BEANTOWN OR SWEET TOWN? By Jeff Tanner

Great Molasses Flood
Historical Marker

If you’ve been to Boston, you probably think the city’s history began with the first colonists and ended with the War of 1812.

You’d be wrong.

But then again, what gets remembered motivates tourists to travel and spend money. Not two forgotten major disasters. Both changed how responsibility for human-created catastrophes is assigned and paid, but they don’t bring the tourists.

The first occurred in 1919 – the Great Molasses Flood.

Yes, molasses. 

A molasses tank burst, dispensing 2.3 million gallons in a 30-foot-high flash flood that swept through the neighborhood at 35 miles per hour. Buildings were flattened, in some cases their roof still intact after the walls were gone. A piece of steel sheared through a column holding up the elevated train tracks, just moments after a passenger train had passed by. A fire station was lifted from its foundation and moved over a hundred feet.

Twenty-one people were killed, most dying that day, and another 150 were injured.

The tank was built so that the Purity Distilling Company could make as much alcohol as possible before Prohibition (passed the day after the flood) took effect. The job was rushed, the material was subpar, and the tank insufficiently tested. In fact, it was never fully filled with water before it was put into service!

Blame fell on the builder’s treasurer, who was responsible for the lack of testing, poor quality materials, etc. He even ordered the tank painted brown to hide the leaks.

Boston, Beantown, could’ve been named Sweet City for it smelled of molasses for years after.

The second disaster occurred over twenty years later. In 1942, the Coconut Grove nightclub burned. Once the headquarters of mobster Charles “King” Solomon (who was killed in 1933), the huge warren of former warehouses was still a popular dance and dining club. The Grove boasted a roll-away roof so patrons could dance under the stars.

But the owner grew tired of people walking their checks by sneaking out of the fire exits, so he bolted them shut. A window that could have been knocked out was plywooded over. When the fire started, the only escape known to the public was a single revolving door that quickly jammed. When it finally broke, the oxygen from outside created a horrific fireball that incinerated all who were there.

The fire resulted in the largest death toll in a nightclub fire, and at the time, the second largest building fire death toll (the 9/11 attacks are now first).

Just 10 days prior, the Fire Department had inspected the building and declared it safe. No mention of bolted doors and blocked windows. But that’s the only permit the place had – no liquor license, no food-handling permit, nothing.

Coconut Grove Fire Historical Marker

The impact of this calamity is far-reaching, and not just in the obvious ways of permitting and fire safety. Burn care was revolutionized, in part because the city’s healthcare system was well-prepared to handle the disaster. They were ready for potential needs caused by World War II and Nazis sinking ships near the coast. Treatments for burn victims advanced rapidly since there were so many all at once. These treatments, including for psychological trauma, were put immediately into widespread practice in the military.

While numerous outcomes of these two tragedies have advanced healthcare, made urban living safer, and increased personal liability for those responsible, these two tragedies are marked only by these plaques.

 

 

FIVE YEARS IN THE MAKING: THE KING'S COLLAR DEBUTS By Jeff Tanner

 

The King’s Collar (Koehler Books), publishes June 30. The book, set in 1929 Boston, features many real people, including Joseph Kennedy, Jack Haley (Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz), and mobster Charles “King” Solomon. The story is an adventurous mystery featuring disgraced would-be Harvard graduate Charlie “Bones” Bohannon, and centers around his hunt for missing artifacts to clear his name and graduate, all while being threatened by others who desire the wealth those artifacts could bring.

Boston seemed the perfect setting. As a port, it was almost as important as New York. The city, already known for banning books, was also the home of 4000 speakeasies, quadruple the number at the start of Prohibition. Nowhere else in America was there such a surface divide between the pious elite and the powerful mob.

The idea for The King's Collar came not in Boston but in Newport News, Virginia. I was touring backstage of that city’s Mariners’ Museum, primarily built to keep Huntington Shipyard workers employed during the Depression. The founders, therefore, had no idea about acquiring and curating artifacts, so the museum now has an abundance of some items and a dearth of others.

Immediately, the idea of an Indiana Jones-type adventurer searching the globe for maritime artifacts came to mind.

Gratifying, then, are early readers’ comments, such as “Indiana Jones meets The Maltese Falcon” by Margit Weisgal of the Baltimore Sun and others, “…Jones meets The Sting” by award-nominated author (and regular blogger here) Michael Rigg, and similar comparisons.

Here’s a synopsis:

Boston, May 1929. Expelled from Harvard and disowned by his father, Charlie Bohannon is down to his last nickel when he stumbles across a chance at salvation: a priceless Egyptian statuette hiding in the smoky recesses of a speakeasy. Learning it was stolen from a long ago-expedition led by his college dean, he sees returning it as his only shot a redemption – but the plan shatters when the artifact is stolen and the thief is murdered.

