"Unions were once again in disrepute. Any individual or organization who said out loud or implied that this wasn’t the best of all possible worlds, was an “anarchist,” Bolshevik,” or worse, wrote Perry Eberhart in piece for the Denver Posse of Westerners. That set the stage of the times.
"The death of 20 persons, including five miners, three guards, one bystander, two women and nine children in a tent city just outside of the southern Colorado coal town of Ludlow on April 20, 1914, had won sympathy and recognition for the United Mine Workers. Since that time the UMW had become ineffective through inner bickering, inept leadership, apathy amid a timid and abortive strike in 1924," he said.
"By 1927, Colorado coal miners needed a friend. Safety measures in the mines had not improved. Wages and hours (sometimes 10 to 12 hours a day, six days a week) had improved little since Ludlow."
"The Wobblies — the popular term of the times for the union miners — saw the situation aa a golden opportunity — perhaps their last opportunity – to regain stature in Colorado. The Wobblies’ official name was the International Workers of the World. The IWW was born during the early years of this century to unite the blue collar workers of the world and to better their conditions. With such leaders as Eugene Debs and “Big Bill” Haywood (well known in Colorado,)IWW quickly spread to most industries, including mining, throughout the nation and elsewhere. Its militant activities and its spread at the time the Marxist philosophy was rising around the world, led many to equate Wobblyism with Marxism. The bosses encouraged the belief, and eventually were able to discredit the IWW. But while it was here, it made its presence known and it fathered many longer-lasting and effective movements. And, while it was here, its fortunes and influence rose and fell with the situation at hand."
The situation seemed ripe in Colorado in 1927. The UMW wouldn’t or couldn’t demonstrate any effectiveness. So the IWW surfaced as the spokesman for the coal miners in Colorado.
"The Wobbly leaders made their demands to mine owners throughout the state. They petitioned the governor and other officials. They attempted to force an audience with owners and officials. They made and implied dire threats. A problem situation became critical when they were continuously ignored — by everybody. The mine owners refused to recognize the IWW as spokesman for the miners or anyone else. They called the Wobblies “crooks,” “outlaws,” ”Reds,” “imported trouble-makers,” and worse. Governor “Billy” Adams and most of the newspapers sided with the mine owners," wrote Eberhart.
Finally, Wobbly leaders set October 8 as their last day of talking and their first day of striking.
Governor Adams came back immediately and strong. He said such a strike would be illegal and would not be tolerated.
On Oct. 8,. 1927, several miners in the Boulder area made good the Wobbly threat, walking off their jobs in coal mines around Lafayette, Louisville and Superior. It quickly spread to coal mines throughout the state.
Although the strike was statewide and many of the Wobbly leaders (local and imported) headquartered amid the countless coal mines in the Waldenburg, Trinidad area, a major focal point of the strike soon became the Columbine Mine.
A small company coal town about five miles northeast of Lafayette, with the somewhat, out-of-character name of Serene was attached to the Columbine operation.
"Jim Fillas, former maitre d’ of the Denver Press Club, is one person who remembers Serene well. Fillas lived in Lafayette at the time. His father worked in the Columbine Mine for several years and went out on strike when it was called. Jim and his teenage buddies would follow the strikers around hoping to “snitch” a sandwich prepared for the strikers by their wives. Three or four years later he would drive a laundry truck to all of the mining camps in the area. Fortunately, Fillas has a photographic memory. He can reel off names and numbers of way-back-when like very few people – and they check out," wrote historian Eberhart.
"Fillas and some of his “old time” friends believe the strike concentrated on Serene because the Columbine Mine was one of the bigger mines in the area, but the town was smaller and more isolated than most other miner's enclaves. (the population in 1929 was 1,100). Serene was easier to cut off from the outside world and from outside workers. And, despite its name, dingy little Serene epitomized the conditions the miners were striking against.
"Each day a growing number of striking miners would make the rounds, picketing the other nearby mines – the Morrison, the Imperial, the Puritan, the State – then the bulk of them would gather at Serene, mull about, planning, scheming, and making hateful, threatening glances at the activity inside the fortress of Serene."
