FIRE PATROLS

New York Fire Patrol vehicles

New York fire patrolman Keith Roma died at World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001  

Chicago

Memphis

List of U.S. fire patrols in 1914

It was the end of an era.

The New York Fire Patrol - the last insurance industry salvage corps in the U.S. - disbanded on Oct. 15, 2006 after 167 years.

The patrol, funded by the New York Board of Fire Underwriters, was charged with protecting property and merchandise to limit insurance claims.

Their primary tool was the tarpaulin or salvage cover.

On the fire ground, patrol members wore bright red helmets.

According the New York City Fire Museum:

At fires, patrolmen worked alongside firefighters. Because they were civilians, patrolmen took orders from the FDNY commanding officer, who ensured it was safe for patrolmen to enter a burning building. Just like the FDNY, the NYFP had its own training school where patrolmen learned techniques of fire salvage, first aid, and forcible entry. Their main job was to protect contents on floors below a fire from being damaged by water used to extinguish fire on floors above. Some of the Patrol’s tools included tarpaulins, brooms, mops, sand, sawdust, and forcible entry tools. 

Through the years, New York's patrolmen - nicknamed "Patroleos" - were credited with saving lives at fires and providing valuable assistance to firefighters. 

At the 23rd Street fire that killed 12 New York firefighters on Oct. 17, 1966, patrolman Edward Pospicil played a key role in the search for the fallen members, drawing a map to where he last saw them operating. ``On the basis of the diagram, a wall was breached opposite from where the men were believed to be and the bodies were found very close to the spot indicated on the map," according to commandsafety.com

Thirty-two New York patrolmen died in the line of duty, the last being Keith M. Roma at the World Trade Center attack on Sept. 11, 2001.

According to the New York Daily News:

``Keith Roma ended up in the lobby of Tower 1 that day, bringing people out to the courtyard and toward safety on Vesey St. He made three or four trips, said his boss, Fire Patrol Sgt. John Sheehan. On his final trip escorting Trade Center workers, Tower 2 collapsed. Debris rained down. Sheehan escaped. Keith Roma and the civilians didn't.''

His body was located on Christmas Eve - the 344th member of the New York fire service killed on 9/11.

Other cities fielded salvage corps, including the Chicago Fire Patrol, which made its debut a few days before the Great Chicago Fire of October 1871 and performed valiantly under the command of its superintendent, Benjamin B. Bullwinkle, a veteran of the Chicago Fire Department.

In Philadelphia, the Fire Insurance Patrol was organized in 1869, according to the University of Pennsylvania, with its stated object, ``to protect and save property in or contiguous to burning buildings, and to remove and take charge of such property or any part thereof when necessary, supported by voluntary contributions from various fire insurance companies, and not possessing the means of making profits or declaring dividends, but exercising its functions equally in property whether insured or uninsured.''

Milwaukee's Fire Insurance Patrol, founded in 1886, was known as the ``Sack Company'' for its  role in salvaging and sacking goods.

Overseas, salvage corps serviced London and Liverpool in England and Glasgow, Scotland where a fire at a bonded whiskey warehouse on Cheapside Street claimed the lives of 19 members of the fire service on March 28, 196o - including five from the Glasgow Salvage Corps.

Mumbai in India also fielded a salvage corps.

FIRE HORSES

Engine 9 of the Los Angeles Fire Department

Fire departments turned to horses for motive power when steam driven pumpers debuted in the mid-to-late 1800s, replacing lighter weight hand-pulled apparatus.

The Detroit Fire Department, for example, organized a "horse bureau" in 1886.

According to the American Museum of Natural History:

``With a quick-hitch harness, a fire horse could be ready to go in less than a minute. This network of leather straps hung from the firehouse ceiling. When the alarm rang, the horse rushed into place underneath. A firefighter released a switch, and the harness dropped down around the horse's body. With three snaps, the collar was closed and the reins were attached to the bit.''

One of the favorite breeds was the Percheron, a carriage horse known for its strength and serene disposition.

According to Equus magazine:

``The three-abreast hitch was popular with fire departments. Interestingly, the middle horse was recorded as the one first to break down and have lameness problems. Once this happened, the entire team was retired, since firemen believed that a replacement in the hitch would be a bad omen.''

