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The Man Who Built a Mountain

Frank Manowski and the Slag Pile in Black Diamond

The year was 1960. A small boy was in first grade at Kibler Elementary.  His teacher, Mrs. Lewis, distributed 12-by-18-inch sheets of light brown construction paper to her 35 students. She instructed them to draw a crayon picture of something they liked. Billy sketched a coal car climbing a steep incline, his dad, Jack Kombol operating a track loader, while a dump truck loaded with coal passed by. Little did that small boy know he would one day labor at that wash plant, working side by side with the man who built that mountain.

Billy Kombol’s first-grade drawing of the Mine 11 slag pile in Black Diamond, 1960.

Numerous old coal slag piles sit in and around Black Diamond, Ravensdale, and Franklin. Most are small, now swallowed by trees and wild blackberries. To many, they look like just another natural hill. The largest, however, contains over a million cubic yards of refuse and rises 140 feet above the surrounding landscape. It sits west of State Route 169, just behind Palmer Coking Coal’s mine office. This is the story of that mountain and the man most instrumental in building it—Frank Manowski.

Frank Manowski at Mine # 11 wash plant, January 1973.

During the era of underground mining, impurities such as shale, rock, and slack were inevitably hauled to the surface. Back then, old men and young boys toiled at picking tables, separating waste from clean coal by hand. Later, mechanical wash plants took over, cleaning the coal through a specific-gravity process using large tanks of pulsating water.

In both cases, the resulting refuse, called slag, had to go somewhere. Dumping the material downhill into a gully or low spot was always the first option, but even that method eventually required rail tracks once the ravines filled up. A mine located on flat ground needed a different solution for its waste dilemma. The most straightforward method was to build a stockpile utilizing the very same equipment found underground—coal cars on rail tracks.

A 1971 view of the slag pile looking west by McDonald & Lenggenhager from “The Look of Old Time Washington.”
Morgan Slope / Mine 11 – America’s deepest underground coal mine

In 1896, a new mine opened in Black Diamond. Named Morgan Slope in honor of the Black Diamond Coal Mining Company’s superintendent, Morgan Morgans, it was destined to become the largest and most successful operation in western Washington.

The Pacific Coast Coal Company purchased the mine and its accompanying company town in 1904. After 1913, Morgan Slope was renamed Mine 11, tracking the section of land where it sat. It eventually earned fame as the deepest underground coal mine in the United States. Before closing in 1927, Morgan Slope / Mine 11 produced nearly 7 million tons of coal over 31 years of operation, averaging an impressive 225,000 tons per year.

One of the most famous photos of Mine 11, July 15, 1917.

Morgan Slope tapped into the McKay seam, one of the state’s finest coal grades. This same rich vein was extracted in Ravensdale, Lawson, and Franklin. Geologists described the McKay coal as “pitch black with a vitreous luster, which compared very favorably with the better grades of bituminous coal obtained in the Eastern States.” Yet, like every coal seam, the McKay was laced with inferior coal plus bone mixed with clays and shale, particularly within the stubborn layer known as parting rock.

Workers separated mine-run coal into market-bound product, while the combined waste of coal, clays, and shale were destined for slag piles. Ignited by spontaneous combustion from the McKay seam’s high BTU content, the Morgan Slope slag pile smoldered for decades at temperatures approaching 2,000°F. The intense heat from burning heap fused the shale, sandstone, clay, and silt together, while iron pyrites turned the burned slag to shades of red.  The pile functioned like a giant kiln, which some likened it to ‘nature’s brick.

The October 11, 1923, issue of the Pacific Coast Coal Co. Bulletin described the Mine 11 rock dump at Black Diamond as a growing mountain whose constant nocturnal fires resembled a “biblical Pillar of Fire”

“Thirteen years ago the present rock dump of Mine 11, at Black Diamond, was begun. Though the mine had been in operation for many years prior to 1910, it was then that the present dump was started when the old dump caught fire. This dump is today an imposing pile of rock and waste material brought out of the mine, and it is constantly growing.

Like a small mountain, it rises out of the wide expanse of the valley and is visible for a considerable distance. At night, the numerous fires which blaze constantly from its base to its summit makes it loom up much after the manner of the biblical Pillar of Fire.”