"Serene was a fortress, now an armed fortress. Shortly after the strike began a barbed-wire wall was set up around the entire town. There were two gates, one on the hill overlooking the mines and just next to the superintendents house. This was at the end of a block-long narrow road with barbed wire walls, called “no-man’s land.” The other gate was at the lower end of town, at the end of Main Street. Most of the activity during the strike was near the upper gate, although both gates were blocked several times," Eberhart described.
"A giant searchlight was set on a tipple (a large skeletal contraption that loads coal cars — by “tipping” the shuttle of coal from the mine) and it swept the area continuously during the hours of darkness. Armed guards patrolled Serene 24 hours a day. At first they were hired company guards (or “goons”), then local deputies, then…"
Strike activity in other areas of the state helped fire the tension at Serene.
On Oct. 17, Walsenburg businessmen raided the IWW headquarters, burned all the records and told Wobbly leaders to get out of town.
Oct. 21 headlines in the Boulder Daily Camera said the Walsenburg jail holds 60 picketers – “twenty of them chattering women.” A coal shortage was developing in the Boulder area and elsewhere in the state.
On Nov. 4, Governor Adams, in his almost daily appeal to “decent” miners to get back to work, said all IWW leaders throughout the state would be arrested on sight.
The same day, the growing tension at the Columbine Mine made the headlines as pickets stopped and “had words” with miners working at the mine; Eight local deputies were on duty at Serene.
Monday morning (Nov. 7) dawned to find several hundred picketers choking the roads into Serene. And, newspapers said, there was “vicious intimidation” of all miners who attempted to get through. Only one “Missourian” made it by drawing his gun and threatening to shoot his way through if necessary. The Columbine closed down.
It reopened the following day, but with only about half the regular work force, the 125 or so non-striking miners living within the confines of Serene. Headlines said the picketing was “near violent” and the intimidation of workers was increasing.
On Nov. 8 picketers blocked the roads to Serene with 150 to 200 autos. Weld County Sheriff Ben Robinson and his deputies – with drawn guns broke the blockade by escorting working miners through the picketers. Two picketers were arrested.
Despiete that, picketers broke through the gates of Serene led by what newspapers described as a screaming “Amazon.” The woman urged the men to charge and destroy the tipple despite the guns of the guards. The men hesitated and finally withdrew.
Many women paraded and picketed at the side of their striking husbands. Two or three were always at the fore-front at Serene. The newspapers referred to an “Amazon.” It’s doubtful that this was Mrs. Beranek, although it’s possible the newspapers exaggerated. But Mrs. Beranek was a small woman, although she bore 16 children and claimed to be the head of the “largest family in Boulder County.” She appeared almost daily in the front line of the picketers, vigorously waving the American flag.
For the first time National Guard airplanes were used to scout striker activity on the ground.
There was a growing number of stories of working miners being beaten on their way home, or of “joyriding” strikers taking “pot shots” at miners and their homes with rifles. Strikers reported similar offenses against them and their families, but they were hot reported in the newspapers.
Many of the daily stories concerning Serene and the Columbine Mine mentioned or implied the foreign character of the strikers. A story on Nov. 9 said deputies saw only two “Americans” among the hundreds of strikers. Although most all of the rest were Bulgarians, Mexicans, Greeks and Italians, and “many of them incapable of conversing in the English language.”
"On Nov. 9, Sheriff Robert Blum of Boulder County and four of his deputies were sworn in as state officers, to give them more authority and to more freely participate in the activities at the Columbine Mine in Weld County. It didn’t help matters," wrote Eberhart.
The work force continued to fluctuate at the Columbine Mine, depending upon the workers able to get through the pickets and if the resident work force was not intimidated by the gathering strikers. Anywhere from 500 to 1,200 strikers and their families would gather around Serene each day, threatening to crash the gates.