In Los Angeles, the fire department purchased horses between three and six years of age trained by breeders, according to the Los Angeles Firemen's Relief Association. They were given one or two syllable names like Bob, Sam, Izzy, Rock, Rufus and Pete ''to facilitate the horse’s response'' to the driver's orders.

TRIANGLE SHIRTWAIST COMPANY, NYC

On March 25, 1911, tragedy struck New York City. Fire swept the Triangle Shirtwaist Company, claiming 146 lives. Many of the victims jumped to their deaths.

``The tragedy brought widespread attention to the dangerous sweatshop conditions of factories, and led to the development of a series of laws and regulations that better protected the safety of workers,'' according to the History Channel.

United Press reporter William Shepherd was an eyewitness.

Here is his report:

I was walking through Washington Square when a puff of smoke issuing from the factory building caught my eye. I reached the building before the alarm was turned in. I saw every feature of the tragedy visible from outside the building. I learned a new sound - a more horrible sound than description can picture. It was the thud of a speeding, living body on a stone sidewalk.

Thud-dead, thud-dead, thud-dead, thud-dead. Sixty-two thud-deads. I call them that, because the sound and the thought of death came to me each time, at the same instant.

There was plenty of chance to watch them as they came down. The height was eighty feet.

The first ten thud-deads shocked me. I looked up-saw that there were scores of girls at the windows. The flames from the floor below were beating in their faces. Somehow I knew that they, too, must come down, and something within me-something that I didn't know was there-steeled me.

I even watched one girl falling. Waving her arms, trying to keep her body upright until the very instant she struck the sidewalk, she was trying to balance herself. Then came the thud--then a silent, unmoving pile of clothing and twisted, broken limbs.

As I reached the scene of the fire, a cloud of smoke hung over the building. . . . I looked up to the seventh floor. There was a living picture in each window-four screaming heads of girls waving their arms.

"Call the firemen," they screamed-scores of them. "Get a ladder," cried others. They were all as alive and whole and sound as were we who stood on the sidewalk. I couldn't help thinking of that. We cried to them not to jump. We heard the siren of a fire engine in the distance. The other sirens sounded from several directions.

"Here they come," we yelled. "Don't jump; stay there."

One girl climbed onto the window sash. Those behind her tried to hold her back. Then she dropped into space. I didn't notice whether those above watched her drop because I had turned away. Then came that first thud. I looked up, another girl was climbing onto the window sill; others were crowding behind her. She dropped. I watched her fall, and again the dreadful sound. Two windows away two girls were climbing onto the sill; they were fighting each other and crowding for air. Behind them I saw many screaming heads. They fell almost together, but I heard two distinct thuds. Then the flames burst out through the windows on the floor below them, and curled up into their faces.

The firemen began to raise a ladder. Others took out a life net and, while they were rushing to the sidewalk with it, two more girls shot down. The firemen held it under them; the bodies broke it; the grotesque simile of a dog jumping through a hoop struck me. Before they could move the net another girl's body flashed through it. The thuds were just as loud, it seemed, as if there had been no net there. It seemed to me that the thuds were so loud that they might have been heard all over the city.

I had counted ten. Then my dulled senses began to work automatically. I noticed things that it had not occurred to me before to notice. Little details that the first shock had blinded me to. I looked up to see whether those above watched those who fell. I noticed that they did; they watched them every inch of the way down and probably heard the roaring thuds that we heard.

As I looked up I saw a love affair in the midst of all the horror. A young man helped a girl to the window sill. Then he held her out, deliberately away from the building and let her drop. He seemed cool and calculating. He held out a second girl the same way and let her drop. Then he held out a third girl who did not resist. I noticed that. They were as unresisting as if he were helping them onto a streetcar instead of into eternity. Undoubtedly he saw that a terrible death awaited them in the flames, and his was only a terrible chivalry.

Then came the love amid the flames. He brought another girl to the window. Those of us who were looking saw her put her arms about him and kiss him. Then he held her out into space and dropped her. But quick as a flash he was on the window sill himself. His coat fluttered upward-the air filled his trouser legs. I could see that he wore tan shoes and hose. His hat remained on his head.

