Chapter III · FIRES AND ACCIDENTS (continued 2)

As the crowds began to leave the field, the two men shouted from their high perch and imitated the cheers of the students. While they were jumping about on the platform of the scaffold, it swung far out from the wall, and Peter fell to the ground.

TWO BOYS DROWN

Chicago Tribune

Joseph Tordio, 19 years old, of 920 Townsend street, tried to save Albert Arrigo, 8 years old, of 457 West Superior street, from drowning in the north branch of the river at Superior street last night. Both drowned.

Arrigo, a mere stripling, was fishing. He lost his balance and toppled from the pier. Screams of his brother, Charles, 12 years old, attracted Tordio. He threw off his shoes, coat, and hat and jumped in. For fifteen minutes the battle with death ran on.

Tordio did not know the science of rescuing a drowning person. He might have stunned the boy and got back to the pier. But he merely used his muscle. Then the little boy, in a death grapple, tightened his arms around Tordio like two small bands of steel.

The larger boy tired. The murky water ran over his face. For an instant he thought he might lose. That was his undoing. Fear unnerved him. He fought in a frenzy. They went down together, the younger boy strangling but still clasping his two small bands of steel around the rescuer’s body.

They came up, or Tordio’s face did. With the terror of death on him, Tordio made a last desperate effort. It failed. He opened his mouth to call for help, but the voice was drowned with the gurgling water. He quit. His hands went up in a last act of despair. Then they went down. In a moment there was nothing on the water at that point save a few tiny waves and a few bubbles.

The police came with grappling hooks. The body of little Arrigo was recovered. The doctors worked for an hour to drive air back into the water bloated lungs. It was futile.

Tordio’s body is still on the floor of the river somewhere. He did not know the boy he tried to save.

INVESTIGATION OF CAUSE OF DROWNING

Boston Herald

The city authorities, the police and the district attorney have been asked to investigate conditions at the deserted wharf on Albany street at the foot of Union Park where one boy was drowned on Tuesday afternoon and another narrowly escaped drowning on the morning of the same day. Residents of the neighborhood say that in the last decade the place has claimed no less than seven victims and has been the scene of a score of accidents more or less serious.

So far no one directly responsible for the recurring fatalities has been found. The premises are private property, the boys who frequent the place are trespassers under the law, the city believes that it has no right to interfere and the police of the district say that the only way they could deal with the situation would be to have an officer stationed on the ground day and night.

With a frontage of some 200 feet on Albany street the lot extends back over a grass-grown area about 50 feet to the South bay. At the edge of the water are the ruins of an old pier, a stretch of broken boards and a group of broken piles.

The whole place is absolutely open to the street and is unguarded by fence or barrier of any kind. It has all the attractions of a playground and swimming hole and is doubly alluring to the lads of the neighborhood owing to the fact that they have been warned off from time to time by the police.

All during the summer scores of boys of all ages, but chiefly between 5 and 14 years, haunt the old wharf, jumping from pile to pile or taking an occasional dip when the officer on the beat is not looking. From the shore the channel shelves down sharply to a depth of about 30 feet.

The nature of the danger was shown Tuesday afternoon. Alexander Penney, the 7-year-old son of Alexander Penney of 114 Maiden street, while playing fireman with several companions among the piles, slipped and fell into the water. His body disappeared and was not found until it was picked up yesterday morning near the Dover street bridge by the crew of the policeboat Watchman.

In the morning of the same day Arthur York, 5 years old, of Albany street, stumbled overboard and was rescued with considerable difficulty by John Melanphy, who was forced to dive before he could bring the boy to the surface.

Similar accidents have happened in the past with such frequency that the citizens of the neighborhood are demanding that some action be taken to close the wharf and keep the children away from it. Joseph E. Ferreira of 1 Pelham street, a business man, well known politically in the section, circulated a petition asking the city to take action. There were over 250 signers, but when the petition was presented to the mayor it was found that the city had no legal right to act. Mr. Ferreira has since appealed to the district attorney and to the police in an attempt to have the wharf fenced in.

Mayor Fitzgerald paid a personal visit to the scene of Tuesday’s accidents yesterday morning. He looked over the ground carefully and interviewed numerous small boys who had been attracted to the spot. Several of them were playing about the wharf end, apparently unmindful of the danger.