They again made good their threats on Nov. 12 when between 500 and 600 strikers ignored the pleas of the “state police” and the deputies, and stormed the upper gate led by a drummer and Mrs. Beranek waving her flag, and paraded through the town of Serene.
On Nov. 14, six officers were attacked and beaten when they attempted to arrest the strike leaders. The Columbine closed down again.
As a result of the incidents of the preceding days, Governor Adams warned the strikers that the guards were given orders to shoot if the premises were invaded again. To demonstrate the seriousness of the order, two machine guns were placed within Serene and aimed at the upper gate and long alley behind it. One gun was mounted about half-way up the water tank directly facing the gate and the other was mounted on the tipple below the gate and near the searchlight.
But given the machine guns did not seem to deter the strikers. They almost crashed the gates on Nov. 16, but cooler heads prevailed.
On Saturday, Nov. 19, an estimated 1,200 strikers were turned back from the gates of Serene by the loud, desperate plea (and threats) of Sheriff Robinson.
On Sunday, more than 1,000 strikers and members of their families held a rally in Barker Park. Among the speakers was a Mrs. Robinson, who had been jailed in Walsenburg, who told the crowd not to worry about the machine guns. She knew from experience that the guards would never use them. Other main speakers were “Duke,” a high IWW official brought in from Seattle, and Adam Bell of Lafayette, the top IWW leader in the Boulder area. They and the other speakers said fiery things like “the time is ripe” or “it’s now or never” or “we can not allow this, situation to continue.”
Louis Sherf, Chief of the State Law Enforcement Squad, was acting “on a tip,” according to newspapers, when he called out every available man to be at Serene on Monday morning. It is said there were 21 men on duty that morning.
Before dawn on Monday, Nov. 21 (a miner’s day began at 5:30 a.m. and a striker’s day began at 5:30 a.m. or earlier) a large force of strikers picketed the Morrison Mine, the Puritan and then the State Mine, and began their march to Serene, a little more than a mile away. By the time they reached the long fenced road of No Man’s Land, an estimated 500 to 600 had gathered.
Several stories evolved from the confusion of the next few moments.
One popular version passed on by some old timers is that Mrs. Beranek, only, first walked down the long, lonely alley to the gate with her flag in her hand. As she approached the gate, a guard approached from the other side, his rifle ready. Mrs. Beranek asked if she could come in and march through Serene. The guard said “no” and told her to return to the others. Thereupon, this version goes, Mrs. Beranek promptly began climbing the fence. Before she reached the top, the guard struck her on the head with his rifle butt, and she fell to the ground unconscious at the foot of the gate, the American flag in the dirt beside her.
Then, and only then, did the other strikers surge forward… not to storm the gates, it is claimed, but only to retrieve Mrs. Beranek and the American Flag.
"As pointed out, this is a popular version. Some swear by it. With all the emotion and hatred of the time, one could possibly adapt the most supercharged version as the truth. This story has all the elements of a great American epic," says Eberhart.
The guards’ version, which is the one that was generally published in the newspapers, was that it was IWW leader and “trouble maker” Adam Bell who came forward alone. Shots were fired over his head to warn him. He called to the others to move forward – that the shots were only blanks. Then he acted out the little drama attributed by others to Mrs. Beranek.
"Some others who reflect more calmly on the past, think it was more of a unified charge down the alley. Mrs. Beranek and her American flag, and Adam Bell were probably in the forefront. They always were."
There is also some confusion regarding what happened during the long seconds immediately preceding the firing… and the firing itself.
Newspapers say that the oncoming strikers threw all kinds of rocks and debris at the guards. And that the guards fired several shots over their heads and shouted many warnings. It was even said that there was “hand-to-hand” combat before the shots were fired, and that when “forced to fire” the guards did not use machine guns but rifles.
The first two actions, the rock throwing and the warning shots, were possible, although some recall bitterly that there were no warning shots. No guards were injured, so the rock-throwing must have been off course, and the “hand-to-hand” combat seems technically infeasible, since the strikers vastly outnumbered the guards. And what about the fence?