Thud-dead, thud-dead-together they went into eternity. I saw his face before they covered it. You could see in it that he was a real man. He had done his best.

We found out later that, in the room in which he stood, many girls were being burned to death by the flames and were screaming in an inferno of flame and heat. He chose the easiest way and was brave enough to even help the girl he loved to a quicker death, after she had given him a goodbye kiss. He leaped with an energy as if to arrive first in that mysterious land of eternity, but her thud-dead came first.

The firemen raised the longest ladder. It reached only to the sixth floor. I saw the last girl jump at it and miss it. And then the faces disappeared from the window. But now the crowd was enormous, though all this had occurred in less than seven minutes, the start of the fire and the thuds and deaths.

I heard screams around the corner and hurried there. What I had seen before was not so terrible as what had followed. Up in the [ninth] floor girls were burning to death before our very eyes. They were jammed in the windows. No one was lucky enough to be able to jump, it seemed. But, one by one, the jams broke. Down came the bodies in a shower, burning, smoking-flaming bodies, with disheveled hair trailing upward. They had fought each other to die by jumping instead of by fire.

The whole, sound, unharmed girls who had jumped on the other side of the building had tried to fall feet down. But these fire torches, suffering ones, fell inertly, only intent that death should come to them on the sidewalk instead of in the furnace behind them.

On the sidewalk lay heaps of broken bodies. A policeman later went about with tags, which he fastened with wires to the wrists of the dead girls, numbering each with a lead pencil, and I saw him fasten tag no. 54 to the wrist of a girl who wore an engagement ring. A fireman who came downstairs from the building told me that there were at least fifty bodies in the big room on the seventh floor. Another fireman told me that more girls had jumped down an air shaft in the rear of the building. I went back there, into the narrow court, and saw a heap of dead girls. . . .

The floods of water from the firemen's hose that ran into the gutter were actually stained red with blood. I looked upon the heap of dead bodies and I remembered these girls were the shirtwaist makers. I remembered their great strike of last year in which these same girls had demanded more sanitary conditions and more safety precautions in the shops. These dead bodies were the answer.

ST GEORGE HOTEL, LOS ANGELES

1952

Los Angeles, March 25 (Associated Press) - Fire which flashed swiftly in a six-floor hotel killed at least six men today. A night clerk who ran through the corridors knocking on doors, then hurried back to his switchboard to warn others by telephone, was credited with saving many lives.

A estimated 150 were in the St. George Hotel at 115 E. Third St. when the blaze broke out at 3 a.m. Police said 10 were hospitalized with burns or injuries.

Fire Captain Claude Conlan said a check showed that the hotel's second floor fire hose was so rotted it was not usable, and a weight-balanced fire escape ladder at the rear, leading from the second floor to the ground, was wired up.

The whine of sirens mingled with the screams of burned and calls for help as firemen and ambulances rolled up at the first alarm. Division Chief H. M. Melvin put in a quick call for aerial ladder trucks as frightened faces appeared at upper windows of the 100-room brick structure.

One by one the big ladders swung to windows to take off the occupants. Other clambered down fire escapes and a few jumped into nets. Most of them were suffering from the intense heat and heavy smoke.

Arther M. Massey, 56, an electrician, was met by smoke and flames when he opened the door of his sixth floor room. Cut off from escape by the hall, he yelled out the window, he said. He saw a man in an adjoining room put a leg over the sill and thought he might jump."

"When I saw the firemen back a big truck up below and swing an extension ladder up, I was mighty thankful," he said. "It was getting mighty hot and smoky in my room. As soon as the ladder hit the sill, I started down it. Didn't even wait for the firemen, who was on his way up.
We passed each other."

TERMINAL HOTEL, ATLANTA

Terminal Hotel fire

Aftermath

On May 16, 1938, fire broke out at Atlanta's Terminal Hotel - a blaze the Associated Press described as a ``flaming horror.''

Thirty-five people died. 

At least two victims were never identified, including a woman who checked in under the name of a guest's wife - while the real wife was safe at home.