From the corrupt halls of power where Joseph Kennedy pulls the strings to the seedy docks of the Atlantic, Charlie suddenly finds himself in the crosshairs of several dangerous men. They don’t just want the statue; they want its legendary counterpart, the jewel-encrusted King’s Collar. They think Charlie can find it. And they’ll happily kill for it.

Aided in his quest to find the King’s Collar by daring socialite Olivia and salty ex-sailor Punchy, Charlie plunges into a shadow-game where killers hide in plain sight. When his friends are kidnapped, the hunt for the Collar becomes a race against time. In the cut-throat world of the Prohibition era, Charlie must find the treasure – or pay for it with their lives.

Another surprise for me is how much early readers like Punchy, the “salty ex-sailor.” So much so that I now offer readers a free short story with Punchy as the protagonist.  (www.authorjefftanner.com/fiction/punchy)

The King’s Collar publishes June 30, and can be found at The Book Bin on the Eastern Shore, or pre-ordered online (Amazon.com: The King's Collar: 9798897471522: Tanner, Jeff: Books). Or, if you’re likely to run into me soon, you can order it on my website and I’ll bring you a signed copy!

Dolls, second in the series, publishes December 8.  Both books are published by Koehler Books. I’ve already written books three and four; with any luck, we’ll see those hit the market in 2027.

Clair Lamb, editor, said this about Charlie. “I like Charlie; he’s good company.” I hope others agree.

BIBLIOTHERAPY AND LOSS by Jeff Tanner, Guest Blogger

[I had another blog post ready to go, but recent events have pushed that aside.]

When I was young, I was the kid who checked out a stack of books from the library as big as I could carry. I read everything – from Encyclopedia Brown to classics like Twain and Dickens, then Agatha Christie to That Was Then, This is Now, Watership Down, and short stories like “Success” and “The Lottery.” I learned so much from books.

But not everything.

MIRACLE OF MIRACLES By Jeff Tanner, Guest Blogger

Thunkin Theodore - photo finish

Miracle of miracles, I was scheduled to teach a two-day workshop in San Antonio when I learned my horse, Thunkin Theodore, was running in the 4^th race at Retama Park in Selma, Texas, just outside San Antonio. What a great opportunity! I invited the entire workshop to come out for the race – and a photo in the winner’s circle if we won.

We decided to name him for our oldest son, Ted, and honor Ted’s namesake, my baseball-playing uncle. Hence the name “Thumping Theodore,” also Ted Williams’ nickname. My uncle wasn’t the caliber of Ted Williams, only rising to A ball in the minors. But the Jockey Club couldn’t read my writing on the application so Theo’s official name was Thunkin Theodore.

When he was born, we didn’t know what kind of horse we had. Was he hard-working or lazy? Smart or dumb? Our hearts soared with hope when he raced other foals and yearlings in the pasture, always running through to the end even when he wasn’t first. The road from a race around the fence line to the winner’s circle at the track, though, is long and arduous.

We still weren’t sure about him after his first two races. We first tried him on turf—his sister won twice on the grass. But our big strapping bay tiptoed all the way around the track. That’s not how you win. So this time, we were trying him on the dirt. And this time, the competition was steeper than any he’d faced.

Still, despite the fluttering in my stomach, I’d only promised the workshop’s participants a night’s entertainment, not a victory. The odds-makers agreed, with Theo not among the favorites.

About eight of the participants took me up on my offer, clustering around me, the trainer, and the jockey in the paddock before the race. Tommy Morgan, my trainer, was a laconic West Texan, not prone to talking. The jockey, however, enjoyed chatting up the young blonde in our group.

When the horses broke from the gate, Theo was right there, in fourth a little off the pace, just as Tommy instructed. That way, there’d be juice in the tank at the end.

The horses turned for home with Theo in second. At the 8^th pole, a furlong before the end of the race, he was in first, with a horse coming up on his left and another to his right. Each of the other horses surged forward, both on the inside--between Theo and the rail. Theo responded, running even harder.

He was determined.

You can’t train that into a horse. It’s part of who they are. That’s what separates the winners from trail ponies and yard art.

Theo was so determined that he sprained a ligament just after he crossed the finish line, though we didn’t know it at the time. Our little group posed in the winner’s circle with a triumphant Theo and his smiling jockey. Even Tommy had a small grin, apparently entertained as he watched the jockey talk more with the blonde.

As Tommy said, “It helps when the jockey has a little extra motivation.”

Later, I took the group back to the stables. Theo was enjoying an after-race snack of fresh grass alongside the fence. Another horse was being led by.

Theo saw him, raised up, and trumpeted loudly. “I won! I am the King!”

The other horse lowered his head and slunk past.

Theo’s ligament healed up nicely and he came back to race--and win--again. Over his career, Theo ran in twelve races, posting two wins and two second places. When his racing days were over, he became a jumper, continuing to compete, continuing to give it his all. But that first win – that was special.

Miracle of miracles.