8 Remembering Ludlow: The 1913–1914 Coal Strike and the Politics of Public Memory

April 7, 2009

On May 30, 1918, 3,000 people gathered in a field just north of the Ludlow, Colorado, train depot. The United Mine Workers of America had leased this land in 1913 for the largest of eight tent colonies it erected to house miners and their families evicted from company housing when they struck three coal companies in southern Colorado. The crowd came in 1918 to dedicate a granite memorial to seventeen people who died during the strike, which climaxed on April 20, 1914, in an event known as the Ludlow Massacre.¹

As in other Colorado miners’ strikes, the coal operators requested state troops quickly after the strike was called in September, 1913. On October 28, 1913, Democratic Governor Elias Ammons sent the Colorado National Guard.² As the strike wore on, company guards and hired guns were mustered in as soldiers. On April 20, some of them shot and killed UMWA organizer Louis Tikas and two other strikers. Then they poured machine gun fire into the Ludlow tent colony, killing two more union men and eleven-year-old Frank Snyder. Witnesses said the guardsmen shot at anything that moved, set fire to tents, and looted families’ possessions. The miners fought back with rifles they had hidden in case of attack. Some of the women and children ran for shelter in nearby arroyos; some hid in a well; some huddled in underground pits the strikers had dug under the tents in case of just such violence. When the fires burned out the next morning, camp residents discovered the bodies of two women and eleven children who suffocated and died in one pit: Patricia Valdez and her four children, the pregnant Cedilano Costa and her two children, the three Petrucci children, and Cloriva and Roderlo Pedregon, ages four and six. Altogether, twenty people died on April 20, including one militia man, Private Albert J. Martin, whose body appeared to have been subsequently mutilated, although official reports differed regarding the nature of his injuries and the alleged mutilations.³

Union officials wired UMWA national headquarters that “all hell is loose in this state” and issued a “Call to Rebellion” for miners to organize into military-like companies. One thousand furious strikers armed with carbines mounted “a coordinated attack” on the National Guard. Fighting raged over a fifty-mile front until May 1, when the U.S. army arrived to intervene on President Woodrow Wilson’s orders.⁴

The full death toll remains unknown: different sources report wildly different figures. The number of battle casualties was never clear, and the total depends on when one starts counting, because the violence started long before April 20, 1914. On September 23, 1913, miners walked off their jobs in the coal towns that stretched south along the front range of the Rockies. Of 11,000 miners in the southern fields, 9,000 left the mines at the Rocky Mountain and Victor American Fuel Companies, and at the largest company, Colorado Fuel and Iron, or CF&I, controlled by the Rockefeller family.⁵ Before the strike began, though, on August 16, two Baldwin-Felts detectives who worked for the coal operators shot and killed UMWA organizer Gerald Lippiati on the street in Trinidad, Colorado.⁶ On September 24, Bob Lee, a hated mine guard widely regarded as a rapist, was killed in the Segundo camp, probably by a Greek striker, as Lee charged strikers on horseback and drew his rifle. The Rocky Mountain News considered his death “the first flame of outlawry which sprang from the smoldering fires of class hatred in the southern coal field.”⁷ On October 7, two strikers and a guard were killed at Ludlow. Another union man was killed two days later. On October 17, the CF&I Death Special, a car equipped with armored plating and an armored machine gun, shot into the UMWA tent colony at Forbes, killing one striker, shooting a young girl in the face, and hitting a boy nine times in the legs.⁸

Nor was Ludlow unique in a long history of brutal strikes that had rocked Colorado coal and metal mining communities for decades, strikes waged over the same demands for which the coal miners struck in 1913.⁹ They wanted union recognition, an eight-hour day, and a 10 percent increase in tonnage rates. They wanted pay for all “dead work”—work that did not directly produce coal and was therefore unpaid labor for miners paid by the ton, not the day. Dead work included breaking rock, timbering mine shafts to prevent cave-ins, and removing rock falls. Short weights also cut their pay, so the miners demanded “a check-weighman at all mines to be elected by the miners, without any interference by the company officials in said elections.” They continued: “We demand the right to trade in any store we please, and the right to choose our own boarding place and own doctor.” “We demand the enforcement of the Colorado mining laws and the abolition of the notorious and criminal guard system which has prevailed in the mining camps of Colorado for many years”—guards who identified union supporters to be fired and blacklisted.¹⁰

Four of these demands were Colorado state law, enacted through past struggles. Union recognition was a demand in 1903–1904, when a strike wave rocked the northern and southern Colorado coal fields, Idaho Springs, the Cripple Creek District, Telluride, and Colorado City. Some of those strikes were waged for an eight-hour day, after the state legislature ignored a statewide referendum that approved an eight-hour law for mines and smelters.¹¹

Colorado coal and hardrock communities shared this strike history, but a different union, the Western Federation of Miners, organized the hardrock miners, who mined precious metals and who were more native born, more northern and western European than the coal miners. Unionized hardrock miners drove out Mexicans, Chinese, and southern and eastern Europeans to maintain what they called “White man’s camps.”¹² The hardrock unions were virtually destroyed in the disastrous 1903–1904 strike wave, when the same National Guard general who commanded the troops ten years later at Ludlow, General John Chase, invaded a federal district courtroom in Cripple Creek rather than turn over union leaders as mandated by a writ of habeas corpus. Chase was court marshaled for defying Governor James Peabody, who was himself fiercely anti-union, and who reinstated Chase after his conviction for disobeying orders.¹³

Industrial conflict was nothing new in the northern Colorado lignite fields, nor in the rich bituminous fields of southern Colorado. The coal camps grew along with the railroads, beginning in the 1870s, when the Kansas Pacific; Atcheson, Topeka and Santa Fe; and Denver and Rio Grande laid their tracks across treeless prairies to Colorado. Coal miners organized the Knights of Labor in the 1880s and then joined the UMWA after it was founded in 1890.¹⁴ The Ludlow strikers identified with at least twenty-seven ethnic groups and spoke as many languages. The largest group among the southern Colorado coal miners was the Italians. Next came Hispanos and Mexican immigrants (16 percent), who coal operators considered ignorant and subhuman “foreigners,” though their ancestors had established Santa Fe in 1598. They entered the mines as Anglos took their communal Spanish land grants, leaving homes in northern New Mexico and Colorado’s San Luis Valley for wage work underground. The rest of the workforce consisted of eastern Europeans (15 percent), Anglo-Americans (13 percent), Austrians—including Serbs and Slavs—(11 percent), African Americans (7 percent), Greeks (6 percent), and a few Japanese, Germans, Scandinavians, Scotch, Irish, English, French, Spanish, and Canadians.¹⁵

