What Greed Wrought

“Well, the fire is over, the girls are dead, and as I write, the procession in honor of the unidentified dead is moving by under my windows. Now what is going to be done about it?” Martha Bensley Bruere

On March 25th, closing time approached and the employees of the Triangle Shirtwaist Company, located in the Asch Building at the corner of Greene Street and Washington Place in Lower Manhattan, were finishing their soul-numbing labors. 275 of the employees were female, and many only teenagers, predominantly immigrant workers from the Yiddish, German and Italian communities. The workers began dressing at about 4:45, ready to leave after having worked overtime to augment a weekly salary that was normally about $6.00. They pulled on coats and hats amid the cramped work areas on the 8th, 9th and 10th floors where bins were piled high with cotton fabric, from which the workers made the blouses called “shirt waists”, and finished products filled every available spot.

Operations such as the Triangle Shirtwaist Company, owned by Isaac Harris and Max Blanck, most often worked with subcontractors who supplied the labor for their operations, for a percentage of the profits. These subcontractors were unregulated and paid the lowest salaries they could, thereby improving their own take. They also operated the day to day operation, and in the aftermath, company officials claimed they had no knowledge of how business was being conducted on their behalf. Among other dangers were the fact that most of the doors were locked – to prevent theft, and to prevent the organizers from the burgeoning labor unions from getting in. Additionally, the doors that were open, opened inward, rather than outward. The problem with this arrangement was to become blatantly clear. Whatever the reason, there was only one exit open for workers leaving the premises, where women’s purses were inspected as they left to guarantee against pilfering by the workers.

Conditions throughout the garment industry mirrored those at the Triangle company. In the years before 1911, the Women’s Trade Union League made attempts, via organization and protest, to garner better working conditions for garment industry workers. Following a strike in 1910 by the cloakmakers, changes began to be effected. But protest was still a dangerous move for any young garment worker, too, and both police and agents hired by the owners routinely sought out, attacked and beat protesting and agitating workers in an attempt to thwart them and forstall their efforts.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Company, despite being a non-union shop, still had a few employees who had joined Local 25, The Ladies’ Waist and Dress Maker’s Union, part of the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union. It was a start in the efforts to improve conditions, wages, and safety for workers. The ILGWU, and the Womens’ Trade Union League, would soon have a bitter cause with which to rally support.

No one ever determined what happened next. Possibly a male worker threw a cigarette or a lit match into the flammable refuse that littered the floor. But as the workers prepared to leave, came the terrifying scream of FIRE!

With a wealth of fuel at hand - rooms filled with cotton - the fire quickly spread. Male workers on the 8th floor tried to douse the flames with the 27 water buckets that were kept on hand, but in moments the fire raged out of control. Panicked workers ran for exits. There was a stairway at one end of the loft space on the 8th floor. But the doors opened inward and as a result of the crush of bodies jammed against it, no one could escape.

There were two passenger elevators. They were operated by two men who ultimately became heroes, responsible for saving dozens of lives. They arrived at the 8th floor but each elevator car held only 10 people. Making an estimated 20 trips apiece, they ferried passengers down to safety, the workers streaming into the street even as their clothing smoldered.

Upstairs, several men tried to help women get to safety through the windows next door by forming a human chain, but all of them fell the 80 feet to the ground.

An early arrival to the conflagration saw what he believed to be a bundle of rags being thrown into the street. Instead he discovered it was one of the first of the victims to leap from the building in a desperate attempt to evade the inferno that was soon sweeping throughout the three floors.



The fire escape buckled under the weight of the dozens fleeing and the courtyard it led too was soon blazing hot. Workers on the 9th floor were in dire straits. The east end stairway was blocked by fire. The door to the west side stairway was blocked. The elevators were run up and down in a desperate attempt to rescue as many people as they could, but the fire was moving faster than workers could cram into the tiny cars. In terror, the terrified men and women left behind flung themselves into the empty elevator shafts, crashing onto the roofs that soon began to leak blood onto the operators, Joe Zitto and Joe Gaspar. Others trapped upstairs on 8 finally managed to get a door open and raced to safety, though their clothes had been burned from their bodies. Through various means, most of the 8th and 10th floor workers managed to reach safety. Though when the alarm sounded on the 10th floor workers thought it was a joke, before smelling smoke. Most of them rushed to the roof, and nearly 120 evacuees from the 10th floor were aided to safety by NYU law school students from the next door building, who lowered a ladder upon which those workers clambered over. It would be on 9, however, where the loss of life was most grievous.

