Stomping of Ghosts

The Stompin' of the Ghosts

Elliot Lake Mines Shut Down

by Carrie Chenier

November/December 1995 HighGrader Magazine

The time has come, the walrus said, to speak of many of things. So too, we must follow his lead and start saying our good-byes. The final chapter of uranium mining in Elliot Lake is at hand and as we go, we do so with backward glances and a recollection of old friends and good times.

Each evening walk or drive brings with it an opportunity for a final good-bye to some particular memory gained through 30 years of living here. I wonder how this town will survive when it is so busy trying to forget its past? Who will pay homage to the ghosts?

The local papers are full of the new heroes who, like us, were enticed to come here with the promise of only good times and a rewarding future. Even now, before our ashes grow cold in the Northern night, there are those who are trying to diminish the real pioneer efforts of Elliot Lake and the symbol that was at the heart of the matter-the atom. Now the worst cut of all appears to be coming from those who should appreciate and acknowledge the role it played in the building of their businesses and this town.

Having watched three major sets of lay-offs occur, the pain and agony as roots are torn up, moving vans loaded and driven away, I realized that I was not strong enough to handle this terrible loss in a single shot. So I'm doing it in smaller doses hoping this will ease the pain. I know that each time as I bid adieu to someone-it may very well be for the last time.

It's been my privilege to work with the best damned hardrock miners to come out of the North. They did everything hard-from working to mourning to caring and sharing to partying. The recently built Mining Hall of Fame includes only the company CEOs who never, ever attended an inquest for the death of a miner. None of them ever accepted responsibility either. Placed on show at the Civic Centre are the machines the miners ran-a jumbo drill, scoop tram, and man carrier. Will honest-to-God miners be retained to show their usage?

I wonder what it will be like to enter a new town with no sense of remembrance for the traditions, or have no feeling of ownership to half the buildings in my new town? A drive out to where the Quirke mine was instantly summons up a hot summer day with hundreds of people of all ages walking for pledged monies to put a new roof on the arena. They were so successful, they went on to build a second one. I see the miners and their wives huddled in the rain at strike camps because there had been more deaths in one month here than at six other camps in Northern Ontario put together. On a return trip, we recall the Denison Mine road, which disappeared in one flash flood. The miners were rowed in for the evening shift.

Who will remember the saga of Quirke #3? For those of us in the machine shop at Rio Algom, the coming of spring was signalled by numerous work orders for Quirke #3. That meant our machine shop making stainless steel parts for a maple sugar bush, owned and operated by the Mill manager.

Who can forget the days of the "old Nordic" (rumoured to have the longest bar in Ontario) and the real Uranium Festival-the days of laughing, singing and enjoying the neighbours? B.B.Q.'d beef will never taste as good as it did when mixed with that Nordic Hotel parking lot sand.

Then there was getting the groceries. It took two hours to do the shopping (with a cart stacked to its limits) because you knew everyone. School news was exchanged, along with ball scores, fishing holes and work information for the cross shift. Now the stores have piped in music because there is no conversation other than "Hello" and oh, yes-"have a nice day."

By the time we got from the soccer practice to the swimming lessons to the school interviews there wasn't much left of our day. A quiet cup of coffee on the front step, chatting with our neighbours and listening to the sounds of the night settling in was a treat in itself.

Our homes weren't the show-pieces they've been turned into today. When our miners were laid off, they had no job offers and no place to go. They were turned out of the houses they had worked hard to fix up so the mining companies could give them away to the Town Council for a dollar. With no jobs in sight, the workers had to leave their cozy nests for less satisfactory living quarters.

How many people going to the hospital realize that we have a first class emergency room because every employee at Denison and Rio donated wages from their cheques for a year to build it? And how about Cleta Sarich, our Emergency Room Director and soother of many worried Moms before the doctor's arrival? Now there's a book waiting to be written.

A walk brings me past Heather and Myles' house. No matter how many families reside there in the future, it will always be Heather and Myles' home-a warm, welcome place, worthy of the Irish name of Moynan. How many people on Frobel Road know the history of this place? Gus Frobel was the first successful lung cancer claim in this camp. Shame on us.

Go down past the Royal Canadian Legion-a shell left with most of its builders now supporting little white crosses in Woodlawn Cemetery. Our pioneer Legionnaires met in restaurants, curling clubs and basements to raise money for a place to fly the flag they honoured, only to be forgotten. The talk is of bigger and better things in other Branches, while our living historians are too discouraged to attend meetings now.

And finally, the Union Hall. Here's where the ghosts really stomp loudly and continue to cry for justice. With 4,000 Steelworker members this place used to vibrate day and night. Union meetings were vocal, physical and always held with much gusto. "Hey man, I paid my dues," was a cry we heard over and over. Working in an office directly over the meeting hall, one never had to question when Local 5762 was having a meeting - the telephone wouldn't stay on the desk.

The hall is so damned quiet now, except for the whispered bids in Bridge and the lonely voice of a Bingo caller on Friday afternoon. Widows still enter seeking compensation and justice for the untimely death of a loved one from silicosis or lung cancer. The companies proudly display the green, green grass now covering the tailing effluent. Go to the real green pasture of Woodlawn cemetery for a sense of reality.

Our proud history as Steelworkers in this town is the subject of another article or book. But as I sit quietly writing this, I hear the footsteps of leaders such as Leo Gerrard, Wayne Glibbery, John Perquin, Ed Vance and Homer Seguin. They were trained in this camp, survived the deadly politics of the Union game, and went on to alter forever the face of working men and women in this country. I miss them all.

Breaking trail is never easy. Breaking trail alone is impossible. I have broken my own here, from the non traditional work role to mentor younger, fresher fighters of injustice. The sisterhood that was formed through, tears, tribulations and just pure tenacity lasts to this day. When I felt betrayed, saw big and little successes, went through my babes leaving the nest, as I buried my friends and endured harassment, from both Union sources and Company officials, I could always rely on Brother Dan Hutchinson - mentor, friend, teacher. He believed in these miners and he stood behind their fights for a safer and more humane work environment.

It says much for his leadership that many of our former Union officials and workmates still call on him to discuss various roles and laws in the area of Health and Safety or the Contract language he was so instrumental in shaping for so many mining Locals.

To leave behind Bob Blewett, Hubert Fischer, Ed Sigurdson, Gary Dokis, and the Little Puke (aka Ron Kellner) brings on an actual pain so strong it makes me gasp for my breath. Others feel this pain too, and the frustration and the anger that comes from a sense of betrayal. But I am a woman. It's o.k. for me to cry.

Would I change an hour or a day? Well maybe just a tad-but never the people.

See you around, Partner!

Carrie Chenier has been employed by Rio Algom Mine for 20 years. Currently she is working as an underground crusher operator on the 4100 level at Stanleigh mine. Carrie is also the compensation officer for Local 5417. Carrie was the first woman hired in the production and maintenance unit.

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