Weekend (40 page)

Those in the center of the room and to the left began rushing up the aisles toward the back, jostling and pushing each other on the way. The narrow aisles were obviously inadequate for such a mass exodus. Then a streak of fire broke out across the ceiling just above them, dropping cinders and sparks to the floor. This stimulated even more violence and alarm. More of the left wall caved in; more of the ceiling fell. The burlap scrim draped across the sides of the stage for decoration became a sheet of flame.

Jack Feigen, who was on the first tier, held his wife so close to him it was almost impossible to move. Neither of them spoke as they tried to make their way through to the back. Suddenly people behind them began to panic. One man fell and grabbed at Jack’s leg. He had great difficulty shaking him off. Those behind him refused to wait and pressed forward with such force that Jack fell forward himself. Someone kicked him in the neck. Toby lost her grip on him and was spun around and forward. She started screaming his name: “Jack, Jack!” He became a raging animal and swung wildly at the people around him. Then he charged forward like a linebacker, knocking people out of his way until he was at her side again. They continued along with the excited crowd toward the exit.

The microphone had broken down as soon as the fire started and staff members stood up on the few tables that remained right side up and pleaded with people to calm down. Their voices were lost in the din. Stan Leshner lifted a small old woman off her chair and carried her like a trophy, over his head, up the aisle.

Flaming chunks of wall and ceiling ignited portions of the floor. As the fire cut across the electrical wires, the lights flickered and went out. The very air seemed to be burning. Sparks popped and snapped in blues, reds and yellows, making a July Fourth show of fireworks the likes of which few people had ever seen.

During all of this, Bobby Grant hadn’t moved. He stood frozen in the center of the stage. A piece of the flaming curtain split and dropped only a few feet from him, but he remained immobile. Some of the stage crew yelled for him to come back and retreat through the rear exit, but he didn’t seem to hear. All of his attention was focused on the mass of people backing away from him on the most important night of his life; literally attacking one another to get away from him.

Someone finally took hold of his arm and pulled him toward the wings. His last view of the audience was a man over six feet tall punching a woman in the face because she was clinging to the back of his jacket.

Halloran and Moe Sandman did the best they could to explain to people they had a better chance of getting out alive if they lined up in some orderly fashion—all the pushing and shoving was getting nobody anywhere—but it was to no avail. In return, they were pushed, shoved and cursed. Moe lost his footing and collapsed on the floor. For a few moments, he was dazed and tried to catch his breath. Halloran was driven further and further back by the charging audience. He tried to indicate that Moe should get up and follow, but Moe didn’t have the strength to move.

Suddenly the walls in the rear of the club, where everyone was headed, gave way to the fire raging from behind. As the space became more and more engulfed in flames even those who had initially fought panic became totally uncontrollable and staff members and guests who had been contributing in a heroic way, suddenly thought only of themselves. The stage was on fire, the entire ceiling was burning down, the left, right and rear walls had caved in, and most of the floor furnishings and bar area were ignited. The nightclub had turned into an inferno.

Moe Sandman tried to stand up but a pain had developed down his left arm. His shoulder ached. It seemed impossible to breathe. He gasped and pulled himself forward, reaching out for tables along the way, but the pain in his arm shot up and across his chest. He reached straight up in the air. People shoved him aside as they tried to make their way toward the single exit that was not yet in flames. He offered no resistance. In vain, he mouthed the word “help” and then fell to the side, disappearing below chairs, taking a table over with him. No one paid the slightest attention. He was dead before he hit the floor.

The first indication Bruce and Sid had that anything was wrong came in the form of muffled shouting. They listened for a moment and then stood up.

“What the hell is that?” Sid walked through the kitchen and peeked into the dining room. The smoke has just succeeded in reaching the vents there and was beginning to pour into the area.

“That’s smoke,” he shouted. Bruce rushed to join him.

“Jesus Christ!”