By now the huge crowd that had gathered in the street, more than a 1,000 spectators, watched in horror as men and women and girls leapt from windows and ledges to their deaths. Singly, in pairs, and as many as five at a time, holding hands, they plunged off. One couple kissed before diving to the street below. The force of the impact of several bodies was so fearsome that the bodies broke through the glassed vault lights and into the basement where they were soon floating in the runoff from the fire hoses.

Fire trucks from several companies arrived. Whether the trapped victims' hopes flared, no one will know. But they would be dashed. The spray from the hoses only reached the 7th floor. Arial ladders only reached the 6th and 7th floors. Firefighters tried to use blankets and nets to catch the people jumping, without success. Their work, and entrance into the building was hampered by the growing piles of bodies on the ground. The firemen who finally got into the building and up to the fire floors doused the flames but found no one left to save. By the time they got upstairs, all they found were the dead. The majority of those who perished came from the 9th floor. Rescuers found 19 bodies jammed, literally melted together, against one locked door there. There were 25 women dead in a cloak room and later 25 bodies were discovered piled on the roofs of the 2 elevators.



In less than 15 minutes, 146 workers died.

Harris and Blanck were subsequently acquitted by a jury of any culpability in the fire, particularly whether or not they knew the doors were locked on the premises. Twenty-three civil suits were later brought against the pair. Three years later the company's owners settled those suits. They paid the families $75.00 per dead worker.

Among the 146 were Kate Leone, Rosarea Maltese, and Sarah Sabasowitz, all aged 14. They were the youngest identified victims.



Three days after the fire, the following notice was placed in the industry trade papers:

“NOTICE, THE TRIANGLE WAIST CO. beg to notify their customers that they are in good working order. Headquarters now at 9-11 University Place.”

Upon a subsequent investigation a few weeks later by the Building Department of New York City it was discovered that the building at 9-11 was not fireproof. And access to one fire escape had already been blocked off by equipment.

Amber, One of Nature's Curiosities

The natural world is filled with wonderful and curious creatures and creations. Few, however, have the humble beginnings of a protective resin that can trap, or poison, and kill, predators, but that ends up as an adornment throughout the world.

Fossil resin, known popularly as amber, is just such a phenomenon.

Pretty and golden, amber has been shown, by archeological evidence, to have been one of the first adornments used by prehistoric humans. Today, it is even considered a gemstone.

But what is amber? In short, it is the exudate of pines and other trees in the same family, or resin, which is released in the presence of predatory insects and bugs, as well as bacterium and fungi that might pose a threat to the tree. According to http://www.fossilmuseum.net/ amber is: "mainly carbon and hydrogen atoms that readily form hexagonal rings. Molecular bonding between the rings increases over time (called polymerization), and the sticky resin becomes hard....For all practical purposes, the hardened resin, or amber, is a plastic." The article makes the point that "young" amber is referred to as copal. While "old" copal is amber. However, apparently even scientists cannot agree on what the demarkation line is.

The value of amber comes as a result of the little creatures trapped inside. Primarily insects, there have been tiny little vertebrates occasionally found as well, such as small lizards. There are also discoveries of amber containing the remains of bacteria and fungi, to which resin can act as a poison in defense.



Amber is biodegradable, though long-lived (unlike diamonds which are, as the advertising says, "forever"). The Fossil Museum says "weak covalent bonds and weaker hydrogen bonds are easily broken." Apparently all electromagnetic radiation causes the bonds to break down, but particularly ultraviolet radiation is damaging (so wear those baubles only on shady days, ladies!).

Amber is found throughout the world, but primary areas of production are in the Baltic region (in particular at the largest amber mine in the world, in Kaliningrad, Russia), the Domenican Republic and areas surrounding Mexico and Colombia.