The 1913 strike, like earlier ones, challenged social and economic relations in the coal camps, where miners had to live in company housing, trade at company stores, pray in company churches with ministers the company hired, and send their children to company schools—at least until they entered the mines themselves. If sick or injured, they had to go to a company doctor, who was not likely to testify against the company in cases of workplace injury.¹⁶

The miners, in fact, would argue that the strike violence began with the dangers they faced daily underground. Between 1884 and 1912, over 1,700 miners died in Colorado mines. Dust explosions were common in the dry climate, and the mine operators blatantly ignored the coal mining safety laws. Colorado’s death rate was two to three times the national average. In 1912, the Colorado death rate among miners was 6.81 per thousand; the national average was 3.12, not counting occupational deaths from diseases like black lung.¹⁷

Violence was neither new to western coal miners nor unique in the contested history of industrial America. But Ludlow wrote a pivotal chapter in that history, in part because of how it affected American public opinion and entered public memory. No industrial conflict shocked the nation, or troubled its collective conscience, more than the Ludlow massacre. Workers had been evicted and deported in previous strikes, and had died in previous labor struggles, but those deaths, especially those of immigrant men, aroused little public outcry. Children had even died, as in the 1913 Calumet miners’ strike, when someone yelled “fire” into a union Christmas party, and seventy-three people, mostly children, were crushed to death in the ensuing panic.¹⁸ But not before Ludlow had the actions of the state so clearly led to the deaths of women and children. Their deaths won some moderates to side with labor and mobilized journalists and political activists to support the strikers.

The tide of public outrage found a target. At the 1918 dedication ceremony, UMWA President Frank Hayes read his poem, “On Ludlow Field”:

But alas! There came a day.

Greed demanded: “Stalk your prey,

Fire the tents and shoot to slay!”

Here on Ludlow Field.

In the embers grey and red,

Here we found them where they bled,

Here we found them stark and dead,

Here on Ludlow Field.¹⁹

Hayes’ audience knew whose greed had caused the tragedy: the mine owners and especially John D. Rockefeller, Jr., of CF&I. After the massacre, novelist Upton Sinclair organized mourning pickets outside the Rockefeller offices and residences. Sinclair then wrote two novels inspired by Ludlow, King Coal, published in 1917 and The Coal War, which wasn’t published until 1976 because it was so transparently about Ludlow.²⁰

Even before the first shot was fired, Rockefeller knew he had a public relations problem—one born in large part of his own belligerence. On April 6, 1914, a Congressional Committee asked him if he would insist on maintaining the open shop at CF&I’s coal camps even “if it costs all your property and kills all your employees?” “It is a great principle,” Rockefeller replied.²¹ To battle the negative publicity, he hired a publicist, Ivy Lee, and future Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King, who drew up the Rockefeller Industrial Plan for a company union. This compromise led to some reform in labor-management relations without conceding any power to labor.²²

As the U.S. Commission on Industrial Relations probed the Ludlow Massacre in 1915, it became clear that Rockefeller deserved much of the blame. The Commission called Rockefeller to testify and found that, contrary to his public testimony, Rockefeller was in constant touch with CF&I management during the strike, supported his managers’ uncompromising refusal to bargain with the union, and was, to quote United States Commission on Industrial Relations Chairman Frank Walsh, “the directing mind throughout the struggle.”²³ Rockefeller did not order the massacre, but he knew massive violence was a distinct possibility.

Incredibly, then, he tried to attend the dedication of the Ludlow monument and to address the crowd. On May 30, 1918, Rockefeller and his wife arrived in a chauffeur-driven car, along with Mackenzie King. King got out, spoke with union leaders, and returned to warn Rockefeller that he was not wanted. Though it is often reported that Rockefeller attended the dedication, according to King, the Rockefellers drove off without ever leaving their vehicle.²⁴ Their departure signaled one of the most interesting outcomes of a failed strike. Labor lost the battle but seized the crucial terrain of memory.

The United Mine Workers bought the land in 1917 and dedicated the granite monument next to the site of the lethal pit. The stone cenotaph represented a coal miner, sleeves rolled up, and a woman holding a child in her arms. The names of seventeen union dead are inscribed on the monument—those shot by soldiers on April 20, 1914, and those who died in the pit (see Figure 8.1).²⁵ Every year since 1918, the UMWA has held a memorial ceremony at the massacre site. It later preserved the pit with cement walls and ceiling and built a picnic structure for the annual services. Visitors record their comments in a register that has generated an archive of memories. For instance:

September 18, 1993: We came with our family Tanya age 9 and Sergei, age 8. I told them this was a memorial for children killed in the struggle for human rights and dignity. Rosemary Zibort, Santa Fe, NM.

October 12, 1991: . . .I’m passing through—just went to my father’s funeral in California. He was Wesley J. Thompson who was born in Ludlow in 1907. He was 7 years old when the massacre happened. He saw it while he and family were in a wagon being shot at. He described the puffs of dirt popping up around the wagon from the bullets being shot at them.

July 3, 1994: I Frank Luchetta am related to Charles Costa. His brother Nicolas Costa was my Grandfather. He spoke of his Bro. Charles often. I’m 65 years old & this experience will last forever. May they rest in God’s peace.²⁶

The militia shot and killed UMWA organizer Charles Costa on April 14. His wife Cedi and their children, Lucy and Onofrio, died in the death pit.

For many years the Ludlow monument drew visitors who passed by or who came because they knew the story. Until the mid-1990s the only direction to the site just off Interstate 25 was a rusty sign the union had erected. Today there’s a highway marker at the Ludlow exit. Ludlow remained vivid for the miners’ descendants, for some union members, and for the American left, its memory preserved by organized labor and oral tradition. During the strike, Frank Hayes wrote “We’re Coming, Colorado!” to be sung to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, verses that were adapted to later labor struggles.²⁷

Labor honored its strike heroes: Mother Jones, the feisty octogenarian who worked the southern Colorado fields for much of the strike, and the victims of the Ludlow massacre, like the slain Louis Tikas, who had organized the Greek miners. The UMWA had brilliantly overcome ethnic divisions that employers had exploited by hiring ethnic organizers, like Tikas and Costa. A musical poetic homage emphasized that Tikas was a “knight of humanity . . .more than American or Greek.”²⁸ Yet in Ludlow’s aftermath the union emphasized gender and downplayed ethnicity, focusing on the innocent women and children who died but seldom mentioning the slain men, and almost never the names of the victims that would call attention to their Hispanic, Italian, or Greek ancestry.

