point where it hit the crest of a ridge. The gravel road ended at a farmer's gate. What lay before me was an absolutely stunning cow pasture of about 100 acres and an unimpeded view of Western Pennsylvania all the way to the West Virginia border.

The view was phenomenal, I made a point to myself to come back sometime in the fall to see it coated in its fall colors. Before I climbed back into the pickup truck I checked the immediate area around the back and sides of the truck making sure I had enough room to turn the pickup truck around. At that point, I noticed that the ridge line was delineated by an old stone fence. For the most part, these fences were created in the late 1700s through the mid-1900s. One could only imagine the work it took to haul these stones from the fields below and build this wall on the top of the ridge line.

I walked the stone fence line a little, recollecting the same stone fences that surrounded the fields where I grew up in Eastern Pennsylvania. It only took another second to remember that these stone walls typically harbored snakes, lots of snakes! As I briskly walked back to the truck I noticed a tall slender stone that stood out. A closer look revealed it was a hand-cut obelisk, made of sandstone. It was some kind of a marker. Hoping it wasn't a grave marker, I moved some branches and a few stones and realized it was a surveyor's marker. It was old and worn but I could tell from the carved letter and initials it had on it: N39-47-26, 80-05-25W, 1750, GW. For a moment I thought maybe George Washington surveyed this area and stood on this very spot taking in the same vista view.

Pretty cool I thought, it's been well over 30 years since I found that marker, and going back to that location, on a crisp fall day, will have to be on my retirement bucket list.

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The second task was the demolition of the abandoned Bowlby Portal at the Robena # 3 Mine. The portal was built in the 1950s and shut down in the early 80's. It had served a very useful 30 years. The elevator and associated equipment had been removed and the shaft filled in a few years earlier.

Consol had left the portal building intact, hoping that someone would buy it and turn it into a small machine shop or some other light industrial facility. Not an unreasonable position considering it had existing water and sewage facilities plus a hefty power line and substation. However, a potential buyer looked at the property and realized it had significant asbestos issues and backed out of a deal. The word was out, no one would look at the building.

With the asbestos issue, Consol decided to demolish the building. That's where I came in. So I pulled together a bidding document, adding in the qualification that the contractor must be approved to remove asbestos. The oversight on this project was rather minimal.

The two strongest impressions from this project that remain with me were: walking through the portal/bathhouse on my first trip to the site. It looked like time had frozen, I knew the mine had shut down at least three years earlier, but the place looked like it was evacuated in an emergency.

Miner clothes were still hanging in the bathhouse baskets, the offices were locked, and peering into the offices revealed that they looked like they were ready for someone to go back to work the next day. There were even some old vending machines with old chips and candy in them. This place was so isolated that not even curious teenagers had found it. One could only assume that the shutdown occurred on a specific day with mine management at the gate and security guards standing by their side. The workers were probably given a few minutes to collect their clothes and handed their last paycheck. That was it. Decades of mining, the economic backbone of the area for generations, a workplace where men gave their sweat, muscles, and lives all gone in a day.

^ FOOTNOTE: The Robena # 3 mine had a major disaster at the nearby Frosty Run Portal on December 6, 1962, 37 men perished that day. A memorial can be found along Interstate 79 just south of Waynesburg.

The second memory I have from this project was the removal of asbestos in the old bathhouse. This was the mid-80s when the asbestos fear was at its peak. Before awarding the demolition contract I had to determine what areas of the old building had asbestos.

In this case, the ceiling and floor tiles had some non-friable asbestos, which required it to be bagged up and disposed of at an approved site. But the old oil-fired boiler and hot water system for this portal of about 300 workers was encased in friable asbestos. Removal of this material involved the full enchilada. Setting up a controlled area with plastic tarps, wetting it down, and slowly and painstakingly removing the asbestos into marked bags. Of course, the workers were wearing white jumpsuits with special air masks and regulators. The bags were all weighed and then sent off to an approved disposal site.

When the asbestos was all removed, I had a contractor come in and salvage any metal from the bathhouse lockers, baskets, boiler, etc. It was quick work to demo the building bury the brick and tile in a burrow pit and place some topsoil over it. The last sight I had of that place was locking the gate at the end of the access road. Probably the same thing the mine superintendent did when he fired the workforce and shut down that portal.

It left me with an empty feeling, trying to rationalize all the manhours spent and the work that was done from that building and shaft. Hundreds of men (women weren't allowed into underground mines until the late 70s) earned a living from that hole in the ground. They were likely hired there, trained there, many probably moved up the Union pay scale from common laborer to machine operator and maybe a few jumped into a company position.

They all had to be there at that building before the shift started to change and they all left after taking a shower at the end of the shift. There were deadlines, schedules and production quotas that had to be met. The coal they produced fed the steel mills and power plants that made countless cars, appliances, and electricity to serve the community, state, or nation. Now it was all over with nothing to show for it but a mound of topsoil with some straw on top of it.

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The last work assignment that I had at Robena was the replacement of a natural gas line that fed the Robena Prep Plant. The Robena Prep plant was like a dinosaur, it was at least 40 years old. The sulfur-laden coal combined with the grit of the coal ash and the acidic level of the water running through countless pipes had taken its toll on this facility. It was a scary place, with massive steel beams and columns that appeared rusted through. A quick look at the condition of the facility's electrical equipment made you shake your head. Every step you made into the plant was a step of regret. The stairways were shaky, the lighting almost nonexistent, it was loud and everything shook. I mean everything. Any sane person, let alone an engineer who understood what I was seeing just wouldn't want to be in this place. But all that fear went to the backburner when the Plant Superintendent showed me the scope of work set out for me.

He started by showing me the boiler room where the main 4-inch gas line entered the plant. It fed a manifold system that led to twin hot water boilers. This plant was built before WWII, its heating system was the good old hydronic-hot water system with its cast iron radiators.

The gas line coming up out of the ground was badly rusted, it was clearly in need of replacement but so did everything else in the room. Luckily it was late summer and the gas system was at minimal use and could be shut off for a few days to make any connections. We then got into his pickup truck and drove about 1 mile across the coal yard to a corner of the property. He pointed to a yellow marker and said that's where the plant's gas line taps into the local gas company's main gas line. I asked for some site maps and he said, "Good luck". The administration building that served the prep plant was long gone and with it all the key documents. He grumbled about not having any drawings of the plant and his struggle to keep it working. As I got out of the pickup he grunted that the line needed to be replaced before the first frost, which was about 6 weeks away.

Without the internet or Google, I spent the next week or two researching how to build natural gas lines. A few calls to the gas company got me some meetings with their engineers and from there, I pretty much figured it out. They made it clear they would not touch anything beyond the metering box. A few valves, a regulator, bury everything at least 3 feet deep, use the properly rated and sized pipe and it would all be done in a few weeks. I got the bid package out and was ready to award it to a contractor. Of course, the contractors wanted to see the site before submitting anything. We met at the Robena Prep plant parking lot and essentially walked the entire gas line route. We noted that the new line route went right through a secondary but active coal storage stockpile, and he suggested that we bury that part of the line at least 6 feet deep and encase it in concrete. It was easy to imagine a bulldozer operator pushing the coal pile to go astray and dig down and tear up the gas line. That would not be a good day for anyone.

Then we started to walk over to the yellow stake where I was told the line tapped into the main line. From 50 feet away we could tell it was going to be trouble. We could smell gas and it got stronger as we walked through the knee-high grass and approached the yellow stake. At 10 feet from the stake, the smell was bad but there was a decent breeze so we proceeded ahead. We found a cinderblock root cellar-like structure with two metal doors, although we struggled, we were able to open one of the doors. Despite the fear of gas and possible snakes in our heads, we were aghast by what we saw. Inside the structure was the 4-inch tap into the main 10-inch line. But the valves, the flanges, the gas meter, and related pipe were essentially rusted through. Now I knew why the prep plant superintendent didn't drive out to the yellow stake. We left the door open and went back to the plant to meet the Superintendent.

We discussed what we saw and I emphatically stated that we had to shut the gas line down immediately. The plant manager fessed up stating he knew there were bad leaks, and also knew that there were numerous gas leaks underground along the 1-mile route.

A few more calls to the gas line company were a little revealing, they did not believe my statements and immediately sent a team out to inspect it. They found the same, marked off the area, and initiated an emergency shutdown of the main 10-inch line. Where I was only worried about the first frost they had a more significant concern of sending to shut down a main gas supply to the Pittsburgh area.

The local gas line company was swift with their repairs, which included a new meter station and tap-in isolation valve, taking only a few days to complete. By now my paperwork was in order and I had my contractor out there installing the new 4-inch gas line. They were done within two weeks; we beat the 1st frost deadline by a month.

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As I noted earlier, Dilworth Mine provided me with many work opportunities. One of the craziest, stupidest, and yes life-threatening assignments, occurred during a methane gas check I had to conduct at the mine. It's always the small, simple task that gets you into the biggest trouble.

Within the initial 12 months of being promoted to the Eastern Region, I found myself in the middle of a backlog of air shafts that absolutely needed to be installed, all of them ASAP. Of course, these multi-million dollar projects required permits, engineering work, and a bidding process to select the various contractors. Plus, plans and contracts had to be put into place to bring electrical power to these fan sites, which typically would have a 1000hp motor and usually a 2-3 MW underground power supply borehole. The time frame needed for getting these heavy-duty power lines to these remote locations was usually the critical path.

The very first airshaft that I constructed was for the Dilworth Mine. It created many experiences and memories for me. But it's only a side project, to the event, that would turn out to be one of the most dangerous experiences I ever experienced underground.

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Almost a year later while in the middle of constructing the Dilworth # 6 Air Shaft, I became aware that the old works section of the mine were losing the positive flow of air or ventilation through them.

Having strong positive ventilation through these old works was a requirement of the Federal Mine Safety law. The old works at Dilworth were a collection of entries, cross-cuts, and retreat-mined areas that were mined 10-20 years earlier. The old works were an isolated block of coal about 2 square miles in area, just off the "haulage mains" that served the rest of the coal mine.

These old works had two sets of entries that intersected with the mine's mains, one set of entries received fresh air (fresh from the surface) that fed into the old workings while the other set drew out the bad air, aka methane-laden air and dumped it into the mine's existing return airways.

The return airways fed an exhaust fan which would dispel the air to the surface. Over time, the old works would cave in and fill up with water and the passage of fresh air through this area would get harder and harder. There were two solutions to this problem. Permanently seal off the section of the mine or drill a hole into the farthest part of the workings and let fresh air enter from there. The latter was the typical practice in the industry and usually solved the issue. So the cast was set, I was charged with drilling a ventilation hole, a 9-inch diameter hole, into the back end of the old workings.

Heck, no problem, I was on the job just over a year and I had drilled numerous holes of this size and depth. So I bid it out and had the contractor lined up within a month. There is an MSHA regulation that states, prior to a drill bit penetrating an active coal mine the area must be inspected and methane level readings taken. I had to find a way to inspect the area where the 500-foot deep borehole would penetrate the mine before the drilling bit punched through. The classic cliche "easier said than done" comes to mind.

After a few weeks, the borehole was down a few hundred feet. Timing was critical, we had to inspect the area exactly one shift prior to the drill bit busting through into the mine. As an extra precaution, the Superintendent and I decided to make the punch through on a Sunday, when only 5-8 workers would be underground in the mine.

I had finalized the arrangements for a Foreman to go with me underground and perform the methane pre-check that day. If all went well the driller would punch through the next day (less than a shift later).

I was up at 5 and out the door shortly thereafter, into the dark February moment. It was a cold Sunday morning, a very cold morning, something hovering around zero. As I climbed into my pickup truck, I was thankful that the temperature in the garage was probably in the teens. My pickup truck was just beginning to produce some heat when I reached the Regional Office and switched to the ice-cold company truck. I shivered for the initial 30 minutes on my way to Dilworth. I arrived at the mine by 7:30, to meet up with the Superintendent and the designated Foreman who would accompany me on this trip underground.

The three of us met up with the Mine Engineer and looked at the old works map and plotted our route from the mains through the old works to the proper intersection. It was rare to see the Superintendent and the Mine Engineer on a Sunday. They all usually worked 10-hour days 6 days a week, they could not have been pleased to be at the mine that day.

After it was plotted on a map and a copy made for us, the Foreman and I stepped into the bathhouse part of the portal. He asked me if I wanted to put my wallet in his locker. I said, "No need, I always take it underground". He replied in a straight voice, "I really think you should, we are going to get wet today".

That stopped me in my tracks. In all my mining experiences I have heard many phrases, "low oxygen, bad roof, stray electrical currents, high methane, tight entries, or no airflow, but nothing would raise a miner's danger antenna, more than the words, "You will get wet". Especially since I had not prepared for it, I had not put on an extra layer of clothes or brought a spare set of clothes for the return home. I tried to rationalize that it wouldn't be that bad, that the temperature underground is typically a steady 50-55F. I hoped when he said "get wet" he meant just our legs but watching him tuck away his wallet into his locker and then remove any remaining material from his other pockets, I knew the water would be at least waist high. Oh well, I thought it was too late to turn back, I gave him my wallet and truck keys.

Putting on the miner's cap lamp and battery was a little more difficult than usual, the in the battery-lamp area was in the single digits, I had to put on my gloves to handle the metal battery case (otherwise my skin would stick to the metal). The cord from the battery to the headlamp was as stiff as a piece of conduit. It was cold, really cold, I wanted to get underground as quickly as possible.

The ride down the elevator was cold too, just the Foreman and myself. The clouds from our breathing seemed to hang in the elevator just above our heads. We hit the bottom and headed to a jeep on a side track. Again, it was cold, 0 degrees or lower, the fresh air coming down the airshaft was whipping past us and cutting through our jackets, shirts, pants, and gloves. It's at moments like this that you recall and understand the meaning of the wind chill factor.

We climbed into the jeep and headed to the old works. The old works were about 3 miles from the shaft bottom a good 20-minute ride in the jeep. It wasn't until we were about 2 miles away and switched off the main line to a sub-main that the temperature got up into the 40s maybe 50. The warmth was a good feeling, like stepping up to a fireplace in a log cabin. We arrived at our designated spot, parked the jeep, and looked at the map of the old workings one more time.

We quickly found the cinder block stopping with the 30-inch by 30-inch metal man door that led us into the old working. After trekking past a few cross-cuts and entries and crawling through a few more man doors we reached the old works. Surprising to me they weren't that old, they were in pretty good shape, at least for the initial couple of hundred feet, the floor was not heaved, the ribs of the pillars showed no sign of sloughing and the roof was in great shape. The air wasn't damp or musty, which is typical of the many old works I had traversed in my past. So I was a little surprised that the mine management had claimed that the area was not getting enough fresh air and asked for the vent hole. But that was the end of the good news.

A few steps later I heard it, the squish sound of my rubber hard-toed boots stepping into the water. Initially, the water was in pools or puddles that could be avoided, but after a few hundred feet it became a steady one-inch-deep pond. I had gotten wet underground before from working on pumps but I had never been standing in a pool of water that filled the entryways and crosscuts.

It was interesting how our headlamps glimmered off the water and helped light the way forward. Much different than the normal walking underground where the dark gritty matter on the floor, walls, and roof absorbed every photon of light. After about a mile (or 50 blocks of coal), we were halfway there. The water had risen but it had not gotten above the edge of my boots. I found myself clinging to the coal ribs, where some sloughing of coal from the ribs allowed me to gain a few inches of elevation to keep the water from getting into my boots.

The Foreman who carried the mine safety lamp just laughed at me as he plodded through the water making waves big enough to counter the meager elevation gain I had. He was cut from the standard Mine Foreman mold. About six foot two, over two hundred and fifty pounds with a beard as well developed as his beer gut. He looked like the brother of the Mine Superintendent. It was clear that the less said the better, I knew that complaining would not be tolerated.

After another hundred feet I realized my efforts were futile, and I too plodded into the water. I immediately realized why I was avoiding the plunge, the water was cold, maybe it was the same temperature of the air around 50F but the 48-degree difference with my body temperature made the water rushing down my boot feel like a pitcher of ice water. We plodded forward at a much slower pace.

Much faster than I would have wanted, the water reached our waist, we paused and looked at the map that I was keeping in my breast pocket. We got our bearings and realized we had another half mile to go. We also realized it had taken about two and a half hours to traverse to this point. We figured we had another half hour to get to the designated point. At that point putting us underground for three hours.

If it took that long to get back to the elevator shaft we then would be back above ground after 6 hours. The Foreman said it would make for a short shift for us and maybe we could get home at a decent hour. But my head thought of a different timeline, I was thinking we would be in cold water up to our waist for over two hours, maybe three. To say it concerned me would be an understatement.

The next half hour was absolutely one of the worst of my life, as we plodded forward, the water rose above our waists. This meant that over 50% of our bodies were submerged in the cold water. There was a noticeable change in comfort and also core body temperature. We have all walked across a swimming pool with water up to our waist and know how it restricts your legs and foot movements. Add on 10 pounds of clothes, a miner belt with battery, steel-toed boots, and a 5 lb. self-rescuer and it just makes it more fun, or what I would call an extreme cardio workout. The effort and the cold were exhausting.

The rise of the water did not stop at our waist, within a few hundred feet it reached our chest, at this point I put the electronic methane detector under my hard hat. The Foreman was struggling to keep the mine safety lamp above the water. After another 10 minutes of plodding forward, the water reached our collars, with the water just below my chin I finally spoke up and said, "Let's stop and get our bearings".

