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(AI Edited Transcript Below)
Tom Schultz:
You know, we like talking history around here — the history of Montana, even some of the sad history. It’s okay. It’s good to relive it. This particular tragedy happened February 27, 1943 — the Smith Mine disaster, still the worst mining disaster in Montana. We’ll talk about that here today.
There’s also a tribute song that was written recently by Linda McKenzie and recorded by Mike Holm, “Goodbye, Wives and Daughters.” It relates to the last messages of miners caught in that explosion many years ago. That story is memorialized in this song. Over in Carbon County, they’ve done an awful lot to keep that memory alive. Even though it’s tragic, we learn from it. We’re talking about that today on Voices of Montana.
When you go back to 1943 and think about mining in this country — I won’t try to wax poetic about it — but we’ve had such hardworking, dedicated miners through the years. Especially in the early days, mining was not a very safe industry. There were accidents, particularly in coal mining, as I’ve been reading about this story.
There are many places to find information about the Smith Mine disaster, but Carbon County is one of the best. Linda McKenzie joins us now. She’s an American singer-songwriter from New Orleans who has spent a lot of time in Montana and splits time between Nashville and Montana, riding and performing across the country. Good morning, Linda. How are you?
Linda McKenzie:
I’m doing fine. How are you, Tom?
Tom Schultz:
I think we’re hanging in there. You read about these incidents and how tragic they were, yet how they brought the community together. Then you assemble this song to tell the story. The title alone grabs you — “Goodbye, Wives and Daughters.” It’s hard to fathom those last moments of life, but those miners faced exactly that.
Becky Van Horn joins us as well. She serves as the Carbon County Historic Preservation Officer with the Carbon County Historical Society and Museum in Red Lodge. Hi, Becky.
Becky Van Horn:
Hi. Good morning.
Tom Schultz:
Thanks so much for coming on. I’m interested in diving into the facts and information, but I started with how moving this story is. So I’ll go back to you, Linda. Why did you get so caught up in this story that you wrote this moving song?
Linda McKenzie:
I stood over the ledge looking at the remains of that coal mine, and it looked like 1943 had just stopped in time. There it sat — but this is 2026. That alone was moving.
When you stand there, all there is is a little plaque on the road. It seems like, “Seventy-five men died here?” And there’s just this small plaque. It’s silent — eerily silent.
When I read that one of the miners had written on a dynamite box in chalk, “Goodbye wives and daughters,” I couldn’t shake it. He knew he was going to die. How would you feel if you knew you were going to die and couldn’t get out, two miles down in a hole? What goes through your mind?
I tried to put myself in one of those men’s places. Nobody really can, but I imagined what might have gone through his mind. I wanted to memorialize and document what happened musically. I think we remember better when our senses are touched. Music and video are powerful. That was my dream — to write a song that reflected as closely as possible what might have been going through those men’s minds.
That phrase, “Goodbye wives and daughters,” tells the whole story.
Tom Schultz:
It does. Becky, that phrase has to be indelible for you as well.
Becky Van Horn:
It is. The Carbon County Historical Society Museum is located in the Labor Temple Building, built in 1909 by coal miners to serve their labor union. They knew how dangerous mining was. They built that building for collective bargaining and protection.
I work there every day, and yes, it touches me. I feel their spirit in that building. It’s a very meaningful place to work.
Tom Schultz:
What happened that day?
Becky Van Horn:
It depends on who you ask. After the explosion, there was a coroner’s inquest with statements and interviews. Ultimately, it was a methane and carbon monoxide explosion.
From what I understand, a gas leak had been identified by an inspector. Instead of venting it, they sealed it. That’s not advisable if you know anything about gas particulates. When the explosion occurred, it ignited coal dust in the mine. The force was so powerful it knocked a locomotive engine off its tracks.
On February 27, 1943, during the morning shift, 77 men went down. Only three survived. Smoke was visible from all around.
Coal was in high demand during World War II. Carbon County coal was considered the highest quality in Montana. It powered smelters producing copper and aluminum for the war effort. Mining had fluctuated before that, but the war revitalized the industry.
One miner had saved enough money to buy his farm. That day was supposed to be his last day of work. That’s the day the disaster happened.
Some men died instantly. Others died from burns. The remainder died from bad air. The letter writers might have survived had they sealed themselves off sooner, but they thought they could escape. When they realized they couldn’t, they attempted to barricade themselves from the gas. They used chalk from their pockets — used to mark tunnel directions — to write notes on dynamite box lids.
I can’t imagine being in that situation.
The names of the 74 men who died that day — plus the rescuer who died six weeks later — reflect a community of immigrants. Many were first- or second-generation Americans. Their notes were written in broken English. These were men donating half their pay to war bonds. Some were in their seventies.
Tom Schultz:
Linda, when you wrote this song, who is a miner? What makes a miner?
Linda McKenzie:
I’m not a miner. I’ve never been in a cave. So I read a book called “Goodbye Wives and Daughters” to understand the terminology and environment.
I can’t imagine sitting in a coal car going into tunnels that branch off endlessly like a maze underground. I almost thought, “This song is too dark. The world has enough negativity.” But it’s a true story. What’s wrong with telling the truth?
When we premiered the video on February 27 — 83 years to the date — we did it at the Roman Theater in Red Lodge, the same place where memorial services were held in 1943. That felt significant.
The theater was standing room only. The community showed up. When the credits rolled and the miners’ names appeared, everyone sat quietly reading them. Their descendants were in that room. When it ended, you could hear a collective sigh — almost a collective cry. It was powerful.
Tom Schultz:
Becky, that had to be incredible to witness.
Becky Van Horn:
It was. We sold over 70 tickets online before the event even started. That’s unusual for Red Lodge.
Jeff McNeish opened the event. His great-grandfather died in the disaster, and his grandfather was on a rescue crew that found him. Jeff researched his trilogy of books using our museum archives. Twenty years later, we were using his books to prepare for this event.
All the actors in the music video were local volunteers. It was truly a community project.
In our museum basement, we have a diorama of the Smith Mine and a walk-through coal mine exhibit created from plaster molds taken from a real mine. It’s cold down there. You hear drills and voices. When visitors come back upstairs into the sunlight, they often take a deep breath.
The Labor Temple once served over 1,000 miners. We’re working to renovate the upper floors, which once housed union offices, showers, and a dance hall. When it’s finished, I want to host a Miner’s Ball to honor the people who built that building and fought for better working conditions.
Tom Schultz:
How do you look back at this disaster?
Becky Van Horn:
It was tragic and preventable. It reflects unnecessary greed and overlooked safety measures during wartime urgency.
But it also reflects hard work, patriotism, and sacrifice. If this hadn’t happened during World War II, it would have been front-page news nationwide. Instead, it was barely noticed.
Afterward, coal mining tapered off. Today Red Lodge looks pristine and beautiful. If mining had continued at that level, the community might look very different.
Tom Schultz:
Linda, what’s your takeaway?
Linda McKenzie:
I love seeing people come together for a common cause in remembrance. That makes my heart sing.
Any royalties from the song or video will go back to the museum. I want to attend that Miner’s Ball someday.
Tom Schultz:
So do I. Becky Van Horn and Linda McKenzie, thank you both.