The songs and verses created selective memories. In the early 1940s, Woody Guthrie wrote his moving but inaccurate Ludlow ballad:

That very night your soldiers waited,

Until all us miners were asleep,

You snuck around our little tent town, Soaked our tents with your kerosene.

You struck a match and in the blaze that started,

You pulled the triggers of your gatling guns,

I made a run for the children but the fire wall stopped me.

Thirteen children died from your guns.²⁹

The soldiers began firing the morning of April 20, not at night. One child died from gunfire, eleven suffocated. Yet more Americans learned the story of Ludlow from Guthrie than from Frank Hayes or the U.S. Commission on Industrial Relations. The story increasingly narrowed to focus on the thirteen innocent victims in the pit. In 1990, the Trinidad, Colorado, UMWA Auxiliary concluded its history of the strike with Frank Hayes’ poem, “On Ludlow Field.” But it omitted the first two finger-pointing verses, and kept only three more heart-rending stanzas:

Ah, we knew them every one,

Father, Mother, Daughter, Son,

Ere the course of life was run,

Here on Ludlow Field.

Here today we dedicate,

Here today we consecrate,

A monument to their Estate,

Here on Ludlow Field.

Lo! the goal of Justice nears,

And we vision through our tears,

Freedom’s martyred volunteers,

Here on Ludlow Field.

Moral outrage fueled these memories. Guthrie used the accusatory tone and directly addressed the soldiers and mine owners. John D. Rockefeller as villain grabbed public attention. Today, most U.S. history texts mention the Ludlow Massacre and link it to Rockefeller. In one text, Out of Many, Rockefeller’s name appears only in connection with Ludlow.³⁰

Still, Ludlow was hardly a household word. It was mostly remembered locally, or by organized labor and historians. A new campaign to inscribe it in national memory began on May 8, 2003, when the union caretaker drove to the Ludlow site to clean it up for the annual memorial gathering. He found, to his horror, that the head of the male figure on the memorial had been severed from the torsos along with the left arm of the female figure. The image of the disfigured monument galvanized labor supporters, who called the monument “Our Twin Towers.”³¹ The Denver Post called the desecration an “outrageous act.” “Those who died at the site of the miners’ tent camp on April 20, 1914, sanctified this patch of southern Colorado as hallowed ground for the American labor movement,” the Post editorialized. “For Coloradoans, the tears shed over Ludlow have never quite dried and they never should.”³² News of the vandalism went out on the history listserv H-LABOR. I saw it and sent a contribution to the Trinidad UMWA local for the fund to restore the monument. Local unions offered a $5,000 reward for information leading to the arrest of the perpetrators, who still have not been found.

The 2003 gathering revived an event that had long drawn only the faithful few. The Labor and Working Class History Association (LAWCHA) offered to send Julie Greene, a labor history professor at the University of Colorado-Boulder. Julie reported that half an hour before the service was to begin, about a hundred striking steelworkers arrived from Pueblo chanting “Remember! Ludlow!” The main speaker, UMWA President Cecil Roberts, had the audience on its feet as he declared: “This is our Vietnam Veterans Memorial, our Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, our Lincoln Memorial. There is no question whatsoever that ... this monument will be restored.” Julie Greene drew loud applause with LAWCHA’s offer to help make the site a National Historic Landmark.³³

And so began the work of getting National Historic Landmark (NHL) status for the Ludlow site. Landmarks are historic places designated by the Secretary of the Interior because they are exceptional in illustrating or interpreting the heritage of the United States. Landmark status is not easily achieved: fewer than 2,500 sites had made it through the daunting nomination process, and only a handful were labor history sites. According to historian John Bodnar, the class backgrounds of Park Service professionals reinforced the practice of promoting “progress and patriotism” as dominant themes. The few labor landmarks include the well-preserved homes of national leaders like Terence Powderly, Samuel Gompers, Eugene Debs, and Frances Perkins. By 2003, only three, the Passaic textile strike headquarters, the Triangle Shirtwaist factory, and the Haymarket Martyrs Monument at Waldheim Cemetery were associated with labor conflicts.³⁴

Incoming LAWCHA President James Green asked the Board to approve a project to seek landmark status for Ludlow, and in January 2004, he appointed me and fellow Board member Zaragosa Vargas as co-chairs of the Ad Hoc Committee on Labor History Landmarks (otherwise known as “the Ludlow Committee”). Dr. Vargas was unable to take an active leadership role after the first few months, and so I found myself chairing a committee of scholars who stretched from Penn State to Wisconsin to Binghampton, New York, South Florida, and Santa Barbara with backgrounds as diverse as their geography. Alan Derickson of Penn State and I had both worked on the Western Federation of Miners; “Z” Vargas and the late Camille Guérin-Gonzales were experts in Latinx labor history; Guérin-Gonzales had written on women in coal mining communities, including southern Colorado, and on international labor migrations. Anthony DeStefanis had researched the use of troops in mining strikes; Jonathan Rees, who taught at Colorado State University, Pueblo, was well informed on local developments; Randall McGuire was one of three archaeologists who had directed the Colorado Coalfield Project which excavated parts of the Ludlow site. We got help from Holly Syrakkos of the AFL-CIO; Martin Blatt, from the National Park Service; Tobias Higbie, Newberry Library; UMWA Regional Representative Bob Butero; and Mike Romero, President of the Trinidad, Colorado UMWA local.