We stopped for a moment, and that's when I realized I forgot to move the map from my chest pocket to my hat, the map was soaked and ruined. To the novice miner, panic might have ensued, but we both knew we had long ago given up on the map and we were forging ahead on the mental pictures we took of the map. With my chin just a few inches above the water I was about to say, "This is good enough let's take the air readings here and head back". The Forman must have been reading my thoughts, and said, "We are almost there just a few more blocks to go". I didn't complain or state my belief that taking an air reading here or one 200 feet from here made any difference.

But I did say, "You do realize that if you stumble and slip under the water, there is no way I would find you", he paused and turned to look at me. Before he could respond I replied, "I'm just saying if you twist your ankle or knee you are not getting out of here, there is no way I could drag your butt through this water". There was no reply, he just turned his head and plodded further on into the mine.

A few steps later he took off his hard hat and placed the miner's lamp in and floated it along with him. Yes, this was now getting ridiculous. A few more steps and he too realized that he had reached his limit, he turned to me and said, I think it opens up a bit a little further up, let me go up to the end of the block and check it out. It was a welcome relief that he was considering stopping, but I didn't like the idea of us separating even if it would only be 50 to 100 feet. So I tagged along, albeit at a slower pace and the gap between us widened from 20 feet to about 50. He was right the coal seam had a small elevation change in it and we found ourselves in water only up to our chest. He proclaimed this was enough and looked at the flame in his safety lamp and said there was no methane.

I took out my electronic canary from under my hard hat and took readings of the methane and oxygen levels, both were good. With no time to pause or think, we immediately started to head back. It only took a few minutes but the adrenalin and testosterone that drove us to this point wore off. Although I felt the cold water when it initially filled my boots, and then again when it reached belt-high, I had forgotten about it for the last 20 minutes. At this point I could feel my body losing heat, maybe it was the adrenaline that had increased my metabolism, but for whatever reason, I was now getting cold, and I knew we were more than an hour and a half away from getting out of the water!

When we were back in the area that required the Foreman to float the mine safety lamp in his hard hat, I began to think about the water level and whether it was rising. I recalled that when we walked into the water it was flowing in the same direction we were walking towards. If it was flowing towards us the level would be rising and some of the areas that we walked through would have higher water levels! Ahh, just more fun! I didn't want to think about the worst-case scenario, that if the water had risen so high that we would be blocked and couldn't get back out. There was no time to dwell on such an issue, just move on.

It took about 20 minutes but we eventually got back to the area where that water was below our chest, and another 20 minutes before it dropped below our waist. The one good aspect was that with the decreasing level of water, the resistance to walking was getting less. It brought a little bit of enthusiasm to us, our speed picked up, and that helped raise our body temperatures and my morale.

After another 20 minutes the water level dropped below our boot edges, but since there was no dry spot, no chair, and no bench to sit down on, we had to walk another 10 minutes before we found a dry spot, a little elevated island where we could stop and pull off our boots and empty out the water. It was good to get off our legs for a minute, but that was it, just a minute. This brief stop made us realize how wet we were, we were drenched, and soaked, our clothes now weighed three times more than when dry and we no longer had the buoyancy effect of the water.

I mentioned that I felt drained, and surprisingly the Foreman agreed. With words of encouragement, he said "Kid it's likely to get tougher, but let's focus on getting to the man-doors". We both struggle for the next 15 minutes to get to and through the man-doors. The weight of the water-laden clothes, loss of body heat and just being underground for 5 hours were taking its physical toll. The slower pace clearly lowered my metabolism and I was cold, a different kind of cold I had never felt before. I grew up in Northeast Pennsylvania so I had been exposed to temperatures below zero and recalled the time I made a two-mile trek to our home in single-digit weather, but this was different. Every part of me was cold, not just my fingers, toes, or face, I felt like I was losing my core body temperature.

We got to the last man door; we knew the temperature on the other side would be at least 10 degrees colder. We stopped and discussed our options. We could strip down and squeeze out the cold water, but that would take time. We also knew that in the jeep we had our coats, lunch pail, and dry gloves. We also discussed that as we got closer to the shaft the air would get colder, very cold. We both knew the high temperature for today was not going to break 30F and that it would be a twenty maybe thirty-minute ride to the shaft bottom with a 20-30 mile per hour wind in our face. Lastly, we also knew there was a radio on the jeep. We discussed in as simple terms as possible, that time was not our ally. We agreed to forgo draining our clothes, get to the jeep as quickly as possible, and head back to the shaft bottom. Once we reached the mains we would stop and radio in to get clearance to the elevator and also tell them we would likely need help at the shaft bottom.

We reached the jeep and quickly grabbed our jackets and flung them on, gloves were next. I positioned myself in the jeep to minimize any airflow over my body, crouching low in a flat position. The Foreman sat in the driver's chair and placed the harp on the trolley line. I thanked god that the juice flowed and fired up the electric motor and the jeep's lights. I was so cold I thought I could feel the warmth from the jeep lights, ridiculous, yes, but the yellow glow of the jeep light was a reminder of warmer times.

It took only a few minutes before we hit the mains and radioed in. The main line was clear all the way to the shaft bottom. The dispatch asked why we might need help at the shaft bottom, but he didn't reply. The dispatcher understood his silence, namely that we had a serious matter at hand and that no one else in the mine needed to hear about.

The next 15 minutes of my life were brutal, with the jeep moving at 10 mph and the intake air rushing at 20 mph it made for a 30 mph wind in my face, my feeble attempt to shield my body from the wind was just that, feeble. It had no effect. After about five minutes, I started to realize that my clothes were freezing in front of me. I knew that I had to keep my feet, hands, and face muscles moving to maintain some circulation and keep them from freezing in place. At the same time, my jaw and teeth started to shake, not from the movement of the jeep across the rail tracks, but from the cold. It started intermittently, and within a few minutes, it was uncontrollable chatter.

A few minutes later I began to realize my hands, my toes, and my neck were getting stiff, real stiff, it took all my effort and concentration for me to turn my head and check on the Foreman commanding the jeep. Thank goodness he had a heavier coat, thicker gloves, and more body mass. I figured we had 10 more minutes to get to the bottom. And I was sure when I got to the surface I would have frostbite or worse on my toes, hands, and probably my face.

I tried my best to move my fingers and toes, but I realized I was having trouble just concentrating. A fear set in that I might pass out so I focused all my energy on staying awake, counting in my head, and like any good engineer doing square root calculations. At about the point that I was ready to close my eyes, I was sharply shaken by the jeep cutting off the main line and onto the side track for the shaft bottom. The jarring movement, the squealing sound of the metal wheels grinding against the rails and the sparks from the jeep's harp bouncing off the trolley wire kept me from passing out. A couple of more spine-jarring turns confirmed that we were close to the shaft bottom. The squeal of the brakes and the jeep coming to a stop brought some mental relief to me. The elevator, warmth, heat, was but a few dozen feet away.

Honestly, I don't remember much of the next 10 or 15 minutes. I vaguely recall some miners dragging me and the Foreman out of the jeep and into the elevator. The next clear memory I have was of me lying in the bathhouse, being flooded by the shower and mumbling "please turn off the hot water it was stinging-scalding me".

A few minutes later I could see the Foreman sitting across from me with a shower on him too. I struggled to my feet and reached to turn off the hot water, only to realize it was not on! I was being showered with 60-degree water yet it felt hot or rather stung my face and hands. The shower room was one big cloud of steam. False steam from the shower spray hitting 30-degree air. There were icicles hanging off the other showerheads.

As I stood up, I realized I was still in my mining clothes, jacket and all. I grabbed the shower handles and turned the hot water on, slowly the water, my clothes, and my body warmed up. The warmer water turned the shower room into a full fog, steam bath. It felt good, really good, to breathe in that warm moist air. I began to realize that my hands and fingers were all ok. I wiggled my toes and pressed them all against my boots to make sure all ten were moving. I was a happy man.

About 30 minutes later I was putting on a borrowed pair of pants and tee shirt. As I was wringing out the water from my clothes the Foreman handed me my wallet and car keys. We gave each other a smile and nod and he was off to his truck. I wasn't that far behind.

As I exited the portal doors, the cold air hit me hard, I hadn't realized that it was late, past 7 and it was pitched black, we had been in the mine for over 10 hours! I jogged to the back end of the parking lot and got into the company truck. I knew it wouldn't warm up for 30 minutes, so I pulled it up to the portal door, got out, and left it running with the heater on full blast. I found the vending machines and had my dinner of a Snickers bar and a can of Coke.

I got back to the house around 9 pm, I dumped my wet clothes right into the washing machine. I was very tired and just wanted to get to bed. But once I got up to the master bedroom, I knew I needed a long hot shower in my own bathroom. I put on some long underwear, a tee shirt, a pullover, sweat pants, thick socks and crawled into bed.

The next day at work was uneventful, I went back to Dilworth to check on the drilling rig to see if it broke through into the mine. I got home at the normal time, just before dinner. I started the washing machine. After dinner, Tammy put the wet clothes into the dryer.

Later that evening I realized I had a burning feeling in my groin area, hands, feet, and armpits. As I got changed for bed, I realized that my skin was exfoliating, after a closer look at my arms and legs I realized my whole body was shedding a dead layer of skin. Two days later, my feet and hands were pretty raw, and those places that didn't see the sun, were painful.

Tammy went to start a load of laundry and pulled out the clothes she had put in the dryer a few days earlier. She laughed out loud and walked over to me with my long underwear in her hand. Typically they are a faded white, but what she was displaying in front of me was a bright orange, pumpkin color. "So what happened here?' It was obvious, that the water I had been submerged in was laden with iron and surly had a slight acidic pH value. Thus, the orange-colored underwear, and the resultant skin defoliation.

Eventually, the redness across my body disappeared, but not the memory.

Author Notes

Warning - This is a Novella (not a short story and more than a Chapter in a book). I wrote this with the mindset of explaining and providing details not typically seen in stories. In a way, I hope it is educational as I tried to describe the details of underground coal mining and power plant construction/operations. I lack professional training or writing experience. I hated my HS/College English and literature classes. My passion has always been engineering, with a focus on numbers, formulas, equations, and algorithms. Thus, the two Engineering Degrees. Somehow I obtained some management-people skills that helped me climb the corporate ladder. All of my stories are based on actual events, of course with a just a touch of embellishment.

"... Sparks Flew From My Mechanical Pencil ..."

It was 1989, I was 31 years old, it had been 9 years since I graduated from Penn State University with my Mining Engineering Degree, I had my Master's Degree from the University of Pittsburgh and my Professional Engineering license. Married for four years, we built a homestead on 10 acres and we just had our first child. I had just been promoted to the Chief Mining Engineer at the Bailey Mine Complex. This was the 4th promotion in nine years at Consol. With degrees and licenses all having fallen into place, I believed I was pursuing the American Dream and well on my way up the corporate ladder.

I had spent the previous four years as a Regional Engineer working on various capital projects and mine planning activities within the Eastern Region of Consol Coal Company (Consol). The Eastern Region was made up of six underground mines and one surface mine, all but one were union mines. Eastern Region encompassed an area from Eastern Ohio, through the West Virginia Panhandle and up into Western Pennsylvania. Consol was the 2nd largest coal company in America, as measured in both tons produced and revenues. Consol's mines were primarily in the Appalachian coal fields, spread throughout West Virginia, Virginia, and Pennsylvania, with several surface mines in Illinois and Ohio, and two mines west of the Mississippi.

Bailey Mine was the jewel of all jewels in the coal mining industry. It was opened in the mid-80s with much fanfare. There was some industry backlash due to its opening during a period of oversupply of Appalachian coal, a time during which the steel mills around Pittsburgh were shutting down, and when massive nuclear power plants were pushing out the traditional coal-fired power plants. But the primary reason for the special attention from the industry, and to some degree the nation, was because it was a non-union underground coal mine. Bailey Mine was initially projected to be a massive 3 million ton per year mine almost 50% larger than any underground mine in Appalachia at the time. It would be the first non-union coal mine to open in the heart of the United Mine Workers of America ( UMWA).

The Bailey Mine was located in Washington County, Pennsylvania, about 50 miles south of Pittsburgh and just a few hollers from the West Virginia border. Unlike most coal mines throughout the Appalachians, it was not located near the Monongahela, Alleghany, or Ohio Rivers, landlocked it was forced to ship its coal by a new rail line spur.

The mine was a direct threat to the UMWA's current members and essentially its future. There could be no doubt by anyone working on this project that for Bailey Mine to succeed it had to thwart the UMWA. It was firmly believed within the halls of Consol's Corporate Headquarters, during these Reagan years, that unions no matter what the industry, were dragging down economic growth and thus the middle class. With their ever-increasing dues, featherbedding and generally unproductive work ethic, many industries across the Northeast and Mid-Atlantic had been migrating south towards non-union working environments and lately, they were not stopping at the US border as they moved their factories to Mexico, Brazil, or SE Asia.

Interestingly, the UMWA never publicly came out and challenged Consol's investment in Bailey Mine as it was being developed and going through the permitting process. Rather the union took the position that under the Fair Labor Act, they would let the mine get built, let Consol make the $100,000,000+ investment, and once it was fully staffed they would petition the workers and call for a union vote. Their confidence lay in the fact that Western Pennsylvania was swamped with unemployed UMWA workers. Thus, the hiring pool that Consol would draw from would have a built-in bias towards the union. In their minds, it was the proverbial slam dunk.

But, as many best-laid plans have gone in the past, the cards did not play out as planned. The Union's labor pool logic, in fact, worked against the Union. Consol's management invoked a policy of only hiring coal miners who had been laid off for at least 12 months. This policy assured them of a "hungry" workforce, a workforce that would literally work their butts off to protect their higher-than union rates-paying jobs. Essentially they were hiring an employee base that had been fed up with the work outages, strikes, and union dues that the UMWA was known for.

After several years of environmental permitting and two years of construction, the Bailey Mine Complex was up and running. From the onset the mine was setting production records; most tons per day, most tons per week, or most tons per month. There seemed to be a steady banner of congratulatory press releases during the initial months of operation. No doubt these press releases were rubbing it in on the union.

The mine was blessed with a great coal reserve, a 6 to 7-foot thick coal seam with a solid-consistent roof, a level-dry floor, and nominal methane gas trapped within the eon's old coal seam. With two modern, highly efficient longwall units and the advantages of an all-conveyor belt haulage system, the production cost was a fraction of the union-controlled mines within Consol's fleet.

The bean counters and executives were quick to recognize that the differentiating issue between the Bailey Mine and the other mines in the Appalachian Coal Basin, was primarily driven by the labor force. At first, the high productivity results were discounted as being a result of the new equipment, the two longwall layouts, or even plain old rookie luck. But after a full year under its belt, the productivity figures continued to improve. More coal with less manpower and the same capital investment translated into lower production costs, which quickly fell out to the bottom line as higher profits.

Within Consol, upper management began to recognize that this was not an aberration, a short-term phenomenon, the high risk of opening a non-union mine was paying off like no other investment in the company.

Not that a great return on investment wasn't a worthy goal, but there was a bigger prize being sought, and it was a game changer for the coal industry. The lower production cost allowed Consol to lower the price of the coal it sold while maintaining an exceptional profit. Of course, many with an MBA could play with this concept and try to determine the optimal profit level, but Consol's management had one other objective. Namely, it wanted to shut down its high-cost/low-productive union mines in the Appalachian Coal Basin and move those coal sales contracts to Bailey Mine. A strategy to drive the industry as a whole away from union labor.

With the higher productivity rates the mine's annual production was on a constant path upward, after 2 years of production it had increased from 3 million tons per year (mtpy) to 4.5 mtpy. A phenomenal 50% increase in production from the same capital investment. Management was extremely proud that these increased production levels were from a workforce of about 3/4th of the initial estimated workforce. Put another way, the original economics were based on a 3 mtpy production rate, a $100 million investment with 400 workers. In actuality, it was producing 4.5 mtpy, (50% more), with 300 workers, (25% less) and no additional capital investments. Around the water coolers within Consol, it was being whispered that every day Bailey Mine brought in a million dollars (over $3M in today's dollars)!

Over the next 2 years, the Bailey mine's productivity rates continued to ramp up. By 1988 it had achieved a production rate of 6 mtpy, again with essentially the same equipment and a slight increase in labor, inching up to 325 workers. These gains were not without a little wear and tear on the mine's management. The salaried staff was being stretched thin.
As a Regional Engineer, I had several construction projects at Bailey Mine. Whether it was with conversations with workers underground, or in the bathhouse it was not uncommon to hear the salary Foreman or Supervisors claiming they hadn't had a day off in 2 or 3 months or were working 12-14 hour days for three or more weeks at a stretch. However those mumblings were just a whisper compared to the bravado, or some would say arrogance, that the management and miners at Bailey extolled.

They were justifiably proud of their accomplishments; they were by all standards the best coal miners in the US, if not the world. It created a culture, some outsiders would say an ego, at the mine that "they were the best of the best". For the most part, this was positive, but occasionally it would grate on the newcomer or the person who tried to present a new idea to the mine.

After achieving the 6 mtpy mark and staying flat for almost a year there was a building consensus that the mine had peaked. The 1-year, 3-year, and 5-year mine forecasts were showing that to maintain the 6 mtpy rate additional capital and substantially more workers would be required. This was due to the fact that the active mining face was getting further and further from the main shaft where the workers portal-ed in and out of the mine. The jewel of Consol and the Industry was big and bright, sitting strong on top of the mountain, but it was beginning to lose a little of its luster. By all standards, after 4 years of operation, the mine and the investment; were all a success, one that far exceeded even the most optimistic estimates.

Bailey Mine clearly had set the bar within Consol, and as the execs had hoped, throughout the industry. Its economic impact was far-reaching, more so than just within Washington County. The production above the initial design rate allowed Consol to shut down a least a half dozen of its "less productive union mines" in the Pittsburgh Coal Basin. This was not lost on the UMWA and when the UMWA contract came up for negotiations the union was upset, hot, yet on their heels.

