Flemington, Taylor County, West Virginia
January 27 — February 5, 1937
Lancaster New Era, Feb. 5, 1937 (1.4 Mb)Successful Mine RescueRobert Johnson spent eight days without food in utter darkness in an abandoned Flemington, West Virginia coal mine. Guided by his weak cries, rescuers found the man and brought him out on a stretcher.
Rescue Man Entombed 8 Days Without Food
Lancaster New Era, Lancaster, Pennsylvania
Friday, February 5, 1937
Flemington, W. Va., Feb. 5 -- Eight foodless days of utter darkness while lost in the debris-choked passageways of an abandoned mine ended today for Robert Johnson, 36-year-old Rural Mail carrier.
"I sure thought I was a goner." he said.
He told from his cot in a hospital of praying through the long hours in the damp mine, of giving up all hope, then of seeing a dim glow of lamps carried by rescue workers.
"Thank God, my prayers were answered," he sobbed fervently before a potion administered by physicians put him to sleep.
Doctors had broke his long fast — he had only sulphur water to drink in the mine — with copious draughts of black coffee, then with bowls of of strained soup.
The rescue crews found Johnson nearly two miles from the mine entrance early today. He was huddled behind a heap of jagged chunks of slate in the mine which he operated to dig coal in his spare time for sale to neighbors. Rescue crews at first expected difficulty in removing the slate, but had little trouble reaching the imprisoned man.
Three of the scores of volunteers who had searched the mine day and night since Johnson disappeared January 27, heard his feeble cries for help while exploring a narrow tunnel.
His first words were to assure himself he hadn't merely imagined a light had cut through the dark. C. P. Pride, assistant Safety Director for the State Department of Mines quoted him: "I told myself 'Bob, please don't lose that light'." He didn't.
As the rescue party came closer he called to Mike Stanko, Jr., Edward Whitehair, and William Westfall, all his friends and neighbors: "Take your time, I'll guide you by your light."
They cautiously approached the heap of slate, reached through a hole and gripped Johnson's hand — assurance he was safe.
Then word went to the surface; sped through this little community of about 400 population in northeastern West Virginia.
Pride and eight others gathered stretchers and blankets. They hurried into the mine, waded and swam through a deep pool of water covering nearly an acre where originally many believed Johnson drowned while trying to open clogged drains.
Pride told of administering first aid, and declared:
Johnson's physical condition was excellent considering the long exposure. He had been drinking sulplur water and his lips were badly parched. He thought he had been in the mine for a month.
Placed on a stretcher, Johnson recognized one by one the men who carried him from the mine, wading shoulder deep through five feet of icy water. Near the mine entrance they halted. It was comparatively warm in the mine but outside a heavy snow was falling. They heated stones, wrapped them in blankets and placed them about Johnson, who rested quietly on the stretcher.
Taken out on the mountainside, Johnson was carried a quarter of a mile down a snow-covered path to a waiting ambulance. There he was joined by his wife — among his first questions was "How's my wife?" — and hurried to a hospital 15 miles away in Clarksburg, the nearest large city.
All visitors, including the miner's wife, Mrs. Delvera Johnson, were barred from his hospital room in Clarksburg. Dr. C. F. Fisher gave him large quantities of coffee and said he would be fed strained soup later in the day. "His condition is splendid," said Dr. Fisher. "There's no question of him recovering. He has talked a lot, but everything is coherent, and his talking apparently is a natural reaction to days alone."
Mrs. Johnson made little comment on her husband's long imprisonment, saying: "I'm so happy, I'm so happy, I don't know what to say. I knew all the time he was alive down in the mine."