The future red cinder slag pile from the Pacific Coast Bulletin, October 11, 1923.

After the available fuel within the stockpile was spent, the towering heap of rocky material cooled, leaving behind a colored rock that locals naturally called “red cinders.” What was once discarded as useless waste found an unexpected second life as a surfacing material. The original Black Diamond–Ravensdale Road was paved with this very material, affectionately dubbed the “Red Top” road.

Finely crushed cinder was also laid down for high school running tracks; it proved to be an ideal surface, though generations of athletes remembered how a sudden spill left knees and elbows raw and bloodied. This striking red rock also found its way into countless Pacific Northwest landscape designs. To this very day, cinders from that historic stockpile are still being sold. Judging by sales figures spanning the past 70 years, the imposing landmark described in the 1923 Bulletin likely contained well over one million cubic yards of material.

The McNally-Norton Wash Plant

Though Mine 11 closed in 1927, the surrounding rail yard and preparation plant survived to support a new era of coal processing. In the following years, raw coal from nearby mines was brought to the Black Diamond facility, washed of impurities, and shipped to market. In 1945, Pacific Coast Coal Company modernized operations by installing a McNally-Norton jig-style wash plant, and a new mountain of waste rock began to grow.

However, because this new wash plant cleaned coal with more efficiency—and because quality standards had relaxed over time—less valuable material ended up as slag. By maximizing coal recovery, the McNally-Norton plant left less easily combustible fuel in the new dump. As a result, the current slag heap never ignited like its predecessor; instead, it smoldered quietly through slow oxidation.

The slag pile grew upward using the coal mining industry’s time-tested method. Dozens of times each day, a steel cable pulled a loaded slag car up a steep grade to the apex of the hill, where waste material was discharged from side-dump doors. Over the decades, this relentless cycle expanded the slag pile to an estimated 1.2 million cubic yards.

View of a coal car climbing the slag pile, January 1973.

Throughout its growth, one man shaped this manufactured mountain than any other: Frank Manowski. He was closely tied to the coal-washing operations at the Mine 11 plant, becoming an almost permanent fixture of the facility. As underground coal mining entered its twilight years in the early 1970s, Frank’s rugged, weathered presence made him a favorite subject for newspaper photographers, eager to capture underground coal mining’s final chapter in the Pacific Northwest.

During repairs to the wash plant, this article’s author was pictured with two cousins. L-R: Tim Morris, Bob Morris, and Bill Kombol, then an unskilled laborer, January 1976.
Frank Manowski

Frank Manowski was born on March 18, 1913, to Cornell and Anna Manowski, Polish immigrants who emigrated to Black Diamond in 1900. Frank was the youngest of 11 children, five daughters and six sons. Demonstrating how deeply coal ran in the family, four Manowski boys, Max, Les, George, and Frank, followed their father’s footsteps into coal mining, and two sisters married coal miners. Frank grew up in Black Diamond, graduating from high school in 1932, then earned an athletic scholarship to play baseball at St. Martin’s College.

Black Diamond Baseball 1931 – That’s Frank Manowski standing on left.        Lying in front: Louie Zumek, catcher. Seated from L-R: John “Cut” Kravagna – catcher; Geno Paolucci – right field; Jack Mills – 2nd base; Steve Vernarelli – 1st base; Walt Sigmund – shortstop; Phil Sternig – 1st base; Frank Brennan – left field. Standing: Frank Manowski – pitcher and center field; Ed Winbeckler – pitcher and center field; Emilio “Meg” Pierotti – 3rd base; John Walsh – substitute; Tullio Fontana – substitute; J.K. Edson – coach

When his college days drew to an early close, Frank took his first job at a local sawmill. From 1934 to 1936, he toiled underground alongside his father for the West Coast Fuel Company at their Cedar Mountain coal mine. Frank soon gravitated towards surface work in preparation plants, first with Pacific Coast Coal, then Strain Coal Company, and finally Palmer Coking Coal Company. Over the next 42 years, Manowski labored tirelessly at preparation plants, spending the vast majority of his historic career at the Mine 11 yard in Black Diamond.