So the next time you fasten on that gorgeous piece of amber, reflect that you are, in fact, wearing a tree's defense mechanism, the tiny little sarcophogus of some prehistoric bug.





Ain't nature cool?

The Power To Maim and Kill - Polio

Polio, a virus easily transmitted by contact and via the air, was a devastating disease. It could paralyze, rendering its victims unable to walk or breathe, or it could kill.

Poliomyelitis met its match in 1962 when Dr. Jonas Salk's vaccine was licensed. Though polio is almost unheard of in this day and age, before Salk's breakthrough it left children and adults alike weak and crippled and in many cases people spent the remainder of their lives in iron lungs, the only mechanism by which they could breath after the virus crippled their nervous system and they lost the ability to breathe on their own.

With worldwide eradication efforts implemented by the World Health Organization in 1988, the disease is essentially gone from the Earth.

Two of the more famous victims of the disease were our 32nd President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, who led the country out of the depression and guided it through World War II, until his death in his third term on April 12, 1945, and athelete Wilma Rudolph, the 20th of 22 children who overcame polio in childhood to become a gold-medal winning Olympic runner (earning her nicknames of The Tennessee Tornado and La Gazella Nera (the Black Gazelle).

Dead Man's Hand

"Who wants to play those eights and aces
Who wants a raise
Who needs a stake"
(Bob Seger, Fire Lake)

"Pushing up the ante, I know you've got to see me,
Read 'em and weep, the Dead Man's Hand again,
I see it in your eyes, take one look and die,"
(Motorhead; Ace of Spades)

These are just two songs that use the reference to the legendary Dead Man's Hand. Numerous others have written entire songs based on the episode.



Deadwood, South Dakota, August 2, 1876. The date helped put the "wild" in the legend of the wild, wild west, and it wrote the epitaph for gambler and lawman, Wild Bill Hickock. On that date Wild Bill joined a poker game at Nutall & Mann's Saloon, with, among others, Charlie Rich. Contrary to his usual precaution of sitting with his back to the wall, Hickock accepted a seat that left him with his back to the door. He also didn't notice Jack McCall, from whom he'd won money the day before, drinking heavily at the bar. While Hickock played his hand, aces and eights showing, Jack McCall walked up behind him and shot him in the back of the head with a .45 pistol, allegedly shouting, "Take that!" Some say McCall calimed it was a revenge killing for the death of his brother.

Hickock died instantly and was buried on boot hill. is friend, Charlie Utter, placed a wood plaque that read:

Wild Bill

J. B. Hickok

Killed by the assassin Jack McCall

Deadwood, Black Hills

August 2, 1876

Pard we will meet again in the

Happy Hunting Grounds to part no more

Good bye

Colorado Charlie, C. H. Utter






The 5th card in the poker hand is not authoritatively known and is much debated. The Vegas nightclub, the Stardust, displays a 5 of diamonds as the card. Deadwood, South Dakota has a 9 of diamonds in its displays about the incident and Ripley's Believe it or Not has a queen of clubs. Possible cards are the Jack of Diamonds, Five of Diamonds, Nine of Diamonds, the Queen of Clubs, QAueen of Hearts, Queen of Spades, King of Spaces and the Deuce of Spades.

Poker experts however say that if you're playing the game, the fifth card won't matter. Holding aces and eights gives you a "Dead Man's Hand". Just don't make Hickock's mistake. Keep your weapon unholstered and your back to the wall.

Eggheads & Me

So a few years back I read a book called THE MAKING OF THE ATOM BOMB by Richard Rhodes. It was a massively dense book, but simply marvelous: a history of the physics that led to the Manhattan Project during World War II and the creation of the first atomic bomb.

There were many scientific discoveries, theories and experiments that made it possible, but the bomb project was sheparded on the scientific side at Los Alamos, New Mexico, by J. Robert Oppenheimer.



He was a fascinating man (coincidentally, a very young Richard Feynman worked under him as well) and ended his life ignominiously after a dispute with Edward Teller over the ethics of proceeding with the creation of an even larger nuclear device, the hydrogen bomb. Teller prevailed, Oppenheimer had his National security clearance revoked, and he died of cancer.