The AP reported:

``The blaze broke out in the basement of the five story brick and frame building about 3 a. m., when most of its guests were asleep. Flames and smoke shot skyward and in a moment every floor was ablaze. Home to many railroad men, the $1 and up a day hotel was situated opposite the terminal station on Spring st., in downtown Atlanta. Traffic for blocks around was jammed as police roped off the area against danger of falling walls. Thousands, some of them relatives, pressed against the fire lines, thruout [sic] the day.

``Bellhop Charlie Labon, a veteran of 20 years service, was in the lobby when the blaze caught. He said he heard a kitchen messboy scream: `Oh lawdy, fire;' then there was a muffled blast below and flamed puffed upward.''

AP also said:

``One couple, awakened by the smell of smoke, escaped by climbing thru a second floor window and walking a narrow ledge 200 feet to a corner where a ladder was placed.''

SEFU SOAP & FAT CO., NYC

``Firemen were walking in and out of the first floor of the building from a loading platform outside. Then a voice cried out: `Look out, there goes ......' The sentence was never finished.''

Excerpt from Juniper Park Civic Association

The date was October 26, 1962. The country and the world were concerned about the very real possibility of a nuclear war that could break out at any moment. As president John F. Kennedy and Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev maneuvered warships and missiles, a local fire would have a huge impact on a half a dozen families.

At around 9:00pm a fire at the Sefu Soap and Fat Co. at 44-15 56th Road broke out from an unknown cause in the two-story brick, 73-by-50-foot building. By the nature of the business that occupied the building, the fire was intense and went to four alarms being declared under control at 10:50 p.m. As firemen were walking in and out of the first floor of the building from a loading platform outside a voice cried out: Look out, there goes... The sentence was never finished. The wall and ceiling tumbled down, burying the fireman under tons of bricks and other debris.

About 20 firefighters were trapped under at least 6 feet of debris. A fifth alarm was sounded to bring emergency equipment to the scene. Firemen Richard Andrews, James Marino, Captain William Russell of Engine 325, Firemen Richard Gifford, George Zahn of Engine 238 and Fireman Francis Egan of Ladder 115, were killed and many were injured.

John Killcommons, then a 28 year-old with only two years on the job worked at Ladder 128 on Greenpoint Avenue. The 128 was the first hook and ladder to arrive, when we got here the fire was roaring. "The more water we took out of the creek, the fire just got brighter," said Killcommons.

Killcommons was about 5 feet away from the men working under a garage shed when the right side wall of the two-story brick building collapsed. He was saved because he happened to be standing in a doorway of the building. "I knew all of the lost firemen, four of the dead joined me in FDNY in the spring of 1960. We were replacing guys who served in World War II," said Killcommons.

Captain Russell, a decorated WWII veteran, joined FDNY after the war. Probationary firemen, Richard Andrews, joined the FDNY four months prior. Killcommons was one of the firefighters digging out Andrews, who was crushed by the weight of the wall. Today probationary firemen are not allowed to enter buildings on fire.

FDNY Captain George Zahn Sr., Engine Company 324 in Corona arrived at the scene hours after the fire to see where his son died. Zahn Sr. approached Killcommons and said, I have only one son and now he's gone. "We were trying to comfort him but you can see he was totally devastated," said Killcommons.

Lives were lost, families were broken apart and life was changed for so many. But for New York City, the Cuban Missile Crisis was the news of the day. And the Maspeth fire which took six young lives faded from the headlines.

...

New York (AP) -- Six dead firemen were pulled early today from the debris of a collapsed wall at a fire-gutted soap factory in Queens.

More than 20 firemen were trapped Friday night when the side wall and part of the second floor gave way during the blaze. Five were hospitalized.

The whereabouts of the building's watchman and his assistant were not known, but firemen said they were not believed to be in the building.

The fire department identified the six dead as:
CAPT. WILLIAM RUSSELL, of Wantagh, N.Y.
Fireman FRANCIS EGAN, Merrick, N.Y.
Fireman GEORGE ZAHN, Jackson Heights.
Fireman RICHARD GIFFORD, Belrose.
Fireman JAMES MARINO, Corona.
Probationary Fireman RICHARD ANDREWS, all of Queens.

The fire broke out from an unknown cause around 9 p.m. in the two-story brick, 73-by-50-foot building housing the Sefu Fat and Soap Co.