The newspapers even referenced the controversy about the machine gun fire, going so far as to say that “strikers claim” machine gun fire was used. General consensus of all those interviewed was that there was “no doubt” at least one machine gun was used.
Jim Fillas’ father was still picketing at another mine and was not at the Columbine. Jim and a friend were on their way, walking from the State Mine, about a mile away, when he heard the gunfire break the cold, black silence. He is one who says there is little doubt there was machine gun fire. And, although he was not on the scene, he might be in a better position to know than those at the site of the bedlam. He didn’t see it but he could hear it, and “you certainly can tell the difference between machine gun fire and rifle fire.”
Everyone agreed that it was all over within seconds.
After the dust and the din had cleared, several strikers, including at least two women (Mrs. Beranek was not one of them), lay on the ground at the gate of Serene at the end of what would be known long after as “Death Alley.” Many had minor wounds but 23 were seriously injured enough to be taken to nearby hospitals, mostly Longmont. The seriously wounded included one woman, dressed in miner’s overalls. She hovered between life add death for days, but did survive.
Three men died at the scene or within minutes of the shooting. Two more died within the next 48 hours. Mike Ridovich fought for his life until Nov. 29, when he became the sixth victim.
Reaction to the “incident” was widespread and varying. Governor Adams acted immediately. He angrily blamed the striking miners for the bloodshed, declared martial law and called out the National Guard.
A “war parley” was held at noon the same day at nearby Erie and hundreds of striking miners attended. The mood was almost unanimous in gaining revenge, taking over the Columbine and “stringing up the murderers.” Miraculously, further tragedy was averted when “Duke,” the IWW leader from Seattle who had only the day before urged heated action, now very persuasively talked them out of their disastrous course.
A mass funeral was held for four of the victims in Lafayette a couple of days later. The cemetery was far too small to accommodate the hundreds of miners and their families who also attended. The overflow jammed the entire community, and the slow procession past the graves lasted for hours.
And there were demonstrations all over the country. On Nov. 26, 160 of New York’s finest had all they could do to contain the some 300 persons gathered in Union Square to protest against the “Colorado murderers.”
Also in newspapers throughout the country, including the New York Times, and magazines such as the American Mercury, Nation, Literaty Digest, and others.
The militia called to Serene was composed of three companies from Fort Collins, Loveland and Denver. Most of the guardsmen were very young and most were students. In fact, newspapers often referred to them as “student soldiers.”
As the Wobblies told it:
It was a sad November morning
And the sun began to shine
When a bloody struggle took place
At the gates of Columbine.
Peaceful miners with their families
Marching with our flag that waved
Were met by Company machine guns
That’s the game they played.
They murdered the men and women
They did the things the Kaiser did
They used machine guns, bombs and rifles
They opened fire from places hid.
It’s the first time in our history
That our flag was shot down
It was carried by a miner
Who laid dead upon the ground
Governor Adams gave the order
That the state police be sent
For protection to the mine scabs
Who were working for a cent.
All the world cried out in agony
Get that Scherf and all his gang
They’re the leaders of this tragedy
They are guilty, they must hang.
Those who run the Columbine, condemn them
For what happened to our people
They took hands m placing the guns
Which were fired from the tipple.
All the world now. is a witness
And will write it down on histories page
That assassins murdered those poor miners
For fighting for a living wage.
The Columbine and Ludlow massacres
Have made the weak and dead arise
In this great I.W.W.
The whole world will organize.
For the slaying of our members
Who were innocent and peaceful
We shall make this union stronger
Through the world forever grateful.
The State Police retaliated in kind:
It was a sad, November morning
And the run began to shine
When the Wobblies all went crazy
At the gates of Columbine.
Crazy Wobblies and their families
Marching with their Wobblie flag
They were met by well meant warnings
And the game we played was fair.
Only whim the Wobblies resisted
Did we open fire on them
And then with rifles and pistols only
And none of us were hid.
