ixty years ago, the hour-by-hour drama of an unimaginable event in a small village in Schuylkill County gripped the world.

It was so shocking that it commanded help from famous billionaire Howard Hughes and grabbed the attention of President John F. Kennedy.

The Sheppton Mine Disaster and its three lost men was a two-week roller coaster of emotions. It held people spellbound and was one of the first on-the-scene news events to broadcast on live television around the globe.

It also was the first time a bore hole was drilled through solid rock to rescue trapped miners, a technique still used today.

Cave-in

It was Aug. 13, 1963, when a cave-in at Fellin Coal Company between Sheppton and Oneida trapped three workers in total blackness 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.

For the first 5½ days, nobody knew if the men were dead or alive. But bore holes eventually broke through, allowing rescuers to make contact and supply food.

Two were trapped together, Henry Throne, 28, and David Fellin, 58. Some said the two shared a father-son relationship. They sat huddled together to stay warm in a damp, cold chamber estimated at six feet long, six feet wide and almost six feet high on the “high” side.

The third, Louis Bova, 42, was trapped in an adjacent chamber.

Finally, two weeks after the cave-in, a bore hole large enough to fit a human succeeded in breaking through the chamber ceiling.

Throne and Fellin covered themselves in axle grease, strapped on a harness, and were hoisted to the surface.

The amazing rescue relied heavily on carbide tungsten drill bits and equipment provided by billionaire Hughes. Termed “a miracle,” the rescue elicited a congratulatory telegram from President Kennedy.

But all was not well. And “miracle” can be a relative term.

Never found

Bova was never rescued. They just couldn’t find him. He remains entombed at the site to this day.

His son John, 61, lives in the nearby settlement of Lower Shaft, a section of William Penn village near Shenandoah.

John was eight months old when the cave-in took the father he never got to know, a tragedy that later shaped his life.

He lived with the stigma of the mine disaster and learned to cope, he says.

“I came to grips with it because I can’t change it.”

So he tried to follow in his dad’s footsteps, becoming an anthracite coal miner.

At one point, while working a bootleg mine, John descended deep inside the earth, same as his father. He sensed a feeling of peace.

“I felt close to him.”

But at home, the tragedy tore apart the family, exacerbating his mother Eva’s medical woes.

She was in and out of hospitals after the traumatic experience, he says.

“My mom was sickly all her life.”

He says she rarely spoke of the tragedy.

“She was quiet. I guess it was her way of letting it go.”

Tribute

Over the years, John has had his body tattooed with images that pay homage to his father.

One large, colorful piece of art across the back of his shoulders reads “Never Seen, Never Forgotten.”

In an especially moving moment, John hiked to the cave-in site to spread his mother’s ashes.

On Aug. 15, 2013, he made sure his mother and father would be together forever. A final gesture of love from a devoted son who lost too much.

“I wanted to do it long ago but the ground wasn’t blessed,” he said.

As for the others, Throne lived 35 more years. He died in May 1998, age 63.

Fellin lived 27 years after rescue. He passed in 1990, age 84.

Today, the mine entrance is gone.

The opening was permanently sealed and the area landscaped. But three bore holes remain, each about six inches in diameter.

There, a lone grave site marks the spot where Bova entered and never returned.

The area is about one-quarter mile from the nearest paved road. It’s located on private property, part of a parcel owned by Sheppton Hunting Club.

For many, the Sheppton tragedy, along with the Cuban missile crisis and JFK Assassination, came to symbolize the turmoil of the early 1960s.

On its 60th anniversary, the disaster remains one of the most compelling stories in the history of anthracite mining.

And that’s very important to John. Because when people speak of a miracle at Sheppton, he has a hard time finding a sense of joy.

His dad is still there, somewhere in the tunnel of Oneida Slope No. 2.

“I don’t want people to forget.”

At its best, King Coal built America’s infrastructure, fueled its economy and warmed its homes.

At its worst, it ripped families apart. It took away dads who never came home.

It left hearts forever broken.

And scars too deep to heal.