Harlan County: The Coal-Mining Saga

Oct 22, 2025
3 min read

Updated: Nov 4, 2025

Early Glory and Grit (1920s–1930s)

By the late 1920s, Harlan County was pumping out around 15.2 million tons of coal a year. That accounted for about a quarter of Kentucky’s output. The industry provided jobs and powered the nation, but the glory stopped there. Paychecks were puny. Miners here earned 42% less than their counterparts in Illinois. Coal operators crushed union activity and kept wages low. Safety was an afterthought.

Imagine crawling into a narrow shaft, constantly threatened by gas explosions, rock collapses, or machinery malfunctions. Miners inhaled coal dust every shift, leading to “black lung” disease. In those days, there were no OSHA inspectors—just tough men with lamps strapped to their caps and mouths full of grit.

The 1930s: Bloody Harlan and the First Coal War

Then came the Great Depression. In February 1931, the Harlan County Coal Operators’ Association cut wages by 10%. That was the last straw. Thousands of miners joined the United Mine Workers (UMW) and went on strike. The companies retaliated by firing and evicting union miners. They hired private guards and enlisted Sheriff J.H. Blair’s deputies to smash picket lines.

Violence spiraled. Strikers ambushed a company convoy at the Battle of Evarts, killing three company men and wounding several others. The county earned the nickname “Bloody Harlan” as 13 miners and 5 mine guards were killed over the next few years. State and federal troops occupied the county multiple times.

The coal companies painted unionists as “outside agitators.” Local ministers even declared that organizing was un-Christian. But the UMW and the rival National Miners Union kept fighting. It took the Wagner Act of 1935, which guaranteed workers’ right to organize, before Harlan finally unionized. By the end of the decade, most mines were under UMW contracts. The victory was bittersweet. Families had lost loved ones, but they proved that coal barons couldn’t rule forever.

Women, Folk Songs, and Solidarity (1940s–1970s)

Harlan’s next generation of miners inherited union cards and stories of resistance. Women weren’t just in the kitchen; they stood on picket lines, smuggled food into camps, and wrote protest ballads that would make any folk singer jealous. Though the industry boomed during World War II, mechanization meant fewer jobs. By the 1960s, coal demand dipped, and poverty returned, sparking another wave of activism.

The 1973–74 Brookside Strike: A Modern Showdown

When Eastover Coal, owned by Duke Power, slashed wages and tried to kill the union at the Brookside Mine in 1973, 180 workers walked out. For 13 months, they picketed. They endured over 90 arrests and around 40 acts of violence. State troopers tear-gassed rallies. Tragically, one young miner, Lawrence Jones, was shot and killed by a strikebreaker.

The miners’ wives formed the “Brookside Women” brigade, blocking roads and locking arms. Their struggle caught national attention through Barbara Kopple’s documentary “Harlan County USA.” Eventually, the company signed a contract recognizing the UMW, proving again that solidarity wins.

Decline and Preservation (1980s–Today)

By the 1980s, the coal boom had burned out. Cheap natural gas, environmental regulations, and mechanization shrank the industry. Mines closed, and families moved away. Yet Harlan doesn’t hide its past; it preserves it. You can tour the Kentucky Coal Museum in Benham or ride a mantrip into an old drift mine at Portal 31, which has been converted into an underground exhibition.

These attractions tell the story of black lung and ballot boxes, scabs and solidarity. They also bring much-needed tourist dollars to a region searching for a post-coal future.

Why This History Matters

Harlan County’s coal miners didn’t just dig rock—they dug out America’s labor rights. Their strikes helped push Congress to pass federal protections for organizing and collective bargaining. They showed that when workers stand together, even a small rural county can shake a nation. Today, coal’s future is uncertain, but our past is carved into these mountains and into the songs and stories we still tell.

As we imagine new economic paths—from tourism to clean energy—let’s carry forward the grit, humor, and solidarity that made Bloody Harlan legendary.