Yet Frank never lost his passion for sports. He continued playing baseball for 22 years, well into adulthood, and played 11 seasons as a soccer player. He mostly suited up for Black Diamond’s company-sponsored teams. In mining communities such as Ravensdale, Carbonado, Wilkeson, and Black Diamond, baseball was a large part of local entertainment. Weekends were made for sports, and baseball was the biggest draw.

At the old Black Diamond grandstands, near the present-day school field on Highway 169, Frank’s mother, Anna, held court in a special seat where unsuspecting fans were warned against sitting. After the final out, both teams, along with umpires and friends, routinely descended upon the Manowski home for an evening of shared food, camaraderie, and merriment.

In 1939, Frank married Helen Strom of Enumclaw. Two years later, they welcomed a son whom they named Frank. Though he shared his father’s name, young Frank was technically not a junior. In Black Diamond, the family lived on Lawson Street next to the Presbyterian Church. They relocated to Enumclaw in 1959 to a home on Wells Street, near the hospital. For 23 years, Helen worked as a claims secretary for the Mutual of Enumclaw.

The younger Frank Manowski carved his own lasting legacy in Enumclaw as the long-serving recreational coordinator for King County Parks. Based out of the historic Fieldhouse adjacent to Pete’s Pool, Frank championed youth sports for 33 years, from 1965 to 1997.

How a Wash Plant Works

At the Mine 11 preparation plant, the older Frank toiled day in and day out. Each day, dump trucks delivered raw coal to the plant for processing. Coal was first dumped in a hopper, where it passed over a vibrating screen. Material less than four inches fell through onto a conveyor belt. Larger chunks landed on the picking table. There, a laborer separated the large pieces of coal, which were sent to a crusher and joined the screened coal heading to the wash plant.

Jigging is an ancient mineral-processing method that uses specific gravity and water as a medium to separate materials by weight. The McNally-Norton washer was a Baum-style jig process in which pistons powered by compressed air produced the necessary pulsating motion. As the raw coal moved through the washer tub, air-driven pistons pushed plates up and down and agitated the mix of coal, slag, and water. Coal, being lighter than rock or shale, rose in the turbid river of water and was carried through a chute for further sorting.

Cut-away diagram of the McNally-Norton wash plant’s inner workings.

A bucket conveyor lifted the clean coal to the top of the bunkers where it was screened into separate bins of stoker, egg nut, and lump coal. The bins held hundreds of tons of coal ready for shipment by truck or train. Stoker coal made up the largest percentage of production and was used in large quantities by Washington state institutions such as schools and prisons. Homeowners typically used the slightly larger egg nut coal and lump coal for home heating.

Inside the McNally-Norton washer box, heavier impurities such as rock, sandstone, shale, and bony coal, collectively called slag, fell to the bottom, where a bucket conveyor carried them out of the wash box and into a hopper. Periodically, Manowski walked behind the plant and lifted a chute door, loading the waste slag into a 5-ton coal car. He then activated a hoist drum, which pulled a thick steel cable threaded through a bull wheel at the top of the pile, towing the coal car up the hill to its peak. There, two steel rails tripped the side doors, causing the slag to fall away.

The view from behind – Frank Manowski, to the right, as the coal car is pulled up the slag pile, January 1973.

A water pipeline parallel to the rail track hydraulically flushed the slag downhill. Introducing water also inhibited combustion of any carbon-rich material. After one section of the growing hill became too clogged with waste material, miners laid new ties and rails, extending the stockpile even higher. That’s how the stockpile eventually grew to a mammoth 1.2 million cubic yards. A nearby photo shows Archie Eltz, Charlie Falk, and Frank Merritt atop the waste dump working on the water pipeline that helped sluice waste down the stockpile.

Archie Eltz, Charlie Falk, and Frank Merritt atop the rock dump working on a water pipeline, August 1949.

Every mechanical plant is subject to breakdown, especially a processing mill that sorts coal from rock. Frank Manowski was practical and handy. He knew every belt and bolt in the plant, and had likely replaced every piece during his 33 years, coddling the machinery along. More than once, Frank noted that he’d repaired and reconfigured the wash plant more times than he cared to remember.

