America was built on coal.

When you look at the skyscrapers of New York, think coal.Coal fired the furnaces to forge steel that built the towering buildings and great bridges.Coal gave us everything: railroads, jobs, industry, canned food, trolleys, roller coasters. You name it.Coal was easy and cheap.But mining was dangerous. It provided various ways to die: cave-ins, explosions, suffocation.And so coal carries a tremendous legacy, especially for mining descendants.At Lansford's recent No. 9 Coal Miners Heritage Festival, the annual coal shoveling competition featured deep emotion, inspiring those who took part.The event challenges the able-bodied to move several hundred pounds of coal from one bin to another. The fastest shoveler wins.Many of the competitors had coal running through their veins.Tall and lanky Joe Evanousky, 61, of Barnesville, shoveled with heart. He's serious about what he does. And no wonder.Joe's father was a coal miner, a driller at the Shen-Penn stripping pit. Joe's strong arms and deep conviction carried him to third place among tough competition.Then there was James Romankow, another brave shoveler on a warm, muggy day. He's mayor of Lansford, a proud coal town.Another of the crowd favorites was rugged, tattooed John Bova, 52, who came from the Lower Shaft section of William Penn, a village between Shenandoah and Lost Creek.John's incredible display of adrenaline is attributed to every molecule of his being, feelings few can understand.John is the only child of lost miner Louis Bova, the Sheppton worker who ventured 330 feet below ground and never returned.The elder Bova was 54, working inside a Fellin Coal Company mine on Aug. 13, 1963. Joining him were Henry Throne and David Fellin.Suddenly, the mine entrance and shaft collapsed, blocking any means of escape.The cave-in grabbed the attention of the world because, after days went by, the men were discovered alive, trapped inside a small chamber with barely enough space to move and no room to stand.The live drama was watched on virtually every TV in the country in a day when TV news, in black and white, was in its infancy.Emergency responders drilled bore holes, something never done before but now standard practice in deep mine rescues.Two weeks later, Throne and Fellin were hoisted to the surface by a crane that dangled makeshift harnesses.Sadly, Bova never made it out, partly because he was separated from the other two. To this day, he remains entombed.Son John, 8 months old at the time of the cave-in, was deeply scarred by the horror and pain.He eventually dropped out of school. When he grew old enough, he worked inside a deep mine where "I felt close to my dad," he said.His grieving mother suffered depression which she carried for her remaining years. Things were never the same again.Just as bad, John put up with taunting and thoughtless, cruel remarks from folks who speculated about what took place underground.The road hasn't been easy. But John is a survivor."Soon we'll have a state historical marker put there at the site," he told me in his soft-spoken way. He asked me to be there. Over the years, John and I have become friends.The gesture by Pennsylvania is long overdue. It took the state 52 years to recognize the importance of what the entire planet watched in 1963.The town of Sheppton, named for Tamaqua industrialist Daniel Shepp, will forever be linked to a twisting story of happiness and heartbreak.For two families, the marker will be a tribute to two survivors and scores of rescuers. They call it a miracle from above.But for John, it's a reminder of ultimate sorrow. A monument to the father he never really got to know and a tragedy that destroyed his family.In a real sense, the ultimate tribute to Louis Bova isn't a plaque issued by the state museum in Harrisburg.The most meaningful salute happened in Lansford on the hot summer day of July 12.With a tear in his eye, John tapped into strength deep inside to shovel one half ton of coal in honor of a dad he so desperately wants to know.Our longings are eternal.Our bodies, mortal.But love never dies.