Editor’s note: This op-ed is by Bob Stannard, a musician, storyteller and former legislator, who works as a lobbyist for Citizens Action Network, a group that has pushed for the shutdown of Vermont Yankee.
For nearly 60 years I’ve lived in southern Vermont, and I’ve known that there was a marble quarry in Danby.
“Yup, right up there on the side of the mountain. Been there forever”, any old codger would tell you. Just another hole in the ground. Not terribly conspicuous and can’t be seen from Rt. 7.
Recently, through connections, I had the privilege to visit this remarkable work of man. Our visit coincidentally was scheduled on arguably the worst snowstorm in a winter full of worst snowstorms. When we arrived, driving up the yet-to-be-plowed road the visibility was no more than 100 feet. Giant pieces of beautiful blue ice clung to the sides of the exposed mountain near the less-than-impressive entrance. It appeared to be nothing more than a large hole in the ground; maybe big enough for small delivery truck to pass through. I was expecting to see a massive access hole. It turned out this was my only disappointment.
We were greeted by the manager of this ancient mine, Mike Blair, and given a brief overview of the quarry as we looked over maps dotted with squares. The squares represented columns that have been left so that the mountain doesn’t collapse.
“Is there a chance that the mountain could collapse?” I asked.
“There’s always a chance,” Mike replied. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into a pickup truck and begin driving into a mine that goes back into the mountain about a mile and a quarter knowing that there’s a chance it could collapse? I think he was just testing us.
There are many mines within the mine. We started at the upper level which was much smaller and well lit. We watched as a worker patiently sawed away on a 12-ton block of marble, which takes about six hours to remove. Wet, white marble dust covered our boots. We didn’t care.
The trip got much more interesting when we went to the lower mines. Mike has been in this mine for 33 years, and he is more knowledgeable about Vermont marble than anyone I’ve ever met. A good driver, too, for which we were thankful.
Mike pointed out different eras of mining as we drove down into the man-made cave. “This section over here was mined in 1914. You can still see some of the equipment left over from those days,” he said.
Strange green lighting appeared tucked off in corners and crevices provided an eerie ambience. The experience was surreal. It was like being in a sci-fi movie. At the far end of the mine we came upon a well-lit area where men were working. The foremen stopped to tell Mike that they “had a piece hangin’ from the ceiling that they had to pop.”
Mike said, “You’re in for a treat.” I had asked previously if they ever did any blasting and he said very little, because of the vibrations. “The mountain does move quite a lot, ya know.” That was not comforting.
Popping a piece of marble off the ceiling does require a little blasting. We drove back and went around the corner to keep anyone else from entering the site. There was no mistaking when the block was popped. There’s something more than a little unnerving about being a mile back into a mountain and having your liver tremble. Mike was unfazed. That helped.
We learned that three generations of workers have worked this mine since 1912. There’s about 25 years left in the lower mine, but another 100 plus years left in the mountain. The pieces of cut marble that we saw were on their way to the U.S. Supreme Court Building; the Mormon Church, J.P. Morgan’s new lobby, Arlington Cemetery and Lord & Taylor stores.
It was fascinating to learn that the mine is owned by the Swiss company, Omya, but rented by an Italian company that has a 99-year lease. It’s mined by American workers. Nearly 30 dedicated men are responsible for extracting the most beautiful stone pieces in the world. I realize that mining is not without its impact, but the impact of this project seems to be more positive than most mines.
On our way out Mike pointed to the ceiling. “I left the old catwalks,” he said. We weren’t sure what he meant. “The men of yesterday used to take the tram up the mountain and enter through that hole over there,” pointing to a modest size opening. “They would walk on these catwalks and then climb down into the mine to work.” Just looking at these catwalks gave us goosebumps.
The image of hard working Vermont men trudging into this hole in the ground will stay with me forever. My great-grandfather, Fred Stannard, swung a hammer in the Malone Mine in South Dorset. I have a little better understanding of how his work day might have been.
