The nine men could not outrun the surging water, and in a matter of minutes were trapped in an air pocket 240 feet below.
They spent a harrowing 77 hours in the Quecreek Mine, rationing one corned beef sandwich, saying prayers, and scribbling messages they thought would be their last words to their families.
On the third day, as the world watched, the rescue drill broke through and the coal-dust-covered men were hoisted to safety.
On this second anniversary of their ordeal, several of the miners, some of their rescuers, officials and residents gathered yesterday for a modest ceremony at Arnold's farm to mark the event.
The impact of that near-disaster, however, has been felt far beyond Pennsylvania:
It galvanized a movement to improve mine safety, overhaul mining laws, and update antiquated maps used here and elsewhere. (Outdated maps led the miners to believe they were 300 feet from the abandoned mine their drill struck. The correct map was found months later in a museum archive.)
The rescue techniques used at Quecreek are studied by mine operators around the world.
And two commissions - one state, one federal - along with the Pennsylvania inspector general, have recommended substantial changes to state mining laws.
As a result of the accident, three coal companies were fined $14,000. None was found criminally liable.
"I am hopeful that all the work we have done in an attempt to have open and full investigations will provide the basis for positive changes in how mine operators do their work and to make mines safer," said Howard Messer, who represents eight of the nine miners in lawsuits pending against the companies involved and an engineering firm.
Kathleen McGinty, secretary of the Department of Environmental Protection, announced Wednesday policy changes and legislation the administration would propose this fall to make companies more accountable and allow state-imposed fines.
"Safety issues demand an updated statute," she said. "We also have to make sure there is a place that the buck stops. Right now, we can't hold mine owners accountable."
Bill Arnold wants to make sure the day is never forgotten.
On July 24, 2002, Arnold was an ordinary dairy farmer managing a herd of 200. On July 25, his pasture was filled with machinery and people - from families of the trapped miners to Navy dive teams.
Arnold still trundles down to the barn before dawn to milk cows. Hours later, however, he's in his office, the Quecreek Mine Rescue Foundation. The foundation has raised $100,000 to build a memorial park and coal mining education center.
"We didn't go looking for this, it came to us, so we feel obligated to maintain it," said Arnold, who with his wife, Lori, guides tours for the busloads who stop there. "Something touched our lives as it did the community, the nation and the world."
In the unfinished park are nine evergreen trees and nine granite blocks that symbolize the miners, as well as a large bronze statue of a coal miner reading a book. The goal is to have 31 statues one day, Arnold said, one representing each of the groups involved in the rescue, from the Salvation Army to the firefighters who directed traffic.
On exhibit this anniversary weekend is the rescue capsule, drill bits, and the hammer used to keep contact with the miners.
Arnold wants National Historic Landmark status, a roadside historical marker, and an oral history of the incident.
"People have short memories; it's one thing and on to the next horrific news story," he said. "We are compelled to make sure people don't forget what happened here."
For months after the accident, "the Quecreek Nine" found themselves in the national spotlight - the subjects of books, magazine articles and a movie, for which they were paid $150,000 each. They appeared on Oprah, and in a Vanity Fair photo spread.
The national attention took its toll. Tensions erupted between miners and rescuers and legal battles ensued. Last year, Bob Long, the engineer credited with pinpointing the miners with a global positioning device, committed suicide. Two miners sued the coal companies Friday, three days before the statute of limitations ends.
Five of nine other miners who narrowly escaped being trapped that same day recently sued over the trauma they suffered.
Only one, Randy Fogle, has returned to mining. Two others have jobs. The rest are on workers' compensation, said lawyer Messer.
The foundation wants to build ties with those involved in the county's other major visitor destination, the site of the United Airlines Flight 93 crash on Sept. 11, 2001, said David Hess, the former DEP secretary who is a foundation adviser.
The two cataclysmic events occurred within nine months; the sites are nine miles apart.
"Flight 93 was an example of the worst of things that humans can do," Hess said. "The mine rescue showed the best of things that humans can do."
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