WE NEVER FORGET Night of February 7, 1913, Holly Grove, West Virginia Francis Estep Shot Down by Gunthugs, Survived by Pregnant Wife and Small Child
United Mine Workers of America marker to honor Francis Estep, placed at his grave at Holly Grove, WV, many years after his death:
The Estep home at Holly Grove, 1913:
Clifford Allan Estep, son of Francis Estep, about 1913:
Poem written for little son of Cesco Estep, Martyr of Holly Grove
THE STRIKER’S ORPHAN CHILD
-by Walter Seacrist
My father was a striker back in nineteen and thirteen. He was the sweetest daddy; he never treated us mean. He worked in dark and danger, almost day and night To earn for us a living, to bring us all up right.
We all were Oh so happy. We were so wondrous blest. The Union issued a strike call. Dad came out with the rest To better his condition, that he might not be a slave, That they might have a Union, and get a living wage.
They cared no more for the miner than a cat does for a mouse. They came on cold and rainy days and throwed them from their house. Mothers with newborn babies, so innocent and so sweet, Without the least protection were cast out in the street.
And as I look around me and see the same thing near, I wonder what would happen if Daddy could be here With some of his old buddies of nineteen and thirteen For he could not stand to see little children treated mean.
On February the seventh, eleven o’clock at night, The sky was clear and beautiful, the stars were shining bright. The high sheriff and his gunmen up from Charleston came And shot up our village from that fatal Bull Moose train.
My Daddy heard the shooting and rushed us from our bed And a few moments later he was found dead. While trying to get us to safety and find for us a place An explosive rifle bullet had torn away his face.
Don’t weep for me or Mother, although you might feel bad, Just try to help keep alive some other boy’s dad. And when we meet in heaven, on that golden strand, Then you can see my Daddy and clasp his blessed hand.
Hellraisers Journal – Thursday June 19, 1913
Charleston, West Virginia – Summary of Testimony before Senate Committee
From The Omaha Daily News of June 18, 1913:
United States Senate Committee Taking Testimony in the Kanawha Hotel, Charleston, West VirginiaGroup of Paint Creek Coal Miners’ Wives and Children
Tuesday June 10, 1913
Charleston, West Virginia – First Session of the Senate Investigating Committee
The Senate Investigating Committee began taking testimony this morning in Charleston. Five U.S. Senators make up this committee: Senator Swanson, the Chairman, and Senators Martine, Shields, Borah, and Kenyon. Together they are more formally known as the Subcommittee of the Committee on Education and Labor of the United States Senate. They are here to investigate conditions in the Paint Creek District of West Virginia. Also present were the attorneys representing the United Mine Workers and the coal operators. Bonner S. Hill, Sheriff of Kanawha County was also represented by counsel.
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Friday June 13, 1913, Afternoon Session Charleston, West Virginia – Testimony of Maud Estep, the widow of Francis Estep
Maud Estep was called as a witness before the Senate Investigating Committee. She was sworn in by Senator Kenyon. Mrs. Estep is the widow of Francis Estep, the striking miner who was shot down during the attack on the Holly Grove Strikers’ Colony last February.
This is a summary of her testimony:
She continues to reside at Holly Grove. Before the strike she lived on Cabin Creek and Acme. Her husband died on the 7th of February of this year. Her husband was shot by gunmen from the Bull-Moose Special as it passed by their house.
Well, he was shot from the train, I suppose; the train went up there, and they were shooting from the train at the house..Between 10 and 11 o’clock, some time; I don’t just exactly know what time; that was by my time.
At the time of the shooting, they were living in house across from the station, near the creek.
She describes the panic as shots were fired at the house:
He was in the house when the train commenced shooting down on the other side. We were all in the house sitting there carrying on and talking. We heard the train come shooting, and he hollered for us to go to the cellar, and he went out the front door – him and some more boys that were in there; they ran out of the front door, and I went through the kitchen way, and I never got any farther than the kitchen door; we were all trying to get to the cellar. He was standing right at the corner of the cellar near the kitchen door where I was standing hollering for me to go and get into the cellar. It was so dark that I could just see the bulk of him. It scared me so – and I had a little one in my arms – that I could not go any farther.His cousin was there on a visit, and after the train commenced shooting he took hold of me and told me not to fall, and about that time a shot struck him [the cousin] in the leg.
The cellar of the house was right off the ground. The house was elevated a few feet above the ground.
There had been a cellar under there, and it was torn down, and they were fixing it up, so if any trouble started I could go there.
She was pregnant at the time, and that baby is 2 months old now. The child that she was holding as her husband was shot will be 2 years old on the 16th of September.
The first thing we heard was shots from the train. I suppose it started from the train. It was away below our house. We live up above the first town where the station is…We heard [the train] after it commenced shooting. We had not heard it before. We had our doors closed.