We did not drive by in a Ford coupe
And shoot at you and yours
Yet you holler about fairness
But you’re just a bunch of liars.
All the world now is a witness
And will write it down in verse
How the dumb and foolish Wobblies
Committed suicide and called a hearse.
The militia sergeant’s advice to a rookie on the slag pile:
A dull grey sky above you
A darker earth below you
A whistling wind that sighs and moans
And gives back’ a sigh so low.
What’s that that creeps below in the weeds?
What’s that in the sky above?
Why do you jump at the slightest sound
And cock your rifle at the coo of dove?
The slightest sound will make you shiver
And make your blood run cold.
Why do you hang so close to your rifle?
A soldier on guard should be bold.
You say you expect a fight tonight?
Well what of it, you should care
You say you’re afraid you might be shot?
Well what’s the use of throwing a scare.
Don’t worry kid, you’ll come through,
And don’t be afraid to fight.
You’re just a rookie, now, old son,
But keep’ your nerve, and now “good nite.”
There were no budding Shakespeares at Serene, but the feeling was there, says Eberhart.
The militia was camped at Serene for three or four weeks, making regular patrols by truck to other “hot spots” in Boulder and Weld Counties. Later they camped at Louisville and Frederick, and divided up the patrols. From time to time small squads of soldiers would remain at certain mines until a threatening situation eased.
There were several minor incidents and many tense situations that could have easily exploded into another “Ludlow Massacre” or worse. It didn’t happen.
And the strike just petered out. The few weeks the Militia remained on the scene, the mines regained their full work force. Mine owners continued to ignore the Wobblies. It was no secret that known IWW leaders were “black-balled” in Colorado mining camps after that. It was the last the IWW was heard from in Colorado – and almost everywhere_else. Otherwise, the working miners dropped out of the “lost cause” and, if they could find it, went back to work. And the Militiamen returned to school or their jobs.
Some scars didn’t heal for years – but people survive, changing some from the experience.
And Serene went back to work. In fact, in a few years it flourished. Another Columbine shaft was opened and more workers were needed. The population topped 2,000 and Serene had a suburb down below the tracks, called Chihuahua. The baseball field was here, and the Serene-Chihuahua team was one of the better teams in the area. The Columbine Casino, on Main Street, was one of the busiest places around.
The Columbine had opened in 1914 in what seemed to be an endless seam, or layer, of coal in this section of Boulder and Weld Counties. Despite the strike and ongoing legal problems in the early 1940’s which closed the mine from time to time, the Columbine remained a major producer until 1945, when it was finally closed down for good. It was the last mine the Rocky Mountain Fuel Company closed down in Colorado. Many of the houses were already empty and their occupants, had moved. Between 1945 and 1950, much of the remaining population moved away and many of the remaining buildings were sold and moved or torn down. By 1950 the population had fallen to 200, and like the last residents of most upcoming ghost towns: they had no place to go.
"The town became a virtual ghost town during the 1950’s and the “ghost town killers” moved in: time, weather and vandals. Target shooters who carry such righteous bumper stickers as “The West Wasn’t Won with a Registered Gun” but who are destroying the few remains of the Old West by shooting up everything in sight, had thoroughly “shot up” the last few buildings at Serene. A couple of buildings had been burned down by vandals. Some bricks, wiring, and “ghost town wood” had been taken from some other buildings, hastening their demise.
"An official of the Rocky Mountain Fuel Company said they are tearing down the last few buildings to realize a small profit from salvage. “If we don’t do it, the vandals will,” he said. He said local teenagers held a rock concert on the site a year or two ago and “there went two buildings.” (At least we know that Serene had a little music in its life,)" wrote Eberhart.
"Perhaps it is just as well – remove the last remnant of this hunk of Colorado history. We have a tendency to forget our unhappy moments, whether they be important to our development or not."
Serene had a dingy, unhappy lifetime.
Certainly, she also had a great many happy and significant ones – to some people.
To the historian Eberhart, who has chased ghost towns throughout the West most of his adult life, Serene was not “just another ghost town” – it was family.