The results from the Bailey Mine gave the coal industry negotiators, headed up by Consol's CEO Bobby Brown, much more negotiating leverage. Resulting in dramatic changes in the work rules. The union leaders, being led by a young, outspoken lawyer from Western Pennsylvania named Richard Trumka, (yes Richard Trumka, the ex-president of the AFL-CIO) did some face-saving by obtaining a very favorable pay rate increases. But the union was now wise enough to see the future and the future was spelled with a capital C, to survive in the upcoming 90's the union card-carrying members in the coal industry had to be competitive.

Bailey Mine was such a success that plans to replicate it with a twin or sister coal mine were being executed. The 2nd mine would have its portal and production slope located just a few hundred yards to the south of Bailey's. The existing prep plant would be expanded and it would use the same rail loadout facility. Development of this new mine started in 1988 with the submittal of the necessary permits. No doubt sending another serious message to the UMWA.

****

The coal reserves that were dedicated to the Bailey Mine were part of a detailed plan that called for four 3 mtpy mines, together pushing out a phenomenal 12 mtpy. With Bailey Mine doubling the initial forecasted annual production the plans were quickly revised to reflect just two 6mtpy mines.

By early 1989 all the permits were in hand and construction on the 2nd mine commenced. The new mine was called Enlow Fork to reflect the name of the nearby creek.
Due to some favorable compensation loopholes that were created between the two mines, a portion of the Bailey Mine management jumped over to Enlow Fork. This shift in personnel resulted in the Chief Mining Engineer at Bailey, the person who had a hand in the mine's outstanding results, leaving Bailey Mine and joining the Enlow Fork team. This opened up the position at Bailey Mine to which I was promoted.

I was not a stranger to the Bailey Mine, its workers, and its key managers. As a Regional Engineer, I had put in numerous degas holes, plugged several abandoned oil wells, put in two air shafts, conducted numerous underground ventilation surveys, and most importantly was doing the long-term planning for the mine, creating 1, 3, and 5-year production and quality forecasting mine plans.

Typically all the forecasting of the coal quantity and quality, both short and long-term, was done by the Chief Mine Engineer at each coal mine. But in the Eastern Region, due to my computer background (I had essentially earned a minor in computer science at PSU), I created a computer program that greatly reduced this manually intensive planning effort.
Creating mining and quality forecasts for a coal mine is like playing three-dimensional chess, but with one additional element, time. Essentially it involves all four aspects of the space continuum: height, depth, width, and time.

To create a coal mine forecast, a Mining Engineer would lay out the area he believes will be mined in the upcoming 12, 36, or 60 months based on worker-machine productivities and the geology of the coal seam. The objective is to develop a detailed plan that will forecast the annual amount of coal and its associated quality. Then layering in manpower costs, the cost of consumables, supporting services costs, and any new or refurbishing equipment costs, the engineer would build up the forecasted cost to produce the quantity & quality of coal for that time period.

Forecasting the coal production and its cost were the easy parts, predicting the quality of the coal produced was always the biggest challenge. Although the Pittsburgh Coal Seam was known for its relatively consistent thickness, the quality in the Pittsburgh Coal Seam varied from high btu, low sulfur, metallurgical grade coal located in the central part of the basin (near Pittsburgh) to a lower btu, very high sulfur, high ash coal located on the eastern and western fridges of the basin. Because creating a mine plan is an iterative process as one tries to find the optimum solution, it takes a lot of time. This resulted in many-many trial and error runs.

Balancing these cost and production variables is typical in any industry, but what made coal mining forecasting unique was that coal mining is not like a factory with fixed inputs and outputs. In a coal mine, the working environment is always moving. The mining machines excavated the coal seam as they progressed forward. As these mining machines moved forward they had to carry with them electrical and water lines, ventilation, supplies for roof supports, partitioning walls, rail lines to move the men and supplies and conveyor belts. All of these variables have to be considered.

If that wasn't complex enough the plan had to properly address the coal quality, which varied in all directions. If a mining unit moved 200 feet in any direction the % ash, % sulfur, % moisture, and Btu values all changed. The Mine Engineer had to find ways to strategically mine the coal reserve in a manner that not only optimized production and cost but also produced the coal quality that matched the coal contracts. It can be quite a brain teaser; the only analogy I can think of is to try visualizing the coal mine with its entries and cross cuts looking like the back of a computer chip board and thinking that it has to be redesigned every 3 months.

Given my computer science background, it was not a stretch that in my regional engineering role I wrote a computer program that greatly expedited the iterative, mind-numbing process of creating these forecast reports. Essentially, turning a work effort involving a week or two into two days at the most. Back in the 80s, this computing was delegated to the mainframe computer, the latest advancement in technology. These machines the size of a McDonald's restaurant, cut the work time of these laborious tasks into a fraction of the time. As a bonus, the results were more accurate, repeatable, and easier to understand.

****

With all of the forecasting work and the airshafts that I built at Bailey Mine, the promotion to Chief Mine Engineer was a natural. The initial few months were rather easy as I settled into what could be said was a familiar role. I knew all the players, the top management at the mine, and my staff. My staff was comprised of a draftsman, a surveying crew of three, a project engineer, and an intern/co-op student. Although I had managed numerous contractors with crews of over a dozen workers, on multiple sites, this would be my first management role with in-house staff.

Despite my familiarity with the Bailey staff, I did incur a significant management issue in the initial 30 days of taking the new position. The mine's draftsman was a 40+ year-old man named Dave who had worked as a draftsman since graduating from High School. He had worked at several coal mines within Consol, but like all Bailey workers, he had an extended period where he was laid off. He had been through at least two bad marriages which had taken its toll on his wallet and psyche. To me he was an enigma, at times he was the office clown, entertaining everyone with his antics and verbal assaults on current events and politicians but at other times his sharp wit would turn bitter or acidic, berating and sometimes belittling his coworkers.

It didn't take but a few weeks of working with Dave to realize he was not the friendly "class clown" that his 1st impression made. The drafting room was his domain; it was a 20 x 30-foot room on the 2nd floor of the mine portal/bathhouse building. It had a 10 ft by 10 ft drafting table in the middle surrounded by a large print machine, filing cabinets and a large walk-in closet where the surveyors kept their equipment. The bathhouse had no lobby or reception area. For all intentional purposes, the drafting room was the reception area for the mine. The drafting room also served as the lunch area for my staff and as the de-facto watering hole for the office.

Within a few days, I began to notice some pre-existing tension between my staff and Dave, so much so that it heightened my management senses. It became apparent that Dave's outward friendliness was a front, used to try and catch visitors in awkward situations so he could embarrass them in front of their co-workers. His initial demeanor was friendly, and his wit was sharp and comical in front of the visitors, usually aimed at some public figure or recent news event. But with a more critical eye and ear, I began to notice that some of his acidic wit was being directed at the visitors or co-workers. Without fail every time a visitor left the drafting room he had a mean and derogatory comment. This man was two-faced, and there was no doubt that every time I left the drafting room he had a negative comment about me.

The next day at lunch, there was what I would call an ugly scene, Dave tore into Jim, the intern, making comical fun of his work ethic, general intelligence, and appearance, (slightly overweight). Normally I would step in and stop something like this, but Jim was a shy & quiet person, and he seemed to enjoy the banter. Essentially, what Jim thought was friendly office banter was a public denigration. Jim was not part of the fun, he was being made fun of, being laughed at, and embarrassed in front of his co-workers. But he was so green he could not recognize it.

I observed the situation for a few more days to make sure I didn't misinterpret the situation. Thus, on Friday morning after my staff had left to go underground, I asked Dave to come into my office. We had a cordial talk about his actions. Of course, he was taken aback by my position, and with a clear voice and looking straight into his eyes I told him that he needed to: tone down his comments, not to be disrespectful of others, and stop bullying the intern. Dave initially gave some pushback, claiming he was only teasing, that it was not harmful, etc., but I was firm and made it known in no uncertain terms it had to change. Of course, there was a bit of me "marking my territory" in this meeting. I thought I had genuinely convinced Dave that he was stepping out of bounds.

Over the next few weeks, Dave pouted a little but did conform. It took the remainder of the staff a few days, maybe a week, to recognize the new Dave, soon they were letting down their guard and the conversations no longer had an air of tension. I was pleasantly pleased with myself, but in the back of my mind I knew Dave was very sharp and maybe this was just another front he was putting on.

Interestingly, a few weeks later at the end of a mine management meeting, the General Manager pulled me aside to tell me they thought my initial months on the new job was going well and that I was earning the respect of the whole Bailey team. Then in a lower, almost whisper voice, he said "We liked how you handled Dave and put him in his place, he's been needing that for years, that took b_lls." At that point, we broke off our talk and I cut into my office.

I sat down in my chair and rethought what he said, but wondered how did he know about my conversation with Dave. As I sat there, I surmised that Dave had burned bridges with many others at the mine. Apparently, the adjustment to Dave's demeanor was recognized by a wider audience than I expected. Well, some questions are best left unanswered, so I just absorbed the compliment, stood up, turned out the office lights, headed to my car, and let the day end on a good note.

****

About 2 months later, I was in the middle of creating another version of the annual forecast for the mine. I had worked on this task several times from the regional engineering position, but I had not done the initial raw mine plan in a way so one could pull off the needed information to feed the computer program I created. Creating the raw mine plan is one of those tasks that once you have done your first one, then the following ones are a lot easier. It's like laying the 1st course of brick for a foundation.

In this case, even though I had worked on these forecasts for years, I wanted to do it from scratch and not copy or reproduce what the previous Mine Engineer had done. Typical engineer attitude, why do it the easy way?

So around 8 am, I closed the door to my office isolating myself from the drafting room. It was rare for me to close my office door, so I was sure Dave noted it and he probably had his suspicions. At 11:00 I came out for the daily lunch ritual in the drafting room. Someone in the room commented that I looked worn out, I stated, "Yeah doing the mine forecast is like refinancing your house, deciding on your corporate health plan, and buying life insurance all in the same day".

Dave jumped in and agreed with me that it probably was the toughest part of my job, but he was thankful that some smart-ass engineer in the company HQ had figured out a way that made this weekly chore into a single-day event. He went on to explain especially since the old method required the draftsman, himself, to spend 3 or 4 days on each forecast and now he only needed to spend about a half day. Everyone in the room knew that the corporate engineer was me and they all knew, despite the smart-ass moniker, that it was about as big a compliment anyone would get from Dave. My talk had gotten to him, he was now seeking my approval, albeit there was a flavor of sarcasm.

After lunch, I huddled back in my office to finish the 5-year forecast plan. After one more iteration, I thought I had come to a closure on the optimum plan. I was a little proud of myself, thinking that my initial forecast only took me about a half day to complete. But something was bugging me about this plan. Namely, that it essentially followed the previous ones, nothing new, no real added value.

What bothered me wasn't that this new plan required additional capital, nor the fact that it required a 15% increase in manpower, resulting in an increase in the operating cost. But it was the cold reality that mine's stellar 5-year run was coming to an end. The plan I just created did minimize the capital and manpower that was presented in the previous version, but just marginally, maybe a percent or two. As an engineer, I knew this was nothing but a rounding error. Yes, I had completed the update of the 5-year forecast in under a half day, but I felt like I had just pushed another car off the assembly line. Maybe I went through the motions, but really, how could I be expected to improve on the best of the best?

I stepped back into my office and while I stared at the mine map, with its computer chip-looking layout of entryways, crosscuts, intakes, returns and overcasts, I had a once-in-a-lifetime "eureka" moment.

It all came into focus in a flash, I envisioned a totally different mine layout; one that eliminated manpower and equipment, substantial amounts of them. Like a surgeon using his scalpel, a carpenter with his saw, or a sculptor with his carving tools, I was creating something better by subtracting and removing something.

I carefully, and surprisingly quickly, kept eliminating lines from the map with my erasure, taking out one and two lines representing entries or cross cuts. With my mechanical pencil, I added one entry there, and another over there, but then I would take out two or three. It felt like there were sparks flying from my mechanical pencil. It was only a 10-minute process with quite a few "what the F__ks", thrown in, and then it was done. I pushed back my chair from the drafting table in the office and surveyed my work. I had a rush of pride and accomplishment, I let it sink in for a few seconds but I knew before I presented this new mine layout to management, I had to double if not triple-check it. It was just after noon at this point; I had completed this whole new mine plan in less than 30 minutes.

So I took a break and went down one flight of stairs to the vending machines in the main bathhouse. I got a can of Coke and headed back up the stairs with a big smile but a sense of worry, thinking I had forgotten something. I certainly knew that changes of this magnitude would be heavily scrutinized by the Mine Superintendent and the General Mine Manager.

As I crossed the drafting room to enter my office, I paused and asked Dave if he could free up his afternoon, noting I had a special drafting project for him. He quizzically inquired, but I said give me about 30 minutes. After sitting back at my drafting table, I decided to just grab a clean sheet of paper and re-draft up the new mine plan from scratch. My working version just had too many stray lines and erasure marks. It would be a laborious process, but it was the only way to make sure there were no flaws in the layout. I ground it out and by 2 pm it was done. Knowing the current status of all the working faces, I knew that to implement this new plan it would have to be; approved, fine-tuned and finalized sometime in the next 2 to 3 weeks, otherwise, it would have to wait about 6 months until after the next longwall move.

With a little confidence and expecting a high degree of resistance, I put the new mine layout down in front of Dave and said I needed this design transposed onto the mine's mylar map (a more durable plastic map drawn in ink) so I could take it to management to perform reviews and obtain approvals.

His initial reaction was a comical, "Wow! It only took the corporate genius 6 months to redesign the whole mine". Since the talk a few weeks earlier, his sarcastic comments were very minimal, this was the first satirical comment he had directed at me since the talk. But, with his next breath, he was criticizing the layout. Yes, Dave may have had personality issues but he was a well-seasoned, sharp draftsman, as good as they come.

As he was about to start laying it on thick with his sarcastic tone, his comments turned to "well this part might work... but it won't because.." then a deep pause as he took a harder look at the intricate layout, then he looked to the left and said sharply "this won't work", but before he could finish his sentence he paused again and he reevaluated the plan. By the third time, he realized this was something unique, and he looked over his shoulder and in a conceding voice said, "Why don't you just explain this to me". It took a few minutes to explain it to him, after which he pushed back his chair from the drafting table and said, "This is too F--king unreal! I need a break." Whether it was him trying to absorb the impact of the changes or that fact that I, the corporate engineer, had made them, it will never be known, but he too went down the stairway to visit the vending machines. Like a champion prize fighter reeling from a knockout punch, I figured he was realizing he was no longer the top dog, the one in control of the engineering office.

He returned with an energetic approach and tore into the design with a whole new series of questions: was it laid out properly for ventilation? Did the conveyor belts cross or have an impossible slope? How would the power supply cables be laid out? Then we discussed the manpower estimates and how the capital estimate was determined. With each probing question, I was able to reply quickly and accurately, I had all the bases covered and every answer was a homerun. After another 10 minutes of exchanges, he conceded that this was a very good concept, a game changer.

****

I asked if he could ink this plan on to mylar by 3:30 so I could do a quick run by the mine management when he came out of the mine. The next hour went by quickly. It was about 3 pm and I told Dave I would get us both a Coke and be right back to see the final product. Then, we could discuss how to present it to the Mine's Superintendent and Assistant Superintendent. Since I knew the General Mine Manager was on vacation until the following week, I thought that would give me a few days to polish it up and add in their comments.

When I got down to the vending area I ran into the Assistant Mine Superintendent, Jim. I was about to ask him if Don, his supervisor, the Mine Superintendent , and himself were available for a few minutes before the 4 pm shift came on board. He floored me when he responded with "I hear you redesigned the whole friggin mine". I was taken aback by this because I knew he had been underground since 7 am. I could only think of how amazing rumors can fly through a workplace even if the workforce is 4 miles away and 700 feet underground. Then he said that he and Don were ready now to review whatever I had. This response was expected. In the mining industry, it didn't matter what the issue was, decisions always had to be made on the spot. I responded with let's meet at 4:00 pm, giving me 60 minutes to pull it all together. He reluctantly agreed, so I dashed upstairs and told Dave about the meeting time and the need to crunch out the new drawing. He gave his typical "no way" response, but he knew the routine all too well and agreed he'd have something by then.

****

END - PART 1

Author Notes

This is one of ten Novellas. I wrote these Novellas with the mindset of explaining and providing details not typically seen in short stories. In a way, I hope it is educational as I tried to describe the details of underground coal mining and power plant construction/operations. I lack professional training or writing experience. I hated my HS/College English and literature classes. My passion has always been engineering, with a focus on numbers, formulas, equations, and algorithms. Thus, the two Engineering Degrees. Somehow I obtained some management-people skills that helped me climb the corporate ladder. All of my stories are based on actual events, of course with dash of embellishment.

Chapter 7
Bailey Mine - Part 2

By CM Kelly

"Sparks Flew from my Mechanical Pencil"

I went to my office and worked on some pressing permit issues, not thinking much about how I would present the new mine plan. Not realizing that if I embarrassed myself, my credibility would be shot, and it would take years to restore it. This was a core fault of mine, I always thought that any good idea would sell itself; salesmanship had little room in an Engineer's mind. In my gut, I just wasn't giving serious consideration of having to implement this new mine plan, because I believed there would be weeks of further reviews. Additionally, I knew that before making one change in the mining sequence, by law I would have to update the mine subsidence permit and mine ventilation plans, it was a matter of law and they take weeks to update. Thus, despite the rush to present it to Don and Jim, I thought it would be days if not weeks before any aspect of this plan could be put into effect.

