Digging Out
Digging Out
With a little help from a PF friend, a miner emerges from a bloody past.
Jeff Peck
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Ward Thurman hauled down a Montana highway in a panic: How could I make such a mess of my life? How could I hurt so many people? Where do I go now?
In his rearview mirror he saw Deputy Sheriff Merlin's Bronco following at a distance. Ward felt his blood go cold as his '73 Ford 4x4 sputtered. He was running out of gas.
With the two vehicles pulled over, Merlin stepped out of his truck, using his door as a shield as he aimed his .338 Winchester rifle through the window frame. Merlin's Rottweiler jumped down next to him, ears pricked forward. Peering through his scope, Merlin ordered Ward to give himself up. Ward bolted from his car, only to have his hopeless escape attempt end in the jaws of a dog.
Follow the Money
Awaiting trial, Ward sat stiffly in the Bozeman County jail, searching to make sense of the disaster. He suspected his problems had begun in the sun-drenched climate of Orange County, California, where he grew up. A prisoner of greed as a child, he had longed for a Beverly Hills lifestyle though his family lived comfortably among the middle class.
Ward met his first wife at a party. "I was interested in her because she lived in a $2 million home and drove a BMW," recalls Ward, who had a trade-school education and worked as a mechanic. "I became involved with her and married her because of her family's money."
But soon after his 1981 marriage, his in-laws hit on hard financial times. Ward had been interested in mining since he was a 12-year-old kid digging around an old claim, looking for leftover treasures. What if they started a mining company? His father-in-law's entrepreneurial spirit took to the idea, and the two men ran it straight into the ground—twice. A failure in Northern California and another that same year in Arizona led them to reorganize and move their families to Virginia City, Montana, for a third try.
The onset of 20-below temperatures did little to cool the tempers flaring between them. Mining had come to a standstill in the cold weather, and the $300,000 debt only felt heavier. They crammed two families under one roof to save money—only to drink the savings away at the local bar. As the months stretched on with no work but lots of yelling, browbeating, and drinking, fury found expression. On an April Sunday, Ward exploded during an argument with his father-in-law. Ward drew a pistol and killed him. In one terrible moment, "I'd ended [his life], ruined his family's lives, and ruined my own. Everything we were, everything we'd planned was gone--just like that."
