HEROES OF THE FIRE.
One of the heroes of the Iroquois theater fire was Peter Quinn, chief
special agent of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe railroad system, who
assisted in saving the lives of 100 or more of the performers. But for the
prompt service of Quinn and two citizens who assisted him it is believed
that most of the performers would have met the fate of the victims in the
theater proper.
Mr. Quinn had attended a trial in the Criminal court and in the middle of
the afternoon started for the downtown district, intending to proceed to
his office. Reaching Randolph and Dearborn streets the railroad official
had his attention attracted to a man who rushed from the theater
bare-headed and without his coat. What followed Quinn describes as
follows:
"The actions of the man and the fact that he was without coat and hat
attracted my attention and I watched him through curiosity. He ran so
swiftly that he collided with several pedestrians, and I saw him rush
toward a policeman on the street crossing. He said something to the
policeman and then I saw the bluecoat rush excitedly away. My curiosity
was then aroused to such an extent that I followed the young man who ran
into the alley in the rear of the theater. He disappeared there and I was
about to go on my way when my attention was attracted to the door leading
upon the stage.
"As I passed I heard a commotion and saw the door was slightly open, and,
peeping into the opening, I asked what was the trouble. Then, for the
first time, I learned that the theater was on fire. A number of strangers
arrived at the door about the same time.
"The players, men, women, and children, had rushed to this small trap-door
for escape, got caught in a solid mass, and were so firmly wedged together
that they could not move. They were banked solidly against the little
door, and it could not be opened. Nearly all of the players were in their
stage costumes.
"The women screamed and begged us to rescue them, and the cries of the
children could be heard above the hoarse shouts of the men. I did not
realize it at that moment, but it develops that the players were in the
same position as the unfortunates who met death in the front end of the
house.
"Had we been unable to get that trap-door open when we did every member of
that struggling crowd of men, women and children, would have perished
where they stood, too tightly wedged together to permit even a slight
struggle against death.
"Nobody at that time had the slightest idea of the serious state of
affairs. We tried to force the door open, but the crowd was banked up too
tightly against it. I shouted through the opening and commanded those in
the rear to step back far enough to permit the door to be opened. It was
like talking to empty space, however, and for a few moments we stood there
helpless and without any means to assist those in distress.
"Then came a volume of smoke, and far in the rear of the crowd we could
see the illumination from the flames. I had a number of small tools in my
pocket, and immediately proceeded to remove the metal attachments which
held the door in place. This was accomplished with some difficulty, and
then we managed to force the crowd back probably an inch, but that was
sufficient. The door was then permitted to drop from its place, and one by
one the imprisoned players were assisted into the alley.
"They were then in scanty costumes, but were quickly assisted to places of
shelter. Even when the last player and stage hand had reached the alley we
could not realize the awfulness of what had happened. I walked in upon the
stage and found it a seething furnace. The players had been rescued just
in time. A minute later and the flames and smoke would have reached the
imperiled ones, and they would have been suffocated or burned where they
stood."
THE PILES OF DEAD IN THE GALLERY.
William ("Smiling") Corbett was one of the first to penetrate the smoke
and reach the balcony and gallery of the theater where the most fearful
loss of life occurred. Charley Dexter, the Boston National league player,
and Frank Houseman, the old Chicago second baseman, went to his
assistance.
Corbett was stopped by a fear-frenzied little woman, who begged him to
save her two children.
"They're up in the gallery," she cried.
Corbett made a dash for the balcony entrance on the right.
"Don't go up there," admonished some of the firemen about; "you'll get
hemmed in."
Corbett groped his way onward and upward, stumbling over bodies lying
prostrate on the staircase, and finally reached the gallery entrance.
"There they were," said Corbett afterward. "Positively the most sickening
spectacle I ever saw. They were piled up in bunches, in all manner of
disarray. I grabbed for the topmost body, a girl about 6 years old.
Catching her by the wrist I felt the flesh curl up under my grasp. I
hurried down with the little one, then back again, each time with the body
of a child.
"I then realized that no good could come of any further effort. Everybody
was stark dead. I turned away and fled. I never again want to go near the
place."
EDDIE FOY'S HEROISM.
Eddie Foy, leading comedian in "Mr. Bluebeard," said:
"I was in my dressing room, one tier up off the stage, when I smelled
smoke. The 'Moonlight ballet' was on, and it was three minutes before the
time for my entrance on the first scene of the second act.
"I looked up and immediately over me, in the left first entrance, I saw
sparks and a small cloud of smoke. The members of the company and of the
chorus had already started off the stage. My eldest boy, Bryan, was
standing under the light bridge in the first entrance, and, taking him by
the hand, I turned him over to one of the stage hands with orders to get
him out of the theater. In less time than it takes to tell it, the little
wreath of smoke and the tiny sparks had grown in volume. The smoke and
some of the sparks had already made their way into the main part of the
house, curling down and around the lower edge of the proscenium arch.