At the appointed time, Dave and I headed over to Don's office. It was a large office, just down the hall from the drafting room. It had an above-average sized desk and separate area, with a decent-sized conference table that could seat 8. From my previous meetings with Bailey's management regarding air shafts, gas wells and mine planning, I knew the protocol would be to put the new mine plan on the table and let Don and Jim review it. The expectation was that they would criticize it, tear it apart, get their pound of flesh and then I would retreat back to my office to lick my wounds.

If Dave were a 10 on the "tough and well-seasoned chart", Don and Jim would be ranks near 100. This was just not a pessimistic feeling, as a Regional Engineer I had been through I knew these reviews would be professional but brutal. At Bailey these guys were not just tough and demanding they were extremely sharp, there was a reason it was the best mine in the world. There was no BS'ing them in any way, shape, or form.

With the freshly-inked mylar neatly rolled and tucked under my arm, Dave and I walked into Don's office. I laid out the plan on the table, only Jim was in the room at this time.
He looked it over and went through the same critique that Dave had, making statements like "You can't do that, this won't work, or what is this crazy scheme?" all to be answered quickly by me simply pointing to a different line on the mine plan. The mine plan spoke for itself. I, nor Dave had much to say to defend it.

The management at this mine had an inner vision; it seemed like they never asked a question they didn't know the answer to. After about 10 minutes of this intense cross examination, I took a breath and looked up, the office had now filled up with a dozen or so of Mine Foremen and various Assistant Foremen. It was standing room only.

Don had just entered the room from the private bath/shower area he shared with the General Mine Manager. He was positioned behind his big desk surveying the surroundings. Don stepped forward as the crowded room parted a path for him to the table. Don was somewhere in his 50's probably a High School grad, about six feet two, with 2% body fat and a shaved head to go with it. Essentially, he looked like Mr. Clean on those bottles of Ajax. He must have been a drill sergeant in the Marines. His physical aura was magnified by his personality, he was just one of those guys you knew not to mess with. As soon as he walked into a room you knew he was a leader, someone you immediately granted trust to.

As he approached the table, he asked Jim and Dave what they thought about it, both replied with a strong "It looks good". He then bent over and studied the mine plan, despite the room being packed with a dozen burly miners, most still wearing their hard hats and miner belts with self-rescuers and safety lamps clanking at their sides. It suddenly got as quiet as a church. He pulled back and then walked to his chair behind his desk. He asked a few select Foremen to look at it. They stepped forward, and essentially went through the same routine as Dave and Jim had previously done, making statements like "it won't work", and "that can't be right" only to answer their own question within a second or two. Again, Dave and I had very little to say. Within a few minutes, the select group reverted from critiquing the plan to praising it!

By now I had drifted or had been squeezed back behind Don's desk, positioned at his side. Don stood up and the room got quiet again. He turned and looked at me and asked, "Ok, what will it take to get this plan put into place?" All eyes were on me, the atmosphere in the room was exciting and anxious. With his question, I stepped forward to the front of the desk and partially turned to face him on my left and the group on my right and stated, "Well, there are several additional steps that need to be taken, specifically, I need to modify the ventilation and mine subsidence plans before any changes can be made underground".

He and I both knew that no formal submittals or approvals from State Authorities were required but the plans, specifically the drawings, just needed to be updated within 30 days of any changes, with a copy kept in our files and a copy sent to the state. Don responded to my statement with "I am sure you can meet the state's 30-day deadline" and then turned to his crew and started to pan them asking certain individuals what issues they had with the new layout. To a person, they all made complimentary remarks noting this would be a big boost to mine productivity. We could avoid putting in any new Continuous Miner units and it would allow the mine to catch up on the development of the mains and finally get out them out in front of the longwall units. No changes were offered by the small crowd, it was a rock solid (pun intended) mine plan.

At this point I was feeling pretty good about myself, then one of the General Foremen spoke out in the all too familiar Appalachia drawl, "Well if you all want to implement this, we're going to have to start tonight!" This caught the group's attention. He went on to explain that his crew was ready to start cutting the entryways for the next longwall panel on the upcoming night shift. He astutely observed that if this plan were not implemented in the next few hours it would have to wait for another 5 or 6 months before similar conditions existed!

It caught Dave and me by surprise. We quickly gathered that over the weekend, the maintenance crews must have run this section and made an all-out effort to push the right side mains forward. In a few shifts over the weekend, they made up two weeks of time. I thought, damn these guys are good.

Don then started a series of very direct questions to his crew about why we couldn't implement it the next shift. After a few minutes of a chaotic group discussion, Don said "Well I haven't heard any real reasons we can't start on it tonight, looks like the plan is a go".

My heart stopped; I thought no way could my idea created just a few hours ago be implemented the very next working shift! As everyone in the room started to feel good and with nodding heads affirming the decision, I blurted out, "Wait a minute, don't you think we are moving a little too fast? I mean don't we have to get Mr. Keil's (the Mine's General Manager who was on vacation that week) approval and then run it up to Corp in Pittsburgh for their approval?"

At this point, the room went dead quiet, and I mean dead. Apparently to get the room's attention I had taken center stage by stepping in front of Don's desk where he was now sitting. Since he was directly behind me I could not see his reaction to my comment but the whole room did. What was a very energetic, positive feeling in the room, instantly turned into a feeling of stark astonishment, with a whiff of fear, my gut was telling me I had just made a career-ending comment.

I stepped to the side of the desk and looked back towards Don quizzically; he rose very slowly and while he rose, I could not help but notice that anyone within arm's length of me was stepping backward. All of these macho underground coal miners had a deep respect for the man, and with that, there had to be some element of physical fear. I was too naïve to realize that I had just crossed a line, a line that no one else in the room had crossed. Don took a step towards me and in a calm but very firm voice, while putting his large firm hand on my shoulder, said, "Colin, I realize you're kind of new here, but if I say it's ok, then that is the final word on it, Mr. Keil and Corp HQ can deal with it later".

There was total silence in the room. There could be no response from me, no quick-witted phrase, or some macho comeback. I mustered up a simple "Yes sir" and with that, he lifted his hand off my shoulder and said to the team, "Let's get it done."

At this point, there was a little confusion in the room. It was as if a busload of doctors and nurses came upon a car accident, everyone felt they needed to do something but in reality, just a few people needed to take some key and critical actions, the rest just had to get out of the way. Dave spoke out and said it would take him about 20 minutes to work up the specific coordinates for the miner crew to adjust their cut in the upcoming shift. In this pause, I regained some of my courage and spoke out above the crowd, "We need to send the surveyors back down into the mine to survey in the new coordinates. Have they come out of the mine yet?" One of the Foremen spoke up and said he had seen them 30 minutes ago coming out and they must be in the bathhouse taking their end-of-shift showers. I told Dave to go start on your calculations, and I would find the survey crew and send them back underground for a 2nd shift.

Well, it was another 1st for the day, earlier in the day I had a "eureka moment" and literally had sparks flying from my mechanical pencil, then I had to put on a salesman hat to convince Dave, Jim, Don, and the whole mine management team of a new mine plan, and now I found myself walking through the bathhouse, tracking down 3 naked men in the showers and convincing them to get re-dressed and spend the next 4 hours back underground. Before I knew it I was alone in the big drafting room, Jim, Don, and the rest of the day shift had gone home, the 100-plus workers that made up the night shift were far underground cutting and hauling away the coal. Dave finished his calcs as the surveyors walked into the drafting room. It was all explained to them, and they headed to the shaft elevator, with a "you owe us one" comment. For me, it was time to call it a day.

The drive home that night was one filled with professional pride; it was very late when I got home so I just snuck into bed. I was out the door to work the next morning before Tammy woke. Thinking back I don't think I ever mentioned this event to her, it just got lost within the daily issues and chores of two working parents trying to make it in the 80s.

****

Over the next few days, I finalized the various permits and submitted them to the state. The changes were the hot item at the mine. Everyone I ran into could only say positive compliments about the plan and the meeting. The next week Mr. Kiel, was back from his vacation and we had an enthusiastic review as well. With his review and approval locked down, I ran a copy of the mine plan through the Regional and Corp HQ Engineers.

Interestingly, none of them showed any enthusiasm towards the plan, despite the obvious fact that it was a game changer. This created a little disappointed feeling in me. Here, I went to school for four years to learn the mining engineering trade, spent a year working underground to pay my way through college, then busted my butt for 8-9 years working in the trenches, fighting my way up the Corporate ladder, getting my PE and Master's Degree and I was not getting any reaction from my peers. It felt like I just hit a grand slam or returned a kickoff for 100 yards and all I could get from the Corporate honchos were, "Looks fine, seems ok."

I should have just brushed it off that their egos would not let them acknowledge that I could create something so effective. But from a wider-picture viewpoint, it was at this point in time that I realized I had reached the pinnacle of my mining career.

I knew in my gut that from here on out there would be no way to top this mining accomplishment. This experience opened my mind to search for another mountain to climb, a bigger mountain at that. Within 2 months I would leave Consol.

+++++

A few years later, after I had left Consol to start a career building power plants, I found myself in Pittsburgh driving by the Regional office. I stopped in unannounced. It was nice to see a few old faces, however, due to the ever-increasing pressure to reduce cost a fair number of the staff had been let go. The Regional VP, Sam, heard me in the hallway and popped out and said, "Come on into my office, and let's talk." This had never happened when I worked at the region.

We had a nice long talk, Sam stated he wasn't happy when I left. Honestly, I didn't think he knew me at all. He went on to explain that the new mine plan was truly a game changer. As a direct result of the changes I drafted up that morning Bailey's production rose by 50% to an unheard-of 9 mtpy. Sam mentioned that my plan also allowed them to defer millions in capital costs and forego the hiring of an additional 40 workers. It was a big win, a huge money saver, and consequently a big profit maker.

It was good to hear that my plan worked out so well. Yet a sense of bitterness started to build up in me. I recalled that shortly after the big mine plan change, my annual review came up. Consol short-changed me on my raise, denying items they promised me when I took the promotion to Chief Engineer. Within 2 months after that review I had left the company for a 20% raise with an opportunity to earn an additional 20% bonus. I don't know why I didn't tell Sam this was the reason I left. Oh well "water under the bridge."

35 years later Bailey Mine is still the largest underground mine in the US, and I am still very proud of that day when "sparks flew from my mechanical pencil."

Author Notes

This is one of ten Novellas. I wrote these Novellas with the mindset of explaining and providing details not typically seen in short stories. In a way, I hope it is educational as I tried to describe the details of underground coal mining and power plant construction/operations. I lack professional training or writing experience. I hated my HS/College English and literature classes. My passion has always been engineering, with a focus on numbers, formulas, equations, and algorithms. Thus, the two Engineering Degrees. Somehow I obtained some management-people skills that helped me climb the corporate ladder. All of my stories are based on actual events, of course with dash of embellishment.

Chapter 8
One of them is packing a gun!

By CM Kelly

"Hal, I think we need to take a break, these negotiations are getting too heated".  The look I got from my supervisor Hal seated to my right, was one of severe outrage.  How dare I tell him to "calm down", especially in front of the contractor we were negotiating with?  Seeing this in his face, I said,  "Honestly, I'd bet you all the money in my pocket that one of those men across the table is packing a gun".  

The next sound I heard was that of a snub-nose 22 pistol being slammed on the table.  Tommy, the muscle of the negotiation team, had pulled it out from his hidden chest holster, and he had slammed it on the table with the barrel pointed at Hal. 

My face had turned away from Hal, towards the gun, and then up to the faces of the negotiation team. They all had one of those "gotcha" smiles on their faces.  But Hal was having none of this joke, he abruptly stood up, took his arm, and swiped most of the documents, but not the gun off the table.  He spewed out, "Get the hell out of here! You don't bring a gun onto my property!  Move it!  Get Out!".  There wasn't time for Tommy, Joe, or Billie to muster up a reply.  They gathered their documents and rushed out the door to their pickup trucks.   

Hal was more than flustered, he was red-faced, and due to his age and generally obese health, I seriously thought he might have a heart attack.  I also knew there was nothing I could say after his actions or theatrics.  I was kind of glad Hal made such a dramatic move. We were clearly losing control of the negotiations.  It definitely put them back on their heels.  I could only hope, that Hal's outburst would make our next meeting more productive.

++++

So with that as the setting, let me provide the background that led up to this event.  It was the early 1990s, I had left the coal mining industry a few years earlier and joined Mission Energy ("Misson").  Mission was the unregulated subsidiary of Southern Cal Edison ("SCE"), one of the largest utilities in the US.  Mission was charged with investing 100's of millions of dollars of SCE's capital into the new and burgeoning Independent Power Producers ("IPP") industry.

One of the many good things that came out of the Jimmy Carter administration was the deregulation of the utility industry.  In 1978 the Carter Admin pushed through legislation titled PURPA (The Public Utilities Regulatory Policy Act).  This legislation allowed for nonutility companies to build power plants across the US.  It took a few years to work out the bugs and secure the needed supporting legislation enacted in the states, but by the mid-80s it was a vibrant and growing industry.  

Non-utility companies (or IPPs) could now challenge, via a bidding process, any new power plants that a utility deemed necessary for their consumers.  The idea was that by bringing "competition" into the quasi-government-run utility industry, new and better technology would develop with the end goal being cheaper electricity. Ironically the utilities themselves got into this game by creating their own IPP subsidiaries.  Thereby, allowing them to build power plants "outside" of their state-defined franchised areas. 

To the surprise of many, including the utilities, it worked!  As the utilities finished their build-out of the massive Nukes and coal plants authorized in the 70s, the next wave of new plants needed to supply America's growing electricity demand was being met by IPPs. IPPs, without the burdensome oversight of various state agencies, and the top-heavy bureaucracy of the utilities were able to: utilize new technology, lower engineering and construction costs, operate with less overhead, and reduce operating costs.  The utilities still had a major role, primarily via the negotiated Power Purchase Agreements ("PPAs") with the IPPs.  These PPAs provided the utilities with certainty regarding the schedule, availability, reliability, and costs of the electricity from the IPPs.  The PPAs provided the necessary contractual obligations to lock down financing for the IPPs. 

Mission was one of these IPPs.  It was created in the mid-80s and was up to full steam by 1990 when I joined them.  I was brought on board as a mining-materials handling expert for an 80 MW waste coal-fired plant just starting construction near Grant Town WV.

++++`

The Grant Town Power Plant was the idea of an ambitious startup IPP company located in Philadelphia.  They found an abandoned coal prep plant site, the former Federal #1 Mine located adjacent to Grant Town, WV (pop 700).  The idea was to utilize the waste coal piles from the old prep plant to feed a boiler to make electricity.  
The boiler design was a relatively new technology called Circulating Fluidized Bed ("CFB").  This technology allowed low-btu fuels to be efficiently burned.  The CFB technology opened the market for many low-btu coal, waste coal, and garbage power plants to be built. 

In many ways, it was a win-win. Utilizing new technology to clean up ugly old coal waste piles at Federal # 1 and the surrounding area while making a profit for its investors.  The 3-year construction cycle would bring 2-300 workers to this area, many of them from the local union halls of ironworkers, pipe fitters, boiler makers, electricians, welders, and general laborers.  Any trade specialists coming from afar would fill up the trailer parks and local hotels.  

Upon completion, the plant would require 60 full-time jobs to operate the power plant and a least two dozen more full-time positions to supply the waste fuel and manage the disposal of the gypsum ash refuse.  The increase in property taxes and sales taxes would provide a clear benefit to Grant Town and its school district. 

When I joined Mission, the Engineering-Procurement-Construction ("EPC") contract for the project was in place. The design had been locked in, permits were in hand and the earthwork had just commenced.   Mission had a part-time Project Manager on the job, but really no field persons or what I would call worker bees.  I was thrown into the frying pan, put into the position of "don't ask why, just do it".
 
As the designated Project Engineer for this project, I certainly added immediate value.  I recall on my first visit to the site, stopping construction of the access road.  It had a 7-8% grade, twice the grade one would encounter on most West Virginia roads and that's saying something.  Realizing that at some point all the waste coal and limestone, over a million tons/year, would come up and down this steep hill, this road needed to be built extra-extra stout.  

I looked at the contractor's specs for the road, which turned out to be the equivalent of a home driveway spec, totally unacceptable.  After a few intense days of negotiating, the EPC Contactor agreed to increase the underlying rock thickness, add a Geotech fabric, and relocate some key drainage features at no cost.  In reality, the EPC's field supervisors all agreed with me on these changes, it was the home office managers that resisted it.  This day-one encounter with the EPC Contractor built instant credibility.  [By the way, the road was in almost perfect condition 30+ years later when I went back for a site visit in 2024]. 

The construction aspect of the project had many ups and downs.  Despite being designated as the Project Engineer for this $200M plus project, I knew nothing, and I mean nothing about power plants.  What I did have was a pretty good "Bu-l Sh-t" radar and there was plenty of that coming from the EPC Contractor and their engineering group. Over the 3 year construction period, there was a lot of head-butting. 

Although it's been 30 years since it was built, a few of those "head butts" still remain in my head:

     •    Finding over 3,000 defect welds on the boiler tubes   
     •    Finding a major disconnect between the "issued for construction" drawings for the stack and the "approved             air permit".
     •    Abating a "Cease & Desist" order from the US EPA District 4. 
     •    Redesigning the waste fuel processing plant because it failed all of its tests.
 
Any one of these four issues would warrant a separate chapter by itself.  

