The disaster at the Rolling Thunder Mine began like any other shift. Underground work always came with danger, but for men like Steven Lipscomb, risk was simply part of life. A 42-year-old foreman from Elkview, West Virginia, Steve had spent years putting others first — first as a Marine rifleman, then as a leader in the mining world. On November 8, that instinct became the final act of his life.

State officials said the shift was moving normally until an old internal wall unexpectedly gave way. A surge of water burst through the shaft with tremendous force — the kind of underground flood that leaves workers with only seconds to react. Panic swept through the tunnels as men raced for the exit, the roar of water chasing behind them. But while others ran, Steve turned back to make sure no one was left behind.

One miner reported seeing him heading toward the rising water, counting heads and urging his men to move faster. “He stood his ground until every member of his crew was out,” Governor Patrick Morrisey said. “He spent his final moments ensuring his men could escape.” All seventeen of his miners made it out. Steve did not.

For five days, rescue teams worked tirelessly to reach him. They had to wait for the water to drop to safe levels before entering the flooded areas. At dawn on the fifth day, crews finally reached the corridor where he was last seen. An hour later, they found him — exactly where many expected he would be: at the point of greatest danger, where he believed he was needed most.

Steve Lipscomb had never been one to run from risk. Before he ever stepped underground, he served in Iraq as a Marine rifleman, fighting in one of the most difficult urban battles of the war. He returned home with injuries, a Purple Heart, and a deep sense of responsibility that shaped the rest of his life.

His wife, Heather, said that sense of duty wasn’t something he learned — it was simply who he was. “Steve always thought about everyone else first,” she said. “He had seventeen men on his crew. He wasn’t going to leave until he knew they were safe.”

Steve joined Alpha Metallurgical Resources in 2006, worked his way up, and became a foreman in 2015. Co-workers described him as steady, calm, and reliable. “He was respected by everyone who worked with him,” company CEO Andy Eidson said. “A dedicated employee, a strong leader, and a friend.”

At home, he was simply “Dad.” He and Heather created a life full of small, meaningful moments — backyard cookouts, school events, late-night homework, and the kind of quiet love that holds a family together. His daughters, now 13 and 17, adored him. He was the father who always showed up, always listened, and always encouraged them to be strong and kind.

His passing became the 29th mining-related loss reported this year — and the fifth in West Virginia alone. But behind that number was a man defined by selflessness, from the day he enlisted to the moment he made sure every miner under his watch got home alive. Vice President JD Vance, also a Marine veteran, honored him with a simple message: “A great American. Semper Fi, Steve.”

West Virginia Governor Morrisey said what many across the state were feeling: mining is more than an industry — it’s a brotherhood. And when one miner is lost, the entire community grieves. “We stand together as one West Virginia family,” he said. “We grieve together, and we lift each other up.”

Those who knew Steve say he would not have wanted praise. He worked hard, protected his crew, loved his family, and lived with quiet integrity. That, to him, was enough.

But for those he leaves behind, his legacy is a reminder of what real courage looks like. It isn’t the spotlight or medals. It’s showing up every day, doing the right thing, and making sure others get home safe — even when it comes at the highest cost.

Steve Lipscomb dedicated his life to walking toward danger when others ran from it. He did it in Iraq. He did it in Elkview. And on November 8, he did it once more — one final time.

A husband. A father. A Marine. A foreman. A hero to the end.

His story will live on. And the people of West Virginia, the Marines who served beside him, and every miner who ever worked under his watch know exactly why.

He didn’t just live with courage — he left this world with it too.