"I looked at the house through an opening, and that was enough. I tried to
appear as calm as possible under the conditions, realizing what a stampede
would mean. Just what I said I cannot for the life of me now recall. In
effect, though, this is about it:
"'Ladies and gentlemen, there is no danger. Don't get excited. Walk out
calmly.'
"Between each breath, and these were coming in short, sharp gasps, I kept
yelling out from the corner of my lips: 'Lower that iron curtain; drop the
fire curtain!'
"The balcony and gallery were packed with women and children, and fully
aware of what was in store for these hapless ones, my heart sank.
"The cracking of the timbers above increased. The smoke was growing more
dense. I knew the material aloft--flimsy, dry linens, parched canvas, and
paint-coated tapestries and drops.
"Without raising my voice to a pitch calculated to alarm, and yet
unmistakably urgent in its appeal, I repeated: 'Get out--get out slowly.'
"The northeast corner of the fly gallery was now a furnace. Just as I made
the last appeal to the balcony and the gallery a fiercely blazing ember
dropped at my feet. Another, a smaller one, was caught in the draft and
forced out into the theater proper.
"'Drop the fire curtain,' I shouted again, looking in vain for it to come
down. I know that not a soul in the theater proper would be in danger if
this was done. The switchboard was there--but no one to work it. I cried
out for Carleton, our stage manager. He was gone. I called for 'Pete,' one
of the electricians. He, too, was gone.
"'Does any one know how this iron curtain is worked?' I yelled at the mob
of fleeing stage hands, members of the company, property men, and
musicians. Not an answer.
"At the first sign of danger, after reaching the footlights, I said to
Dillea, our orchestra leader:
"'An overture, Herbert, an overture.'
"Dillea--God bless him, his ranks already thinning out in the orchestra
pit--struck up the 'Sleeping Beauty and the Beast' overture. Of the
thirty odd musicians in the pit not over half a dozen remained to follow
Dillea and his baton. But the little fellow, ashen pale, his eyes glued on
the raging mass of flame above, never whimpered. He kept right on, and
only left his post when the flames drove him away from his leader's stand.
When Dillea disappeared down the opening in the orchestra pit half of the
lower floor had been emptied. This I noticed only in an aside, for my eyes
were fastened on the sea of agonized, distracted little ones in the
balcony and gallery."
AN ELEVATOR BOY HERO.
The bottom of the elevator shaft in the doomed theater was a scene of
pandemonium when the stage hands tried to get the girls out. Archie
Barnard headed the chain gang and behind him were J. R. O'Mally, Arthur
Hart and William Price. As soon as the women reached the floor they began
to run wild, and had to be caught and tossed from one man to another. The
women in the first tier of dressing rooms were the first down and they
were helped out without much trouble.
On his second trip up with the elevator young Robert Smith ascended into
an atmosphere that was so thick with smoke that he could not see or
breathe. He found one of the girls on the sixth floor and then took on
another load from the fifth. By the time he had come down with these, the
flames and smoke were threatening the men in the chain. The clothing of
Barnard and William Price was on fire and their hair was burning.
Nevertheless they threw the girls out and waited for the third load.
This load came near not arriving. The smoke was so thick that Smith had to
find the girls and drag them into the elevator and by the time he had
done this he was almost overcome. The elevator was burning at the place
where the controller was located, and Smith had to place his left hand in
the flame to start the car. The hand was badly burned, but the car was
started and came down in time for the girls to receive assistance from the
men who were waiting. When the last girl was out the men left the
building.
Up in the gridiron, where the smoke was thickest, the four German boys who
worked the aerial apparatus were caught, fully sixty feet from the stage
floor, and no one had time to come to their assistance or to pay any
attention to them, because there were too many other people to be saved.
At first, they did not know what to do. As the smoke became thicker and
the heat more intense they moved to get out. One of them, who was some
distance from his companions, was caught in the flames of one of the
burning pieces of draperies, and either because he lost his presence of
mind or because he could not hold out any longer, he jumped. Some of the
people on the stage floor heard him fall, but he did not move and no one
could help him. He could not be found after the other people escaped from
the stage. His three companions climbed over the gridiron scaffolding and
made their way down the stairway to safety.
"I heard the little fellow fall," said Arthur Hart, "and that is the last
I knew of him. It was a long jump, and I presume that he was badly
injured."
"I stuck to the car until the ropes parted," said young Smith, the
elevator boy, "and then I began to get faint. Someone reached in and
pulled me out just in time to save my life. The larger part of the girls
were in the dressing rooms when the fire broke out, and they all tried to
get out at once. A great many tried to crowd into the elevator and it was
hard work to keep it going. I made as many trips as I could."
TWO BALCONY HEROES.