She learns that her husband is dead:
I didn’t know he was killed until after the train quit shooting, and I heard some of them speak to him and call his name, and I never heard him answer…[His body was] right on the outside of the house, pretty near to the back corner of the house.
She has never been back to that house since the night her husband was killed.
Her husband did have gun, but she is unsure if he was holding it when he was shot.
Her husband’s last words:
The last I heard him he was hollering for me to go in and get in the cellar. Hessie Willis was in there with me, and me and her went out the back way, and he was standing there; I could just see him in the dark; I could just see the bulk of him in the dark, and he was saying: “You women get in right quick; get in the cellar.”
Hellraisers Journal – Wednesday June 18, 1913
Charleston, West Virginia – Wives of Miners Testify before Senate Committee
From the Chicago Day Book of June 17, 1913:
MOTHERS AND BABIES WERE VICTIMS OF THE WAR
IN THE KINGDOM OF WEST VIRGINIA
By Mary Boyle O’Reilly.
Charleston, W. June 17.-The laws of war among all civilized nations and most savage tribes prescribe the removal of all women and children from the peril of the firing line.
For a year West Virginia has been in a state of war, the war of the twentieth century struggle of workers and organized capital.
The U. S. Senate sub-committee on labor, now hearing testimony concerning the Paint Creek coal mine war, sits in a long, low banquet room in the Kanawha Hotel here. Pale blue walls without, decoration, cheap deal tables for the committee and the various counsel, indicate the grim business-like atmosphere of the place.
The room is crowded to suffocation with blue-shirted miners, standing, for once, shoulder to shoulder, with burly railway detectives and rat-faced mine guards whose hunched-up coats indicate the holsters holding loaded arms.
About the tables on either side gather the opposing counsel the sleek, tame solicitors of great coal corporations summery in pale gray and fawn-colored clothes; the half-dozen alert, coatless young lawyers of the United Mine Workers of America whose team-work under their chief, Judge Monnett, former attorney general of Ohio, is the one bright spot in the proceedings.
And at the committee table, facing the room, sit the senators-Martine, the living portrait of a cavalier, whose tongue is a rapier; Swanson, the senator long on corporation concern, but short on human sympathy, and Kenyon of Iowa, on whose calm judgment the troubled citizens of Kanawha county instinctively have their hope.
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[Friday, June 13th, afternoon session:] The packed hearing room was insufferably hot. Long, familiar evidence dragged. A witness testifying of outrages perpetrated on unoffending strikers by the coal corporations mine-guards used the word, “Thugs.” A florid “company counsel” protested. A junior among the miners’ lawyers seemed to acquiesce. Then-
“Mrs. Parker,” he called.
“Mrs. Estep-Mrs. Seville.”
They came at once-three miners’ wives, typical women of the coal valleys, arid tidy and self-respecting, in heavy, long-sleeved shirtwaist belted with pleated alpaca skirts.
Hellraisers Journal – Friday April 25, 1913 Martial Law/Strike Zone, West Virginia – Cora Older Speaks with Mother Jones
From Collier’s National Weekly of April 19, 1913:
Answering a Question
By MRS. FREMONT OLDER
Mrs. Older is the wife of Fremont Older, editor of the San Francisco “Bulletin,’’ who was one of the citizen leaders responsible for the overthrow of the Schmitz boodle gang and for the conviction of Abe Ruef. But Mr. Older is a newspaper man before he is a reformer. Hence his question-which herewith Mrs. Older answers.
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MOTHER JONES and forty-eight men were on trial before a military court in Paint Creek Junction, W. Va., charged with conspiracy to murder. Mother Jones and five leaders refused to plead; they would not admit that the military court had jurisdiction over civilians. It was an interesting situation, but little news came to the outside world.
“Why don’t we get news from West Virginia?” my husband asked me one morning. So I started from San Francisco to find out.
On the last day of the trial I arrived in Paint Creek Junction [Pratt], the military capital of the strike zone. A few small houses tilted toward the muddy New River. Barren brown mountains imprisoned the town.
A flag fluttered freely over the dingy village. A soldier greeted me as I got down from the train. Soldiers swarmed about the little railway station converted into a “bull pen” for strikers on trial. Through the streets at the point of guns soldiers were driving civilians. “Prisoners,” some said; “Martial law.” Former Governor Glasscock’s proclamation posted on the little green lunch counter at the station spelled it “Marital law.”
Pickles are served at breakfast in Paint Creek Junction. “Lena Rivers” is the “best seller,” but the place is filled with class hatred and suspicion. One whispers; soldiers may hear. Americans of old colonial stock sneer at the militia. “Yellow legs!” “Spies!” “Strike breakers!”