On February 3, I called Lysa Wegman-French, a National Park Service historian I knew because we were for years the only women active in the Mining History Association. It turned out that she coordinated National Historic Landmarks in Colorado and was “delighted” that LAWCHA was “interested in pursuing NHL designation for the Ludlow site.” She warned all-too-accurately that the NHL process could be difficult, and that some successful nominations took “years and years of on-again off-again work.”³⁵

The case for the historical importance of the Ludlow massacre seemed self-evident to labor historians and unionists, but NHL guidelines require that sites retain their historical integrity and meet National Park Service criteria of “national significance.” There are six primary criteria for determining “significance.” Sites are significant if they were “associated with events that have made a significant contribution to and are identified with . . .the broad patterns of United States history” or that are associated with “nationally significant” persons or that “represent some great idea or ideal of the American people” or that “embody characteristics of an architectural-type specimen exceptionally valuable for the study of a period,” and so on. Some sites are “ordinarily not eligible” for designation: cemeteries, birthplaces, graves of historical figures, and religious buildings.³⁶

Louis Tikas is buried at Ludlow, but it is not a cemetery. It qualified under landmarks criteria as a memorial. The tent colony site retained integrity because the ground on which it rested had not been seriously disturbed since the strike. And though the monument had been damaged, it retained integrity as a site of memory, as did the disturbing death pit. It qualified, too, because some archaeological sites can be landmarks. The tent colony area qualified because it had been investigated by the Colorado Coalfield War Archeological Project, funded by the Colorado Historical Society, State Historical Fund. The archeological exploration was directed by Dean Saitta, University of Denver; Philip Duke, Fort Lewis College; and Randall McGuire, Binghampton University, who was a member of the LAWCHA Ludlow Committee.³⁷

The Ludlow Committee negotiated the competing imperatives of our professional assessments of Ludlow’s history, the practical demands of the nomination process, and the particular urgencies of supportive politicians, of Park Service requirements and deadlines, and of the union itself. The UMWA wanted to know that it would retain ownership of the Ludlow site, and that it could withdraw from the landmark designation if it had qualms about government interpretations of its history. It was challenging to coordinate, by email and conference calls, a team of academics, all with day jobs, each with a particular interpretation of Ludlow that sometimes had to be reconciled with the significance criteria, and with the politics of achieving NHL designation.

Once completed, the extensive nomination materials had to be reviewed by NHL staff in Denver and Santa Fe, as well as the Park Service in Washington, all of whom suggested revisions. Elected officials and site owners had to be notified and their comments invited. Once revised, the nomination could go to the National Park Service Advisory Board at one of its two annual meetings; it had to be on the agenda six months in advance. The Advisory Board reviews nominations and recommends to the Secretary of the Interior, who makes the final decision.

We first had to decide what site to nominate: the tent colony itself or the whole Ludlow battleground. The UMWA owns forty acres that includes most of the tent colony site, but a small part of the site belongs to another owner. We were told that more territory could be added after a site received Landmark status and decided to begin with the union’s forty acres.

The more fundamental challenge was to meet the criteria for historical significance without losing the story. Some of the strategies that had preserved the memory of the Ludlow Massacre were not likely to succeed with the Department of the Interior during the George W. Bush administration. Blaming John D. Rockefeller, Jr., for instance, was likely a losing strategy. While maintaining historical honesty, we needed to emphasize points that fit the criteria and we had to write a focused narrative that could communicate easily to the lay public. Some Committee members felt strongly that we should not write a “battles, dates, and outcomes” history of industrial conflict, but that we should include the processes of class formation, and how the tent colony had functioned as a multi-ethnic community that included women and families.

Meanwhile, the more tangible landmark was being restored. By early 2004, $80,000 in donations had come from all over the world and the damaged statues were removed for repair at Griswold Conservation Associates in Beverly Hills, California. The Memorial was re-dedicated in 2005, when 400 people gathered at the annual commemoration. The entire UMWA Executive Board attended, and the charismatic Cecil Roberts addressed the crowd. Jim Green spoke about LAWCHA’s work to make the site a National Historic Landmark. Representatives of Colorado U.S. Senator Ken Salazar and his brother, Congressman John Salazar from the Pueblo district, promised any support we needed in Washington. Someone—no one would tell me who—promised that the site would have Landmark status within a year, an impossible goal that complicated my life as I explained endlessly why we couldn’t do it.

By July 2005 the Committee summarized four themes to establish Ludlow’s historical significance. The first addressed Ludlow as the apex of a long series of western mining strikes that pitted employers, workers, and the state against one another. The Ludlow Massacre provided the impetus for checks on state force, and, from the perspectives of employers and the state, for finding new ways to manage industrial relations and contain unions.

The second topic concerned Ludlow’s influence on industrial and social policy. One major outcome, the company union, was later outlawed under the 1935 National Labor Relations Act, and some historians argue that the Industrial Relations Commission investigation ultimately led to New Deal reforms.

Third, Committee members underlined the significance of the strike itself, and its importance as an organized response to the dangers, low pay, community-focused social control, and ethnic discrimination in coal mining. The union’s strategy was unique: the UMWA leased the tent colony sites for their evicted members; the strike organization included leaders from all the ethnic groups, who spoke all the miners’ languages. Tent colony governance included the women and addressed domestic arrangements, community needs, and union strategy.

Finally, the Committee emphasized the cultural significance of the site as a catalyst for memory and identification among contemporary workers and Mexican Americans in particular, and the wider cultural influence of Ludlow, through contemporary newspaper coverage, “muckraking” reports, and Upton Sinclair’s novels.³⁸

Randall McGuire summarized the archaeological significance of the site and its future research potential:

In many ways the Ludlow Massacre site is the perfect archaeological site, a short-term occupation destroyed by fire. The catastrophic abandonment of the tent colony and subsequent burning create a “Pompeii”-like situation. Objects that would normally have been taken with a family when they moved were left behind in the rush to escape the violence and fire.³⁹

The latrine pits, trash pits, and tent cellars filled with artifacts recorded families’ lives and customs and offered a highly unusual view of the everyday lives of early-20^th-century working-class families.⁴⁰

As we discussed significance, the National Park Service weighed in, deciding that since the Ludlow Massacre site had such an important archaeological character it would be best to have an archeologist be our Park Service contact person. So Charles Haecker, the archaeologist for the National Historic Landmarks Program, intermountain region, replaced Lysa Wegman-French as point person for the project.⁴¹ Haecker and Wegman-French jointly decided in August 2005 that two of the six criteria “of national significance” would best serve the Ludlow nomination: Criterion 1 (sites “associated with events that have made a significant contribution to, and are identified with, or that outstandingly represent, the broad national pattern of United States history and from which an understanding and appreciation of those patterns may be gained”) and Criterion 6 (sites that “have yielded or may be likely to yield information of major scientific importance by revealing new cultures, or by shedding light upon periods of occupation of large areas of the United States. Such sites are those which have yielded, or which may reasonable be expected to yield, data affecting theories, concepts, and ideas to a major degree”).⁴² Their advice provided focus, though it frustrated some members who argued for the importance of other criteria.