Within a year at Grant Town, I got promoted to Project Manager (PM), aka the # 2 man on the site.  I  reported to the Executive Director, Hal. There was a lot of learning and growing during those three years. Least I not forget our 2nd child, Elizabeth Ashely, was born during this time. It was an exciting and very challenging time. I am very proud to say that in the end, the project did come in on time, on budget, and met all of the performance requirements, namely; the emission standards, the heat rate and the net electrical output. 

Unfortunately, the company that Mission hired to operate the plant was incompetent, to say the least.  When I was leaving the project, it was clear that the new operators had major issues.  On my last day on the site, I recall my departing statement, "I'll be back in 6 months to clean up the mess you will make".   One of those "hey when I was here everything was working perfectly" kind of statements.

Yep, six months later I got "drafted" to go back to "Fix Grant Town".   Within three months I turned the plant around, from losing $500k per month to being in the black.  It would take another book to fully describe the effort over those 3 months.   A listing of some of the steps I took to "right the ship" were:

     •    Laying off 30% of the workforce
     •    Reducing OT from 40% to 5%, clearly there was some fraud going on
     •    Re-establishing the waste fuel mining plan that I developed before I left
     •    Inventing a new process to mine and store the waste silt 
     •    Renegotiating the natural gas supply contract (gas was used to start the boilers)
     •    Renegotiating the limestone supply contract to reduce cost 
     •    Re-negotiated the waste coal mining contract
     •    Fixing the sulfur dioxide (SO2) detector system to cut limestone consumption in half.  

The last one is worth some additional detail.  When I first got back to the plant, it was obvious to me, and only me, that the Control Room was receiving bad SO2 signals from the highly sensitive & expensive instrumentation in the plant's chimney.  Consequently, the plant operators were over-feeding the boilers with limestone to control the SO2 emissions.  This had numerous secondary impacts: 

     1) The extra limestone reduced the internal temperature of the boilers so much, that they had to turn on the natural gas burners to maintain the boiler's flame. 
     2) The extra limestone put an unrealistic load on the bottom ash and baghouse systems, causing extreme wear and tear on these systems.  This led to numerous unscheduled outages or extended periods where the plant ran at a reduced load.
     3) To supply the extra pulverized limestone, the limestone mill at the plant had to operate 24/7, instead of the designed 12 hours/day.  

It only took me 20 minutes to climb up to the SO2 monitoring equipment platform with the plant's two mechanics. A quick inspection of the equipment, located at the junction of the metal ductwork and concrete chimney, revealed that the slight vibrations in the ductwork were causing the faulty signal. The most obvious solution was to install a dampening device like a rubber gasket between the SO2 sensor and the ductwork.  Clearly, neither of the mechanics had ever climbed up the duct work to look at the SO2 monitoring equipment. 

I instructed the plant's mechanics to find a gasket and install it ASAP. The next day the mechanic informed me that they found a suitable gasket from the equipment manufacturer, but it would take several weeks to arrive. I looked down at my desk and said, "So what you're telling me is that I have to wait three weeks to get a gasket like this mouse pad that is sitting here on my desk"?  They were dumbfounded.  They were experienced utility-trained mechanics; thus, they had no ability to think outside of a manual. Nothing like an underground coal mine mechanic, who were masters of all trades and could think outside the box.  It was painfully clear to me, that we needed new mechanics at this plant. 

I gave the mechanics my mouse pad, walked over to the storage closet, and grabbed two more.  I asked them both if they had a knife on them, and they said no, it was in their toolbox in the warehouse.  I asked myself out loud, "So what mechanic doesn't carry a pocket knife"?  I grabbed my car keys which had a small Swiss army tool on the key chain, a few pieces of paper and a Sharpie.  Together we immediately walked/climbed up to the SO2 monitoring platform.  We called into the Control Room and told them what we were doing.  I used the paper to trace and cut out a gasket and used the Swiss Army knife to loosen the bolts.  Within 10 minutes the problem was solved.  Within seconds the erratic SO2 signals in the Control Room disappeared. 

Yes, I could have waited for them to go get their knife and tools, but I was making a point, a strong point.  If you wanted to work here you had better start thinking differently. 

In the end, that simple 99-cent change allowed the plant's capacity factor to rise significantly, back to the level we achieved 6 months ago.  With much less bottom ash and less limestone milling, it also greatly reduced the plant's maintenance.  This directly supported my action to lay off 30% of the workforce and eliminate OT.  

This one simple act essentially got the plant back into the black.  Call it "Yankee Ingenuity" or just common sense, it's a trait built into the coal miner's psyche.  I have experienced this "find a way to fix it" in the coal mines countless times, but it's a trait lacking in most power plant workers, especially if they were trained at a large utility. 

The other bulleted items above also had similar benefits.  Some took a day or two to implement others took a few weeks.  Overall my second tour at Grant Town lasted about 90 days. Combining all these changes, the plant's run time or Capacity Factor went from approximately 50% to the high 90s.  In fact, the plant would go on to win several Capacity Factor awards for a waste fuel plant for many years. 

++++

Ok, so getting back to the pistol-packing negotiations.  

As the construction and start-up aspect of the project was coming to a close, I was charged with establishing contracts to supply the waste coal and remove the gypsum/ash. Initially, I thought it would be a rather easy task. First, the subject matter was in my wheelhouse. Not only was I a Mining Engineer but I developed the initial mining and ash disposal plan to get us through the startup and testing phase of the project.

Secondly, to mine the startup fuel we utilized a local contractor that performed all of the project's civil work to get the plant built.  Basically, I already had a mining and ash disposal template with actual performance data.  I had the ingredients to provide the basic tenets of a long-term fuel and ash disposal contract.

My plan was to create some competition.  I would bring in 2 or 3 other local contractors, issue them all a bid package and give them a month to submit their bids.  Once the bids came in, I would do a thorough evaluation of the key metrics like cost, safety record, environmental record, bonds/insurance, financial standing, experience, and condition of equipment.  No problem, as others would say easy-peasy.
BUT... 

 ++++

The first issue out of the gate was with the gob or waste coal itself. The coarse material was composed of 60-80% non-bituminous material, basically shale, clays, and limestone or sandstone.  The Federal # 1 Mine was initially opened in 1901. Located along Paw Paw Creek it mined the rich Pittsburgh Seam and shipped its product to the coke ovens and steel mills via a short rail line to the nearby Monongahela River.  

Grant Town, a typical coal or "patch" town for the period, was built by the mining company.  Eventually, a coal wash plant was built so the product of the mine could be sold to power plants.  Federal # 1 exhausted its reserves and was shut down in 1985.  By the time I arrived in 1990, the only remaining signs of a once vibrant coal facility were the railroad tracks, an abandoned powerhouse, and a pair of concrete coal silos.  The mountain of gob looming across Paw Paw Creek left the standard telltale sign to any passerby-ers that a coal mine once existed in this holler.   

Grant Town was still there but with less than half of its peak population, it was a shell of its former self.  Per the most recent census, all of the residents lived below the poverty line.  The town was generally tidy & clean and the original company houses were kept up.  The mine ran for over 80 years, I'm sure there were many generations of memories in those homes.

Like all underground coal mines in the Pittsburgh Seam basin, the raw coal coming out of the mine contained about 20% inert material (shale, clay, sandstone).  There is no value in shipping this inert material to a power plant or steel mill. Thus the inerts were "washed" out as the coal went through the prep plant.  The output from the coal prep plant was a uniform clean coal product that typically had a BTU value over 14,000 btu/lb. But due to the inefficiencies of the coal prep plant a fair amount of good coal "leaked by" into the waste streams or gob.  This gob was stored in hollers or ravines adjacent to the prep plant, in this case, the Arnett Run Holler.

Federal # 1 typically produced 2-3 million tons of coal a year, which meant it produced roughly 500k tons of gob per year.  After 84 years of operating, there was a substantial mountain of gob located just up Arnett's Run.   This waste material would be the low-grade fuel for the Grant Town Power plant.  With the mine shut down, the gob pile was an eye sore, but to some adventurous entrepreneurs in Philly they saw "gold in another person's trash". 

The advancement of the rather new CFB boiler technology allowed low-btu fuels like waste coal or garbage to be efficiently burned to produce electricity.  The combination of the new CFB technology and Jimmy Carter's PURPA law opened the door for businesses to step in to eliminate the gob piles, and of course, make some money. Eventually, over a dozen CFB plants were built in the 90s throughout PA and WV all tied to a gob pile or culm pile as they are called in the Anthracite Coal region of Pennsylvania. 

++++

Because Federal # 1 was operating at the turn of the 20th century, the coal washing technology was rather crude as compared to a modern coal prep plant.  Due to the older technology, a lot of  "good coal leaked out" into the gob piles.  The impact was that the older the gob pile the better the gob, just like wine and husbands.  The Federal # 1 gob pile had an average btu level of 5,500-6,500 btu/lb.  About two to three times higher than a gob pile created after the 1970s.  

A very important aspect of gob was that it had two distinct components.

     a)    The "coarse gob", what you typically will see in pictures of coal mines of Appalachia can range in size from 1/16th of an inch to 3-4 inches.  It was dry and rather easy to load and haul. It was a good fill material and thus was typically used to form dams or impoundments for the second component.  At Federal # 1 this material had a BTU value ranging from 1000-4000 BTU/lb., and it had a pretty high sulfur range of 5-8%
     b)    The fine material or "silt" is less than 1/16th inch in size.  Its BTU value ran from 8000 to 10,000 BTU/lb.  and its sulfur value ranged from 1-3%

No doubt, silt was the material one would want to burn, but three factors worked against using high levels of silt at Grant Town.

First, the CFB boilers were designed for low-BTU fuels, to a degree the CFB technology "cooked" the waste fuel, like a charcoal grill, whereas a standard pulverized coal boiler ignites and burns the coal pretty much like fuel oil. Consequently, the designers of the CFB technology only allow 10% of the fuel to be silt. 

Secondly, silt was difficult to mine, it was like quicksand.  Using a dozer or front-end loader required a gifted operator, otherwise, the machine would sink into the silt and bring work to a halt.  

Thirdly, a gob pile was generally made up of 20% silt and 80% course material.  From a mass balance point of view, you had to mine 8 tons of coarse material for every 2 tons of silt.

As you can quickly tell there had to be some juggling of the figures to make sure the fuel met the CFB designer requirements.  Nothing that an Engineer, especially a Mining Engineer couldn't figure out.  Thus, the details of the mining operations would be a key component of any long-term fuel supply contract.  Otherwise, a contractor could "high grade" the gob pile, and within a year or two the project would only have the very low BTU coarse material left.

++++

Back to the negotiations - I called up the three contractors and informed them I would send a bid package to them. A week later we would have an on-site walk-through with separate Q&A sessions for each contractor. Again easy-peasy. 
BUT...  

After I issued the bid documents, I got a call out of the blue from the local WV State Senator, Mr. Joe Manchin. The Grant Town project was Joe's baby, in a way you could say he was the father of the project.  Maybe better described as the "God Father".  He had no direct investment in the project.  He was helpful in bringing the development parties together and helping with any potholes the permits might encounter while getting State approvals.

I had met him several times over the course of the plant's construction, primarily to help quell some local issues involving noise or traffic.   He made quite a first impression; It didn't take long for one to realize this guy was "going places".  He was the "golden boy" of the Manchin family.  A family that had a long political history and strong ties with the Democratic party.

I learned at Consol Energy, and it was reinforced at the Grant Town project, that it was generally best to avoid local politicians.  Not that they didn't serve a role, but I always felt multiple agendas were being played or favors being accumulated.  What developers call "Political Capital".  To an Engineer, this was as foreign as learning to speak Greek.  Kinda like a dentist. Yes, you need them but you always try to avoid them. 

Joe's call was about the mining-ash disposal bid documents and why he didn't get a copy.  I responded with a simple reply, "You're not a mining contractor".  Joe went on to great lengths that he knew every contractor in the area and could pull together the A-Team to perform this work.  On that point I really couldn't challenge him or doubt a word he was saying, so I sent him a bid package.  Having four bidders would not be a problem. Easy-peasy.
BUT... 

I thought I would get the bids all back in a few weeks, evaluate them and then get it executed.  I had done it more than a dozen times at Consol with dollar values much higher than what this contract would amount to. But, now Joe was in the picture, every other day there was a call from him asking for clarifications as he scrambled to build a competent team.  He was new to this bidding/award process.  As most politicians do, they live off of "handshake deals" and "my word is good".   I thought, no harm, Joe had helped me and the project many times, so holding his hand through this was a nice payback.  As the phone calls progressed it was getting more apparent that Joe couldn't pull a team together.  Plus, since I would be departing the project shortly after the fuel contract was in place, I didn't want to have this drag out.

++++

The bids came in from all four entities.  Two of them were very polished and detailed.  One looked like they gave it half a try.  Then there was Joe's bid.  Joe's was pretty much a 2-page submittal saying they could do it for a given price.  No answers or details pertaining to company finances, insurance, staffing, experience list, etc., all the basics of a bid package.  To me it was a simple decision, Joe's bid would be rejected based on non-compliance "Nice try, better luck next time". 

I completed my evaluation and was somewhat pleased to see that the existing on-site contractor had the highest evaluated score and the lowest cost.  I don't remember the exact figures but they weren't far off from the values in the table below:

          Bidder           $/ton
           A (Buddy)     $1.50
           B                    $2.50
           C                    $2.75
           Joe                 $4.00

It was encouraging to see Bidders B & C so close together, which implies a tight contract spec and good knowledge of the expected work.  Both B & C had reasonable comments on the contract's Terms and Conditions (T&Cs). 

Bidder A, the onsite civil company, was pleasantly (or suspiciously) low and they had only one comment to the T&Cs.  Yes, they were currently working on site and knew all the ins and outs of the work required, but the gap between 1st and 2nd place was a concern.

Bidders B and C's prices were slightly lower than the project's proforma values, which was comforting.  With ~ 1 million tons of Gob and silt to be handled each year, these bid prices saved millions of dollars.  Bidder A's price would be a huge savings.  But I needed to get some clarification before I could award the contract.  Joe's bid was just not in the same league, dollar-wise nor the quality of the bid response. 

I called the owner, Buddy, of Bidder A.  We agreed to meet the next day.  Buddy's company was a small family-run business.  He was about 55 years old and had been doing earthwork ever since he came back from "Nam".  He started his company about 15 years earlier. It had about a dozen workers at least half of whom were related to him. I worked closely with him to get the mining and ash disposal work done during the startup and commissioning phase of the boilers.  He was a good man in all regards.

This was the first time I ever had to approach a bidder and say, "Did you really mean to price your services so low?".  But I knew that low bidders who get their foot in the door, usually wind up being a pain in the ass with Change Orders.  Buddy didn't seem to be that kind of a guy.

I met Buddy on his home court, his field office, at the foot of his D8 Caterpillar dozer.  It was a nice clear day, standing next to the dozer with the smell of diesel fuel, the heat of the Cat engine, and the dust from the mining operations, all in the shadow of the power plant, it just made this a perfect setting, (well at least to this Mining Engineer it was a perfect setting).  I was in a good, no great mood.  The bids were in, the price was below budget and I was leaving in a few weeks.

I hemmed around the price issue, seeing if he had lowballed the price.  It wasn't the case.  I asked about his only comment to the T&Cs, it was an odd comment I had never seen before.  Since the contract was for 5 years, he had asked to insert a very simple clause, "The price shall escalate at 2% per year", but it would have "one wild card" in it, "to renegotiate the price if diesel fuel increased by over 15%".
 
He explained that he and other civil contractors got "burned" by the 73 and 79 oil embargoes and he had concerns about other government actions that could create a spike in gasoline/diesel fuel prices.  He had run the numbers and felt he could absorb a 15% increase but nothing more.  To me, both the fixed annual escalation rate and the wild card request seemed very reasonable. 

But I had to ask, how are you getting your price down to $1.5/ton?  Buddy took a deep pause, stared at his boots, then looked up at me and said, "I have cancer, they tell me I won't make it to the end of the year".  

He went on to explain that all the equipment in his company was paid off, with no leases or rentals, thus the low per-ton rate and low escalation rate.  His two sons, both equipment operators, and his daughter, the office manager would inherit the company.  He had crunched the numbers hard with them and they agreed on the price.

Because they were all just barely out of high school, he wanted to leave them with a sound long-term contract so they could better learn the business, get some experience and have a steady income.  We both knew that the civil construction business was very competitive.  Contracts like this one only come up once in a decade.  
 
Of course, this set me back.  Oddly, I had a very similar incident happen with a bulldozer operator at a small construction site back when I worked at Consol.  He too told me he had cancer.  The last words he said to me were, "You might not see me here next week, I intend to die in my boots and on this dozer".   I came back to the site two weeks later anxiously wanting to see him.  The construction crew told me he had passed away a few days earlier while operating the dozer.   He had lung cancer, apparently, he was coughing up blood during the whole project. At my current stage in life, I forget a lot of things, the death of that operator is one I haven't.  In part, it's the reason I am writing these stories down.    

I couldn't look at Buddy's face, I shook his hand and told him, "I'd get back to you shortly to wrap all this up". The next two weeks should have been smooth sailing, just clean up a lot of administrative issues, get the waste coal contract signed and leave the site, once and for all.  On to "bigger & better things". 
BUT...

I called the other two bidders, there were some typical generic questions, like how close were the bids, what was the deciding factor, etc., but they accepted the decision.  When I called Joe to inform him, he dug in and wanted to know exactly why his team didn't win.  I went through the list of criteria and said most of their replies were nonresponsive and his A-Team team had no experience.  He had essentially picked up a few friends and put their names on a piece of paper.  As much as he tried I would not reveal the winning price.  It was an ugly call but I was firm and honest.  After I hung up I thought that was the end of it.
BUT...

