The Circus Fire (30 page)

Q. They're all— You are the man that has charge of all the fire extinguishers, aren't you?

A.
Not outside my department, like the trucks and things like that.

They went round and round like this. Versteeg said his men were supposed to set the extinguishers out (he didn't say where), but only if they had orders to put them out, orders from the front office, from George W. Smith or his assistant. If no orders, they'd set them out around their wagons. Hickey tired of this line and veered off. He came back minutes later. He believed Aylesworth, not this guy.

Q. Since you arrived in Hartford, and that would be yesterday, did you unpack or unload any of these fire extinguishers for distribution about the tents?

A.
We unloaded them but they weren't distributed around.

Q. You unloaded them but they weren't distributed around?

A.
They were taken out of the containers, of course.

Q. None of them were distributed about the main tent?

A.
No, they weren't put around the main tent.

Q. And you don't do that unless you get orders?

A.
When we get orders, we put them around.

Q. You got no orders from anybody?

A No.

Q. And the ones that are to give you orders would be Smith or Kelly?

A.
Yes.

Q. And since you started out on the road, and the first show was in

Philadelphia, have you received any orders to put them up?
A.
We had them out, I think, once since we left Philadelphia. I don't

remember offhand which town it was. Q. But that wasn't in Hartford?
A.
No, it wasn't here; no. Q. Neither yesterday or today? A No.

Hickey then tried to nail Versteeg down on precisely where the extinguishers were supposed to go. Again, Versteeg weaseled. Hickey was losing patience.

Q. You also know from your experience being around this circus, Ringling Brothers circus, and other circuses, that it has been the practice up to this year to have fire extinguishers distributed and available for service underneath seats for the seatmen to use, don't you?

A.
Well, I had no orders to that effect.

Q. Please don't misunderstand me. I am not charging you with it being a requirement on your part, or a part of your duties. I am asking you if you know, from your experience as a circus man and an electrician that it has been the practice, prior to this year, to distribute these extinguishers in order that they would be available for fire purposes or fire prevention underneath the seats, especially in the main tent? Do you know that from your own experience?

A.
Well, my common sense would tell me that they should be.

It was as close to an admission as Versteeg would make. The line of questioning couldn't have been a surprise. At McGovern's, being the first one to testify, he had the chance to frame things his way, laying blame on Smith and Blanchfield and Aylesworth. Here though, he must have suspected that Smith or Aylesworth had returned the favor. Still, to the end

Versteeg wouldn't admit the obvious: His extinguishers were supposed to have been beneath the seats, and they hadn't been.

In his opening answers, superintendent of trucks Deacon Blanchfield revealed that he had no fixed address at present, but that he was a native of Hartford. He and Hickey were the same age; as boys the two had known some of the same folks. The discovery of such common ground lifted the tone of the proceedings. Where Versteeg had been tight-lipped, Blanchfield was almost jaunty, though not completely forthright in his answers.

Blanchfield located the four water trucks for Hickey, putting one at the light plant (true), one at the back door (debatable), and two outside of the northeast chute exit (untrue—these were the two tucked back into the woods). His account of their actions once the fire started was accurate, and as Hickey went over their capabilities, Blanchfield revealed—contrary to George W. Smith's testimony—that the hose couplings on the four trucks were not the standard two and a half inches but only two inches. That is, they would
not fit
Hartford's fire hydrants. The circus only owned one fifty-foot length of standard hose that would.

Blanchfield also contradicted Smith's assertion that Barbour Street was a "tight lot," saying they had roads around it and that it was close to streets. A tight lot, he said, was where you had to crisscross things in and you didn't have roads. The lot was small, yes, but as long as they could move about, they considered it plenty of room.

Blanchfield had been in Cleveland and had vivid memories of the menagerie fire. He also recalled the Huntsville fire that killed so many horses, though he'd been with Barnum at the time. "If anyone has never seen a big tent burn, they don't know how fast it goes. . . . It's impossible to save a circus tent. There's no way to do it unless you was right there and put it out with your foot." He'd also seen smaller tops burn, and every time it was fast, because of the waterproofing.

Q. So the minute you saw this fire today you knew that—?

A.
There was no chance of saving the top. The only thing you could save was what's around it, and get the people out.

Q. You knew that?
A.
Yes.

Pressed, Blanchfield admitted that his water trucks weren't adequate to put out a fire of this size. But, by the same token, he said, "If you gave a general alarm, the Hartford Fire Department couldn't have saved that top today."

The problem was the waterproofing. Blanchfield had heard of fire-proofing but he'd never seen it done. It was common knowledge among circus people that once a big top got going there was no stopping it.

A.
As I say, anyone that's saw one burn, gentlemen, anyone that's never saw a big top burn, cannot realize how quick it burns—that is, the canvas part of it. The chairs and seats and ropes make a big fire afterwards.

That was all Hickey needed from Blanchfield. Of the accused, he was by far the most personable—even entertaining, it could be said. When the commissioner asked him to wait, he called him David.

Circus chief of police John Brice had been in Cleveland, but Hickey didn't ask him about that. He was more concerned with police coverage, and whether the circus had its own fire department. Brice was pals with Hallissey, and there had been more than adequate coverage. And no, the circus had no fire department of its own.