Ghost-towners get their leads to a new ghost town from countless sources: old maps, books, directories, friends, fellow ghost-towners, complete strangers, etc. I was “put on” to Serene by “Pappy.” Pappy is my stepfather, Carl Howard Haberl.
When Governor “Billy” Adams called out the National Guard the day after the shootings, a sergeant in Loveland Troop “C” was a budding reporter named Fred G. Eberhart (who just happened to have left at home, among other things, a three-year-old son with a name very similar to mine). A sergeant from the Denver company was the above, Carl Howard Haberl. (Another Denver “student soldier” during this period was William “Uncle Bill” Shay, a lifelong friend of Pappy and his adopted family, longtime curator at Fort Laramie, Wyoming, and one of the top experts in Western military history.)
Although Pappy was a member of the Denver Cavalry Troop “B,” he had been working at the mines in Cripple Creek at the time, was sympathetic with the miners, and had strong misgivings about being called for this sort of action.
At Serene and other activities during those trying days at the end of 1927, he met and became fast friends with Sgt. Eberhart. Later he would meet Mrs. Eberhart (whose nom de plume was Eve Bennett). Ten years later he would marry her and take on the horrendous responsibility of helping her raise six livewire children.
"It was only because I was involved in seeking out ghost towns elsewhere that I didn’t look into Serene years ago. Once I did, I became totally absorbed, not only because of its family relationship, but also because of its unique name, and its well-hidden but significant past," wrote Eberhart.
"I was disappointed that Pappy didn’t seem to share my excitement as he returned to Serene after all these years. Although he has lived in the Denver-Boulder area all of his life, he never deemed it necessary to revisit the 'historic town' nearby. The weather helped dampen his enthusiasm. Although it was the spring of 1971, it was cold and blustery, the wind went right through a person.
The cold wind probably helped take him back those 44 years since he was last there. The student soldiers camped in an open field just south of Serene. It was a particularly cold winter and the sharp wind was constant. He remembered that the “wind cut through everything you wore and you wore everything you had.”
That wasn’t the only reason Puppy remembered Serene as the “Hell Hole of Creation.” He remembers the water was terrible and the food was worse. The guardsmen devoted a large part of their time and energy to the rituals of dysentary and diarrhea. The facilities to attend these epidemic conditions were not the most alluring.
"All in all, one may understand why. Pappy was not overly excited about returning to Serene. It didn’t invoke fond memories," says Eberhart.
"There was some disappointment also, on my part, in the difficulty Pappy had in orienting himself after we arrived in what was left of Serene. But, thinking about it, that could could be understandable, also. After all, it had been 44 years, and when Pappy was last here, as an “outsider,” Serene was a “big city” with scores of buildings all over the place. Now there were only six ruins left."
His Pappy remembered that much of the town’s activity revolved around Main Street, and the railroad tracks, about a block west of Main Street. No trace remained of either.
Another account from Colorado Encyclopedia, saw it this way.
"The strike was five weeks old and strikers had been conducting morning rallies at Serene for two weeks, for the Columbine was one of the few coal mines in the state to remain in operation. On Nov. 21, 1927, five hundred miners, some accompanied by their wives and children, arrived at the north gate just before dawn. They carried three United States flags. At the direction of Josephine Roche, daughter of the recently deceased owner of the Rocky Mountain Fuel Company, the picketers had been served coffee and doughnuts on previous mornings."
That morning, the recently disbanded state police known as the Colorado Rangers were recalled to duty and would meet the picketers and bar their path. The miners were surprised to see men dressed in civilian clothes, but armed with pistols, rifles, riot guns and tear gas. The Rangers were backed up by rifle-toting mine guards stationed on the mine dump. The Head of the Rangers, Louis Scherf, shouted to the strikers, "Who are your leaders?" "We're all leaders!" came the reply. Scherf announced that the strikers would not be allowed into the town, and for a few moments the strikers hesitated outside the fence. There was discussion, with many of the strikers asserting their right to proceed. Serene had a public post office, they argued, and some of their children were enrolled in the school in Serene. One of the Rangers was reported to have taunted, "If you want to come in here, come ahead, but we'll carry you out."