They ran quickly through the dining room. The entrance to it that opened on the lobby was locked from the inside. Sid turned the latch and pulled the door toward him. To their shock and amazement they found themselves face to face with a mob fleeing the nightclub, hundreds of people who, because the front lobby was also on fire, didn’t know where to turn. Suddenly they realized there might be a way out through the dining room and as if by command, turned in a wave and rushed inside. Bruce and Sid were shoved out of the way.

“WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON?”

“FIRE, EVERYWHERE,” one of the nightclub waiters shouted. They followed the crowd through the kitchen out the back exit. Bruce grabbed one of the bellhops. “What about the people upstairs?”

“Who knows?” He ripped himself out of Bruce’s grip and ran on down the lawn away from the hotel. Sid was helping a limping woman. Bruce thought a moment and then rushed around the building toward the front entrance.

People were streaming out, many crying hysterically. Once out in the fresh air they walked about in small circles, confused, almost in a stupor. Clothing had been ripped and many were bleeding. Two men were carrying a woman who had fainted. They struggled with her weight, pounding her body on the lawn as they tried to move quickly.

Everywhere people were crying out names, moaning, babbling.

“MY HUSBAND. WHERE’S BEN?”

“DOROTHY!”

“GET ME OUT OF HERE! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

“MY BABIES!” Toby Feigen cried, “MY BABIES ARE ON THE SIXTH FLOOR WITH A BABYSITTER!”

Bruce pushed his way through the crowd. Flames had already destroyed the lobby curtains. One of the chandeliers dropped to the floor, miraculously missing everyone. Another one dangled by a wire. A man’s sport coat caught fire and he struggled to get it off his back while his wife screamed louder and louder. Bruce helped him remove it and then stamped madly on the burning garment. The man collapsed in his wife’s arms. She struggled desperately to hold him up until Bruce helped carry him away. He set him down on the lawn, sufficiently far from the burning building. When he looked up, he saw the flames on the lower floors licking the ceilings, reaching out the windows, defiantly announcing their presence.

“Keep him quiet,” Bruce said, “I’ve got to help others.” He rushed to the residential side of the building and began guiding the people descending from the fire escape. Guests were jumping and hanging out from second and third story windows. When he looked up, he saw some screaming from bedroom windows many floors above.

For a few fleeting moments he thought about the people he knew: Ellen Golden, Charlotte, even Jonathan Lawrence. He had yet to see any one of them safe but he didn’t have time now to think about it. A little boy, separated from his parents, was crying hysterically for his mommy. Bruce immediately lifted him in his arms and tried to calm him.

Those remaining in the building continued to break windows, push, jump, run, get out any way they could. The way the bodies tumbled out, it looked like a gigantic human domino chain that had just been knocked down.

When Sandi reached the front entrance after chasing the handyman she found herself driven back by the onslaught of people pouring out of the hotel. Frightened at first by the screaming and hysteria, she considered fleeing herself, but when she realized the gravity of the situation her first thoughts were for her mother’s safety. It was impossible to get into the building through the lobby, so she ran to the side entrance that led in through the kitchen. A mob of people came tearing out of there, too. She didn’t wait. Instead, she rushed around to the back where there was a little-used exit connecting with the Teen Room downstairs.

The fire hadn’t yet reached this section of the hotel. The Goldens had added it on to the main building in the early fifties and it had a separate basement area and heating and cooling system. Nevertheless, the electricity had failed and Sandi entered into total darkness.

Fortunately, she knew her way and quickly wove in and out of corridors until she came up behind the front lobby. The scene that greeted her was like something out of a horror movie. There were large gaps over her head where the ceiling used to be, portions of the walls and supporting pillars had collapsed, and all the curtains and furniture had ignited and were in flames. When she saw the crowds massing at the exits, she tried to sight her mother but there were just too many bodies. Somehow she imagined her remaining in her office, directing the evacuation of the hotel, working like the captain of a sinking ship.

It was difficult, if not close to impossible, to push her way through the terrified people but she crawled, slipped and twisted her body until she got to the doorway of the office. When she looked in, she was shocked at how much of it was already destroyed. For a moment she considered the possibility of her mother being trapped. Then suddenly someone grabbed her hand from behind and pulled her roughly back.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get out of here.”