And the hydrogen bomb was made.

Richard Rhodes' book, DARK SUN, chronicles that dubious scientific achievement.

A detail that I learned while reading ATOM BOMB that is chilling in is revelation that scientists, and our government, may not always choose the prudent path:

A number of the scientists, as they pondered this very first atomic chain reaction explosion, posited the theory that the chain reaction would run out of control and set the entire Earth's atmosphere aflame and the world would end.

But they went ahead anyway.




And that is why, as a child of the baby boomer generation, I was subject to the "duck and cover" drills - hence the name of my memoir blog. Because we were told that crouching in a fetal position under our desks would save us from a nuclear explosion.




Knowledge.

It can be very, very good.

Or it can be very, very bad.

Use it wisely.

Get Smart.

Are you the sort of person who feels a sense of yearning every autumn? You feel as though something wonderful and new and exciting is just around the corner? Even though your school days are far behind you, do you watch wistfully as eager students rush through the fall leaves to their new adventure? Do you never pass a book without wondering what's inside it? Are you compelled to peek, just a glimpse, to find what nuggets of wisdom, what pearls of knowledge lie within?

I am one of those people. Like Richard Feynman, noted physicist and the author of the book, The Pleasure of Finding Things Out, I just love knowing stuff. There is nothing I am not curious about, no bit of esoteric information that does not picque my interest. Whether I find that knowledge in books, newspapers, from the television or other people, if a day goes by in which I have not yet learned something new, I consider it a loss.

I am a librarian's daughter. My father was a man obsessed by learning. He failed at many things as a father, but the one thing that he did give me was a love of books, of knowledge and a desire to never stop seeking. Whenever I spot one of the books he left behind when he moved on to his new life, I get that little shiver of excitement, recalling the first time I read that book. Or looked through the American Heritage to find all manner of fascinating images of people, places, and times. I am a child of the '70's, but the flashbacks I have are not of the Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds variety, but rather I flashback to a rainy fall day when I was snuggled in my second-hand chair, beside a small red table - that I still own - drinking a cup of tea and devouring a book. It might have been The Wizard of Oz. Or my favorite biography of Harriet Tubman. Or The Diary of Ann Frank. Or a photographic book of far away places. Other times I can close my eyes and smell the cool mountain air of my family's Pennsylvania cabin, where I was admonished daily to put down the book and go out and play. Do you have fond memories of your stolen, bookish hours? And do you smile when you recall a moment in which something became absolutely clear to you - for the first time?

Many people continue their educations to further their careers, in order to make more money, to be competitive and to earn more money. But there are also people who, regardless of their age, continue to take classes. Adult education, sometimes, or workshops at bookstores. More often than not, they continue to self-educate themselves. Like 21st Century Rennaissance men and women, they dabble, or they gorge themselves, driven to cram their brain cells with as-yet-unlearned things. Yes, they study. They don't shirk from a subject that is complex but consider it a challenge to be met. Because knowledge is not something we gain casually. It is something that we must strive for. Search, investigation, or any means by which we can glean an understanding, or gain facts. It requires a diligent and dedicated focus to never cease. There will never be a day when I can say "I know everything." There will always be something else that titillates me cerebrally, or excites me, mentally.

Are you my kind of person? Do you bemoan the fact that there are not enough hours in the day in which to learn? Not a house big enough to hold all the books you covet? No bank account large enough to purchase every title you crave? Too few people whose eyes light up with curiosity when you say, "Did you know......?"

Well, then, welcome to my blog. I am The Librarian's Daughter. And I am inviting you along on my never-ending journey where I leave no stone unturned in my quest to find stuff out. It is my goal that no day will go by without providing some delicious morsel of information that will make you say, "Ah!", and let you lay down upon your pillow at night with that self-satisfied smile because something new - some factoid - now resides inside your cranium, one that was not there when you arose.

Dr. Feynman is no longer with us, but I know that he is delighting in our pilgrimage, from the mystery that is the great beyond where I expect he continues to seek.