Chicago's Forgotten Tragedy

The third watch at Engine Company 59 had just begun. One man stands a watch every two hours throughout the night to be ready to receive a fire call. Bill Weber is the driver of the engine, and he starts his watch by stoking up the fires in the two cast iron wood burning stoves located on the apparatus floor.

Even though the fire house felt warm, young Bill Weber could feel the cold air oozing through the front doors. It was Thursday December 22, 1910. The first day of winter begins today, he thought to himself, as he continued his duties, and it’s usually very cold in Chicago. After signing his name, and the time he started his watch into the company journal, he made his way to the stables in the rear of the firehouse to check on the horses. Weber had grown very fond of the horses, because he was the driver who hitched them to the engine, and gave them the commands in the street.

Simultaneously, while Bill Weber was tending to his duties in the firehouse, the night watchman, Paul Leska, of the Nelson-Morris Meat Packing Company was making his rounds checking the exterior of the plant. All of a sudden he discovered heavy black smoke emanating from Beef Plant 7, located at 44th Street and Loomis Avenue in the Chicago Stockyards. Mr. Leska immediately ran toward the burning building and discovered that fire was issuing up a stairway from the basement. At this time, he ran to the adjoining building and pulled the A.D.T. fire alarm. Instantly the alarm was transmitted to the city fire department’s fire houses within the Stock Yards at 4:09 am.

While checking the stable, the alarm box in the front of the fire house began to ring. Bill Weber, without any hesitation, began to run to the front, all the time listening and counting the number of bells. Box 2162 was being received, that’s our box he thought, as the second round of bells began to ring 2-1-6-2. He looked up at the address board, and at the same time pressed firmly on the red button, and all the bells in the fire house began to ring. The adrenaline began to flow in all the firefighters who began sliding the brass fire pole to the ground floor. Within two minutes the horses were hitched to the engine, and they were out the door.

Upon their arrival at the scene of the fire, there was heavy smoke belching from the loading dock area next to the Beef Plant 7. The hose cart got up close to the dock, and the firefighters began stretching the fire hose in toward the structure. All they knew at this time was that they would need a lot of hose to make it to 43rd Street to the fire hydrant. The 11th Battalion Chief, Martin Lacey, arrived on the scene, and one of the first things he said was, “is there any other way to attack this fire”? “No, Chief”, yelled Captain Lannon of Engine Company 50. “We have to get back to the sliding freight doors that lead into the warehouse”.

Soon after, Assistant Fire Marshal William Burroughs arrived on the scene. Immediately he put in a second alarm. As a seasoned veteran, with some very hard earned knowledge of fires within the Chicago Stockyards, this Chief did not waste any time. First he sized up the situation, with water at a great distance and freezing temperatures, he requested a third alarm. This one way in platform was a very dangerous manner in which to attack this fire. However, this building did not have any other way to get to the actual seat of the fire. The platform was actually a loading dock, with an old wooden canopy overhead. With a seven story brick building on one side, and a line of railroad boxcars that butted up to the loading dock, the canopy above it formed a tunnel-like effect. Arriving engines were stretching hose lines down the railroad tracks and then under the box cars in an effort to have a better vantage point with which to effectively hit the fire.

A 4-11 alarm was requested at 4:42 am, which brought a response of five more engine companies and Chief Fire Marshal James Horan who arrived on the fire scene, at 5:05 am. Chief Horan was furious that only one freight door was open to fight this fire, and he ordered the firefighters of Truck Companies 11 and 18 to chop open the remaining doors. Chief Horan then ordered two men to check the condition of the canopy above them. With fire hoses and axes in hand, trapped between the brick building the canopy above them, and the boxcars behind them, the firefighters continued to work. Blinded by the heavy smoke and intense heat, the brave firefighters had no warning other than a deep groan from within the burning structure. Suddenly seven stories of hot molten bricks and timbers came crashing down. The force of the collapse was so great, it not only crushed the canopy, but it knocked several of the boxcars clean off their tracks, and onto their sides.

Twenty-one brave Chicago Firefighters were instantly killed on that very cold winter morning, December 22, 1910. The Stockyards fire shocked the City of Chicago, and the news spread fast across this country regarding the greatest loss of firefighters at a single fire incident anywhere in this nation.

With the very bleak news of their fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons killed the families of the fallen heroes made arrangements to bury their loved ones on Christmas day. A death mask was made of the Chief Fire Marshal James Horan, with the great intention of building a memorial statue for the fallen twenty-one. However, just as many things that are promised to firefighters, this too was never fulfilled. When all the dust settled, and all the smoke cleared away, these brave firefighters unfortunately were forgotten!

What type of man does it take to risk his life, and fight the enemy of fire that will never be conquered? We can conquer a human enemy, we can conquer a country, and we can conquer a habit, but we have not been able to conquer fire! Firefighters fight each fire as if it were a battle in war, and when the flames are finally extinguished, and the battle is over, the firefighter returns to the firehouse, and awaits the next alarm, and the next battle.