In November 2005, Haecker suggested that since we all had academic responsibilities, it might be useful to get help from someone experienced with NHL nominations. The Park Service hired Tom and Laurie Simmons to prepare the nomination but guaranteed that the Ludlow Committee would complete its “professional responsibility of reviewing the nomination since your names will be on it—and you all have a personal interest that the presented information gets your ideas, interpretations across.”⁴³

Meanwhile, I got a new job: handling supportive politicians and stakeholders who were frustrated with the lengthy nomination process, particularly after the unrealistic promise of a one-year completion. As the impossible deadline approached, Senator Salazar decided to introduce a bill to legislate landmark status for Ludlow, and the Park Service asked me to intervene. The UMWA invited me to speak at the annual Ludlow commemoration on June 11, 2006, which gave me the opportunity to meet with the stakeholders: Bob Butero, Mike Romero, and Dan Kane of the UMWA; Pam DiFatta, representing Congressman John Salazar; John Rodriquez, representing Senator Ken Salazar; and Charlie Haecker, and Tom and Laurie Simmons from the Park Service, who helped me explain the nomination process. Later in June, I met with Matt Lee-Ashley, of Senator Salazar’s staff, to explain Park Service concerns about the proposed bill, which they feared could make Landmarks into political footballs, and could designate Landmarks without appropriate historical documentation. Lee-Ashley wrote his BA thesis on the 1903–1904 southern Colorado coal strike and knew his Ludlow history.⁴⁴ He agreed to convey these concerns to the Senator, who agreed not to submit his bill until the nomination was completed.

The final nomination totaled over sixty pages single-spaced, plus maps, figures, and photographs. Committee members offered comments and corrections on the draft document and answered queries throughout the review process.⁴⁵ The nomination was finally submitted on December 12, 2007, and the stakeholders sent support letters. Senator Salazar wrote:

I strongly believe that the Ludlow Tent Colony should be designated a National Historic Landmark and that the National Park Service should play a greater role in assisting with the protection and interpretation of this vital chapter in our nation’s history. I stand ready to assist in the landmark designation, which is strongly supported in the local communities, by championing legislation in the U.S. Senate to create the Ludlow National Historic Landmark.⁴⁶

In January, while working at the National Archives, I met again with Matt Lee-Ashley and later helped draft the bill.

On April 18, 2008, in commemoration of the ninety-fourth anniversary of the Ludlow Massacre, Senator Salazar submitted, for himself and Senator Jay Rockefeller of West Virginia, “A Bill To Designate the Ludlow Massacre National Historic Landmark in the State of Colorado.” Salazar stated:

The events that occurred during the Ludlow Massacre, and the site that memorializes the conflict, are central to our nation’s story. The history is still significant to the Coloradoans who live and work in the region. Residents of Las Animas, Huerfano and Pueblo counties, along with many people across America, rightly see the 1913–14 coal strike and the Ludlow Massacre as a defining moment in our shared history and integral to the region’s identity. I am proud to introduce the bill in the Senate and will continue to work to ensure it is designated as a national landmark, so that we can better remember the struggles and sacrifices our nation endured on the path to safer and fairer labor conditions.⁴⁷

Senator Salazar’s statements resonated powerfully for members of the Ludlow Committee, particularly because Salazar’s family was from the San Luis Valley and had lived the history of class and ethnic relations in southern Colorado. Senator Rockefeller’s co-sponsorship powerfully evoked his family’s involvement. Together, Salazar and Rockefeller symbolically affirmed Ludlow’s significance for all its descendants.

But their bill never got a committee hearing. The nomination was presented at the October 28–29, 2008, meeting of the National Park Service Advisory Board. LAWCHA and the United Mine Workers sent support letters. I wrote for the Ludlow Committee that:

Ludlow was pivotal in the history of U.S. industrial relations as a dramatic example of the limits of the use of force in industrial struggles, and of the need to find new accommodations between labor and management. It was also unusual in the organization of the strike, and in the effectiveness of the strikers in forging a multi-ethnic community that worked cooperatively across barriers of culture and language. It was particularly significant for the effective organization of domestic life, and the involvement of miners’ wives and children in the daily functioning of the strikers’ community. The tragic end of the strike dramatized their involvement, and the archaeological remains of their community allow us to link the daily lives of working families with the more dramatic public events of strikes and industrial conflict that are more commonly represented in history books. Most simply, the site links what the strikers were sacrificing for with the public events of industrial conflict.⁴⁸

On November 3, Charles Haecker phoned the good news: the NPS Advisory Board unanimously and enthusiastically recommended that the Ludlow site be designated a National Historic Landmark. On December 17, President-elect Barack Obama seemed to seal the deal when he nominated Senator Ken Salazar to be Secretary of the Interior. But in the final days of the Bush administration, on January 16, 2009, Secretary of the Interior Dirk Kempthorne officially designated the Ludlow Tent Colony site a National Historic Landmark.

A coalition of the United Mine Workers of America, elected officials, local union members, Colorado residents, Park Service personnel, and historians worked together for this recognition of Ludlow’s significance in American history. Inevitably, each of us left a bit of our own interpretations on the cutting room floor. My 2009 lecture gave me another chance to share some reflections.

When I began the landmarking project, I had been visiting the Ludlow memorial for over thirty years. Each time was different—I was different, the context was different, and I knew it would be different again when I returned in June for the plaquing ceremony. That is the nature of memory and of the ongoing project of making sense of history. The annual Ludlow Memorial Service, the comments of the visitors who sign the registry, and even the violently disfigured statues all testify to the power of historical memory: there is no need to attack monuments that don’t inspire living memories. The outcry in 2003, and the determined effort to repair the statues, testified to the enduring significance of Ludlow for many people.

