woberto Report This Comment Date: August 11, 2007 05:31AM
You’d be hard-pressed to find a more innocuous substance in your kitchen than
molasses. Who would ever suspect that this thick, dark, and homey sweetener
could also be a terrifying, fast-moving killer?
Newspaper accounts report that January 15, 1919 - the day of the Great Molasses
Flood of Boston, Massachusetts - began like any other winter day in that city,
except for one thing. The weather was unusually warm, reaching 40°F by
midmorning. This was probably a welcome event for Bostonians, who had suffered
through rigid 2°F temperatures the day before. But little did anyone guess what
havoc this extreme temperature swing would soon wreak.
The sudden rise in temperature compromised the structural integrity of a
50-foot-tall steel tank filled with 2,320,000 gallons of molasses. Owned and
maintained by the U.S. Alcohol Company, the tank had been filled to capacity in
order to make as much hooch as possible before the alcohol prohibition law
kicked in. Just after noon on the 15th, the lunchtime crowd in the vicinity of
the tank (located on the waterfront in Boston’s densely populated North End)
heard a thunderous explosion, immediately followed by what must have been the
weirdest thing they had ever seen in their lives: a 25-foot-high wall of syrup
washing toward them through the streets at 30 miles per hour. For 21 of these
unfortunate witnesses, it would be the last thing they would ever see. Some were
engulfed and smothered in the dark goo like pre-historic insect trapped in
amber. Others were killed when the molasses ripped buildings from their
foundations, or simply reduced them to rubble. Another 150 people were
injured.
The New York Times of January 16, 1919, reported that a section of the tank wall
fell on a nearby firehouse, crushing the building and three firemen inside.
Freight cars were smashed; a warehouse yard was leveled. Horses became
hopelessly mired in the goo and were shot. Rescue teams had a difficult time
slogging through the thick syrup, which rose several feet high throughout the
neighborhood.
Because the molasses stuck to everything it touched, the cleanup took several
years and millions of dollars. Even so, residents reported that molasses would
seep up from the ground on hot days as many as 30 years after the flood. And to
this day, sharp-nosed Bostonians swear that they can smell the stuff when the
temperature rises.