The next day Hal pulled me into his office and said, "We have an issue". He had gotten a call from Bill the Senior VP for Mission stating that Joe Manchin had called him and said that I wrongly evaluated the bids and was going to award it to some unqualified contractor at a price that was surely lowballed. Of course, I had all my facts and "ducks in a row", so I sent a quick report back to the Senior VP.  I did not mention that Buddy had cancer. 

An hour later we were on a conference call.  The first reaction from the Sr. VP was "Wow this is a great price and great terms".  The second reaction was, "Just tell Joe that he has to match this and he will get the contract".  I gave out a big "WHOA, that's a very unfair position to the other bidders, Joe does NOT have the right of 1st refusal.  Plus, he doesn't have the basic competency.  Selecting Joe would lead to huge production, quality, and safety issues".

There was silence on the phone.  Followed by a few generalized questions.  I had stepped over a line with my management, but I felt that the Sr. VP was in the wrong in every aspect of his solution.
At the end of the call, the Sr. VP said, "Just hold tight, don't award or sign the contract until you hear back from me".  Of course, I was pissed.  This was no way to conduct business.  I went back to my office and pulled out my resume.      

Even though I had joined the company three years earlier, I knew the Sr. VP well enough to say what I did.  He knew I had a stellar reputation within Mission (it's legal, accounting, permitting, and engineering departments) and that my efforts over the past three years added a lot of value to the project and saved it from being shut down for a very long time (i.e. the PA-EPA's Cease and Desist Order)

Over the next few days Hal and I tried to work out a comprise with Joe, basically trying to give him a piece of the pie.  Without any success, Joe flew down to Mission's offices in DC in his private plane, met with the Sr. VP, and struck a "paper napkin" deal.  Essentially they took $1 off of Joe's price and gave him the deal.  When this was laid out to me as "take it", I had only two items that Joe had to match: 1) ALL OF THE T&Cs from the low bidder, i.e. a small annual escalation, with the single wild card and 2) adherence to the established mine plan.  The Sr. VP agreed, and the deal was done.  At least that's what I thought.

I did have a follow-up meeting with the Sr. VP, it was the first time someone told me that I didn't see the 'big picture" and it wouldn't be the last.  I accepted this deal as a "lesson learned", I moved on, but bridges had been burned.  Eventually, I had to have a talk with Buddy, it was not an easy discussion. Somehow he had heard through the grapevine that Joe was mudding the water.  He was experienced enough to know that these things happen.  I don't know how I could have fought harder for him.  A few months later one of his sons called me, he thought I'd like to know that Buddy had passed away.  

++++

Ok, finally, we are now we're back to the pistol-packing negotiations. 

But just one last clarification. I have never been one to hold a grudge. In this case, I accepted what had transacted, it was time to move on and make the best of the situation.  It probably comes from working in the coal mines.  If something bad happened, like a roof fall, or a broken-down machine, you didn't sit around and complain about it, you just moved on.   

++++

So there we were, Hal and I, standing in the conference room after unceremoniously kicking Joe Manchin and his team off the property.  It was an eerie next few days, not knowing who would make the next step.  Then one day Hal stepped into my office and asked me to  "just get it done", he didn't have the energy or will to fight this battle. It wasn't the first time Hal pulled this act with me.  Over our 3 year relationship, he pulled this tactic of raising a lot of drama (aka hissy fit) only to ask me to step in and clean it up.  A few days later I would meet up with Joe by myself and resolve all the open issues.  I closed the deal; I got it done.

I left the project a few weeks later to work on coal plants in NJ and India.  I did make a few trips back in the ensuing months to handle an issue or two, but as noted above the Operating Company hired by Mission was pretty inept, the place was falling apart.  Of course with Hal and Colin out of the mix, Joe pushed his weight around, and the cost eventually crept back up to the $4/ton level.

As I described above, I would return to Grant Town and "Right the ship" for the long term.  I am very proud that the plant has won so many awards and is still running strong 30+ years later. 

Of course, Joe Manchin went on to bigger and better things, he became WV's Secretary of the State,  was Governor of the WV from 2005 -2010, and then onto his current position as US Senator.  

Although it can never be proven, in my mind there is no doubt that the fees Joe obtained in the waste coalâ€"ash contract helped him along his political path.
 

Chapter 9
Preventing World War III

By CM Kelly

There I was sitting in a taxi with Gianmaria, my new business development colleague with ENEL SpA. We were headed to probably the most important meeting I had ever arranged in my tenure as a VP of Development for the Power Division at Exxon-Mobil. The traffic in Athens was typical, the small ancient intertwining streets were packed. I anticipated that it would be bumper-to-bumper traffic and estimated it would take 15 to 20 minutes to traverse the 2-mile trip from the Athens Hilton to the headquarters of Prometheus Gas. We both had given some consideration about walking the route, but it was mid-winter, and as such, it was a little too brisk for me. Not having brought my overcoat on this trip clinched the decision to take a cab. After a hectic morning of calls and a quick lunch meeting, the time in the warm taxi allowed me to catch my breath and calm my nerves. Even with the slow pace of the traffic, I was confident we would arrive at Prometheus Gas's headquarters well before the 5 pm start of the "Ceremony". This was my second multinational- multicultural Joint Venture Agreement (JVA). But this particular JVA was a few degrees of difficulty higher mainly due to the complexities of bringing together four countries from three continents.

As we crept along the crowded streets, I thought about how this was really "My Deal". How I initially made a cold call to ENEL SpA (Enel) to seek new business opportunities. The skill sets of Exxon-Mobil and Enel, two Fortune 500 multinational companies were very compatible. Gianmaria was the one who opened the door to Greece and Prometheus Gas. I brought Turkey into the deal, via a major construction company, Gama Construction. Yes, 4 mega-companies representing 4 different countries from 3 continents all being pulled together by the JVA to pursue a billion-dollar power generation project in Greece. Gosh, I thought there couldn't be that many international treaties with this level of complexity.

Typically, the signing of a multi-company JVA has little pomp and circumstance associated with it, they are usually done in the boring-mundane office of a law firm. But, due to the international components associated with this deal, the signing was elevated to a much higher level. Like my previous deal, the entities in this JVA were all major players in their respective fields. All of the parties had their own respective languages, established laws, and business cultures. Dealing with two languages is common, but having four languages made for some challenging meetings and negotiations.

The parties joining Exxon-Mobil at the "table"; were: ENEL S.p.A. (Italian), Prometheus Gas (Greece), and Gama Construction (Turkey). A fifth party, Gazprom (Russian), although not in the negotiating room, their presence was felt due to their significant ownership in Prometheus Gas.

ENEL is the national electric utility company of Italy and is the second-largest utility in Europe by market capitalization. It had dealings worldwide; in some regards, it was on par with Exxon-Mobil. Prometheus Gas was the primary gas supply company in Greece. Greece, which has no indigenous sources of energy like coal, natural gas, or oil, imported all of its energy. Prometheus Gas was a Greekâ€"Russian joint company, with OAO GAZPROM from Russia, the largest natural gas company in the world, holding a 49% share. Mr. Dimitrios Copelouzos, (aka Mr. C) the Chairman and Managing Director of COPELOUZOS GROUP, held the other 51%. Gazprom through its gas fields in Russia and pipelines crisscrossing Eastern Europe supplied Prometheus with natural gas. GAMA Enerji A.S. was a top three construction company in Turkey, headquartered in Ankara.

For this event, it would be tough enough to remember the names of the key players let alone trying to pronounce them. I had been working with the VPs from each company during the negotiations, wrestling and fighting our way through the languages, customs, and business standards from their native countries. I would say that the negotiations were conducted in a good professional working environment.

But at this signing event, the big dogs, the CEO, CFO, and Presidents of the respective companies would be attending. For this signing event, I could see, or better feel, that several layers of alternative agendas were being played out, all of which needed to be deftly managed. There was no doubt that all of the parties at this dance had hopes that the event would lay the foundation for new relationships along with correspondingly bigger rewards. Agendas, subplots, and motives were played out during the negotiations, relationships were being tested and built.

Exxon-Mobil saw the potential to build relationships with Gazprom for all the obvious reasons of bringing two world-class energy companies together, especially after the fall of the Iron Curtain just a few years earlier. ENEL saw the long-term value in building a relationship with Prometheus and Gazprom for future gas supplies into Italy for its power plants, plus working with Gama would give ENEL a source of cheap, plentiful, and competent workforce for its labor-intensive energy projects.

Having arrived at the "closing of the deal", I fretted that some of these agendas might rise up or be played out at the signing event and I would find myself playing referee.

A second reason for my heightened nerves was the fact that I was not the person in control of this event. Despite being the lead in the negotiations I had very little input in the planning of this event. Prometheus was the host and all the details were being handled by them. Through broken English and inaccurate translations, they assured me numerous times that the event would be well executed. All that I, and the other signatories, had to do was show up, sign the document, and have a celebratory champagne toast. The Greeks have the same statement one hears in the States, "Don't worry we have it under control", which has burned me many times in the past.

For this event, I brought my supervisor the Sr. VP of Development at Exxon-Mobil, I knew he was just dead weight, a career bureaucrat from Exxon-Mobil, who worked his way up the corporate ladder by not "rocking the boat" or "making waves", a required asset to be a long-term employee within the largest energy company in the world. Anticipating that his presence would lead to some kind of a disaster, I provided him with some prepared comments so that he could make the requisite speech or toast at the right time. In his typical arrogant manner, he declined my invitation to join me and Gianmaria in the taxi, thinking it was much too early to arrive at the event. But me being me, I knew I had to get there early enough to check out the setup and make sure everything was in order.

When we pulled up to Prometheus Gas's corporate headquarters, a 15-story modern building, it was pretty obvious that this was going to be something quite different than what I had expected. Even Gianmaria was a little taken aback by the armed security guards on the sidewalks and at the doors. They were hired security police, but they looked like a NYC swat team with their black outfits, bulletproof vests, and black sunglasses, all with the requisite earpiece and standard-issue Uzi. One or two would have been impressive, but I stopped counting at 8 which raised the obvious question, was this overkill or was there a reason for such security?

Once we entered the lobby, it felt like we were in a James Bond or Mission Impossible movie, specifically the scene where they have all the millionaires and diplomats drinking and dancing at an over-the-top ball with a quartet of violins playing in the background. The first thing I focused on was a 5-foot-tall ice sculpture of Prometheus, the Greek God who brought fire to humans, which was next to the 3-foot-tall champagne fountain. There was no doubt that Mr. C wanted to set the tone that he and his company could play with the big boys. My first impression was that they succeeded. My concerns about their ability to handle this event disappeared quicker than the photographer's flashes.

The event was an hour away and yet the reception hall was full and quite noisy with the hustle and bustle of the wait staff, scurrying around in their tuxedos, setting up the bars and decorations. Together it established an anxious and electric atmosphere. This was going to be a more extravagant affair than I had envisioned. I should have known as much, thinking back to an extravagant Greek wedding I attended and the Greek Embassy's Christmas Gala held in DC the previous year. Without a doubt, the Greeks know how to throw a party.

As planned, Gianmaria and I met up with our Greek and Turkish counterparts in a conference room on the 9th floor to review the documents. The paperwork was in order, just missing their respective signatures. At this point we went over the agenda and timeline for the event; to my surprise, I found out that the official signing would occur out of sight in a side conference room on the 1st floor. My Greek host thought it would be inappropriate, per local custom, to sign it in front of the distinguished guests. Of course, I gave no resistance or pushback to local customs, but I had to ask, "What distinguished guest"? They then showed me a listing of those invited to the event; thank goodness it was in English. A quick glance made me a little nervous and mad at the same time. They had invited all of the Ambassadors of the represented countries, along with a slew of high-ranking government officials, specifically the Energy, Commerce and Environmental Ministers of Greece and Turkey. On the second page was a long list of media reps that would be at the event. Despite all these changes and new information, my nerves settled down. Yes, this was going to be a lot different than I expected, but now I knew the game plan, and the rules, everything would be fine.

By now it was getting close to 5 pm, show time, so we headed back down to the lobby which was filled with the invited dignitaries. I spotted my boss conversing with the Exxon-Mobil General Counsel and made a quick line to them. I quietly informed both of them of the special guests and to be aware of the media. With that formality accomplished, I took a moment to take in the scene, it truly was a jet setter party; the only thing missing was Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis doing the tango across the floor (re the movie True Lies).

It had everything from ice sculptures, a flowing champagne fountain, numerous bartenders in tuxes, a string quartet, and lavish decorations. It was hard for my eyes not to focus in on the bevy of magazine cover-worthy servers floating across the floor with trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. They made a stark contrast to the security guards throughout the room decked out in their black suits, and sunglasses, and talking into their microphones hidden in their shirt cuffs. I noticed that this group of security guards had checked their Uzis at the door, but no doubt they had some kind of armor under their sports coats. By the time I was able to get my hands on a Stella Artois, I realized the expansive three-story lobby was now filled to elbow-room-only status.

As the lead developer for Exxon-Mobil, I worked the crowd and helped introduce my relatively introverted boss to the various partner equivalents. Awkward would be an understatement for these brief encounters. By now the event had grown into a full-blown party, and the string quartet stepped up their repertoire from background music to a more upbeat, entertaining fare. The atmosphere and drinks were loosening up what was initially an uptight audience.

At the appointed time, Gianmaria and I herded our bosses/colleagues into a side conference room and signed the JVA as the hired photographer took numerous celebratory pictures. When we came out to the lobby, the attendees were somehow keyed into our absence and were all smiling and responded with a polite round of applause. Quite a feeling for this boy raised in the "sticks" of northeast Pennsylvania.

At this point, Mr. C waved to his many friends and colleagues and made some statements in Greek to bring the crowd together. Then from behind the three-story stairwell the Archbishop of Athens, and as such the primate of the Autocephalous Orthodox Church of Greece, stepped forward. He was dressed in traditional clerical clothes with a black under cassock, a black riassa with very wide sleeves, a 'chimney-pot' style hat, and the traditional untrimmed beard. His presence brought the jovial crowd to a deadpan silence. He spoke some words of what I assumed was a blessing and those in the crowd gave what I guessed was a Greek "Amen". With that, the party was launched. It truly was a sight to see, a sight to be part of, and to think I played a major role in all of it.

The room was filled with what some would call the "A" list crowd of Athens's business world. The movers and shakers of Athens, and all of Greece, were in the room: bankers, developers, and high-level government officials.

After a few moments, I could see that there were small cliques of Greeks, Americans, Italians, and Turks beginning to form. I don't know why, but I instinctively knew this was not good. Something had to be done or this event would turn into a dull, uneventful evening of bureaucrats blathering, rather than a memorable party of four international companies.

For some reason, the Turkish and Greek cliques had gathered along the Eastern wall of the lobby with a distance of 20 feet between them. On this wall was a two-story tall 20-foot-long mural of an ancient battle. Much akin to the giant mural one would see in the Rockefeller Building in NYC. It was not something you would miss as you entered the lobby, but its complexity, or intricacy, made it easy to ignore. It was one of those paintings that you had to stop and focus on it to understand it. I walked away from my boss and colleagues and started to walk towards the Greek group, which was composed of my counterparts and at least a dozen dignitaries. For a moment I paused and stared at the mural, it was a view I had seen a dozen times before, but now I began to realize what it was about.

Being a key figure at this event, there were more than just a few eyes following me, especially from my Italian colleagues who seemed a little out of place at the event. They seemed to be seeking clues or hints from me as to what to do next. I guess my staring at the mural by myself also caught the attention of Mr. C and his business friends and they stepped over to me.

I asked Mr. C if he could explain the mural. This stately-looking man with classic Greek looks started to explain to me, and the small crowd around him about the painting. How it captured a significant piece of Greek history. In perfect English, he stated that it was a reproduction of a famous painting from the Middle Ages when Constantinople was the capital of the Byzantine Empire during the Middle Ages and that it was the largest and wealthiest city in Europe. Pointing at the picture he explained how the Greeks held back the invading Ottoman-Muslim Empire from entering Constantinople and preserving it as the center of Western religion.

Like most paintings from that era, it graphically illustrated the battle with many dead and bloodied warriors lying at the feet of the massive wall that was built to protect the city. He explained how Constantinople was eventually lost to the Muslim empire and eventually renamed Istanbul in the 20th Century by the father of modern Turkey, Mohamed Ataturk. Having been a little bit of a history buff myself, I spewed out a series of questions. He gladly responded and was somewhat impressed by my knowledge of the city.

The conversation ran dry so at the appropriate pause I excused myself and made a few side steps to get another Stella. On my return path across the breadth of the mural, I poked myself into the clique of Turks. They too were admiring the painting but of course, speaking in Turkish.

My counterpart within Gama was Sakir, he was much older than me but always seemed to be lighthearted and a straightforward person to get along with. Playing the role of a dumb American I asked him to explain to me his assessment of the mural. He and his colleagues gladly jumped in. Several of them, in unison, began to proudly exclaim that this was a famous painting depicting how the Ottoman Empire conquered the Byzantine capital and its Greek emperor Constantine. They pointed out to me the Ottoman soldiers in the painting being led by Sultan Mehmed II and the details showing how the Turks broke through the century-old fortification walls. Their description was filled with more details than how my Greek counterparts offered up. I found it quite interesting that their interpretation was 180 degrees different than the Greek's.

Honestly, to me, it was hard to tell from this painting who was winning and who was losing, and of course, the obvious question would be "Why would a painting of a defeated Greek army be in the lobby of a Greek company"? With these two different explanations swirling in my head, I decided to play International Peacemaker.

But before I go further into my attempt at international peace negotiations, a little background information is needed.

