On this date exactly 50 years ago, the world awoke to learn of a nightmare unfolding in Sheppton, a small village in Schuylkill County. For the next two weeks, the saga became headline news across the globe.

It was Aug. 13, 1963, when a cave-in at Fellin Coal Co., between Sheppton and Oneida, trapped three workers at the bottom of a mine. The men were caught inside a very small chamber about 330 feet underground.Television news, an industry still in infancy, rushed crews to the site, as did newspapers, radio stations and magazines from all around the world. The tiny town of Sheppton turned into 'Media City' for weeks.For the first 5-1/2 days, the world didn't know if the men were dead or alive.As it happened, two were trapped together, huddled against each other to stay warm. Henry Throne, 28, and David Fellin, 58, sat and shivered in total darkness, sharing a damp, cold chamber estimated at six feet long, six feet wide and almost six feet high on the "high" side.In their own words"We kept shoring up the ceiling with timber and as we did the ceiling kept getting lower," said Throne when interviewed by The Associated Press shortly after rescue.The third miner, Louis Bova, 54, scampered to a separate chamber nearby and was trapped. His position was described as "isolated on the other side of the buggy tracks."All three had been working deep inside the shaft when the cave-in happened."We were on the bottom of the mine, in a tunnel, where the sump water collects," Throne said."We could see Louis on the other side until the power line to our work lights broke. For the next couple of hours we could see a little around us with the lights on our helmets. But then they burned out. Our matches wouldn't burn down there. That was the end of the light for the next five and a-half days. In the first hour and a half, we just sat there against the wall while the debris piled higher before us in the tunnel. The rumbling from the cave-in lasted that long. There were others later."Throne said dealing with the cold in the 55-degree mine was one of the biggest challenges. Both men were wet, their clothes saturated."To keep warm, I'd sit with my legs spread and Davey would sit between my legs with his back to me and I'd breathe on his back and neck. All the time we're rocking back and forth, also to keep warm. Then Davey would switch and do the same for me. We'd do this for five to 10 minutes at a time. Then we'd stop but only for five minutes, say, because then we'd be cold again. Most times it felt like about 30 degrees above zero."They dozed off sparingly, Throne recalled."To keep warm, we'd sleep face to face with our arms around each other. We'd sleep maybe half an hour and then the cold would wake us and we'd start rocking again to get some circulation."The men struggled to keep up their spirits and their determination to survive."The fifth day was the worst. I think that was the closest we came to death. That's when it started raining and we could hear it coming down the drainage pipes and we thought we'd be drowned. Thank God it rained only about 20 minutes," said Throne.But the real miracle came on the sixth day.Contact made"We hadn't heard the first drill coming down. First thing we knew a microphone was dropped down a hole near us. We heard voices yelling our names from above. We crawled as fast as we could over the debris to the mike hanging from the first six-inch hole. We kept yelling, 'here we come, here we come,' as we crawled over to that hole."Up on the surface they asked us what we needed and soon we got clothes and hamburgers and soup and coffee. We weren't cheering yet. We were far from certain of getting out then because so far only a six-inch hole had reached us."Work lights were lowered on a cord. Later they sent us flashlights," Throne said.The final days inside the mine were ones of anxiety and anticipation, Throne recalled."The next day they started drilling a 12-inch hole. We could hear it above. But this drill hit a sulphur ball that's as hard as a diamond so they quit trying in this post."The next day we could hear them drilling again and they got deep enough but they missed us on direction."They moved the drill a few feet and this time, thank God, they reached us with the first 12-inch hole, the first escape hole."This was 10 days and six and a half hours after the cave-in trapped us."They sent us heating pads (powered by an electric line from above) and one sleeping bag. One of us would work while the other slept. They sent us timbers and boards and nails and we kept shoring up our ceiling."We were working 14-16 hours a day. We were exhausted but we felt like singing. I remember singing 'Mona Lisa' and 'South of the Border' and 'Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darling.'The rescue"And now it was Monday, Aug. 26. It was 6:01 p.m., they told us, and the big reamer that was widening the hole to 18 inches was only six inches over us. Twenty minutes later that big gorgeous reamer broke through. I yelled up 'Send us a line down. I'm coming up!'"Throne said the final moments were spent preparing to be pulled to the surface."Finally, the coveralls and harnesses came down and we put them on. I greased Davey's shoulders and arms and hips and he did the same for me."And now it was 2 a.m. and I was being hauled up slowly. They stopped me two or three times and it seemed forever. Then they started again and I was spinning. Finally, there it was the surface, the air, the people."As the air hit me, I felt dizzy and fell into that basket-type stretcher. I was thinking I'm out now, I'm out now, and I cried for the first time."What helped them to survive? Throne said it was determination and faith."I can only guess it must have been our willpower, our strong wish to get out. We prayed two or three times an hour 'Dear Lord, help us get out, help us get out,' I said aloud over and over."Throne said the cave-in had a profound impact."Until now, I never went to church more than a couple of times in my life. Now I'll go regular. I want to keep thanking God."Henry Throne lived 35 more years. He died in May, 1998, at age 63.David Fellin lived 27 years after the rescue. He passed away in 1990 at age 84.The mine entrance, a sharp vertical slope, is gone. The opening was permanently sealed and the area landscaped. The mine head is no longer visible. However, three bore holes remain, each about six inches in diameter. The area is about one-quarter mile from the nearest paved road and now part of a parcel owned by Sheppton Hunting Club.Nestled there in the woods is a tombstone surrounded by a white picket fence. It pays silent tribute to Louis Bova, who never made it out. Bova's body has been entombed in the mine for 50 years.Those who remember the event describe a roller coaster of emotions, tears of joy blended with heartbreak.The Sheppton Mine Disaster remains one of the most dramatic stories in the history of anthracite mining.