The four-alarm fire was brought under control at 10:50 p.m., and shortly thereafter the wall fell. A fifth alarm was sounded to bring emergency equipment to the scene.

Firemen were walking in and out of the first floor of the building from a loading platform outside.

Then a voice cried out: "Look out, there goes ......"

The sentence was never finished.

The wall and ceiling tumbled down, burying the fireman under tons of bricks and other debris.

LUM'S CHINESE RESTAURANT, NYC

1936

New York, Feb. 13 (Associated Press) - Investigators declared today that panic rather than flames caused the deaths of five persons and injuries to 41 in a fire which swept through Lum's Chinese Restaurant at the height of a party.

Fire Commissioner JOHN J. McELLIGOTT said a preliminary inquiry showed no suspicious circumstances connected with the fire nor any evidence of negligence.

"It is just another case of panic where people invariably will try to get out the same door in which they entered," said Building Commissioner SAMUEL FASSLER.

Most of the patrons, he said, had tried to leave through a 59th Street exit. There was another stairway on Lexington Avenue.

SUPER PUMPER

Excerpt from firechief.com

From 1965 through 1982, the T-Rex of fire pumpers roamed the streets of New York City bringing with it massive firefighting power heretofore unseen on land.

How massive you ask?

The central pumping unit alone could draw water from eight hydrants at once, drop lines into bodies of water, supply a mind-boggling number of lines with water simultaneously, and flow over 10,000 gallons per minute at low pressures if the situation called for it. When the pressure was ramped up to 350 psi, it could move 8,800 gpm.

By the time of its retirement in April 1982, FDNY's super pumper had responded to more than 2,200 calls. During its 17-year run, the super pumper and its tender and satellite tenders had responded to the biggest fires across the city's five boroughs; once it even took over the task of a failed pumping station in the city's municipal water supply.

MAD BOMBER, BOSTON

Ruins of Rapid Transit station

1959
Boston, June 12 (Associated Press) - Police today hunted a "mad bomber" in the wake of an explosion which shattered a Rapid Transit train station 30 feet above a busy Boston intersection yesterday.

Thirty-eight persons were injured, three seriously, in the blast which investigators said was caused by a home made bomb planted in a public coin locker.

High police officials said the bombing apparently was the work of a lunatic, bent of destruction.

Police probing through the ruins found six dry-cell batteries near some shattered fragments of the metal lockers.

They said the batteries were covered with a sulphide residue, indicating they were part of a bomb. Police said the bomb might have been activated by an oncoming train.

Two detectives said tests by police chemists of bits of the wreckage and parts of a smashed locker indicated a bag of powder weighing 20 to 25 pounds caused the explosion.

THIRD WARD, MILWAUKEE

On Oct. 28, 1892, a wind-driven fire swept Milwaukee's Third Ward, devouring 16 square blocks and claiming five lives, according to the Wisconsin Historical Society.

The blaze, which broke out at the Union Oil Company warehouse, left 2,000 people homeless, injured dozens and burned 410 buildings and 215 railroad freight cars.

The fire was prematurely declared under control. An explosion at a furniture sent flames shooting into the sky, extending the blaze.

...

By The Associated Press.

MILWAUKEE, Wis., Oct. 29.  - In the great fire which swept over this city for ten hours last night forty-six acres of business and residence property, valued at $6,000,000, were burned, upward of 3,000 persons were made homeless, and four lives were lost. The dead are:

HENRY PEDDENBROCH, fireman, 552 Reed Street.

CHARLES STAHL, fireman, 550 Fourth Street.

Woman supposed to be Mrs. ANNIE M'DONALD, wife of a butcher.

Mrs. KALABAN died from the effects of shock.

Henry Peddenbroch and Charles Stahl, the firemen who were killed, were in the alley in the rear of East Water Street, where the walls of the Waisel & Vilter Machine Shops fell. When the crash came they were buried under the falling walls.

Several men were injured, including one member of the life-saving crew. Those injured, as far as could be learned, are:

RICHARD GARDNER, machinist, twenty-two years of age, injured about head and neck seriously.