The Greeks are a very proud ancient culture. They routinely proclaim that they are the founders of Democracy and modern capitalism. Think: Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Aesop, Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, Archimedes, Aristarchus, Euclid, Hippocrates, Pythagoras, Draco and Alexander the Great, the list goes on and on. No matter what the subject: math, physics, astronomy, literature, playwriters, or military heroes the Greeks felt they invented it, and thus owned it.

Despite all this historical lore, for the most part, the Greek people I met had an inferior complex to the Romans and an ingrained hatred for the Turks. Generally, any dinner or lunch conversation with the Greeks always drifted in some way to how they relished their historical accomplishments but seemed dismayed by their current, diminished, role in world affairs.

My Turkish counterparts seemed to be at the opposite end of the spectrum. The modern age was their era, they were the only democracy in the Muslim world and very proud of it. With a growing population of over 60 million and a dynamic economy, they believed they were just one or two steps away from joining the European Union. The potential, the future of Turkey is what was discussed when you had a lunch or dinner with Turks, rarely would they delve into the past.

AND IT CANNOT BE FORGOTTEN THAT underlying all of this was the historical fact that the Turks and Greeks had a very long history of being at war with each other.

Whether it was the historic Battle of Thermopylae, led by King Leonidas from the fabled city of Sparta or the 6-week siege that led to the fall of Emperor Constantine and the city of Constantinople in the Middle Ages, the history books of both nations were filled with numerous descriptions of brutality and savagery between the two nations. Thankfully there had been relative stability between these two countries since the Middle Ages, only interrupted by two world wars. The latter where Turkey allied itself with Germany and Greece was overrun by the Germans.

Again as background, one of the outcomes of the First World War was that the island nation of Cyprus was annexed by the British Empire. But both Greece and Turkey laid claim to this desert island, which was strategically situated in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.
After WWI there was a series of demonstrations, coup d'état and eventually an invasion of the island by Turkish troops. The island was eventually split down the middle between the Turks and Greeks. This bifurcated country was formalized by the UN in the late 60s and relative calm reigned for a few decades.

However, in 1994, just five years earlier, the EU officially confirmed that the Greek-controlled portion of Cyprus would be included in the EU's next phase of expansion and not the Turkish part nor Turkey itself.

These actions didn't just stir the pot, it lit the fuse. The situation then escalated, so by 1997-8, the Greek Cypriots announced that they would begin to install Russian anti-aircraft missile systems. This inflamed the Turks and led to a lot of saber-rattling between the two nations.

During this time, Turkey routinely sent its warships to that area and sent additional arms to their side of the island. Needless to say, due to the Cyprus issues, any and all commercial trade between the Greeks and Turks had ended by 1998. For all intentional purposes in the late 90's these nations were like China and the USA in the 1950s & 60s, basically there was no formal or informal communications between the two.

All of this historical baggage between the Greeks and Turks was not lost on me during the negotiations of the JVA. Yes, there always seemed to be a little tension in the air at the meetings, but professionalism ruled, and the negotiations didn't take long to complete.
I found it interesting that the Italians, the Roman Empire, which had its fair share of conquering and ransacking of these two countries sat idly by in the negotiations. What I would have thought would have been a common enemy for the Greeks and Turks was never raised in the conference rooms or at dinners.

So here I was, standing in the massive three-story lobby of Prometheus Gas at the foot of a historic mural depicting a battle between the Greeks and Turks and surrounded by Turks, Greeks, Italians, and a few Russians thrown in just for the fun of it. With the Greek and Turkish versions of the mural still in my head I strategically positioned myself about 5 feet between the Greek and Turkish contingents.

More on instinct, than having any real plan, I made a bold move and stepped over to the Greek group and said, "I have a problem Mr. C, your version of this magnificent mural is quite different than what my esteemed friends from Turkey have described." Before my Greek friends could react, I waved to Sakir and his Turkish colleagues to come over and help answer a question for me. I announced across the lobby, "Sakir come on over here and help me with a question and bring your Turkish friends too". The message was heard throughout the whole lobby and as the Greek and Turkish groups came together you could feel that the eyes of the 200 or so guests were on me and the two groups. There was some additional handshaking and introductions, and then I said, "Let's have a quick toast to thank our hosts". Everyone made a small gesture of approval and took a small sip from their glasses. Then Mr. C made a follow-up toast stating, "I believe this JVA will be the beginning of many business deals between Greece and Turkey". Gama's CEO Mr. Pentpangilio stepped in and made a complimentary toast and by now the entire lobby was joined around us, including my boss and the Ambassadors from all four countries.

Maybe it was the alcohol or the top shelf setting or just the simple fact that most of those in the room were astute businessmen, but if there was any underlying nationalistic tension in the room it was gone with those toasts. As the servers stepped in to refill and replace the empty glasses, for just a moment there was a sense of calm or silence. But, at that moment Gianmaria announced from about 4 feet away "What was the question I had for Sakir?" With all eyes back on me, I stepped into the middle of the crowd and said "Sakir, my Greek friends say that this mural is a picture illustrating how the heroic Greeks held back the invading Ottomans at the walls of Constantinople, but you say this mural represents the Ottomans conquering of Constantinople, come help me understand this".

There it was, out in the open for all of the top movers and shakers in Greece to see, this was going to be one of my greatest faux pas or it would be a catalyst to bring these two nations closer. There was some laughter, but Sakir stepped to my right side and said, "Let me help explain this mural to my dear American friend", while my Greek colleague, not wanting to be overshadowed, stepped to my left side and the two of them began to point to areas of the mural and explain what was going on. I played the dumb American (which I can be pretty good at). The two, with help from their CEOs, then explained to me, and each other, how the painting really represented both points of view. It was the perfect issue, with the right timing to blend these two companies, dare I say two countries, and build a level of trust among them.

The party carried on for another 30 or so minutes. As it came to an end, my adrenalin was winding down and I was feeling physically tired (probably from the jet lag). I said my goodbyes and stepped out into the cold Greek night to catch a cab. One of the car attendees summoned a cab and as it approached, I noticed the security guards still at their stations with their Uzis. I thought the evening was a big success, but now it was time to move on to the next flight, the next meeting and continue the endless travel of an international businessman.

++++

Normally that would be the end of a good story, conquering centuries of distrust and animosity was enough for one night. But in reality, this was just the prelude.

It was about 6 months later that I found myself back in Turkey; it must have been my 20th trip in the last 3 years. I had a layover weekend in Europe, so I spent it in Istanbul. With a free day, I took a trip with my translator down the western coastline of the Asian side of Turkey. We stopped in towns with names like Izmit, Bandirma and Bursa. We also stopped in Gezbe for lunch and returned to Istanbul for dinner. It was a nice day trip to get myself more acquainted with Turkey, its towns, its people, and its growing economy. I left on Sunday night for Athens for a meeting on Monday with all the JVA partners.

I arrived at Athens's old and quite antiquated international airport on the afternoon flight and grabbed a cab to head to the Athens Hilton. I freshened up and had a traditional dinner with some of my Prometheus Gas colleagues; it finished around 11 pm, because no respectable Greek dinner ever starts before 9 pm. As I got back into my room I stepped out to the balcony, I had totally forgotten that there would be an eclipse of a full moon that evening. I was fortunate to catch this celestial phenomenon at the perfect time.

Standing on the balcony overlooking Athens with the historic and world-renowned Acropolis in the background I watched the eclipse. It was a rare moment when I realized that sometimes international travel had its advantages.

The next day I woke up and turned on the TV to see a steady stream of newscasts reporting on a bad earthquake. Since I didn't understand a word of Greek, (no pun intended) I tuned to a BBC channel that was reporting a 7.4 earthquake in Turkey that was centered near the city of Izmit. Wow, I was there just yesterday!

I called my translator in Turkey, but the TV was reporting that the damage had spread as far as Istanbul. The electricity and phone lines were down throughout a good part of Istanbul. Over the next few days, the impact of this disaster became clear, over 17,000 had died!

By all measures a very tragic event. However, there was one very bright silver lining that came out of this disaster. Knowing that our Turkish colleagues had other issues to attend to, I called my Greek counterparts, and we canceled our meeting that day. On that phone call, we both agreed we would look into ways to help get aid to Turkey. There is no record of it, but surely behind the scenes Mr. C and his team immediately reached out to various Greek agencies and pushed them to help Turkey.

In fact, Greece was the first foreign country to publicly pledge aid and support to Turkey! Within hours of the earthquake, key government officials in Greece contacted their counterparts in Turkey. Rescue teams, rescue dogs, medical teams, medical and blood supplies along with basic stables were marshaled up by the Greek government and its people and immediately sent to Turkey. The press in both nations provided wide coverage of the generous outpouring of aid from their neighbor.

Considering that just a few months earlier both countries were seriously ramping up military operations by delivering missiles and mobilizing troops for an inevitable engagement on the divided island nation of Cyprus. This was truly an amazing change of events.

Sadly, less than 6 weeks later Mother Nature played a cruel hand by delivering a 5.9 earthquake centered in the suburbs of Athens. Although the death toll was a fraction of the Turkish quake, but a tragedy nonetheless with 143 people killed and almost 12,000 reported injured or left without a home. Yet, despite struggling with its own recent disaster, the Turks rose to the occasion and reciprocated in kind by sending rescue teams and medical supplies to Greece.

The media in both countries and throughout the world gave very positive reports on the assistance between the two countries, they even dubbed it "Earthquake Diplomacy". The goodwill created by these two tragedies opened a new chain of communications between these ancient warring countries.

To some, they would say it is quite a stretch of my imagination to believe that my role as the "dumb American" in front of the mural had anything to do with the strengthening of ties between these countries. But factually in 1998-99, the tensions between these countries were very real, Greece and Turkey were one short step away from war. And despite having adjoining borders and some of the world's best tourist attractions, during those years, Turks did not visit Greece and Greeks did not visit Turkey.

Clearly, well at least in my mind, the relationships, whether it was between the Ambassadors, CEOs, high-level government officials, lawyers, and bankers, I believe that the JVA signing ceremony played a role in these two countries working together to provide aid to one another.

So to those who say my claim of being an "International Peacemaker" is bombastic or pretentious, to them all, I say B_ll Sh_t! In the world of business development, I have seen many others take credit for successes for which they had little to no contribution.

I am convinced that I laid the foundation to mend the relationship between two ancient powers, countries that had been at odds for centuries, and dare I say, I probably prevented World War III.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Author Notes

This is one of ten Novellas. I wrote these Novellas with the mindset of explaining and providing details not typically seen in short stories. In a way, I hope it is educational as I tried to describe the details of underground coal mining and power plant construction/operations. I have self-published these Novellas on Amazon-Kindle, if interested you can find it under CM Kelly. Lastly, all of my stories are based on actual events, of course with small dash of embellishment.

Chapter 10
You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet

By CM Kelly

“He's always late”, griped Mike, the Illinois State Senator. “He has a serious Prima Donna complex”, stated Frank the County Commissioner.  I was set back a little hearing those acidic statements but then the conversation turned even more ugly.  The other four elected officials at the table started spewing vile comments about him.  It was a shark-feeding frenzy for a few minutes.

I really could not believe what I was hearing.  They were all Democrats and he was the leader of their party, but you’d think he had raped their teenage daughter the way they were describing him.  This was bad, really bad stuff to be saying about any person let alone the Governor of the State.  No, I’m not talking about Bill Clinton or Gavin Newsom, I’m talking about Rod Blagojevich, the three-term US Congressman and twice-elected Governor of Illinois.

To me Rod was a typical politician, always looking for an angle, an affable person, but someone I’d rather keep a little distance from.  For some reason that was beyond me, he had alienated almost every politician in Illinois.  But he was a winner, he still got the votes and won all of the offices he ran for.  I thought of the cliché, “To be successful you must have friends, to be very successful you will have enemies”.  How much the elected officials hated him became crystal clear when the State House voted 114-1 to impeach him in 2009 due to his alleged attempts to sell the Senate seat vacated by Barrack Obama’s ascension to President in 2008.

 
But this was three years earlier in the spring of 2006,  Rod’s political career was at its peak. He was gearing up for a run at a 2nd term as Governor of Illinois.  At this time in my life, I was working for Peabody Coal (Peabody) as President of their subsidiary, the Prairie State Generating Company (Prairie State), a $4 Billion power plant in southwest Illinois.  I was sitting at the speaker's table in a large conference room on Southern Illinois University’s Carbondale Campus.  I was attending The Southern’s annual “Political Luncheon”.  The Southern was the main, if not the only, newspaper for all of Southern Illinois.  

It had become a well-established tradition that the Governor of Illinois would spend the summer months not in the megacity of Chicago nor the Governor’s mansion in the capital of Springfield, but rather in a farmhouse just outside of Carbondale.  An annual escape from the urban areas to the “Downstate” area of Illinois. The southern part of Illinois was not only blessed with rich soil but also substantial coal reserves.  It was a great way to meet and greet his supporters, the farmers and miners in the area.   

The hall was packed with Democratic supporters.  There were about 20 tables, each with 8 supporters.  All filled with local elected officials, union reps, and other outstanding citizens from within a 2-hour drive.  A good-sized crowd of over 150.  Of course, the local TV stations were there as well.  

I was asked by the editor of The Southern to speak at this event by providing an update on the Prairie State project. The Prairie State project was only a one and half hour drive away, heck in this part of the state, people drove 60 minutes just to find a gas station.  It wasn’t until I got to the hall that I was told I would be giving the only other speech that day and at the end I would introduce the Governor to the crowd.  The place was dripping with politicians,  mayors, and council members of nearby towns, plus quite a few State Representatives and State Senators.  Of course, no Congressmen or US Senators were present, it was an unwritten rule that Federal elected officials would never attend a State function like this. 

Having worked on the Prairie State project for almost 5 years, I knew everyone at my table and a good chunk of the other elected officials in the room.  I recognized quite a few of the union's leaders as well, most of whom I had been bumping heads with for the last two years.  Altogether I probably knew half of the people in the room. 
With over 2,000 construction jobs, during a 5-year construction period, and 300-400 full-time jobs to operate the power plant and associated underground coal mine, Prairie State was going to be a huge economic engine for Southern Illinois for many years.  Thus, the reason for my invitation.  

I had a well-prepared speech which I had run by Sally, from Peabody’s Public Relations Department.  We both knew this would be a big event with possible TV coverage and certainly multiple print reporters.  She told me she would also attend the event to help manage the media.  Despite giving countless speeches and presentations during my career, I would rate myself as barely a “fair” public speaker.  I was an Engineer; it was not in my DNA to be a promotor, a salesman per se.  Having her present to “work” the media, to clean up or clarify my comments was always helpful.

The negative banter at the table was steady and I was getting weary of it.  It was a stark contrast to the exceptionally great mood I started out on that day. 

 

++++

Why?  Because, the project had recently been handed an extremely important decision by the US Federal Appeals Court 7th District.  The decision pertained to the project’s air permit.  Although a power plant can’t be built without numerous permits, if you had to rank which permit was the hardest to get, the air permit wins that award, hands down.  It had been over a year since the State of Illinois’s EPA had technically issued the air permit.  But, once the permit was issued various anti-coal groups immediately filed an appeal to keep the project on hold.  They outlined 21 specific reasons as to why the air permit should be voided.  I had spent 9+ months working with lawyers and consultants crafting the response to those 21 points.  Knowing full well that if we lost any point, the project and four years of my life would be shuttered.  

I had personally written a fair part of the air permit’s submittal documents, specifically the parts pertaining to the Best Achievable Control Technology (BACT) requirements.  Thus, it was easy for me to draft the initial response to the opposing points.  That was followed by a lot of bumping of heads with the lawyers and consultants as we finalized the response before submitting it to the 7th District Court.  I was firm, if not outright rigid, in keeping the language that I wrote.

My Peabody supervisors and the Prairie State Board of Directors had counseled me numerous times that “I should listen to the lawyers”, but with their next breath, they would state that without the air permit, “the project was dead”.  It felt like my neck was on the chopping block at every Board meeting. This was, in part, the reason I had an odd relationship with my Board.

  
After 9 months of legal discoveries and a court presentation, the 7th District decided in favor of Prairie State on all 21 counts!  Better yet, it was a unanimous decision by the panel of judges overseeing the case.  It was very satisfying for me to read the court’s written decision which quoted many of my statements, word for word.  What made today extra special was that the 60-day window to appeal the 7th District’s decision to the US Supreme Court had just expired.  The project finally had the all-important “unappealable air permit”.  No doubt in my mind, this was the most significant accomplishment of the project to date.  

The victory was a great personal achievement.  I had put my reputation on the line many times during the meetings with the Board and lawyers over how to write the reply to the appeal.   Of course, my elevated spirits were quickly dampened, as the lawyers and Board took credit for the success.  As JFK once said, “Victory has many fathers, but failure is an orphan”.  

 

++++

  
Without much fanfare, a young man came up to our table and told us the Governor’s motorcade just pulled up.  I took a final glance at my speech and glanced at the crowd, looking for Sally. As expected the flamboyant “Blago” entered the hall from the back of the conference room.  He weaved his way through all the tables, shaking hands and giving out hugs.  There was a reason why he wrangled the Governor’s office from a Republican four years earlier.  This guy knew how to work a crowd.  I had no interest in wanting to know the inner workings of the Democratic Party in Illinois, so it was hard for me to fathom why he was so unpopular at my table.
The MC for this occasion was the Editor of The Southern. He took to the podium and gave a quick speech, which was followed by a nice introduction of me. 

