Pat, Shorty and Dunk
John's tribute to two cheerful, hardworking miners, Pat Patten and Shorty Dunkel, and to Shorty's son Paul — still known decades later as "Dunk" — whose stubborn common sense as a novice tunneler got the better of a DuPont engineer's own blasting instructions.
The day goes better if you greet it with a smile. Pat Patten and Shorty Dunkel knew that and they were the first men I wanted to see when I reached the mine or mines where we broke ore. They loved their work, they respected their fellow man, and their grins, from ear to ear, were infectious and genuine. There was no pretense or consideration of importance other than to be useful and give their employer their best efforts each shift.
Paul, Shorty's son and now affectionately called "Dunk," inherited Shorty's best characteristics and added a few of his own. He was a methodical miner, believing in the adage that haste makes waste. I was working near Dunk when he was a novice tunneler and usually cycled out in time to help him. On one occasion, he had drilled out his round and I was helping him load the explosives in each hole. I operated the tamping stick and Dunk placed the sticks of dynamite at the edge of the holes for me to push to the end then forcefully tamp as securely as possible. I noticed he was placing the wrong end outward which, according to instructions, would not allow proper expansion. I told him to switch ends on the sticks. He asked me why and I advised him the sticks didn't tamp as tight the direction he pointed them. He said, "Mister Jackson, I have found they tamp better this way." I snorted, "E. I. DuPont has engineers and blasting experts who study the effects and write the instructions." He looked at me, disbelieving, so I suggested we tamp a stick his way, then one my way, measuring the depth with a steel tape to see if he was smarter than DuPont's engineer. The tape went in farther after tamping his way and I had to admit that Paul "Dunk" Dunkel's common sense approach was superior to the finest engineer's calculus.
I recently saw Paul and he is still known as "Dunk" which seems disrespectful to me but, like his father, he feels useful but not important. He is important to me because his humble way restores me to plain Thundermug Jackson when I begin feeling important.
Due to physical problems I was forced to leave the dark holes and began laboring on a construction project where I mixed mud for rockwork and concrete for related work. A garage and new home were being built and a fireplace with native rock chimney were to grace the log structure. The foreman asked me if I knew where they might get flat moss rock for the fireplace. I immediately thought of Dunk. When he was working at the Equity Mine he hauled a little moss rock home each day from a talus slope and had amassed a pile of at least two tons by his house. I thought he could use the money so I approached him about buying it. He said, "You know, Mister Jackson, you are the third one to offer to buy the rock. This is the first time in my life I have had something someone else wanted, no sir."