J. H. ROESCH, patternmaker, sixty-seven years old, broken leg, and injured about the head; serious.

WILLIAM WITTE, finisher, about twenty-five years of age, injured about the head, and broken leg; serious.

HENRY BERGENTHEILL, distiller, aged forty-five years, injured about the head; serious.

At 3 o'clock this morning the fire was under control and practically out. The territory burned out is in the shape of a slightly obtuse triangle, with the apex at Blade & Co.'s on the river, one side Detroit Street, another Menominee Street to Milwaukee Street and then to the Milwaukee River, and the base Lake Michigan. Roughly, it is a space two-thirds of a mile wide and three-quarters of a mile long.

The most brilliant feature of the conflagration was the burning of the towering elevator and malt houses of the Hanson Malt Company. The elevator, after smoking from the upper windows, suddenly burst into flames, and from the lower windows to the top of the high ventilating house it was all ablaze. As a heavy blast of wind struck it the flames swept clear across the street, and in an instant the malt house proper, with its tall tower, broke out in spots of flickering fire. The elevator was so strongly built that it maintained its form long after the hottest period was past, and from the lower floors the burning grain poured into the street like the downpour of Niagara.

Then from the windows of the large malt house and from the caves came jets of bright green flame - gas from the heated malt. It was not long before the entire building was ablaze and the roar was tremendous. A large ventilating wheel in the upper story was burning and whirling away like a huge St. Catherine's wheel.

The scenes along Buffalo Street when the fire was just beginning to sweep that thoroughfare were exciting in the extreme. The residents came rushing from their houses to gaze upon the mountains of flame which were rolling down upon them, many of them not seeming to think that the fire would come near to them. They had in many instances scarcely time to change their minds on the subject. With the speed of a race horse the flames come on, and then the man who had thought his house was safe could catch a glimpse of it wrapped in flame as he fled around the nearest corner.

In one place an old man was seen desperately tugging at some furniture, trying to get it through the front door. A passing fireman hurried to his aid, and by the time he had reached the doorway the street behind him was filled with fire, and both men narrowly escaped through the rear door. In some places people were more fortunate, that is, they managed to have their household goods consumed upon the sidewalks or in the gutter instead of in their houses. Many were forced to drop their parcels and run for their lives.

DALE'S RESTAURANT, MONTGOMERY

On Feb. 7, 1967, fire swept Dale's, a rooftop restaurant in Montgomery, Alabama, killing 26 people.


By JOHN HUSSEY

MONTGOMERY, Alabama (UPI) - People clung to the ledge on the 10th floor of the apartment house, outlined by spotlights and with flames dancing 30 feet into the air behind them.
Some called for help.

"God help us," yelled an elderly man.

"Help! Help! Get us down," begged a woman from the ledge 100 feet up.

Firemen were laying out hoses. Some were already manning high pressure nozzles and spraying water up on the penthouse.

The street was electric with tension but the activity was orderly and no one at the time seemed to have any idea of the terrible tragedy to be unfolded.

I was among the first two or three newsmen to arrive at the scene of the Dale's restaurant fire which was to take a high toll of lives.

I was attracted by a bulletin on my car radio. I was stunned because UPI State Manager Randolph Pendleton and I had dined at Dale's only the night before.

The restaurant was one of the more popular eating places in Montgomery, not only for the food but for the view. Large glass windows allow a panoramic view of the city, including the State Capitol about a mile away.

The restaurant was at the very top of the apartment building, a stone-faced structure that won an architectural award when it was built in 1954.

The fire was only about 20 minutes old when I drove up to the scene.

In the lobby, there were worried looks but officials were telling everyone that they didn't think there were any casualties.

As the minutes ticked by this proved to be a dreadful understatement.

The first notice that this was more than a routine fire in which patrons were driven out into sub-freezing weather came when two bodies, wrapped in canvas shrouds, were brought by firemen out a rear door.

"We think that's all," a fireman said.

That, too, proved to be a gross understatement.

A fireman made his way into the restaurant then located a pile of humanity huddled in a corner away from the searing flames. His radio report revealed the extent of the disaster.

"There are a lot of bodies up here," he reported on walkie-talkie.

Survivors told me what had happened.