Ludlow’s significance has been contested since it happened. It remains a place to question which events and whose histories weave a collective past. We will continue to debate its legacy, as we should continue to debate all history that matters. But for too long, I think, we have told the story as one of victims and villains, debating who was most violent, who was most innocent. Mother Jones, who used to counsel miners to “Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living,” suggested that no one cared about the miners’ conditions until women and children died. “Little children roasted alive make a front page story,” she said. “Dying by inches . . .does not.”⁴⁹

It would be easy to romanticize Ludlow and lose the grubby daily details of what the fight was about and what it cost on all sides. Ludlow put a human face on industrial America. When I visit Ludlow, I don’t think about John D. Rockefeller, or Mackenzie King, or Upton Sinclair, or even Mother Jones. I think about Louis Tikas, Charles and Cedi Costa, and especially about Mary Petrucci. Mary Petrucci, age 24, born in a coal mining family in the shadow of the Victor-American mine tipple at Hastings, raised in a company house, educated at a company school, married at sixteen to a man who loaded boxcars for the coal company in Walsenburg. The morning of April 20, 1914, Mary Petrucci was doing the laundry when her tent in the Southeast corner, front row, of the tent colony seemed to her to be the first tent set on fire. She ran with her children to the Pedregones’ tent and got them all safely inside the pit. When she regained consciousness, she was holding her dead infant, surrounded by the corpses of her friends, their children, and her own. She was found the morning of April 21, wandering in a daze, unclear about where her children were, or how she got out of the pit where she had hidden, or where the pit was.⁵⁰

Mary Petrucci chose to be at Ludlow. She was not simply a powerless victim, but neither was she an all-powerful agent who controlled her life or her options. She joined three other activists, Pearl Jolly, Mary Thomas, and Margaret Dominiske, who traveled to Chicago, Washington, D.C., and New York to speak at rallies and give interviews. But Mary Petrucci broke down during the trip and returned to Colorado. She explained her decision to reporter Lucy Huffaker of the New York Tribune:

Perhaps it seems strange to you that I want to go back home. But I do. My man is there and my children are buried there, and I don’t believe I could ever live anywhere else. I have been so happy there. . . .I used to sing around my work and playing with my babies. Well, I don’t sing any more. And my husband doesn’t laugh as he used to do. I’m twenty-four years old and I suppose I’ll live a long time, but I don’t see how I can ever be happy again, but I try to be cheerful on account of my husband. It is so hard for him when he comes home from work to find only me in the house, and none of the children.

Nonetheless, she told Huffaker “not to think that we could do any differently another time. . . .We are working people—my husband and I—and we’re stronger for the union than we were before the strike. . . .I can’t have my babies back,” she concluded. “But perhaps when everybody knows about them, something will be done to make the world a better place for all babies.”⁵¹

Ludlow connects the larger stories of industrial America and national significance with the individual people who waged the fight, risked the cost, and made the history. Remembering Ludlow, I think, begins with their names. Those who died in the cellar were:

Patricia (or Patria or Petra) Valdez, 37

Eulalia Valdez, 8

Mary Valdez, 7

Elvira Valdez, 3 months

Rudolph Valdez, 9

Joe Petrucci, 4 1/2

Lucy Petrucci, 2 1/2

Frank Petrucci, 6 months

Roderlo Pedregon, 6

Cloriva Pedregon, 4

Cedilano Costa, 27

Onafrio Costa, 6

Lucy Costa, 4

Dead from gunshots April 20:

Primero Laresse, 18

Louis Tikas, 30

James Filer, 43

John Bartolotti, 45

Charles Costa, 31

Frank Snyder, Jr., 11

Private Albert Martin, 21⁵²

Notes

I am grateful to James Green for appointing the LAWCHA Ad Hoc Committee on Labor History Landmarks and asking me to co-chair; to the members of that committee, Alan Derickson, Jonathan Rees, Randall McGuire, Anthony DeStefanis, and especially the late Camille Guérin-Gonzales; to Marty Blatt and Holly Syrrakos for their help; to Lysa Wegman-French and Charles Haecker of the National Park Service; to Bob Butero of the UMWA, to Mike and Yolanda Romero for keeping the Ludlow visitors’ books and sharing them and for their hospitality, and to the members of the Trinidad UMWA local who have maintained the site and the memories.

Additional Sources: The 2014 centennial of the Ludlow Massacre engendered commemorations, exhibits, publications revisiting the 1913–1914 strike and its legacy, and a Centennial Commemoration at the Ludlow site hosted by the United Mine Workers of America, at which I was honored to speak. Fawn-Amber Montoya, ed., Making an American Workforce: The Rockefellers and the Legacy of Ludlow (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2014), an anthology of eight essays published in conjunction with the 2014 strike centennial, probes the legacy of Ludlow at the Rockefeller-controlled Colorado Fuel and Iron Company (CF&I) and John D. Rockefeller, Jr.’s influence on welfare capitalism, particularly the company union and “sociological” programs intended to “Americanize” an ethnically diverse workforce through the YMCA, sports, and other community programs. Fawn-Amber Montoya and Karin Larkin, eds., Communities of Ludlow: Collaborative Stewardship and the Ludlow Centennial Commemoration Commission (Louisville, CO: University Press of Colorado, 2022) includes nine articles that examine how the history of Ludlow is remembered and taught, and two oral histories with Trinidad UMWA memory keeper Yolanda Romero and UMWA official Robert (Bob) Butero who have done much to preserve the history of Ludlow. The book is based in the work of the members of the Ludlow Centennial Commemoration Commission: Thomas Andrews, Robert (Bob) Butero, William Convery, Dawn DiPrince, Victoria Miller, Adam Morgan, Jonathan Rees, Dean Saitta, Maria Sanchez-Tucker, and Josephine Jones, and explores the contributions of anthropologists, historians, and the union itself in preserving memory. I have an article in the volume, “Remembering Ludlow.”

1. 1 The sculpture on the monument dedicated in 1918 is inventoried in the Save Outdoor Sculpture project of the Smithsonian. Save Outdoor Sculpture, Colorado survey, 1994; National Park Service, American Monuments and Outdoor Sculpture Database, CO0001, 1989; Monumental News, October 1918, 451–52; Denver Post, 15 May 1918, 5. The best account of the Ludlow strike and the massacre remains the late Senator George S. McGovern’s doctoral dissertation, “The Colorado Coal Strike, 1913–1914” (PhD diss., Northwestern University, 1953). For a description of the field with a detailed account of the events that led to the massacre, see also George S. McGovern and Leonard F. Guttridge, The Great Coal Field War (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1972). Other superb accounts of the Colorado coal wars can be found in Priscilla Long, Where the Sun Never Shines: A History of America’s Bloody Coal Industry (New York: Paragon House, 1989); Howard Zinn, “The Colorado Coal Strike, 1913–14,” in Three Strikes: Miners, Musicians, Salesgirls and the Fighting Spirit of Labor’s Last Century, eds. Howard Zinn, Dana Frank, and Robin D.G. Kelley (Boston: Beacon Press, 2001), 5–55; and John Graham, “Introduction,” Upton Sinclair, The Coal War (Boulder, CO: Colorado Associated University Press, 1986), vi–xcii. The most recent books are Scott Matelle, Blood Passion: The Ludlow Massacre and Class War in the American West (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2007) and Thomas G. Andrews, Killing for Coal: America’s Deadliest Labor War (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2008) which places the events in the very broad context of environmental history.