A man who gave his name as Chester, with his wife and two daughters, was a
hero who escaped without letting the police know who he was. This man was
in the lower balcony of the theater and in the panic he succeeded in
reaching the fire escape with his children and wife. After getting on the
fire escape, the flames swept up and set the clothing of his wife and
girls on fire. Burned himself, he fought the flame and then realizing that
delay meant certain death he dropped the children to the ground, a
distance of ten feet, and then dropped his wife. Then he leaped himself.
W. G. Smith of the Chicago Teaming Company, 37 Dearborn street, saw them
jumping and with some of his men he picked them up and carried them into
his store. This was before the fire department arrived.
When all had been taken in Smith rushed back into the alley to find the
lower fire escape filled with screaming, struggling women. All were
hatless and their faces were scorched by the intense heat. He shouted to
them to wait a moment, as the firemen were coming, but one woman leaped as
he spoke. She too was taken into Smith's store and all his patients were
taken later to nearby hotels, where their injuries were attended to.
After Smith left the alley Morris Eckstrom, assistant engineer, and M. J.
Tierney, engineer of the university building, ran to the rescue of the
women on the fire escape. The firemen had not yet arrived, and the screams
of the women with the flames creeping upon them were frightful to hear.
"Jump one by one," shouted Eckstrom, "and we'll catch you."
Tierney grabbed a long blanket from the engine room, and the women,
realizing it was their only chance, leaped into it. In some cases they
were injured, but none was seriously hurt.
"I know we caught twenty women that way, before the flames got so terrific
that none of them could reach the fire escape," said Eckstrom. "I saw a
dozen women and children and some men, through the open door to the fire
escape, fall back into the flames."
THE MUSICAL DIRECTOR'S STORY.
Musical Director Herbert Dillea of the "Mr. Bluebeard" company, who was
one of the first of the members of the orchestra to see the fire, had
several narrow escapes from death while he endeavored to rescue four of
the chorus girls who had fainted in the passageway which leads from the
armor-room to the front smoking apartment.
Dillea was nearly overcome by the thick smoke which filled the areaway,
but, with the assistance of some of the stage employes, he succeeded in
carrying the unconscious actresses to the street. The young women, upon
reaching the fresh air, soon revived, and they were taken care of in
stores until they got their street clothing.
Dillea said that several other members of the orchestra vainly endeavored
to persuade some of the audience who were occupying front seats to enter
the passageway, but no attention was paid to them.
In describing his experiences Dillea said:
"It was during the second verse of the 'Pale Moonlight' song that I
suddenly saw a red light to my left in the proscenium arch. The moment I
saw the red glare I knew there was a fire, and in whispers I ordered the
other members of the orchestra to play as fast as they could, as I thought
the asbestos would be lowered. We had hardly begun to play when the
asbestos started to come down, but right in the middle it stopped, and it
remained so.
"By this time the chorus girls were shrieking with terror, as the fire
brands were falling among them on the stage. As soon as the audience saw
the fire brands they began to arise, but Eddie Foy ran out and begged them
to remain quiet, assuring them that there was no danger. The audience paid
no attention to him and the panic followed. Then I thought it was time to
make our escape, and I turned to the orchestra men and told them to follow
me to the passageway. While I was running through the areaway I shouted to
the actresses. They ran from their rooms, and four of them fainted. It was
only with the greatest difficulty they were carried out."
CHILD SAVES HIS BROTHER.
Willie Dee, the 12-year-old son of Mr. and Mrs. W. E. Dee, who lost two
children in the fire, by a presence of mind and bravery that would have
been commendable in a person of mature years saved himself and a smaller
brother not 7 years old.
The four children of Mr. and Mrs. Dee attended the theater on the fatal
afternoon in company with their nurse, Mrs. G. H. Errett. Besides Willie,
the oldest of the children, there were two twin boys, Allerton and Edward,
between 6 and 7 years of age, and the baby 2-1/2 years old. Willie was one
of the first to notice the fire and called to the nurse to go out. The
nurse did not grasp the situation, thinking the flames a part of the act,
and hesitated. Noticing her hesitation, Willie seized the nearest one of
the children, Allerton and pulled the smaller boy with him down the
stairs from the first balcony in which the party was seated. The two boys
were unable to move fast enough to keep ahead of the crowd, although they
were the first ones out. They were overtaken and both of them shoved
through the doors in front, where they became separated. Willie thought
his little brother lost and went home without him. The smaller boy was
later picked up and taken into Thompson's restaurant, from which place he
was taken home, practically uninjured.
The other twin, Edward, was killed where he sat. The nurse and baby
succeeded in reaching the first landing, where they were trampled
underfoot. A fireman took the baby from the nurse's arms and placed it in
charge of Dr. Bridge. The doctor succeeded in resuscitating it and took it
to his home at Forty-ninth street and Cottage Grove avenue, where it died
early the following morning.