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November 13, 2026 - On November 13, 1909, a fire swept through the Cherry Mine in northwestern Illinois, killing 259 men and boys. The tragedy became the third-deadliest disaster in American coal mining history and helped bring about significant changes in mine safety, labor protections, and enforcement of child labor laws. The disaster also prompted Illinois to require firefighting equipment and greater use of fire-resistant materials in mines. Its consequences extended far beyond the underground workings, leaving hundreds of families grieving and communities across the region struggling to support them.
A Modern Mine With Hidden Vulnerabilities
The St. Paul Coal Company opened the mine in 1905 to supply locomotive fuel for its controlling company, the Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul Railroad. The mine and surrounding community took their name from James Cherry, its first superintendent.
Three coal seams lay beneath the site at depths of approximately 185, 315, and 500 feet. Two vertical shafts, roughly 100 yards apart, connected the underground levels. Both contained wooden stairways and ladders. Above the main shaft stood an 85-foot steel tipple supporting the machinery that operated the hoisting cage. A large ventilation fan beside the secondary shaft circulated fresh air underground.
During its early years, Cherry produced more than 1,500 tons of coal daily. It was regarded as possibly the largest coal shaft in the country and was praised for its modern construction, equipment, and safety features. Electric lighting had been installed throughout the workings, and the company promoted the mine as fireproof.
Many employees were Italian and Eastern European immigrants, some of whom spoke little or no English. A substantial number had come from Streator, Illinois, about 100 miles southwest of Chicago, giving Cherry a reputation as a Streator “colony.” Boys as young as 11 also worked underground. Miners generally earned their wages according to coal output rather than a fixed hourly rate.
How the Fire Began
That Saturday, 481 men and boys were working underground alongside approximately three dozen mules. Most mining activity was concentrated in the second seam, about 315 feet below the surface.
Although the mine had electric lights, a damaged power line had left the system out of service for about a month. Workers instead relied on open-flame kerosene lamps, some carried through the tunnels and others positioned along the walls.
At approximately 1:15 p.m., a mine car carrying six bales of hay arrived at the second level. The hay, intended for the mules, was moved a short distance from the elevator and left awaiting transport to the stable on the third level.
The hay ignited, apparently after coming into contact with a lamp or oil from one. Workers initially treated the small blaze as something they could control, but their response was poorly coordinated. Within minutes, flames reached the overhead timbers and began spreading through the workings.
An attempt to dispose of the burning hay by sending it down the shaft failed when the load lodged before reaching the lower level.
With no underground alarm system, miners working farther from the shafts received no immediate warning. Those near the fire recognized the danger and began trying to escape, while crews in distant passages continued working.
Escape and a Fatal Rescue Attempt
Approximately 200 men and boys reached the surface through the escape routes or aboard the hoisting cage. As smoke and fire spread, falling timbers and increasingly dangerous conditions narrowed the remaining paths to safety.
Above ground, smoke emerging from the shaft alerted the community. An alarm brought relatives and residents rushing to the mine.
More than 250 workers remained underground. Some men who had escaped went back to help others.
Superintendent John Bundy, who came from Streator, quickly joined the rescue effort. One of his sons later recalled wanting to accompany him, only to be told by his mother to stay home because his father already had enough to handle. The boy never saw his father alive again.
Company physician Dr. L. D. Howe, also from Streator, descended to assist but was brought back to the surface, where he remained to treat injured miners.
A 12-man rescue party led by Bundy completed six trips underground, bringing trapped workers to safety. After the seventh descent, however, signals from below became faint and difficult to interpret. The hoist operator hesitated for several minutes despite urgent appeals from people gathered nearby.
When the cage finally returned, all 12 rescuers were dead.
The victims included Bundy; assistant mine manager Alexander Norberg; cager John Sczabrinski; driver Joseph Robeza; and miners Robert Clark, Andrew McLuckie, James Spiers, Harry Stewart, and Mike Suhe.
Three others had come from outside the mine’s workforce to help: grocer Dominic Dormento, clothier John Flood, and liveryman Isaac Lewis.
Attempts to Control the Flames
Firefighters from nearby Ladd arrived, but company officials would not allow them underground. They instead directed water into the air shafts. Much of it reached the third level, below the fire burning in the second seam, limiting its effectiveness.