WARREN GARRISON of South Field, Mich., was among those rescued from the ledge by firemen crawling up an extension ladder. He had crawled to the six-foot ledge by breaking a large plate glass window.

GARRISON was covered with water from the hoses but at that hour he still was being assured that the two friends he had left behind would turn up all right.

"I don't believe it," GARRISON said. "I think they are still up there."

While firemen fought to control the flames, roaring out three corners of the restaurant, rescuers dashed from door to door in the apartment building.

One woman, apparently in shock, was taken to a sofa in the lobby.

"No, No. I don't want to go," she screamed over and over as friends tried to get her into an ambulance and to a hospital.

It soon became apparent that the toll in the fire would be much greater than at first feared.

Pendleton and I started counting the bodies as they were trundled out of the building and to a caravan of ambulances lined up in the street.

The count rose from five to seven, to nine and then jumped as groups of four and five bodies were brought out.

The temperature dropped steadily in the wee hours of the morning down into the mid 20s and water cascading from the penthouse formed sheets of ice on the street below.

Pendleton and I had only a few hours earlier debated whether to have supper again at the restaurant where we had eaten the night before. We chose another restaurant instead.

And as I walked away this morning I heard a weary fireman says:

"I don't think I can go up there again. I'll never forget it."

Neither will I.

COCOANUT GROVE, BOSTON

Box 1514 running card

Box 1521 running card

Aftermath

``The fire spread explosively along combustible decorations at the ceiling line'' - Francis L. Brannigan in Building Construction For the Fire Service, Second Edition

On Nov. 28, 1942, flames raced through the Cocoanut Grove, a popular Boston night club, claiming 492 lives. Even an immediate response by firefighters just down the street was too little too late to avert catastrophe.

According to bostonfirehistory.org:

``In a strange coincidence, at 10:15 p.m., the Boston Fire Department received and transmitted Box 1514, located at Stuart and Carver Streets, located about three blocks from the Cocoanut Grove.

``Upon arrival and investigation, firefighters found an automobile fire on Stuart Street. After quickly extinguishing the fire, a firefighter noticed what appeared to be smoke coming from the Cocoanut Grove.

``As they began to investigate, bystanders ran toward them to report the fire. Upon arrival at the Grove, firefighters found a heavy smoke condition emanating from the entire building, with both patrons and employees escaping from the building.

``At 10:20 p.m., the Boston Fire Alarm Office received Box 1521, Church and Winchester Streets, apparently pulled by a civilian bystander.

``The fire chief at the scene ordered his aide to skip the Second Alarm and request a Third Alarm, via fire alarm telegraph, from Box 1521, which was transmitted at 10:23 p.m., followed by a Fourth Alarm at 10:24 p.m.

``A Fifth Alarm was transmitted at 11:02 p.m.''

The official report on the fire said:

``Upon reaching the night club premises, rescue work was immediately begun by the firemen who had responded to the automobile fire. To facilitate this work, hose lines were introduced to reduce the intense heat.  Shortly after the firemen gained entrance to the premises the fire was controlled and the intense heat was abated.

``The apparatus responding to the five alarms was comprised of twenty-five engine companies, five ladder companies, one water tower, one rescue company and other emergency apparatus.

``The first water delivered on the fire was through the door of the Broadway Lounge on Broadway, by the companies who had discovered the fire while engaged at the small fire in the automobile at Stuart street. Subsequently, water lines were operated on Piedmont street, Broadway and Shawmut street.

``Hose lines were introduced through windows and doors of the main building to the first floor, by way of the Shawmut street entrance to the kitchen, and through the Piedmont street entrances to the Melody Lounge. Ladders were raised on Piedmont street. Shawmut street and Broadway, and vents were opened to permit egress for the fire as well as to provide access for hose streams.  In all, eighteen streams were operated for the purpose of quickly cooling the areas to facilitate prompt rescue work.''

Describing the scene inside the club, the Associated Press reported:

``The flames swept through the highly inflammable decorations as the orchestra leader raised his baton to signal for the National Anthem as a prelude to the Saturday night floor show. Within seconds the crowded night club was a bedlam as screaming women and horror stricken men dashed for exits, tumbling over each other on the jam-packed stairways.

