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October 1976 | Volume 27, Issue 6
“it Was My First Trip Into A Cave…”
Text Complexity Grade Level
9
William Burke “Skeets” Miller, the Louisville Courier-Journal reporter who interviewed the trapped Collins and helped with the rescue operations, was awarded a Pulitzer Prize for his coverage of the tragedy. A jew years ago Miller, who is now retired and living in Vermont, wrote a vivid memoir of his harrowing trips into the cave. The following excerpts are from that hitherto unpublished account:
It was my first trip into a cave, an amateur who knew nothing about it and had no fears—only eagerness.
Head-first we started into the hole, barely listening to the directions and advice offered by Homer [Collins] who, with a flashlight, followed for a short distance.
At the very beginning it was necessary to get down on hands and knees. We were in an ooze and slime. The way was downward, not sharply at first, but gradual. Soon Homer and the others turned back and without a light, we butted here and there before finding which way the winding, twisting pathway led. Now it was necessary to get down on my stomach and slide and squirm along, using elbows, and toes to propel me—and occasionally to slow up when I slid along too quickly. In some spots the ooze and slime made a toboggan slide of the passage.
Before I knew it I reached a sharp incline and could not break my speed. The incline made an elbow turn and I caromed head-first against some wet mass. It groaned and moved.
In panic I tried to push back off this thing but the steepness of the incline prevented it. Along the slippery sides I could get no hold and for minutes—it seemed longer—I was pressed against this horrible mass of wet something that moved a little and groaned pitifully, weakly.
Finally my groping hands found a crevice and I pushed back off this thing and tried to get back up around the turn. Head-down, my feet and arms seemed to have multiplied, octopus-like. The more I struggled, the tighter I lodged. I was hot and cold by turns and surprisingly weak. I struggled and pushed to no avail. Gradually reason returned and I knew that below me was Kloyd Collins; that I had landed on him with my full weight, light as it was, and that this other human being near me—though weak and pitiful—was alive.
By now, in weariness, I had stopped struggling and—miraculously—it seemed, I was not fast-bound. …
Cautiously now, I worked back down … [and] managed to push my right foot alongside Collins’ body. Except for one leg, it was impossible to get beyond his shoulders, although I did work one arm down to his hip despite his groans and pitiful, inarticulate sounds.
It was impossible to get past him, however, so I pushed my right foot as far down as I could and then doubled my left leg, and, lifting Floyd’s head,