Posts tagged: Wallace Street Journal
What, exactly, is the price of a miner's penance? How much must a miner pay to cover the shame of being an American miner? (Let us leave alone for a moment the question of why an American miner should be made to feel ashamed of being an American miner by the United Snakes Government.) We have a working number and you should be sitting down for this. The United Snakes government's shame price, the price which an American miner must pay to ensure that he will not be further persecuted for producing metals that for millennia have been used as honest money, and additionally metals which enable cell-phones, Volvos and Prius cars, refrigerators, is: Seven hundred and thirty-one thousand and 667 dollars and some change — $731,666.66 to be precise. Per miner. Per Lucky Friday miner at Hecla's operations in northern Idaho. All in, $263.4 million: two-hundred sixty-three point four million dollars/David Bond, Wallace Street Journal. More here.
Question: Is the mining industry being punished too much for providing us with the metals which enable cell-phones, Volvos and Prius cars, refrigerators?
Rocks. That's what Robert Hopper was all about. Rocks. He loved them. He was the quintessential miner. He saw a nobility in wresting wealth from the earth. Indeed, he held mining, as he held, of all things, scrap-dealing, as the two noblest activities the common man could engage in. You could create yourself by picking up something that nobody else wanted, and moving it to a place where it had value, and you could profit from your endeavours. Robert, himself, he was a rock. A towering intellect with an insatiable curiosity about the nature of things, was Robert. Bob Hopper didn't just seek knowledge; he dined on it. I could learn more in a one-hour's lunch date about English Literature from Robert than I'd managed in four years studying it at university/David Bond, Wallace Street Journal. More here.
Question: Do you have roots in Silver Valley mining?
To those in search of miracles, I give you this: Without fail, every morning, give or take 5 minutes depending on the weather, at 0530 our newspaper appears on the front porch. Not in the weeds or the snow. On the front porch, right by the door, so a be-slippered old geezer can reach out for it without embarrassing his neighbours or getting frostbite on his toes, even in the dark. The impeccable and predictable timing would be enough to remark upon. Except that, winter or summer, tucked into the newspaper is a dog biscuit. Whoever throws the paper on our porch has never met Chase, our dog, because he is inside the house at this dark hour. But Robert has heard a grump or a woof and figures somebody inside would like a treat. Comes out of his own pocket, this newspaper-carrier’s milk bone/David Bond, Wallace Street Journal. More here.
Question: Do you have a good newspaper carrier?
Following is an open letter to Seattle, written by David Bond, Wallace Street Journal: Imagine if some unelected bureaucracy in Post Falls, Idaho, decided, using computer models, that airplanes were unsafe because: (a) they crash once in awhile, and; (b) the aluminum and plastics used in their manufacture were unsafe to human health if consumed in large enough quantities. Having reached this conclusion, this Idaho bureaucracy ordered the closure of all Boeing plants in your state for 50 to 90 years – said order absolute and not subject to court challenge. What would your reaction be? Probably similar to how those of us residing in the Coeur d’Alene Mining District of northern Idaho feel about the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency’s Region X push for an irrevocable 50- to 90-year record of decision (ROD) imposing absolute rule over our mining community of 10,000 people. More here.
Question: What do you make of the EPA’s push for “absolute rule” over the mining district of the Silver Valley?