According to the Colorado Encyclopedia account, "Strike leader Adam Bell stepped forward and asked for the gate to be unlocked. As he put his hand on the gate, one of the Rangers struck him with a club. A sixteen-year-old boy stood nearby and was holding one of the flags. The banner was snatched from him, and in the tug of war that followed, the flagpole broke over the fence. The miners rushed toward the gate, and suddenly the air was filled with tear gas launched by the police. A tear gas grenade hit Mrs. Kubic in the back, as she tried to get away. Some of the miners threw the tear gas grenades back.
The miners in the front of the group scaled the gate, led by Adam Bell's call of "Come on!" Bell was pulled down by three policemen. Viciously clubbed on the head, he fell unconscious to the ground. A battle raged over his prostrate form, the miners shielding him from the Rangers. Mrs. Elizabeth Beranek, mother of 16 children and one of the flag-bearers, tried to protect him by thrusting her flag in front of his attackers. The police turned on her, bruising her severely. Rangers reportedly seized Mrs. Beranek's flag too.
Police admitted to using clubs in the skirmish. In Scherf's words, "We knocked them down as fast as they came over the gate." Miners would later say that the clubs were lengths of gas pipe. A striker belted one Ranger in the face, breaking his nose. A pocketknife-wielding miner cut another on the hand, while other strikers pelted the Rangers with rocks. Blood gushed from a cut above one Ranger's eye, when a rock found its mark. The police then retreated.
Enraged, the strikers forced their way through the wooden gate. Jerry Davis grabbed one of the fallen flags, as hundreds of angry miners surged through the entrance. Others scaled the fence east of the gate.
The police retreated, forming two lines at the water tank; 120 yards (110 m) inside the fence. Louis Scherf fired two .45 caliber rounds over the heads of the strikers. His men responded with deadly fire directly into the crowd. The miners scattered. Twelve remained on the ground: some dead, some injured.
"At least two, and possibly three machine guns were available at the mine. Miners later claimed that their ranks were decimated by a withering crossfire from the mine tipple – a structure where coal was loaded onto railroad cars – and from a gun on a truck near the water tank. John Eastenes, 34, of Lafayette, married and father of six children, died instantly. Nick Spanudakhis, 34, of Lafayette, lived only a few minutes. Frank Kovich of Erie, Rene Jacques, 26, of Louisville and 21-year-old Jerry Davis died hours later in the hospital. The Flag of the United States Davis carried was riddled with seventeen bullet holes and stained with blood. Mike Vidovich of Erie, 35, died a week later of his injuries.
"The state police later testified that they had not used machine guns in the fight. The miners and some witnesses testified that machine guns were used. Some witnesses identified a mine guard who had climbed the tipple and may have operated the machine gun mounted there, providing one possible explanation for the discrepancy in testimony. However, the machine gun near the watertank was reportedly manned by one of Scherf's men," says other accounts.
UMW labor organizers and others in Lafayette, Colorado, [1913 or 1914]
United Mine Workers of America (UMWA) members gather in the 400 block of East Simpson Street in Lafayette, Colorado, with Rocky Mountain Fuel Co. executive E.E. Shumway. Left to right: Matthew Morrow, UMWA District 22 Wyoming; Jack Ramsey, Wyoming; Edgar Wallace, editor of UMWA Journal, Indianapolis; John McLennan, President UMWA District 15; Edgar Edmund Shumway, President Rocky Mountain
Fuel Company; Bert Slocum, Boulder, Colo.; Frank J. Hayes, UMWA International board member and vice president; John R. Lawson, UMWA International board member from District 15; John P. "Jack" Cassidy, Lafayette town marshal. Background at right is the I.O.O.F. meeting hall which was destroyed by fire in 1914. At left is the W.H. Frantz general store.
Denver Public Library Special Collections.
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