Reversing the ventilation fan also failed. Rather than extinguishing the flames, the action contributed to fire spreading to the fan house and the wooden ladders and stairways in the secondary shaft, cutting off another escape route.
Mining engineer Professor R. Y. Williams of the U.S. Geological Survey arrived from Urbana, where he was based at the government’s rescue operations center at the University of Illinois. He brought equipment from the State Mine Experiment and Mine Life Saving Station, including newly developed oxygen helmets and tanks.
Williams repeatedly entered the mine over the following week while helping direct rescue and firefighting operations.
On Sunday, November 14, he requested additional hose, firefighting equipment, and fire-suppression chemicals from fire services across the state. Two special fire engines and more than 4,000 feet of hose arrived from Chicago the following day, along with numerous wagons carrying chemicals.
Further supplies of hose came from Chicago and Milwaukee on Tuesday. Chicago Fire Chief James Horan also arrived with 11 experienced firefighters selected for the assignment.
By Wednesday, crews were pumping approximately 600 gallons of water per minute into the mine. The first firefighters descended on Thursday.
Sealing the Shafts
As the fire continued, officials attempted to deprive it of air. Late Sunday, heavy planks were placed across the shaft openings and covered with wet sand.
Closing the shafts also reduced the oxygen available to anyone still alive underground and allowed dangerous mine atmospheres to develop.
Among the hazards was “black damp,” an oxygen-deficient mixture commonly containing nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and water vapor. It could suffocate people and animals even where flames had not reached them.
The decision to close the shafts caused intense anger among families who feared trapped miners might still reach an exit only to find it blocked. Authorities called in the Illinois National Guard to maintain order.
On Wednesday, reports that knocking or thudding had been heard underground renewed the community’s distress, and two companies of guards were brought in.
Below ground, some miners survived for a time in isolated groups, unable to get past the heat, smoke, and dangerous gases.
A recovery crew later found a note beside the body of a young miner, Sam Howard. He described encountering dead men and mules and nearly losing his own life while trying to help others. His final message, recorded at 12:44 p.m. Monday, said the men were weakening and believed their lives were nearing an end.
The “Eight-Day Men”
One group protected itself by constructing a makeshift barricade against the fire and gases. Without food, the men survived by drinking water that seeped from a coal seam. As conditions worsened, they moved farther into the workings to find breathable air.
On Saturday, November 20, a week after the fire began, 21 miners emerged alive. Known as the “eight-day men,” they had dismantled their barrier and ventured out looking for additional water when they encountered rescuers.
One of the 21 died two days later from complications associated with asthma.
After the survivors were brought out, the company again sealed the mine because fire remained underground. About three months later, it reopened the workings so recovery teams could retrieve those who had died.
The final death toll was 259.
Streator’s Loss
Streator’s connection to Cherry made the disaster particularly devastating there. At 11:30 p.m. on the night of the fire, a special CI&S train departed Streator carrying approximately 200 people, nearly all with a relative or friend at the mine.
Many victims had lived in Streator, and their bodies were returned there for burial. A local newspaper initially identified about 46 people as “Streator’s dead,” including residents of nearby Heenanville and Kangley. That list expanded as additional bodies were recovered.
Determining an exact total remained difficult. Mining families frequently moved between communities, and inconsistent records complicated identification. Some Slavic and Lithuanian names appeared in as many as five different spellings.
Supporting the Families Left Behind
The disaster left approximately 160 widows and 470 fatherless children—a total of 630 bereaved dependents—needing assistance.
Donations arrived from across the country. By the end of November, Streator alone had contributed nearly $5,000. Contributions from individuals, the United Mine Workers, the Red Cross, and other organizations eventually exceeded $444,000.
Public anger over the deaths and the company’s treatment of the victims’ families intensified demands for stronger protections.
Illinois adopted tougher mine-safety requirements the following year. In 1911, lawmakers enacted separate legislation that helped establish the framework for the Illinois Workmen’s Compensation Act.
The disaster also strengthened pressure for changes in federal and state mining and labor rules, including closer enforcement of restrictions on child labor.
An Enduring Memorial
On May 15, 1971, the Illinois Department of Transportation and the Illinois State Historical Society erected a monument honoring those who died.
Cherry marked the disaster’s centennial on November 14, 2009, with a community commemoration and the dedication of another monument at the village hall.
The memorials recognize the 259 lives lost and the lasting role the tragedy played in efforts to make coal mining safer.
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