The Long Burn

The Overlook

By Tom Clavin

“The Overlook” appears every Wednesday at tomclavin.substack.com. If you enjoy the column, please "like" it and let me know what you think by commenting. All support is appreciated. Don't forget to hit the ‘Subscribe’ button – it’s free!

I’d like to update and post a column that originally appeared in last week’s editions of the Express News Group:

Many people see in the still-raging Los Angeles fires a harbinger of the future. Those seeking a metaphor for our past and present can look at a small town in Pennsylvania.

In May 1962, the Centralia Town Council met to discuss how the town would go about cleaning up the local landfill. The 300-foot-wide, 75-foot-long pit was made up of a 50-foot-deep strip mine that had been cleared in 1935. A state inspector had become concerned about the pit when he noticed holes in the walls and floor, as such mines often cut through older mines underneath.

The town arranged for a cleanup and hired five members of the volunteer firefighter company to do the job. A fire was ignited to clean the dump and water was used to douse the visible flames that night. However, flames were seen once more two days later. Another attempt was made to douse the fire that night. But a flare-up on June 4 caused the Centralia Fire Company to once again douse it with hoses. A bulldozer stirred up the garbage so that firemen could soak concealed layers of the burning waste. A few days later, a hole as wide as 15 feet was found in the base of the north wall of the pit. It was possible that this hole led to the mine fire, as it provided a pathway to the labyrinth of old mines under the borough.

The landfill continued to burn. Still, the Centralia allowed the dumping of more garbage into the pit.

A contractor told officials he could dig out the smoldering material using a steam shovel. Afterward, though, tests concluded that the gases seeping from the large hole in the pit wall and from cracks in the north wall contained carbon monoxide concentrations typical of coal-mine fires. Time for new methods. It was announced that the state would finance the cost of digging out the fire. Another offer was made by a strip mine operator to dig out the mine fire free as long as he could claim any coal he recovered. Both offers were rejected.

Meanwhile, state mine inspectors were in the Centralia-area mines almost daily to check for carbon monoxide emissions. Lethal levels were found on August 9, and all local mines were closed the next day

A few days later, a contract was awarded to Bridy, Inc., a company near Mount Carmel, to excavate 24,000 cubic yards of earth and waste. Bridy was forbidden to do any exploratory drilling in order to find the perimeter of the fire or how deep it was. He was to strictly follow plans drawn up by the engineers, who did not believe that the fire was particularly large or active. Instead, the size and location of the fire was estimated based on the amount of steam issuing from the landfill rock. This proved to be inaccurate.

Bridy began by digging on the northern perimeter of the dump pit rim and excavated about 200 feet outward to expand the perimeter. But breaching of the subterranean mine chambers allowed large amounts of oxygen to rush in, greatly worsening the fire. Furthermore, Bridy's team was allowed only to work eight-hour weekday shifts. Work came to a standstill for five days during the Labor Day weekend. By then, the fire was traveling in a northward direction, allowing it to move deeper into the coal seam. In any case, the project ran out of money and ended.

A new project was proposed that involved a mixture of crushed rock and water being pumped into Centralia's mines ahead of the expected fire expansion. Drilling was conducted through holes spaced 20 feet apart in a semicircular pattern along the edge of the landfill. Soon, though, and ironically, winter weather caused the water supply lines to freeze and the rock-grinding machine froze during a windy blizzard. Again, funds ran out. By the following April, steam issuing from additional openings in the ground indicated that the fire had spread eastward as far as 700 feet.

Not ignoring the expanding fire was a local newspaper which during the next decade published over 500 articles. One, in 1979, reported that a gas station owner had inserted a dipstick into one of his underground tanks to check the fuel level. When he withdrew it, it seemed hot. He lowered a thermometer into the tank on a string and was shocked to discover that the temperature of the gasoline in the tank was 172 degrees.

Statewide attention to the fire began to increase, culminating in 1981 when a 12-year-old resident fell into a sinkhole that suddenly opened beneath his feet in a backyard. He clung to a tree root until his cousin pulled him out. The plume of hot steam billowing from the hole was measured as containing a lethal level of carbon monoxide. Three years later, legislation was approved that allocated more than $42 million for relocation efforts. Most of the residents accepted buyout offers. A few families opted to stay despite urgings from Pennsylvania officials.

In 1992, Pennsylvania governor Bob Casey invoked an eminent domain on Centralia. A legal effort by residents to have the decision reversed failed. In 2002, the U.S. Postal Service revoked the town’s ZIP code. Seven years passed, then Governor Ed Rendell began the formal eviction of Centralia residents. A year later, only five occupied homes remained. In lawsuits, the remaining residents alleged that they were victims of "massive fraud.”

By then, the Centralia mine fire also extended beneath the town of Byrnesville, a few miles to the south. The town had to be abandoned and leveled.

Today, the Centralia area has now grown to be a tourist attraction. Visitors come to see the smoke and steam on Centralia's empty streets and the abandoned portion of Route 61, popularly referred to as the Graffiti Highway. Increased air pressure created by the heat from the mine fires has interacted with heavy rainfalls in the area, which rush into the abandoned mines to form Pennsylvania's only geyser, the Big Mine Run Geyser, which erupts on private property in nearby Ashland. The geyser has been kept open as a means of flood control.

The underground fire continues to burn and spread. Apparently, officials in 2025, like those since 1962, hope the problem will just disappear. And the Centralia fire is no hoax.

Tom Clavin is the bestselling author/co-author of 25 books. His latest book, Bandit Heaven, was published by St. Martin’s Press last October. Please go to your local bookstore or to Bookshop.org, Amazon.com, BN.com, or tomclavin.com to purchase a copy.