A trip through the minds of others, and to the town of Centralia, PA
The last time I posted I mentioned that I was reading a book about Centralia. I finished it rather quickly, in a day or two, and moved on to requesting more books from the library about the subject. My brother and I even talked of going to Centralia next summer. At the time I certainly didn’t know that my father was planning on taking a drive to Pennsylvania to see a friend, within an hour’s drive of Centralia. So today we got up at 5 in the morning, and headed to Pennsylvania. I was strangely excited, like a kid waiting for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve or something. Throughout reading everything I could find about the town, about the people, I felt like I had made some sort of emotional connection… I prepared myself beforehand, drawing up my own map of the town based on everything I had read, overlaying the old abandoned streets over a more current map of what remained. I knew where some of the houses still stood, and the names of the people that lived there.
Upon entering the town, we noticed several cars parked up near St. Ignatius Cemetary. We did a quick drive through, and then parked behind the other cars. There were no Borough of Centralia signs, nor any signs warning of the mine fire, as I had seen on the internet. But then again, plenty of people on the internet told about those same signs getting stolen. So it was really the St. Ignatius sign that I saw and was like, “Wow. I’m really here.” I walked down to the abandoned portion of Route 61, which I knew was situated above the fire. It was sort of sad to walk down the road, not so much because of the state of abandonment — trees started growing in the middle of the road — but due to the graffiti and trash left by so many others. I suppose that separates me from some of the other visitors… I was interested in the history, caught up in the sadness of the town’s abandonment, it seemed like a pilgrimage to pay my respects. I suppose it was merely a novelty to all the others that found it fun to tag perverse and racist remarks on a cracked and destroyed road, while it belched out plumes of steam. In fact when I reached the major cracks a short walk down the road, I found a person with a spray paint can in hand, leaving a mark behind. It made me angry to see it.
After taking many photographs of the cracks, I headed back up the hill to take a few more pictures in the town. I would have loved to explore more, but my father was eager to leave, considering the long drive we had to get back home. Before leaving, I took a short walk through St. Ignatius Cemetary. There was a specific person I was looking for, I didn’t think I would find her, but by coincidence I happened upon her grave. I’m hardly a religious person, but I observed a few moments of silence in lieu of a prayer. It was the grave of Helen Womer. Of all the people that I had read of that lived in Centralia, for some reason I found her story to be the most interesting. I read a review by David DeKok, the author of the current book I am reading, about the book I mentioned before, “The Day The Earth Caved In,” written by Joan Quigley. He claims that the book failed to explain Womer, and that the focus on the people downplayed the facts about the actual fire.
My only observation was that although both books dealt with the subject, they each sought to answer a different question. DeKok’s book was a historical account, ultimately explaining why the town of Centralia was abandoned, and the failures of the state and government that led to that outcome. Quigley’s book was purposely focused on the people, almost an attempt to get inside their heads. The question it sought to answer was why are people STILL LIVING in Centralia. By the end of the book, I felt as if I knew. I spent so much time hating Helen Womer, that by the time I got to the end, all of a sudden I thought I understood why she did what she did. Certainly I did not agree with some of those things (hiding/ignoring facts in the hope of saving the town from abandonment/destruction), but in a way, I understood them. And I recognized the times in my life where I almost wanted to do similar things. Clearly not on the same scale, but I felt as if I knew what that woman felt.
If I ever go back to Centralia, I plan on leaving a flower on the grave of Helen Womer.
You can see pictures of my trip to Centralia in the gallery.