The Time Capsule: Firefighters’ horses proved heroic
Years ago, I did a series of magazine articles on some of Iowa’s worst fires. The list began with a mental hospital in Davenport where nearly fifty women, some quite young, died an awful death. Many, their hair and nightgowns burning, pleaded with firemen—just inches away—to save them.
They could not be rescued because steel grates had been locked over windows and on that frigid and icy night, no one was able to find the keys.
There was a starch factory fire and explosion in Cedar Rapids which so obliterated victims the exact death count remains in question. During the “Hollander Fires” of WWI, a serial arsonist destroyed a string of churches and schools, then targeted a minister and family with a dynamite bomb.
Researching old fires left me with an awareness of the esteem and affection firefighters had for their horses. Red Oak had Pac and Pac. Atlantic had a fine team, as did Shenandoah and Clarinda and pretty much every town of any size. While their stories have mostly been forgotten, pictures of these animals remain on firehouse walls.
This was brought to mind by the book “Tinder Box,” written by Anthony Hatch and published by Academy Chicago Publishers.
Hatch does an excellent job of depicting remarkable animals that were as well trained and conditioned as the men who ran the pumpers and scaled the ladders. He tells of horses that, at the sound of the alarm, trotted from their stalls to the front of apparatus, backed into position, paused while harness, suspended from the ceiling, was dropped onto their backs and buckled automatically by a series of counter-weights. Fifteen-hundred pound animals, strong as oxen and nimble as cats, charged out the station door in a manner that caused firefighters to swear they somehow knew where the fire was.
The book is a factual account of the Iroquois Theater fire that took place Dec. 30, 1903. More than 600 people were burned to death, asphyxiated, trampled, crushed or pushed from upper level windows to fall to their death on the cobblestone streets of Chicago. The book describes the graft, greed, mismanagement and political corruption that contributed to the disaster. There are also stories of heroism, resourcefulness and poignancy.
A memorable experience was that of little Harriett Bray.
Her father had taken her to see the musical ballet, which starred Eddie Foy. Fire broke out during the second act, spread far more quickly than it should have, and panic ensued. Harriett tells of clutching her father’s hand, struggling through the crushing crowd, finding an exit that was locked, another without a ladder, of jumping the final 12 feet. The scene outside was pandemonium; a swirling jumble of spectators, badly burned survivors, firefighters, mothers separated from children, the street strewn with bodies.
Harriett, years later, said she could never forget scrambling, running, stumbling and crawling through the mob to suddenly realize she was directly beneath a team of fire horses. She darted between their legs, into the arms of her father, and the horses never flinched.
Those knowing even a little about the reaction of animals to fire will be impressed. In the midst of screaming mayhem, just yards away from roaring flames, the air heavy with smoke and the smell of blood and burned flesh and the sounds of interior walls and balconies collapsing, the team stood firm as a small girl, herself in a panic, dashed between their hooves.
The book’s a good read for winter evenings, and I’m sure your friendly library has a copy.
Roy Marshall is a local historian and columnist for the Red Oak Express. He can be contacted at news@redoakexpress.com.