Frank Manowski can be seen in the upper center of the photo, climbing stairs to the top of the bunkers. The bucket conveyor to his right, carried the cleaned washed coal to the to storage bins above, January 1973.
The End of an Era

When Manowski turned 65 in 1978, it was his turn to retire. Bill McLoughry, another lifelong Black Diamond coal miner, stepped into the operator’s position until handing off the reins in 1981. Chris Kroha of Lake 12 next filled the vacancy, running the plant until the John Henry surface coal mine launched operations in 1986.  At that point, Black Diamond local Doug Sikes took control. Doug earned his place in local history as the facility’s very last operator, keeping the historic gears turning until the washing plant finally fell silent in November 1990.

That year the McNally-Norton wash plant was decommissioned after 45 years of continuous operation. Once the surrounding bunkers, bins, corrugated sheet metal, and conveying equipment were dismantled and hauled away, only the large iron hull of the old wash tub remained.

In April 1991, five months after the Mine 11 wash plant fell silent, Frank Manowski passed away at the age of 78.  His life neatly mirrored the machinery he so faithfully maintained. His wife, Helen, survived him by 22 years, passing away in Enumclaw in November 2013 at the age of 94. Their son, Frank, carries on the family name at his home in Bonney Lake.

Larry Abele captured many of the striking historic photos that accompany this essay in January 1973. Several of his images appeared in a feature story about coal mining in the Sunday, January 14, 1973, supplement, “Now,” distributed by the Renton Record-Chronicle, Kent News-Journal, and Auburn Globe newspapers.

By Bill Kombol

Bill Kombol standing at all that remains of Mine 11 wash plant, the McNally-Norton wash tub. April 2021 – photo by Bob Dobson.

 

Categories
Musings

I wrote this letter to Mom & Dad

Forty-five years ago, I wrote this letter to Mom & Dad.  I was in Paris near the end of my first of five months in Europe.  My sister Danica (then known as Dana) was studying at the Sorbonne for a year so my parents decided to visit her during an extended vacation.

I quit my job at Seattle Trust & Savings Bank and decided to start fresh and discover my future.  I’d explore Europe – alone, for months, with little direction and no particular plan or focus, and somehow at the end of it all at age 24, find myself.

I came to Paris a few days before my parents arrived.  On Feb. 6, 1978, we began a 25-day auto tour of Lyon, Nice, Monte Carlo, Pula, Zagreb, and Vienna, highlighted by visits with several sets of Croatian relatives.

Mom and Dad left for home on March 3rd and several days later I penned this Aerogramme letter.

One of several letters to Mom and Dad written on light-weight, air-mail, self-sealing envelopes.

March 6, 1978

Dear Mom & Dad –

I don’t quite know what to say.  I hope you weren’t disappointed that I didn’t express my gratitude as much as I could, but you’ll understand that the ‘thank-yous’ would have been so numerous as to make one thank-you seem inconsequential.  So, I guess what I want to say is thank you a thousand times for everything.  I hope I was acceptable as a traveling companion as I sure enjoyed your company and now miss it.

Jack & Pauline’s passport photo for their 1978 trip through Europe.

You’ll never guess what we did Saturday.  Oh, this was ten times better than the sewer system.  Dana and I visited the Catacombs of Paris.  I wish I could send you a postcard (I sent one to Clinton) so you could get the visual impact of seeing these millions of human bones stacked like kindling in tunnels several hundred feet below the streets of Paris.  They were placed there when several Paris cemeteries were torn up to make room for the city’s expansion in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.  It’s a bit morbid at first but fascinating nonetheless.  Got some good pictures (ha ha).

Bill at the Paris Catacombs, March 4, 1978
Danica in the Paris Catacombs, March 4, 1978.

Yesterday, Sunday, Dana and I visited the Rodin museum.  Rodin was the famous sculptor who did the “Thinker” – the piece with the man sitting, chin on his head and elbow on his knee in a very thoughtful moment.  The gardens were beautiful as was the weather yesterday and today.  The skies are now a bright blue and the sun shines hard.  The temperature though has dipped and it’s rather cold outside.