EVERY man is his own Marconi in Paint Creek Junction. In half an hour it was known that a strange woman had arrived to visit Mother Jones. A messenger tiptoed into my boarding house to say that Mother Jones and the prisoners were allowed to meet no one, especially reporters; but if I wanted to find out about conditions I’d better talk with Mother Jones’s landlady. “Go to the side door, and into the kitchen.”
By this time I felt like a conspirator. I almost tiptoed through the soldiers. Mother Jones occupied the parlor of a small white cottage. I was welcomed by the landlady. We were chatting in the kitchen when, without rapping, an officer entered and said to me: “The Provost Marshal wants you at headquarters.”
“Why?” I asked, bewildered. I did not know I was under arrest.
Martial law was in the soldier’s glance. He repeated his command. “And they call us anarchists,” commented the fiery-eyed, white-faced landlady.
Through the main street, past armed sentinels, up a flight of stairs to a large room filled with empty benches and stacked guns, we went to the Provost Marshal. Stern, unsmiling as justice, he asked me to explain my presence and my existence. I told him the truth. The Provost Marshal frowned. I wondered about the “bull pen.” I made the discovery that I am no Christian martyr. I am a sybarite hopelessly prejudiced against bull pens. I fumbled in my bag and brought forth an engraved card. I was released on good behavior.
But I was able now to answer the question which had brought me across a continent. The PROVOST MARSHAL was the ASSOCIATED PRESS CORRESPONDENT.
Hellraisers Journal – Thursday February 13, 1913
Holly Grove, West Virginia – Mother Jones Speaks at Funeral of Francis Estep
From The Washington Times of February 11, 1913:
Cesco Estep, striker…was buried yesterday [February 10th near Holly Grove, West Virginia]. At his funeral, “Mother” Jones made an appeal to the men to get their guns and “Shoot them to hell,” meaning the mine watchmen and others who will not join their ranks.
[Emphasis added.
Note: Initial reports, in newspapers across the nation, claim that a striking miner, “Robert Estep,” was killed during rioting at Mucklow. In fact the striking miner killed was Francis Estep, member of the United Mine Workers of America. He was murdered at Holly Grove by gunthugs firing upon men women and children from a train-car called the “Bull Moose Special.” The attack was perpetrated against the small village at about 10 p. m. Residents scrambled for shelter and few miners were able to respond to the attack in an attempt to defend their families.
From the Richmond Times Dispatch (Virginia) of February 9, 1913:
Hellraisers Journal, Sunday July 28, 1918
Chicago, Illinois – Testimony of Ralph Chaplin
Report from Defendant Harrison George:
Ralph Chaplin, defendant, artist-poet, and editor of “Solidarity” during 1917, took the stand on the morning of July 19th, 1918, and gave an account of how his life’s events had influenced his conclusions upon industrial and political questions. Born in Kansas thirty years ago, he had studied art at night-school while working during the day-time in the darkroom, “Spot-knocking” photographs. Later, another boss, knowing he was a “scissor-bill,” had him pledge $10 a week out of a $16 wage to invest $500 in the boss’ business. When that was paid in, the boss told him to go to hell and got another victim. This $500 was recovered because Chaplin was a minor when the contract was made; so he took this and started into business for himself with the ambition to be “independent.” But—he found a trust controlled all supplies and he was unable to buy anywhere and had to quit. So he went back to the easel, working for wages.
He then went to Mexico for one year and noted the extreme poverty of the peon class under the Diaz regime. Coming back, he had worked for the Chicago Portrait Company until the artists struck against conditions there. When that strike was lost he went to West Virginia, where he did artist work in the coal mining region. For several years previous he had been an enthusiastic member of the Socialist Party, “soap-boxing” and writing articles.
In West Virginia he did much work on the “Socialist and Labor Star” at Charleston [Huntington], which paper became the spokesman for the U. M. W. of A. coal miners’ strike at Paint Creek and Cabin Creek. During this strike Chaplin acquired his hatred of the labor-crushing militia. He described to the jury the “Bull Moose Special,” an armored train, built by union machinists in the C. & O. shops, loop-holed for machine guns and rifles; a train that was manned by Baldwin-Felts detectives and commanded by Quinn Morton, a company superintendent, and in the darkness run through the strikers’ colony at Holly Grove, belching death to men, women and children.
Chaplin came out of that strike zone with undying hate for industrial tyranny. He had written many poems about that strike and Vanderveer read them to the jury: “What Happened in the Hollow,” “The Mine Guard,” “When the Leaves Come Out,” and “Too Rotten Rank for Hell.” The latter Vanderveer asked about. “Does it express your contempt for the prostitute newspaper men?” “Well,” said Chaplin, “a part of it.”
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