All that hard work, all that hardship, all the time spent underground, it was all for the families. It was all for you. For a car in the driveway, a roof overhead. For a chance to give their kids opportunities that they would never know, and enjoy retirement with their loves and lovers. It was all in the hopes of something better. And so these miners lived - as they died - dreaming of the American Dream. There, in the mines, for their families, they became a family themselves -- sharing birthdays, relaxing together, watching Mountaineers football or basketball together, spending days off together, hunting or fishing. They may not have always loved what they did, said a sister, but they loved doing it together. They loved doing it as a family. They loved doing it as a community. That community was showed for all to see in the minutes, and hours, and days after the tragedy. Rescuers, risking their own safety, searching for narrow tunnels filled with methane  and carbon monoxide , hoping against hope they might find a survivor. Friends keeping porch lights on in a nightly vigil ; hanging up homemade signs that read, "Pray for our miners, and their families." Neighbors consoling each other, and supporting each other and leaning on one another. I've seen it, the strength of that community. In the days that followed the disaster, emails and letters poured into the White House. Postmarked from different places across the country, they often began the same way: "I am proud to be from a family of miners." "I am the son of a coal miner." "I am proud to be a coal miner's daughter." (Applause.) They were always proud, and they asked me to keep our miners in my thoughts, in my prayers. Never forget, they say, miners keep America's lights on. (Applause.) And then in these letters, they make a simple plea: Don't let this happen again. (Applause.) Don't let this happen again. How can we fail them? How can a nation that relies on its miners not do everything in its power to protect them? How can we let anyone in this country put their lives at risk by simply showing up to work; by simply pursuing the American Dream? We cannot bring back the 29 men we lost. They are with the Lord now. Our task, here on Earth, is to save lives from being lost in another such tragedy; to do what must do, individually and collectively, to assure safe conditions underground -- (applause) -- to treat our miners like they treat each other -- like a family. (Applause.) Because we are all family and we are all Americans. (Applause.) And we have to lean on one another, and look out for one another, and love one another, and pray for one another. God bless our miners. (Applause.) God bless their families. God bless West Virginia. (Applause.) And God bless the United States of America. (Applause.) Where did the tragedy probably happen?
Near the White House. In West Virginia. In a community. We don't know.
Question: All that hard work, all that hardship, all the time spent underground, it was all for the families. It was all for you. For a car in the driveway, a roof overhead. For a chance to give their kids opportunities that they would never know, and enjoy retirement with their loves and lovers. It was all in the hopes of something better. And so these miners lived - as they died - dreaming of the American Dream. There, in the mines, for their families, they became a family themselves -- sharing birthdays, relaxing together, watching Mountaineers football or basketball together, spending days off together, hunting or fishing. They may not have always loved what they did, said a sister, but they loved doing it together. They loved doing it as a family. They loved doing it as a community. That community was showed for all to see in the minutes, and hours, and days after the tragedy. Rescuers, risking their own safety, searching for narrow tunnels filled with methane  and carbon monoxide , hoping against hope they might find a survivor. Friends keeping porch lights on in a nightly vigil ; hanging up homemade signs that read, "Pray for our miners, and their families." Neighbors consoling each other, and supporting each other and leaning on one another. I've seen it, the strength of that community. In the days that followed the disaster, emails and letters poured into the White House. Postmarked from different places across the country, they often began the same way: "I am proud to be from a family of miners." "I am the son of a coal miner." "I am proud to be a coal miner's daughter." (Applause.) They were always proud, and they asked me to keep our miners in my thoughts, in my prayers. Never forget, they say, miners keep America's lights on. (Applause.) And then in these letters, they make a simple plea: Don't let this happen again. (Applause.) Don't let this happen again. How can we fail them? How can a nation that relies on its miners not do everything in its power to protect them? How can we let anyone in this country put their lives at risk by simply showing up to work; by simply pursuing the American Dream? We cannot bring back the 29 men we lost. They are with the Lord now. Our task, here on Earth, is to save lives from being lost in another such tragedy; to do what must do, individually and collectively, to assure safe conditions underground -- (applause) -- to treat our miners like they treat each other -- like a family. (Applause.) Because we are all family and we are all Americans. (Applause.) And we have to lean on one another, and look out for one another, and love one another, and pray for one another. God bless our miners. (Applause.) God bless their families. God bless West Virginia. (Applause.) And God bless the United States of America. (Applause.) Where did the tragedy probably happen?
A. Near the White House.
B. In West Virginia.
C. In a community.
D. We don't know.
Answer: