Heâd tried working at Bunker Hill, where his dad had spent most of his career, but poor eyesight kept him topside. Surface jobs were all right, but they didnât reap the kind of paycheck he wantedânot when he saw the other kids heâd grown up with trading in cars whenever the mood suited them. Wilkinson had seen his father try other jobs, but the old man had always kept coming back to the mines. With each injury, with each downturn or strike, there was always the possibility that the subterranean pull would weaken. The worst of it came when a timber fell on his dad and broke or seriously ruptured several discs. The old man went back, but it was a struggle. He ended his career topside at Bunker Hill. At five feet six and 135 pounds, Wilkinson wasnât a big man, nor was he a particularly smooth talker. He was a tad rough around the edges and probably knew how to party better than anyone else in Smelterville. Heâd dropped out of school, had been raised in part by his grandmother, and had even done some time in a boysâ reform school in St. Anthony, Idaho. Frances Christmann, the daughter of a veteran miner, didnât care about any of that. If Wilkinson was a bad boy with eight tattoos and a cuss-filled mouth, there was something gentle about him, too. She was woman enough to see it. They dated for a couple of years and married on May 20, 1956. In time they had a daughter, Eileen, and a son, Tommy.
Wilkinson worked five tedious years smoothing the running grain of centuries-old Douglas fir on a planing machine at a Smelterville mill. Making housing-grade lumber was repetitive, and the income from the job predictably flat. Wilkinson rustled a job at Sunshine in 1970, joining two of his brothers already there. Six months later, he and his old school buddy Flory were partners.
Six
7:10 A.M., M AY 2
Coeur DâAlene Mining District
V ISITORS TENDED TO FUSE TOGETHER K ELLOGG AND W ALLACE AS rough-and-tumble, hardscrabble, and indistinguishable. But in reality, while the neighboring towns shared origins and economics, they were more rivals than twins. Kellogg was a company town that sprang from the silvery profits and spillover goodwill of the Bunker Hill Mining Company. The lead, zinc, and silver producer was best known for its lead smelter, with its towering stacks spewing smoke, and its strings of lights that made the place look almost Christmas-like at night. Locals referred to the company as âUncle Bunk.â With a long tradition of local ownership and philanthropyâfounding the YMCA, building swimming pools, and funding youth groupsâBunker Hill was the communityâs largest employer and most generous benefactor. Uncle Bunk almost always did right by his men. Even after the Gulf Resources and Chemical Corporation acquired it, residents still clung to the belief that Uncle Bunk would always look out for them. If a minerâor an office worker, for that matterâworked hard, thereâd always be a job and food on the table. But with the shift from local ownership to outsiders, the 3,500 citizens of Kellogg began to understand that unbending loyalty was foolhardy.
The stand-ins for Bunker Hillâs absentee management were often too fancy for local tastes. They werenât interested in being a part of the Coeur dâAlene Mining Districtâs insular world. Most executivesâ wives shopped in Spokane. Kellogg, most certainly, didnât have what the well-heeled desired. Even worse was the unspoken understanding that time in Kellogg was merely a stop on a career path. Outsider managers from Los Angeles or San Francisco or New York City were always temporary, with roots planted back home.
A masonry and terra-cotta village that had barely changed architecturally from its 1880s origins, Wallace was fortunate to be the hometown of several mining corporationsâHecla and Day Mines being the preeminent ones. As such, Wallace, with its population of 2,200,
Wilkinson worked five tedious years smoothing the running grain of centuries-old Douglas fir on a planing machine at a Smelterville mill. Making housing-grade lumber was repetitive, and the income from the job predictably flat. Wilkinson rustled a job at Sunshine in 1970, joining two of his brothers already there. Six months later, he and his old school buddy Flory were partners.
Six
7:10 A.M., M AY 2
Coeur DâAlene Mining District
V ISITORS TENDED TO FUSE TOGETHER K ELLOGG AND W ALLACE AS rough-and-tumble, hardscrabble, and indistinguishable. But in reality, while the neighboring towns shared origins and economics, they were more rivals than twins. Kellogg was a company town that sprang from the silvery profits and spillover goodwill of the Bunker Hill Mining Company. The lead, zinc, and silver producer was best known for its lead smelter, with its towering stacks spewing smoke, and its strings of lights that made the place look almost Christmas-like at night. Locals referred to the company as âUncle Bunk.â With a long tradition of local ownership and philanthropyâfounding the YMCA, building swimming pools, and funding youth groupsâBunker Hill was the communityâs largest employer and most generous benefactor. Uncle Bunk almost always did right by his men. Even after the Gulf Resources and Chemical Corporation acquired it, residents still clung to the belief that Uncle Bunk would always look out for them. If a minerâor an office worker, for that matterâworked hard, thereâd always be a job and food on the table. But with the shift from local ownership to outsiders, the 3,500 citizens of Kellogg began to understand that unbending loyalty was foolhardy.
The stand-ins for Bunker Hillâs absentee management were often too fancy for local tastes. They werenât interested in being a part of the Coeur dâAlene Mining Districtâs insular world. Most executivesâ wives shopped in Spokane. Kellogg, most certainly, didnât have what the well-heeled desired. Even worse was the unspoken understanding that time in Kellogg was merely a stop on a career path. Outsider managers from Los Angeles or San Francisco or New York City were always temporary, with roots planted back home.
A masonry and terra-cotta village that had barely changed architecturally from its 1880s origins, Wallace was fortunate to be the hometown of several mining corporationsâHecla and Day Mines being the preeminent ones. As such, Wallace, with its population of 2,200,
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