Comments on: The Hard Rock Miner

By: KJJ

KJJ — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 15:15:32 +0000

Renee,
My father just passed away August 2 of this year and he was a hero to me as well. He never worked in mines but he did grow up in Brooklyn, New York. Born 1937 to immigrants at the end of depression. He did the same for us 3 girls when it came to special gifts and the most important he ever gave me was the feeling of unconditional love. (trust me it was hard sometimes) He taught us about baseball and how he would sneak into the ball games to watch the Yankees play. His stories of pain growing up that he had a hard time talking about and the choice he made at 17 to join the Navy to get out of Brooklyn. He had stories to tell about his sister marrying into the mafia and having to sit around a table discussing how they could get his sister out of her situation and it lead to killing her husband. (never did, he died from a heart attach- they say) He just had some of the coolest stories and was such a huge part of what New York was about back then. I really miss him and his stories. Very, very funny man with the best jokes ever. I am proud to have him as a father. Still hard to use pas-tense.

By: Ray

Ray — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 22:49:32 +0000

Thank you very much for your beautiful comment, Ms. Reed.

By: Renee Reed

Renee Reed — Tue, 25 Oct 2011 20:31:44 +0000

Dear Mr. Harvey:
Today I was reminiscing about my father, who passed in 1998. He was born in Lake City, CO. in 1933.
I was thinking about the many gifts he had given me as a child, one of the best is the San Juan mountains.
I was 6 or 7 years old when I made my first Jeep trip up the Umcompaghre Peak. This mountain peak was the stuff of legend in our family. The story goes that my great-grandfather made a bet with someone that he could get his nickel-plated bicycle up the mountain and down. And, according to my grandmother, he did it. This is also documented in the historical museum in Lake City, along with other stories about him and his brother, Paul.
And it was a Google I did on my great-uncle Paul that brought me to the ode you created to your friend. He was known (at least until I read your piece) as the last of the hard rock miners in Colorado. There was an article printed in a Denver newspaper when he died about him. One of my cousins sent it to me, but I am sorry to say I can’t find it right this minute.
Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that they seemed so similar, your friend and my uncle. Paul had lost his leg during the construction of the Million Dollar Highway. He was a “blaster”, someone involved in the exploding of the dynamite used to make way for the highway through that rock.
He never married, but in the last family reunion he came to that I attended in July of 1988, he was surrounded by around 58 of us. He was incredible to me.
I don’t really know why I am writing all this to you. I guess my Father’s family roots are a source of pride for me, as they were to my father. So I felt some kind of sympatico with you writng about your friend. Men like these have a spirit full of so much courage that they certainly make an impression on a person who knows them. I easily read that in your ode for your friend, and felt like I wanted to share something I knew you would relate to. That is the beauty, but brutal mountains of SE colorado and the men who made their marks there.
Thanks for letting me share.
Sincerely, Renee Reed

By: The Tee

The Tee — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 07:54:14 +0000

Sounds like this miner was someone close to heart. Great story. I can truly relate growing up in Colorado surrounded with hard rock mines.

By: Denny

Denny — Sat, 01 May 2010 04:34:08 +0000

My Friend,

Why do I get the feeling there’s “another” novel on the way….Ray, you are blessed with talent and we both know that you are not wasting it. I hope another is on it’s way for, My Friend, it’s meant to be.

Best of Regards,
Denny

By: Bagel

Bagel — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 07:52:56 +0000

That’s beautiful. I understand it all too well.

I’m from the coal fields of WV (a few miles from the famous Matewan). I’ve lost many cousins to the mines. Whether they die from Black Lung, a cave in, or a mystery illness, the mines always claim them, and it’s always ugly.

By: ShyButIntrigued

ShyButIntrigued — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 20:33:13 +0000

This is truly beautiful, details reminiscent of some of your other writing, but very, very different. You could not describe it differently, better, or more minimally and produce the same effect.

By: HAG

HAG — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 01:30:15 +0000

What do you call this? To me, it’s not quite fiction, and it’s not quite poetry. I kind of like it–definitely creates a mood, though your diction is a little odd and overly descriptive for my taste.

By: James Slovak

James Slovak — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 01:25:02 +0000

there are almost two stories here. I do not recognize the visuals, but the mentals are like old friends…

always a pleasure to read you.