Theyre out of the dark, and into the limelight
Chilean miners get a taste of their celebrity
COPIAPO, Chile — The Chilean miners began their unfamiliar new lives as national heroes yesterday and got a taste of what awaits them outside the hospital doors: a deluge of TV producers, writers, and even soccer teams all desperate for a piece of their story.
A day after their epic rescue, still wearing the oddly fashionable sunglasses that protected them from the bright light when they were hoisted from 2,000 feet underground, the men posed in hospital bathrobes for a group photo with President Sebastian Pinera.
Unity helped the men, known as “los 33,’’ survive for 69 days underground, including more than two weeks when no one knew whether they were alive or dead.
But the moment they walk out the hospital doors, they will go beyond the reach of a government operation that has cared for, fed, and protected them in a carefully coordinated campaign to ensure each of them would be in top condition.
“Now they’re going to have to find their equilibrium and take care of themselves,’’ said the Rev. Luis Lopez, the hospital chaplain.
They got quite the preview yesterday of what lies ahead. On their first full day of fresh air, the miners were probably the 33 most in-demand people on the planet.
A Greek mining company wants to bring them to the sunny Aegean islands, competing with rainy Chiloe, in Chile’s southern archipelago, whose tourism bureau wants them to stay for a week.
Soccer teams in Madrid, Buenos Aires, and Manchester, England, want them in their stadiums. Bolivia’s president wants them at his palace. TV host Don Francisco wants them all on his popular “Sabado Gigante’’ show in Miami.
Hearing that miner Edison Pena jogged regularly in the tunnels below the collapsed rock, the New York City marathon invited him to participate in next month’s race.
What about a reality show? Some other kind of TV work? Why not, said television writer-producer and Oscar nominee Lionel Chetwynd, who said he expected projects were being pitched around Hollywood within hours of the rescue.
“Television is a quick-response medium,’’ he said, joking: “In fact, I think I’ll call my agent when we get off the phone.’’
Three of the men were discharged from the hospital last night, with others following today and over the weekend.
Meanwhile, the families and friends of the men of the San Jose mine were organizing welcome-home parties, street celebrations, big dinners, and even a few weddings, while trying at the same time to hold off the onslaught of demands from the media to learn more about how they survived.
The government promised six months of psychological treatment and help with medical needs. It made sure each has a bank account only he can operate, and coached the miners on dealing with the media.
The rescue team even asked Guinness World Records to honor all 33 with the record for longest time trapped underground, rather than the last miner out, Luis Urzua. Guinness spokeswoman Jamie Panas said the organization was studying the question.
The men certainly have an extraordinary story to tell. Their rescue, one by one throughout the day Wednesday in a narrow capsule, set car horns and vuvuzelas blasting around Chile.
At least one of the men kept a diary of life down below. Victor Segovia, a 48-year-old electrician and father of five, scribbled down so many details during their time underground that he had to ask the crews to send down more pencils and paper.
Psychiatrists and other specialists predict the miners’ lives will be anything but normal now that they are free. Previously unimaginable riches await them after years, in some cases whole careers, going into mines for about $1,600 a month.
Most of the rescued miners live in Copiapo, a gritty, blue-collar city surrounded by the Acatama desert. They must decide whether to return to mining.
Mario Medina Mejia, a local geologist, said plenty of Chilean miners have returned underground after close calls, and he compared it to sailors who survive shipwrecks only to ride the waves again.
“If they need the work they will return to the mine,’’ he said. “It’s their life, their culture, the way they make their living.’’