Another senior person with the show had witnessed a big top burn before—John "Blinky" Meek, Aylesworth's assistant boss of the canvas crew. (The nickname came from a weak eye.) In 1912, he'd been in training with the Ringling show at Sterling, Illinois. He wasn't at the hearing tonight, but Coroner Healy would get him for his inquest.

At 2:00 A.M., during a break, Prosecutor Leikind announced to the press that charges had been dropped against John Brice. No other information. They still had some witnesses to go through.

William Caley related his movements just before the fire began, explaining how the chutes were supposed to be broken down and muscled out by the propmen.

Another seatman told of a fire on the sidewall in Providence—a large pinhole. Two or three times a week he saw that kind of fire. He reported them to the sailmaker so he could patch the untreated canvas.

And the stand before Providence, in Portland, somehow a piece of

Spanish web (cloth-covered rope for the aerial ballet) had caught fire twenty-five feet above the floor during a matinee.

City fire marshal Henry Thomas commented on the flammability of the waterproofing treatment: "I think as far as the gasoline is concerned, that hazard is nil, because the gasoline that would be used in the cutting of the wax has disappeared. That wax that remained would naturally add to

the inflammability of that canvas
It is also the cheapest way. . . . The

ropes that hold that canvas were jute and sisal, both quite combustible."

Circus legal adjuster Herbert DuVal allowed that he didn't see any no smoking signs posted. In some cities this season they'd displayed the signs, but not in Hartford.

The hearing limped into the wee hours and beyond, the police present at the fire—like Detective Beckwith—the last to testify. Mayor Mortensen showed up to provide moral support. Circus radio publicist F. Beverly Kelley waited outside headquarters all night, wanting to be the first to talk with the accused when they were released.

The hearing finally recessed around 5:00 A.M. Leikind finalized the warrants and instructed Beckwith and other city policemen to arrest Haley, Smith, Aylesworth, Versteeg, and Blanchfield on charges of manslaughter. The others were free to leave but asked to remain in town for the coroners inquest. Beckwith escorted the prisoners to Hartford Police Headquarters to be booked and to arrange bail.

A storm of reporters waited for them. As Haley gave his fingerprints, he said, "I don't know what caused the fire. They have grilled me here since yesterday afternoon and I tried to help. All of us were overwhelmed by the catastrophe, and I know I can't seem to think that anything, any of the court arraignment this morning or the business about being released on $15,000 bond, is real. The only real thing is death and the grief the circus feels for the families of those who died. This fingerprinting doesn't bother me. It's the people there in the armory and in the hospitals. Our job is pleasing people and making them laugh. I never thought this could happen."

He said he'd helped carry the dead from the tent. "And now I'm charged with manslaughter and held in jail all night. I wish this were a dream. We all know the circus is hazardous, but none of us thought this tragedy possible. Does it do any good that I would have given my life to prevent the fire?"

Circus attorney Dan Gordon Judge represented the five men before a police court, which continued their cases until July 19th. All five stood silent at the rail while scores of photographers popped off flashbulbs. Unshaven, still in yesterday's clothes, they appeared haggard and downcast.

They were by no means the only people who'd stayed awake all night. Parents reported children waking up screaming, in shock. Janet Moore Sapolis had nightmares, and would for months. One young nurse's aide worked till 4:00 in the morning. New to the profession, she'd never seen death strike right before her eyes. When she got home, she went through the house, turning on every light she could find.

During the night, at Municipal Hospital, eighteen patients died. Among them was Mary Kay Smith's playmate, Agnes Norris.

A nineteenth survived till morning. At 6:21 A.M., Edward Cook died in his aunt Emily's arms. His mother was sleeping, her body trying to repair the damage. The doctors could not wake her.

July 7
,
1 944

Friday morning everyone wanted a
Courant.
A Torrington news dealer explained to his regular customers that he had none left. Before he opened up, factory workers on their way in to early shift had cut the wire around the bundle and cleaned out his entire supply. On his doorstep they left a pile of pennies, nickels and dimes.

The
New York Times
quoted a circus worker, "It was like you had opened Hell's doors, and you had all you could do to get your hands over your face and run the other way." The reporter said at least two-thirds of the dead and injured were children.

Circus radio flack F. Beverly Kelley took exception with a neighboring city's paper. It had printed a shot of the accused in the courtroom with the caption: They Saved Their Animals.

Everyone speculated on the cause of the blaze. On its front page the
Courant
said it originated from a cigarette thrown against the sidewall of the big top by someone using the men's toilet. People who were there had other theories: "Personally, I believe the fire was caused from spontaneous combustion from the heat of the tent and spotlights." Some suspected the fire was an act of vengeance by a disgruntled former employee—as the Cleveland fire at first seemed to be. (Coincidentally, three or four of Blanchfield's drivers who'd signed on in Portland had quit at noon Thursday—the same basic scenario as in Cleveland.) A circus hand claimed the fire had been started by a prankster sitting in the top row of the bleachers who lighted a newspaper and waved it against the roof of the tent while friends told him to quit kidding around. When asked for a comment on these rumors, Commissioner Hickey said, "In a disaster of this type it would be too smart-alecky for any police official to discount any theory."