   The names of the victims were sometimes reported with different spellings; many were taken from coroners’ reports. Dead from gunshots the first day were: Primero Laresse, 18; Frank Snyder, 11; Louis Tikas, 30; James Filer, 43; John Bartolootti, 45; Charles Costa, 31; Albert Marin, 21 (militia man). Those who died in the cellar were: Patricia (or Patria or Petra) Valdez, 37; Eulalia Valdez, 8; Mary Valdez, 7; Elvira Valdez, 3 months; Rudolph Valdez, 9; Joe Petrucci, 4 1/2; Lucy Petrucci, 2 1/2; Frank Petrucci, 6 months; Rogerio (or Roderlo or Rodgerio) Pedregone, 6; Cloriva (or Gloria or Clovine) Pedregone, 4; Cedilano (or Cardelima or Fedelina) Costa, 27; Onafrio (or Oragio) Costa, 6; and Lucy Costa, 4.

2. 2 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 134.

3. 3 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 210–31. For disagreements about Martin’s injuries, see 222.

4. 4 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 232–33, 239–68.

5. 5 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 100–6; Graham, ed. “Introduction” The Coal War, xxxiii–xxxv.

6. 6 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 110.

7. 7 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 109–10; Long, Where the Sun Never Shines, 264, 278.

8. 8 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 122–23; Long, Where the Sun Never Shines, 278.

9. 9 For the long history of strikes in hardrock mining, see Vernon H. Jenson, Heritage of Conflict: Labor Relations in the Nonferrous Metals Industry Up to 1930 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1950); Melvyn Dubofsky, We Shall Be All: A History of the Industrial Workers of the World (New York: Quadrangle/New York Times Book Co., 1969), 19–87; George G. Suggs, Jr., Colorado’s War on Militant Unionism: James H. Peabody and the Western Federation of Miners (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1972), 84–117; Elizabeth Jameson, All That Glitters: Class, Conflict, and Community in Cripple Creek (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1998); Richard E. Lingenfelter, The Hardrock Miners: A History of the Mining Labor Movement in the American West, 1863–1893 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974); Ronald C. Brown, Hard-Rock Miners: The Intermountain West, 1860–1920 (College Station, Texas: Texas A&M University Press, 1979); Mark Wyman, Hard Rock Epic: Western Miners and the Industrial Revolution, 1860–1910 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979). For coal, see Long, Where the Sun Never Shines, 167–271; McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 1–91.

10. 10 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 102.

11. 11 See Suggs, Colorado’s War on Industrial Unionism; Jameson, All That Glitters, 199, 224; Long, Where the Sun Never Shines, 217–41.

12. 12 See Jameson, All That Glitters, 140–60.

13. 13 Jameson, All That Glitters, 199–252; Suggs, Colorado’s War on Militant Unionism; McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 38–44, 141; Dubofsky, We Shall Be All, 42–56.

14. 14 Long, Where the Sun Never Shines, 169–216.

15. 15 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 51–52; Dean J. Saitta, Randall McGuire, and Philip Duke, Paper presented in the symposium “Communities Defined by Work: Life in Western Work Camps and Towns,” chaired by T. Van Bueren and M. Maniery, Society for Historical Archaeology Meeting, Salt Lake City, 1999; Sarah Deutsch, No Separate Refuge: Culture, Class and Gender on an Anglo-Hispanic Frontier in the American Southwest, 1880–1940 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 87–106. The figures are from Report Upon the Possible Service of the Young Men’s Christian Association the Mining Communities of the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company, 1915, cited in a superb unpublished essay that Camille Guérin-Gonzales prepared as a member of the LAWCHA Ludlow Committee, “Ludlow Monument NHL Nomination Narrative Draft,” 5, in author’s possession.

16. 16 There is an extensive literature on company coal towns. See for instance Deutsch, No Separate Refuge, 87–106; Fawn-Amber Montoya, ed., Making an American Workforce: The Rockefellers and the Legacy of Ludlow (Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2014); Long, Where the Sun Never Shines.

17. 17 James Brian Whiteside, “Protecting the Life and Limb of Our Workmen: Work, Death and Regulation in the Rocky Mountain Coal Mining Industry” (PhD diss., University of Colorado, 1986), 134, as cited in Guérin-Gonzales, “Narrative Draft,” 7.

18. 18 See Aaron Goings and Gary Kaunonen, Community in Conflict: A Working-Class History of the 1913–14 Michigan Copper Strike and the Italian Hall Tragedy (Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2013). The 1913 Calumet strike and Ludlow are discussed further in Chapter 12.

19. 19 Frank J. Hayes, “On Ludlow Field,” United Mine Workers Journal 29 (June 6, 1918): 4.

20. 20 King Coal was first published in 1917. A sequel, The Coal War was not published until 1976, by the Associated University Press of Colorado, through the efforts of Professor John Graham, University of Colorado, Boulder. See Graham, “Introduction,” xlviii, lvi–xcii.

21. 21 Testimony April 6, 1914 in response to questioning by Congressman Martin Foster, Washington, D.C., quoted in McGovern and Guttridge, The Coalfield War, 197–201; Graham, “Introduction,” xl–xlii.

22. 22 McGovern and Guttridge, The Coalfield War, 282, 284, 289–92, 293–307, 335–42.

23. 23 New York Herald, April 24, 1915. For the U.S. Industrial Relations Commission’s investigation of Ludlow, and its Chairman, Frank Walsh’s analysis of Rockefeller’s role, see McGovern and Guttridge, The Coalfield War, 312–32; Long, Where the Sun Never Shines, 314, 316–17; Graham, “Introduction,” liii.

24. 24 Jonathan Rees, “The Ludlow Memorial: Inspiration, Solidarity and Historical Memory,” paper presented at the annual conference of the Organization of American Historians, Washington, D.C., 2006, in author’s possession.

