On a bright June day in 1904, the steamboat General Slocum, carrying over 1,300 people from a single neighborhood, caught fire and sank in sight of Manhattan Island. The neighborhood outing, arranged by the local church, was a day of celebration. Yet in moments, years of negligence, greed, and corruption would lead to the horrific deaths of more than a thousand people, a tragedy on a scale that New York City wouldn't see again until the losses on 9/11.
Despite the era's turn towards reform and progressive politics, there were still many areas of government that were utterly corrupt, including the federal agency whose duty it was to inspect steamboats. Without that enforcement, owners of such steamboats were free to cut corners on safety equipment, and ship crews able to do away with practicing fire drills. All would lead to disaster.
As the fire began in a room below decks that was filled with flammable material illegally on board, the crew made an abysmal attempt at suppressing it, giving up when the completely rotted fire hoses disintegrated. They handed out 13 year old rotted life jackets, which acted like anchors, killing anyone who put one on. Lifeboats were found to be painted or wired in place so that they couldn't be used. The captain's decision to steer the boat into the wind hastened the growth of the fire, forcing people to abandon ship in blind panic. In an era where most Americans couldn't swim, a fire onboard ship meant almost certain death.
I have read many books on notable disasters. Why? To remember those lost, to reflect on humanity's inherent weakness and latent heroism, and to see if the painful lessons learned have made it to our time. I'm also interested in how the story is told. Edward O'Donnell's work in Ship Ablaze is one of the most searing, sensitive and affecting chronicles I've ever read. It is intensely real without being sensational, critical without being polemical. It is sober and sad, but replete with moments of bravery and grace.
The General Slocum tragedy claimed the lives of over 700 children, and wiped out scores of families. It became clear in the aftermath that widespread negligence was to blame, and a federal grand jury quickly identified multiple culprits. The newspapers demanded that an example be made of the company who skimped on its own ship. The federal government, under President Theodore Roosevelt, promised a full and complete reckoning, and ultimately published a damning report. Yet as with Chicago's Iroquois Theater fire which killed over six hundred people just months earlier, almost none of the principal figures in the disaster would be punished, despite overwhelming evidence of guilt.
O'Donnell reminds the reader that we need to remember those lost, and to not allow their denied justice to be perpetrated on the innocents of modern day. Yet one can quickly see the same patterns of corporate and governmental indifference and negligence in places like Flint, Michigan, Centralia, Pennsylvania, and Niagara Falls. Or in the inept responses to events like Hurricane Katrina, the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, or the Attica prison riots, which only increased the suffering of those affected.
Still, there is value in bearing witness. O'Donnell's account is of the highest caliber, alongside Stuart O'Nan's "The Circus Fire" and Kate Moore's "Radium Girls." Now more than ever, in a United States where corporate sleaze and wanton criminality lives alongside the tattered remnants of federal regulatory agencies, we must fight for accountability and remind those who have forgotten what prices previous generations have paid. The children are watching.