Fire
New York City
“I really think that celluloid is the way to go,” Charlie said, his feet resting on the edge of his desk, a stack of research sitting next to them. “I think it’s the wave of the future.”
“All of the evidence points that direction,” Jonathan agreed with him. “It’s just a question of how much you’re willing to put in.”
“Right,” Charlie nodded. That was always the question. How much of his money should he invest in whatever new business, new project, new technology was coming out next? So far, he’d made some very wise investments with the small sum his father had given him to start off with and the wages he’d been earning working for his father since he graduated from Harvard the year before. He knew, however, it may take quite a sum to re-establish Westmoreland Textiles, and that was always in the back of his mind.
“I think you should go with the full amount. The numbers seem solid,” Jonathan shrugged, looking over the top sheet again.
“You think so?” Charlie asked, sitting up and putting his feet on the floor. Jonathan never said to go with the full amount requested by these budding entrepreneurs. “That’s quite a bit.”
“I know, but I feel like this one will surely pay off. Just look at the progress Eastman has made already, and his funding has been relatively low so far. I’m not saying give it to him all at once, but I’d consider setting the full amount aside.”
Charlie listened carefully to everything that Jonathan recommended. So far, in the year or so that they’d been working together, Charlie had been nothing but impressed. Jonathan was always one step ahead of everyone else, and his mind was like an encyclopedia, full of facts and relevant information. As Charlie looked back over the proposal sent to him earlier, he was convinced celluloid was the way to go. “Very good then, Jonathan. I’m sorry to keep you at the factory so long, particularly on a Saturday.”
“Nonsense,” Jonathan said, “as if I have anything better to do.”
“You’re free to go out this evening if you like,” Charlie offered, beginning to straighten his desk. “I’ll be spending the evening with my parents.” He had recently bought a home closer to the factory, but on the weekends, he still liked to visit his mother and father.
“I think I might stop by Henige’s and see if the old crowd is in. It’s not quite five in the afternoon, but that’s never stopped that crowd from drinking,” Jonathan chuckled.
“Very good,” Charlie replied when he realized he smelled something odd. At first, he couldn’t place it, but after a few seconds, he knew what it was—the worst smell one can encounter in a factory: smoke. “Do you smell that?”
Jonathan was on his feet before Charlie even finished the question, clearly a step ahead of him—as usual. He stuck his head out into the hall that ran past the offices and oversaw the factory floor. They didn’t run machinery on Saturday, so the factory was relatively quiet. “It doesn’t seem to be coming from in here.”
As he turned around, his eyes fell on something out the window, and his expression changed to sheer horror. Charlie turned to see what Jonathan was looking at. The entire sky seemed to be filled with smoke, and a few blocks over, they could see a dark plume reaching up into the New York sky. “Dear, God!” Charlie whispered. “Where is it coming from?”
“One of the other factories must be on fire,” Jonathan replied.
Without another word, they both took off, down the stairs, and out the door. The air around them was smoky and bits of ash and debris floated about as they made their way toward the fire. A few moments later, they heard people shouting and the sounds of a fire brigade approaching. While some were running away in a panic, several others were hurrying to the scene, like Charlie and Jonathan, to see if they could help.
Charlie looked up at the building, and once he realized where he was, rage welled up inside of him. “No!” he shouted, pushing past some people to get closer. Jonathan was behind him.
“What is it?” Jonathan asked, coming up behind him and grabbing his shoulder.
“Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. I was here—last year. I told the owner it wasn’t safe. I even wrote letters to the commissioner and the mayor. Now—if there are people in there, they won’t be able to get out.”
Even as the words left his mouth, they heard screaming from the eighth floor on up and realized the workers were trapped. There also appeared to be people on the roof. The ladies in the windows were shouting for help, but no one seemed to be coming out of the building. The fire escape lay mangled and charred on the sidewalk with several bodies twisted around it. A group of people huddled behind the police line with smoke and ash on their clothing appeared to be escapees of the blaze, but since he’d arrived, Charlie could not see anyone else exiting. The people atop the building were jumping across to the neighboring rooftop and safety.
Charlie remembered the doors being locked. He also remembered that they opened in. If there was a rush to the exits, people would be trampled before they could pull the doors open, even if they had a key.
The firefighters were working a ladder up the side of the buildings as the shrieks from inside grew louder. The women shouted, “Help us please!” soon followed by screams of, “She’s on fire!” and “We can’t breathe!” Eventually, the ladder was next to the building, and the men began to extend it.
Charlie held his breath, looking up at those anguished faces, praying that the firefighters would make it in time. However, as the ladder reached its full extension, they all sighed in frustration and grief; it only reached the seventh floor.
A firefighter began to climb anyway as others pulled out a net, but the workers had waited long enough, and the crowd watched in horror as, one by one, they began to fling themselves out of the window, landing hard on the sidewalk some 150 feet below. Few onlookers or first responders ran to try to assess the victims to see if they were still alive because the bodies continued to fall. Even the net was not helpful. Three girls jumped at once and ripped right through.
At first, those who faced the open window, looks of terror in their innocent eyes, and flung themselves to the cold concrete below clearly did so out of fear of the growing flames. However, as Charlie continued to watch the macabre parade, the young workers who plummeted to their deaths did so as human torches, their clothes and hair already ablaze. Though the firefighters were doing their best to gain control, the fire continued to rage on until the stack of bodies on the ground was several deep.
Eventually, Charlie could handle it no more and had to pull his eyes away from the carnage. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to stand before certain death and have to choose between burning and flinging oneself out into the open air and the waiting concrete below. He hoped that, should he ever be faced with a similar situation, he could be as brave as these young factory workers had been today.
And he would do everything he could to make sure the owners of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory and other abominations like it were brought to justice for the despicable way they treated their employees.
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