Bob Halloran, blackened with soot, his hair streaked with fallen plaster, his clothing torn, pulled her away from the office toward the crowd.

“My mother …”

“She’s not in there,” he said. “She’s outside with Magda, and they’re both safe.” She stopped and looked around. The nightclub was now totally consumed. The exit through the Card Room that some enterprising people had found was blocked by the splintering walls and ceiling that had fallen in and now blazed away. The main entrance was still very congested with people trying to escape.

“Through the back,” she motioned. “I came through the Game Room.” He nodded and worked them that way, continuing to hold her hand as they made their way around the wreckage and away from the flames.

“I think Moe Sandman is dead,” he said when they got to the empty corridor, tears streaming down his face. He stopped for a second to cross himself. “Let’s hurry. If anything happens to you …” He let go of her hand so they could move faster, but just before they went through the Game Room, a ceiling beam gave way, swung down, and caught him behind the head. The smack sent him reeling forward off his feet. He landed face down.

“Mr. Halloran! Mr. Halloran!”

She rushed to his side and shook him, but he didn’t move. She turned his head to the side and his eyelids fluttered but then another chunk of ceiling flew down. The fire was starting to build a circle of flames around them. She tried pulling him by the arm, but it didn’t work. He was too heavy for her to move.

“MR. HALLORAN!” she screamed. She stood up and shouted his name again and again, but there was no one close enough to hear. More of the Game Room collapsed. The glass tops on the pinball machines shattered, and all the buzzers went off at once. She looked down once again at the unconscious personnel director and then turned and fled, screaming all the way through the corridors to the back exit.

Outside, she fell to her knees on the nearby grass and cried. The flames pouring out from the sides of the second, third, fourth and fifth floors now lit the area, casting bright yellow and orange light deep into the shadows, driving the darkness back. She cried until there were no more tears. Then she shook herself and stood up. She looked back and thought about Halloran. The image of his fluttering eyelids repeated and repeated itself. She felt like throwing up. For a few moments, she was unable to get her legs to move. Then she stumbed hesitantly until she was finally able to break into a run. The first person she saw as she turned the bend that led to the lawn in front of the main house was her mother, directing people away from the building.

“MOMMY!” She threw out her arms, tripped, stood up again and continued to run. Ellen saw her come out of the shadows and ran toward her. They embraced instantly. Ellen held her as tightly as she possibly could. The glow of the fire washed over them, illuminating their tear-streaked faces.

“Oh, honey, where were you? I was so worried …” Her shoulders began to shake as she brought Sandi even closer.

“I thought …” She could only gasp her words. “I thought … you … were … you … were in there. Mr. Halloran … I think … I think he’s dead.”

Ellen ran her arms up and down her daughter’s back. “Come away,” she said. “It’s going to be all right.” When Magda saw them, she ran over and the three of them embraced. “To the farmhouse,” Ellen whispered. Sandi could only nod.

Dressed in loose, cotton pajamas, Sam Teitelbaum emerged from the bathroom. Blanche was already under the covers, the thin salmon-colored blanket drawn up to her chin. Sam turned off the bathroom light but then hesitated, keeping his finger on the switch. What was that funny odor? He turned the light back on and for another moment took a deep breath. A small but steady stream of smoke was pouring through openings between the pipes and the walls. At first he thought it might be some kind of steam coming from the pipes themselves, but that idea died very quickly. The odor was clearly recognizable.

“My God,” he said to himself. He spun around. “Blanche, Blanche!”

“What is it?” She sat upright in the bed. He was in the bedroom doorway, his hands on his face, looking like a man who had just seen the Angel of Death.

“There’s smoke,” he said, trying to regain control. “Now don’t get excited.” He went to the closet and took her bathrobe off its hanger. She pulled the blanket away and stood up.

“What smoke? Where?”

“It’s coming out of the plumbing in the bathroom. I don’t know if it’s serious or not.” He helped her on with her robe as she searched for her slippers. “We’ll just take precautions.” He began leading her out the door.