Walking up to the podium, I got a nice round of applause.  It was going to be a friendly crowd which is always a good thing.  Making public relations speeches for the project was part of my job.  I enjoyed speaking to local farmer's groups, Chambers of Commerce, and County Commissioner meetings, mostly with small gatherings of a dozen or two people.  I also did a few interviews on the local radio stations.  One very notable interview was with Congressman Shimkus but that’s another story.  Friendly crowds were so much better than hostile ones.  I had quite a few hostile crowd speeches under my belt too. 

As I reached the podium, I saw three TV crews in the back focusing their cameras on me.  I tried to look past their bright lights for Sally, but there was no sign of her.  That’s when it hit me, I had a great fact-filled speech, about jobs, tax revenues, and air pollution control,  but I just won this great decision, I should open with that.  So I’ll just wing it.  

I reached for the microphone, waved to a few people I recognized, and said “I know many of you in this room are my age or older, so how many of you remember the 8-track player?” I got a good chuckle from the crowd. “Well for those of you who do know what an 8-track player was, then you certainly remember a song called “You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet, by that great 70s band BTO, Bachman Turner Overdrive”.  I could feel that I had their attention. I thought it was a good opening comment, rather than some lame joke.  I then launched into a 5-minute speech about the 7th District’s decision and how it would pave the way for Prairie State to start construction within a year. Then I paused and boldly stated, “You ain’t seen nothing yet,  because this story was not just about Prairie State, it was about reviving the declining, dormant coal industry in Southern Illinois”. 

I ad-libbed about how the court’s decision would also allow other investors to build additional coal-powered plants or coal gasification plants throughout the area.  Yes, Prairie State will be great for Southern Illinois, but this court decision will be the catalyst to fully utilize this area’s prime natural resource, COAL, so…  “You ain't seen nothing yet..”.  As I kept spewing out the standard job gains, and local tax benefits, I kept coming back to the phrase “You ain’t seen nothing yet..”.  By the third time I repeated it, the crowd was joining in, by the fifth time, the whole house was in on it!  This was fun!  

It was a great speech, definitely, the best I had ever given to that point in my career…. and it was all ad-libbed.   I was feeling pretty good, it was my way of telling all the nay-sayers,  the lawyers, the consultants, my co-workers, and even a few of my Board Members, that “I was right”.  For years I had taken flack about my design of the pollution control system, the layout of the plant, and the rebuttal to the air permit appeal.  But damn it, “I was right”!  

I closed down the speech and handed the podium back to the MC.  It wasn’t until I reached the table that I realized the whole audience was standing and applauding me.  Governor Blagojevich was the first to meet me at the speaker’s table and gave me a big firm handshake.  He went up to the podium and said. “Boy, I am glad Colin lives over in St Louis. After that speech, I wouldn’t want to have to run against him.  What a great speech Colin".  
It was a great moment for me, I was being congratulated by the Governor, with everyone in the room applauding me.

++++
 

Prairie State was a massive 1,600 MW coal-fired power plant that Peabody was developing in Southern Illinois to burn the high-sulfur coal in the Illinois basin.  Peabody had thousands of acres of land and hundreds of millions of tons of coal reserves in Southern Illinois.  It was a clever pathway to monetize these high-sulfur coal reserves.  It was the high sulfur within the Illinois coal that caused it to fall out of favor with the utilities.  Over the last 20 years, almost all of the regional power plants have converted from Illinois coal to low-sulfur Powder River Basin coal located in Wyoming. 

This project consumed my life from 2002 through 2008.  It was one of three coal-fired power plants being developed by Peabody, eventually, it would be the only one built.  Prairie State got started with the submittal of its air permit in 2002.  Later that year I was promoted to President of Prairie State Generating Company, a 100% owned subsidiary of Peabody Energy.  

The project was designed with twin 800 MW coal boilers.  The boilers were made in Harbin, China, they were initially designed for a project to be built in Texas that was canceled, and I negotiated them at a bargain price.  It had a truly state-of-the-art, one-of-a-kind, pollution control system consisting of a Selective Catalytic Reduction system for NOx control, a Dry Electric Static Precipitator for particulate matter (soot), a limestone scrubber for SO2 removal, and a Wet Electric Static Precipitator, that captures anything that got through the other devices. There was nothing like it in the US or the world, combined, they redefined the meaning of Lowest Achievable Emission Rate or LAER.  

As a mine-mouth operation, it was designed to have two adjacent underground coal mines to feed raw (un-washed) coal to the boilers.  Combined, these mines would be the largest underground mines west of my old stomping grounds, Bailey Mine in Western Pennsylvania.  It was a true “Mine to Watt” complex.

I could go on and on about what most would consider “the boring details” of this $3.5 Billion project: which included a 6-mile water line to the Kaskaskia River, a 3-mile rail line to bring in the limestone and haul away the ash, and dozens of miles of 340kV high tension transmission lines, all of which are significant capital projects in and of themselves.  But one paragraph should be enough.

Developing this project was nothing short of a herculean effort.  Throughout most of the development, my team included a Project Manager, a Project Engineer, and a Permitting Specialist.  I did get some occasional help from technical specialists and in-house experts.  And of course, there were the third-party lawyers to help manage the contracts and permits. The project was developed on a shoestring budget.  But I had a tight-knit team.  If this were an Exxon-Mobil investment, a project of this magnitude would have a whole floor filled with dozens of engineers and experts working on it.

A driving factor for Peabody was to bring in outside investors, namely Rural and Municipal  Electric Co-Ops.  By bringing in partners it reduced the development cost to Peabody but also locked in success and sell-down fees.  As the project moved along these investors layered in their staff members to my team.  However they seemed to slow us down, they were more of a nuisance, with all their redundant questions and utility work ethic. 
By the time Peabody had sold down 50% of its interest all of the key permits had been submitted, the plant design was locked down and the key Engineering-Procurement-Construction contract was complete.  Essentially the foundation for the project had been set.  The risk of the project achieving the key milestone of Financial Closing, (equivalent to the Closing on a home), was steadily declining.

 
With all those key items behind us, the team started on the next wave of items including the Certificate of Public Convenience and Need, the Interconnection/Transmission Agreement, and the Payment in Liu of Taxes agreements, all very important matters.

It was a lot of hard work and long hours.  The team was making great process on these items, but it didn’t help that the Board and Peabody Supervisors were always threatening to kill the project if a permit or contract wasn’t issued on time or worse if the project incurred additional costs.  There was a lot of what I call “false or fake pressure”. 
 
Two specific points about how this project was managed always bugged me.  First – The only aspect of the project I had no control over was the “selling” of the project to other investors, or “bringing in the partners”.  Yes, I managed the budgets and schedules and essentially built the sales documents, but I didn’t “shmooze” the potential buyers.  That was fine by me.  It just bugged me that there was a team of four Peabody employees dedicated to this aspect, one being my direct supervisor and another being a senior VP at Peabody.  Of course, they spent money on themselves and lawyers like a drunken sailor.  This created a constant area of friction between us.  Second, they were always trying to change the budgets and timelines to benefit their sales pitches.  This made for some ugly meetings, especially the monthly status meetings with Peabody’s CEO.  For all of our in-house approval meetings, with Peabody’s CEO and CFO I was the “Bad” cop, providing doses of reality to counter their sales BS. 
I would like to point out that I owe Earl the CEO of Peabody, a lot of gratitude.  He saw through their BS and routinely would shut them down and turn to me and ask for the “straight story”.   I can state without any qualifications that the worst supervisors I ever had in my 42-year career were at Peabody.  Dominion Energy’s supervisors come in a distant second. 

As the project development moved along, the risks related to the permits, budgets, schedules, and costs were being minimized, and all the items I controlled.  This reduction in risks was the only reason we were able to bring in 10 investors.  These 10 investors plus Peabody formed the PSGC Board of Directors.  With these new investors signing up, Peabody’s ownership and thus its voting rights were diluted from 100% to less than 5% and the project completed its Financial Closing and construction commenced.  It was a major milestone, with the development phase behind me I thought my work environment and attitude would get better.   

With 11 members sitting on the  Board, the focus of the project shifted from keeping costs down and maintaining the schedule to a flood of minutia issues that each party thought were more important than the other.  The management structure changed from the hard-driving Peabody style to a collection of 11 egos all strutting around pounding their chests. The phrase “herding cats” best describes this situation.

Within a month, after the 10th investor came on board my attitude had soured and I grew to disdain most of the Board members.  Dealing with the Peabody management was frustrating and challenging but at least we were pointed in the same direction.  Dealing with these 10 new partners was simply impossible.  In my experience, all utilities are cut from the same cloth.  The staff makes their careers by kissing up to the community or state elected officials and passing all costs and risks directly back to the consumers.  

This “pass the buck” culture within utilities lacked the basic principles of,  maintaining the schedule and keeping the costs to a minimum.  A trait I had been well-trained at during my time at Consol Energy, Mission Energy, Exxon-Mobil, and Peabody.  Of course, if an issue went sideways, the utility reps hid from responsibility and never owned up to any mistakes.  Not all Board members, but most had a very elitist attitude.

I struggled to work with this Board for another 2-3 months, by Christmas my goodwill was exhausted.  I happily put my resume out on the street.  Within a few weeks, I had two firm job offers.  I actually enjoyed a few weeks of respite as I stealthily held on to my job to make sure I got my previous year's bonus, knowing all along I had a new job waiting for me.  Once the bonus check was deposited, I made that walk into the Chairman of the Board’s office and turned in a polite and professional resignation letter.   I would have loved to have said, “Take this job and shove it”, but that’s not in me.  

At that point, our relationship had soured but was still professional.  I do recall his parting statement, “That I was too cheap for this project”.  I just ignored it; I knew this man and the Board were in way over their collective heads.  I was leaving them on very solid ground, I had filled out the Prairie State team by adding a dozen employees.  I thought the board and anyone following in my shoes had space and time to learn.  Interestingly, I resigned almost a year to the day from my “great speech” in Southern Illinois.

After my departure, the gig was up with Peabody’s Development Team. The curtain was dropped and it exposed numerous misstatements and flat-out lies, made by my Peabody supervisors.  While I was there, I held the high ground with truth and facts.  My budgets, schedules, and methods of handling issues were transparent and straightforward.  With the  Development Team’s credibility in the crapper, the two other power projects Peabody was developing all cratered.  Within a few months after I left my Peabody supervisors resigned or were fired.  
Prairie State had solid bones, which allowed it to struggle through some incompetent management.  When I left PS in 2008 it was about 9 months into its 5-year construction term, $60 million under budget and 2 months ahead of schedule, with all the permits and contracts in place and the engineering essentially completed.  

But I had that same feeling as when I left the Grant Town project in 1993, the management that was left in charge was pretty incompetent.  I was certain the project would have major issues.   By the time Prairie State was put into operations in late 2013, it was reported to be $400M over budget and more than 1 year behind schedule.  Immediately after my departure, without a vote by the workers, the Board conceded to the unions. Thus, the mine and the power plant would be operated with a union workforce. 

Of course, this led to much higher staffing levels, at the plant, the mine, and the admin offices, than initially planned.  The combination of higher capital costs, delayed schedule, and higher operating costs severely eroded the economic benefits of the project.  Of course, I heard through the grapevine that I was being blamed for these issues.

As I write this chapter Prairie State has been producing electricity, providing jobs, and paying local taxes for over 10 years.  Like all coal plants across the country, the plant is the subject of many environmental claims and is being pressured to shut down.  

++++

Ok, so let’s get back to the “Great Speech” and Blago’s run for a 2nd term as Governor.  A few months after the PR event in Carbondale, I was invited to a fundraising gala to announce Blago’s 2nd run for Governor.  I had been to a few black tie galas before, most notably the one in Athens, where I prevented WW III, and one in Washington, DC, hosted by the Secretary of State when the Prime Minister of Turkey came to the US.  They seemed to have a few things in common: a great location, top shelf setup/band/food, a few important dignitaries, of course, an ice sculpture, everyone dressed in tuxedos and servers that looked like they jumped off the cover of GQ or Vogue. 
 

The gala for Blago’s 2nd term kickoff was held at the Field Museum of Natural History in downtown Chicago. The event was held in the Stanley Field Hall.  I had never been, nor had I ever heard of this museum, but as I walked in the door I quickly surmised it was one of the best in the world.  
 

The Hall was huge and a true masterpiece of American Architecture.  With two Mastodons and Sue, the largest and most complete (90%) Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton ever discovered, displayed in the Hall, it made a one-of-a-kind first impression.  Like the other two galas, Tammy was not with me.  Of course, the first thing I thought of was that I wished she could be here to see this.  The place was packed with the movers and shakers of Chicago. 
I met up with my lobbyist near the ice sculpture, she would be my guide for the evening.  My primary goal for the night was to make inroads to securing some state funding from one of the three state funds the project was eligible for.  My lobbyist first lined up an introduction to the Illinois State Treasure.  We had a nice conversation and set a date for a follow-up meeting.  My lobbyist then paraded me around, to elected officials and bankers.  I had a great story to tell them, the jobs, economic benefits, and revitalizing the Southern Illinois Coalfields.  Despite hating crowds and high society, it was turning out to be a good evening. 

At one point they dragged me back behind a curtain into a smaller area set aside for one-on-one meetings with the Governor.  This was not the initial plan. I didn’t need nor ask for a one-on-one with the governor.  I had no pressing issues with him.  But I knew from all my previous meetings with him and his Chief of Staff Bradly, that they strongly wanted me to announce that the plant and mine would operate with unionized labor.  
The project had agreed to use unionized labor to construct the power plant, which would mean over 2,000 jobs over a 4-5-year time period.  To announce that the plant or mine would use union labor, 4+ years out in the future, was just too premature.  So I smelled a trap.

As I entered the area, I caught Rod's eye, he broke from the circle of people he was talking to and gave out a boisterous “Hello Colin” and announced to all in the small room, ”This man is going to revitalize the whole economy down state with his 3 billion dollar coal project and build many others to follow”.  Nothing shy about this guy.  Well, it’s always nice to be recognized, but now I knew this was a trap.  

Much to my surprise, he pulled me aside and said, “The State House is drafting a mercury emission bill, I want you to look at it and make sure it doesn’t hurt your project”.  I could only say, “Sure”.  He then turned to one of his aides and my lobbyist and said, “Make sure Colin and Doug sit down and talk about this before the night is over”. As I walked away he said to the crowd, “Make sure Colin doesn’t get near the microphone, I don’t want anyone showing me up tonight”.  I thought, how could so many Democrats hate this guy?

Doug was the Director of the Illinois EPA.   I did meet up with Doug that night and set a follow-up date to review the draft regulation.  I was sure that the various environmental non-governmental organizations like the Sierra Club and others were getting the same treatment.  But I could not help thinking about my lobbyist, she knew nothing about this bill.  I noted in my mind we might want to cut their budget.

 
With the working part of the evening completed, the main party commenced.  The background music stopped and a pretty nice light show started as Pattie, Rod’s wife,  “the force behind the man”, took center stage and gave a rousing introduction for her husband.     

And then…. as Rod climbed up the stairs to the stage the sound system blasted out the BTO hit song “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet”, it was truly electrifying, and the crowd loved it.  Stunned, I whispered under my breath “That son of a b-tch stole my theme”! 

And then…. as he started into his speech, he used the phrase time and time again, as in “If you liked what we did in the first 4 years of my term,  elect me again, because…You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet”.  Rod did know how to work a crowd.  It truly was a great scene, a great event, and a productive evening.

 

++++ 

Eventually, I did review the mercury regulation,  it desperately needed a cold-eyes review.  I kept this from my supervisors and the bevy of lawyers and consultants.  No doubt if they knew about it, it would have been bogged down inside Peabody as my managers would want to wordsmith it and have at least two outside law firms opine on it.  I spotted numerous conflicting sentences, clearly, it was written: “by committee”.  My changes didn’t soften or change the guts of the regulation, rather they made it more functional, more practical, and definitely easier to understand and enforce.  In the end, my edits were rolled into the final legislation without any changes.  Overall it was a somewhat restrictive piece of legislation, but I had foreseen this coming at a national level and the plant already had mechanisms in its design to handle it. 

I also had a few follow-up meetings with the State on funding issues. There were several large pots of money that Prairie State was eligible for, unfortunately, the lengthy approval process killed off any hope of using most of the funds.  In the end, I did find a means to secure a few million to help pay for the design of the technology to remove the mercury. 

Rod won his second term in a landslide.  There is no doubt in my mind that his campaign slogan “You ain’t seen nothing yet” played a part in getting re-elected.  It was on billboards and radio ads for months. Today,  whenever I hear that song on the radio, it brings back some good memories.

I left Prairie State four months after the election. In summary, the relationship with the Board got so bad that I just found myself hating to go to work every day.  Eventually, things turned ugly two years later when Rod got wrapped up in the replacement of Barack Obama as the Illinois Senator.  It's funny that it was President Trump who pardoned him, releasing him from jail after serving 11 of his 14-year sentence.

As I look back at Prairie State and the six years I worked on it, there is no doubt in my mind that it would not have been built without my efforts and that of the tight team I created. I am certain that if I stayed it would have come in on time and under budget.  I am very proud of what was accomplished. 

Yes, there is some "axe grinding" in the comments above and of course, I was overworked, underpaid, and not fully appreciated, but other than Trust babies who isn’t? 
 

Author Notes

I lack professional writing experience. I hated my HS/College English and literature classes. My passion has always been engineering, with a focus on numbers, formulas, equations, and algorithms. Thus, the two Engineering Degrees. Expect straightforward prose; you won't find complex vocabulary or many four-syllable words. As the 4th of 9, raised in an abandoned farmhouse on a dirt road, there's a degree of wonderment, aka Forrest Gump, weaved throughout these stories, which reflects my, "Hick from the Sticks", personality. All of my stories are based on actual events, of course with some embellishment.

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