Today, I visited the Paris stock exchange which was extremely interesting, particularly after having seen the commodity exchange in Chicago.  I almost wish I’d seen the Paris exchange first, as it is so calm compared to the unruly Chicago market.  There’s still lots of shouting and such but nothing compared to the screaming in the commodity pits.  Here in Paris, I was able to actually walk on the floor of the exchange, though I did get a couple of stares (no doubt due to my casual attire in the midst of a sea of suits).  But the amazing thing was that I was walking on the floor of France’s equivalent of the N.Y.S.E.

Their exchange system is quite different from the American counterparts, as prices seemed to be established more by consensus than by the bid-ask system in the U.S.  This probably explains the calmer stance as that all-important need to scream your order and acceptance of the other bidder’s order doesn’t really need to exist here.  An interesting sidelight was at one point during the bond market when all the men broke into a song they sang humorously for half a minute.

Writing as small and legibly as possible, you could tell a good story on an Aerogramme (plus there was 1/3 of a panel on the back).

I moved into this hostel for Protestant students.  It’s a dormitory situation, but I get a bed, breakfast, and hot showers all included for 20 francs a night (about $4).  Almost half the people here are French, a quarter English, and the rest Americans. 

In fact, before I finished the previous sentence I was engaged in an extended conversation with John Leeson, an Irishman who now lives in Oxford and is teaching French here in Paris.  And, this letter might begin to sound a bit disjointed as I’m sharing my bottle of Yugoslavian wine with John and Jeff Alford, an American from Newport Beach, California.  We’re listening to Radio Luxembourg (Europe’s Top 40 station).

I met Dana’s good (best) friend Carrie, the one whose parents were here over Christmas.  She’s red-headed and quite nice, the exact opposite of Jana.  Dana even admits that Jana is a bit too much.  Much of the time her stories are B.S. and it can even get to Dana at times.

I ate dinner at Dana’s one night and can understand the source of many of her culinary complaints.  The food is horrible.  I had spinach – not the fresh green vegetable I’m used to, but a dull, sickly green blob of something that if you didn’t know it was food, you wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.  The best I can say was that it was barely edible.

Well, say hello to Barry and Cathy for me (and tell Cathy thank you for the Valentine’s card).  Also, tell her I’m sorry I didn’t send her one but I actually forgot when I was making a list of everyone I sent one to.  Also, if you happen to see Wheels, tell him that his cassette deck is in my room.

Thank you for everything.

Love, Bill

Post Script: I wrote several more letters to Mom and Dad on that trip.  Mom kept a keepsake box for each of her four children where after her death I found that letter and many other treasures.

Jack and Bill Kombol, Feb. 8, 1978. I know the date because my efficient Mother kept a detailed travelogue of our journey.

During those four weeks we spent together, I grew closer to my Dad than perhaps I’d ever been.  He worked hard all his life and in later years found numerous ways to give back to the community.  He helped the old oddballs to whom he rented tiny apartments on the second-floor above Steve’s Shoe Store at the corner of Griffin and Cole in downtown Enumclaw.  He was elected to the school board and as such handed me my diploma when I graduated from high school.

Jack Kombol hands me my diploma, June 2, 1971.

Jack Kombol passed away April 11, 1979, not even a year after coming home from our trip to Europe.  He died on a Wednesday, I wrote a poem on Thursday, and read it at his funeral on Saturday.  I was 25-years-old, channeling feelings from the 14th year of my life when two grandparents, Dad’s father and Mom’s mother died on the same day:

Tears We Have

The last day we expected was the morning that we feared
the nights we cried so long ago have come to rest right here.

We gazed in one another’s eyes
We prayed that we might cope
We stared through nature’s loneliness
and filled our days with hope.

Every day brings forth each night from which dawns each new day
longings fill the times between with thoughts from yesterday.

We’ll never let our smiles down
We’ll never lose our faith
We’ll never touch the world beyond
or see tomorrow’s face.

The news it comes so suddenly, the sadness travels far
raindrops fall from blossomed eyes as we touched who we are.

We realized the sorrow
We understood the pain
We felt the empty feelings
yet prayed no prayers in vain.

And so we’ll cry these tears of pain from sorrow we must store
the tears we have are tears we’ve cried a thousand times before.

There wasn’t much that Dad liked more than operating the heavy equipment he did until shortly before his death.  Here’s Jack Kombol with a drag-line shovel at the McKay coal seam,on Franklin Hill east of Black Diamond, circa 1977.