``District Fire Chief William J. Mahoney said that tangled and frightfully burned bodies were found four and five deep and that tables and chairs were scattered and tipped in a shambles among the dead.''

Regarding the aftermath, Wikipedia says:

``The Boston Fire Department investigated possible causes of ignition, the rapid spread of the fire and the catastrophic loss of life. Its report reached no conclusion as to the initial cause of ignition, but attributed the rapid, gaseous spread of the fire to a buildup of carbon monoxide gas due to oxygen-deprived combustion in the enclosed space above the false ceiling of the Melody Lounge.

``The gas exuded from enclosed spaces as its temperature rose and ignited rapidly as it mixed with oxygen above the entryway, up the stairway to the main floor and along ceilings.

``The fire accelerated as the stairway created a thermal draft, and the high-temperature gas fire ignited pyroxylene (leatherette) wall and ceiling covering in the foyer, which in turn exuded flammable gas. The report also documented the fire safety code violations, flammable materials and door designs that contributed to the large loss of life.''

STRAND THEATRE, BROCKTON

On March 10, 1941, a walled collapsed at the Strand Theatre fire in Brockton, Massachusetts, claiming the lives of 13 firefighters and injuring 20 others.

Excerpt from commandsafety.com:

In the heart of Brockton’s business district, people usually flocked to the downtown area to shop or take in a show in what was a busy part of the city. Sunday, March 9, 1941, like all other Sundays, drew large crowds looking for the entertainment of a movie or vaudeville show. That evening the Strand showed the double feature, “Hoosier School Boy” starring Mickey Rooney, followed by “Secret Evidence,” a crime drama. 

Long after the curtain had closed and the crowds had filtered out, a custodian discovered a fire burning in the Theatre basement and instructed his helper to activate the fire alarm box located at Main and High Street. At 12:38 a.m., the fire department received Box 1311 and sent the first alarm apparatus to the scene. A second alarm followed shortly after the first, and finally a general alarm was sounded bringing all of Brockton’s apparatus to the Strand Theatre. 

When firefighters first arrived on the scene, the fire did not seem very serious. However, as time progressed, the fire gained headway. This became more apparent to those on the outside of the theatre than crews working inside. 

Crews knocked down the fire in the basement with cellar pipes while flames raced through the vertical voids in the walls and ventilation ducts. Firefighters worked feverishly to extinguish hidden fire while crews opened walls and ceilings in the lobby and under the balcony. A number of men moved up to the balcony to attack the fire which had made its way to the auditorium ceiling just below the roof. 

The first signs of visible outside fire erupted from the southwest corner of the building as outside crews played a large hose-line on the exposed flames. Firefighters on the balcony continued their efforts to expose the fire within the ceiling as hose streams were directed overhead from the auditorium floor. 

Less than one hour later, the Strand Theatre Fire turned from a routine fire into one of the worst tragedies in Brockton and Massachusetts history when the west section of the roof collapsed, killing 13 firefighters and injuring 20 firefighters. 

Uninjured firefighters worked tirelessly to save their fellow brothers despite the danger and fear of another collapse. Eventually, fire departments from neighboring towns relieved Brockton firefighters. 

No definite cause for the fire was ever discovered. Initial reports of arson proved to be inconclusive. Further investigation revealed that the unprotected steel roof trusses played a major role in the collapse. The heat of the fire within the concealed space between the roof and the auditorium ceiling was believed to have distorted the steel trusses, causing them to buckle and separate with ease. Experts questioned the effectiveness of the construction and design used in the roof assembly. Some reports state that the weight of a previous snowfall may have added to the collapse. However, witness accounts and photographs indicate a minimal amount of snow. 

.....

Brockton, March 10 (AP) -- The Rev. LAWRENCE P. MORRISROE, who borrowed a fireman's helmet and crawled into the smoldering debris at the Strand theater today to administer last rites to the injured and dying, performed a similar deed in Boston's Pickwick club disaster of 1925.

On the Fourth of July morning when the Pickwick club floor collapsed and killed 44 men and women, FR. MORRISROE, then a curate in St. James' church, Boston, crawled into the wreckage and ministered to the victims.