25. 25 Denver Post, May 15, 1918. Hugh Sullivan designed the monument. The granite was quarried in Barre, Vermont; the fabricator was the Jones Brothers Co. There is a Granite Cutters International Association insignia on the monument. In the early 1900s, Italian anarchists and socialists came to Barre to cut stone and built an active labor culture. Holly Syrakkos of the AFL-CIO reported that “[t]here is some speculation that the monument was in part a gesture of solidarity from the Italian and Scottish workers who formed the union.” Holly Syrrakos, e-mail to Elizabeth Jameson, May 17, 2005.

26. 26 The registers were preserved and kept by Trinidad United Mine Workers of America local union President Mike Romero. I read and copied them during a lovely afternoon at the home of Mike and Yolanda Romero in Trinidad, following the June 11, 2006 annual memorial gathering at Ludlow.

27. 27 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 106.

28. 28 Lyrics reproduced in George Korson, Coal Dust on the Fiddle: Songs and Stories of the Bituminous Industry (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1943), 390–91. For more on Tikas, see Zeese Papanikolas, Buried Unsung: Louis Tikas and the Ludlow Massacre (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991).

29. 29 Woody Guthrie, “Ludlow Massacre,” Liner Notes by Moses Asch,” Struggle by Woody Guthrie (New York City: Folkways Records, 1976).

30. 30 John Mack Faragher, Mari Jo Buhle, Daniel Czitrom, and Susan H. Armitage, Out of Many: A History of the American People, Combined Edition (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, Inc.), 668.

31. 31 This account is based on telephone interviews by James Green with UMWA Regional Representative Bob Butero on June 10 and September 5, 2003 and with Mike Romero on September 8, 2003. See Jim Green, “Crime Against Memory at Ludlow,” Labor: Studies of Working Class History in the Americas 1 (Spring 2004): 3–10; Gary Cox, “Ludlow-Our Twin Towers-Beheaded.” Posted by Holly Syrrakos of the Inventory of Labor Landmarks on H-LABOR, June 12, 2003. For more about the attack on the monument and efforts to achieve National Historic Landmark status for the Ludlow site, see James Green and Elizabeth Jameson, “Marking Labor History on the National Landscape: The Restored Ludlow Memorial and Its Significance,” International Labor and Working-Class History 76:1 (September 2009): 6–25.

32. 32 “Restore Ludlow Monument,” Denver Post, May 31, 2003.

33. 33 Julie Greene, “Ludlow Massacre Memorial,” H-LABOR, July 1. 2003.

34. 34 John Bodnar, Remaking America: Public Memory and Patriotism in the Twentieth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992), 14.

35. 35 E-mails from Elizabeth Jameson to Lysa Wegman-French, February 3, 2004; from Lysa Wegman-French to Elizabeth Jameson, February 10, 2004.

36. 36 For National Landmarks Program nomination criteria, see U.S. Department of the Interior, National Park Service, National Register Bulletin: How to Prepare National Historic Landmark Nominations (Washington, DC: U.S. Department of the Interior, 1999), 11.

37. 37 For the Colorado Coal Field War Project, including the Ludlow camp site archeological dig, see http://www.du.edu/anthro/ludlow.html.

38. 38 E-mail from Elizabeth Jameson to Alan Derickson, Anthony DeStefanis, Camille Guérin-Gonzales, Holly Syrakkos, Jonathan Rees, Zaragosa Vargas, Randall McGuire, Tobias Higbie, Marty Blatt, Jim Green, Julie Greene, Lysa Wegman-French, and Charles Haecker, July 15, 2005. Summarized from e-mails to Elizabeth Jameson from Alan Derickson, May 17, 2005; Camille Guérin-Gonzales, June 4, 2005; Jonathan Rees, May 27, 2005; Holly Syrrakos, May 17, 2005; Zaragosa Vargas, June 8, 2005; and Anthony DeStefanis May 25, 2005.

39. 39 E-mail from Randall McGuire to Elizabeth Jameson, July 15, 2005.

40. 40 E-mail from Randall McGuire to Elizabeth Jameson, July 15, 2005.

41. 41 E-mails from Lysa Wegman-French to Elizabeth Jameson, and from Elizabeth Jameson to Lysa Wegman-French, May 27, 2005; from Charles Haecker to Elizabeth Jameson and the Committee, and from Elizabeth Jameson to Charles Haecker May 31, 2005.

42. 42 E-mail from Charles Haecker to Elizabeth Jameson, August 25, 2005. How to Prepare National Historic Landmark Nominations, 11.

43. 43 The Park Service paid for the Simmons’ work. E-mails from Charles Haecker to Elizabeth Jameson, November 29, 2005; January 20, 2006; January 23, 2006; March 9, 2006; March 10, 2006; e-mails from Elizabeth Jameson to Charles Haecker, January 20, 2006, March 9, 2006.

44. 44 Matthew Lee-Ashley, “Carbone e Potere: The 1903–1904 Coal Strike and the Origins of Corporate Hegemony in Southern Colorado” (BA thesis, Pomona College, 2004).

45. 45 Haecker sent the draft nomination to me on May 14, 2007; I circulated it electronically to the Committee members, who sent responses to me. I compiled the responses and sent them to the Simmonses and Haecker. E-mails, Charles Haecker to Elizabeth Jameson, and Elizabeth Jameson to Charles Haecker, July 10, 2007.

46. 46 “Senator Salazar Vows to Help Make Ludlow Tent Colony Site a National Historic Landmark,” news release, January 23, 2008, http://salazar.senate.gov/news/releases/o80123ludlow.htm.

47. 47 “Sen. Salazar Commemorates the 94^th Ludlow Massacre Anniversary/Introduced Bill to Make Ludlow Site National Historic Landmark,” news release, U.S. Senator Ken Salazar, April 18, 2008; email communications, Matt Lee-Ashley to Elizabeth Jameson April 18, 2008.

48. 48 Letter from Elizabeth Jameson to J. Paul Loether, Chief, National Register of Historic Places and National Historic Landmarks Program, October 22, 2008.

49. 49 Mary Field Parton, ed., The Autobiography of Mother Jones (Chicago: Charles H. Kerr & Co., 1925), 191.

50. 50 McGovern and Guttridge, The Great Coalfield War, 227–28, 231, 234; Long, Where the Sun Never Shines, 291–94.

51. 51 Lucy Huffaker, “WOMAN’S VARIED INTERESTS: That the Sacrifice of Her Three Children’s Lives May Count for Workers’ Betterment, Mary Petrucci Goes About Telling Ludlow’s Story,” New York Tribune, February 4, 1915.

52. 52 See note 1 above for the spelling of victims’ names.