From the moment the ordeal in Pennsylvania began, as millions of gallons of water flooded into the Quecreek Mine, they knew what they had to do to make it. Success would come only with cooperation, single-minded determination and, admittedly, a little luck. With their families and their futures weighing heavily on their minds, they gave it their all.

They were the Disney executives who locked up the nearly $1.5 million deal for exclusive book and TV movie rights to the personal stories of the nine rescued coal miners.

With the nation holding its breath, and in need of a feel-good telefilm and quickie book, the Disney team and more than 100 other producers and high-profile network anchors raced to the site of the disaster, makeup artists and well-connected summer interns in tow.

Two days after the drama 240 feet below the earth began, tension at the site was high, as those above the collapsed mine were painfully aware that a story, even a good one, can stay fresh only for so long, and that dilution among too many media outlets weakens ratings and ad rates.

``It's called `miracle fatigue,' '' a reporter on the scene explained.

The mood, which had turned grim after a broken drill bit delayed rescue efforts - and threatened to put the telepic behind schedule for release during the crucial November sweeps period - turned buoyant after the miners were heard tapping on a drill pipe that had been used to sink a 6-inch-wide hole to the air pocket.

While Disney lawyers at first claimed the men were tapping out their ``signatures'' on an exclusive contract, noise from nearby rescue equipment made it impossible to determine whether the men were saying ``yes'' to Disney or to producers of the ``Survivor'' series.

``I wouldn't want to go up against one of these guys in tribal council,'' said Richard Hatch, winner of the first ``Survivor'' program, who was at the site scouting potential contestants.

While the bravery of the miners soon would captivate the nation, before the men surfaced, observers on the ground said they were struck by the dedication of the entertainment-industry workers, some of whom are very poorly paid yet are expected to maintain high-fashion wardrobes and be seen eating at trendy restaurants.

Watching from her farm, where the Hollywood people had set up cell-phone charging stations, yoga mats and oxygen bars, farmer Anna Hollings complimented the executive assistants and others who allowed themselves only catnaps and Botox injections as they worked through the night at the rescue site.

``These people really care,'' Hollings said, recalling how one producer cried when he was yelled at by NBC's Katie Couric after ``Good Morning America's'' Diane Sawyer landed the first sit-down interview with one of the miners.

President Bush also was impressed. After meeting with Disney executives in Canada, on the set of a recreated mine, the president said the Disney team represents the ``spirit of America,'' quickly adding that although Disney had been forced to restate its earnings recently, its new figures were actually higher than had been previously reported.

``The company had failed to incorporate new accounting standards which eliminated goodwill and intangible asset charges,'' the president explained.

For their part, the triumphant Disney executives said they were happy to have landed the deal, and planned to take one day at a time.

Asked by reporters if they were going to stay in the business after the miner deal, the producers said yes.

``Being a sleazy Hollywood guy is all I know how to do,'' one said, as the others grinned their agreement, their bleached teeth shining brightly on the site of the fake mine.