“The situation here is a deplorable one,” said Mayor Fitzgerald, “but up to the present I have been unable to discover any way in which the city can act. The premises are privately owned, and the city, so far as I am informed, has no right to fence the place in or otherwise block it from the street.

“Something should be done, however, to prevent the recurrence of drowning accidents. It would seem that much of the trouble would be obviated if the owners would consent to erect a high board fence. I believe also that the police might be a bit more vigilant, although I realize that the only sure way to keep boys off a lot like this would be to have an officer stationed here all the time.

“The place as it stands is a temptation to every child who loves the water. In the hot weather it is bound to lure about every healthy boy in the vicinity. If funds were available, I should suggest that the happiest solution of the difficulty would be for the city to take the land over and transform it into a bathing park. The neighborhood is crowded and the nearest public bathing place is at Dover street.

“The accident calls attention to the relatively small number of our boys that can swim. I have always advocated swimming instruction for our children, and the fatality of Tuesday only emphasizes the need of it.”

Mayor Fitzgerald allowed himself to be photographed at the spot where the accident occurred, and as he did so seven urchins grouped themselves about him. Six of them were under 10 years and the other 13 years old.

“How many of you boys can swim?” asked the mayor.

The six younger boys shook their heads and the oldest admitted that he could “a little.”

“That is a fair example of conditions,” said Mayor Fitzgerald, “and a good argument against allowing a place like this to exist.”

The property has been idle for a number of years and is said to have been the subject of litigation. The assessors’ books give the owners of the property as Grant and Alice Nilson, neither of whom is a resident of Boston.

If the owners do not take measures to shut the old wharf from the street, Mr. Ferreira and a number of other South End residents say they will appeal to the courts in an effort to secure a remedy.

BOY SAVES DROWNING MAN

New York World

Johnny Donivan, fifteen years old, No. 2005 Second avenue, went down to the Battery yesterday to look for a job, and the only job he found was to save a man from drowning. Johnny had no objection to saving a drowning man, but was much disappointed at not finding work, for his father has been out of a job since last Christmas, and there are eight in the family.

Daniel Wilson, who has been a deep-sea fireman, went to sleep on a pier and rolled off into the bay, striking his head on a rock. Then he floated seaward.

Johnny Donivan jumped in after Wilson. With both hands the fireman grabbed the boy so tightly around the throat that he almost squeezed the breath out of him.

Johnny seized the man around the waist, was pulled under water twice, but swam with Wilson to the pier, where the Liberty Island steamer makes fast. Policeman Joseph Murry hauled them out.

John Brown, watchman in the Barge Office, lent Johnny Donivan his old shirt and trousers while the boy’s raiment was drying in the sunshine. Johnny said he had a place in a picture frame store in Beaver street until eight weeks ago when he was let out. The only one in the family working is one of Johnny’s sisters, and she earns $3 a week as a dressmaker’s apprentice. A year ago he dived into the East River at One Hundred and Second street and saved a ten-year-old boy from drowning. On that occasion a policeman gave him five cents so he wouldn’t have to walk home.

BABY DROWNS

Brooklyn Eagle

Mrs. Rose Stock left her rooms, on the second floor of 550 South avenue, at 10 o’clock this morning to step across the street to make some purchases at a grocery store. As she closed the door, the baby, Harriet, 3 months old, was sleeping quietly in its crib, and Louis, 5 years old, with Dorothy, 3 years old, her other children, were playing.

Scarcely had the mother gone when an idea seized one of the two. It was probably Louis, although he credited Dorothy with it when asked about it. Why not take the baby out of its crib and give it a bath in the tub, as they had seen mother do so often? It was a brilliant thought. So Louis went and fetched the baby and took it to the bathroom.

The tub was full of water and clothes, for Mrs. Stock had been washing there the night before, and had not finished soaking the clothes. They set the baby in the water, which was about a foot deep. The baby gasped, gurgled and was still. It did not appear to enter into the spirit of the game at all.

Louis had never seen the baby so quiet before when its mother bathed it. He could not quite make out just what was wrong, but a vague foreboding that he had done something he ought not to came over him. He ran out into the hall and met his mother returning with her arms laden with groceries for the dinner hour.

“Oh, mama!” he cried, “the baby is in the water.”

Mrs. Stock ran up the stairs, but before she got there Mrs. Rose Leiser, a next-door neighbor, had lifted little Harriet out of the tub and laid her on the bed.

Dr. Joseph Strong of 566 Waite avenue was called in and tried artificial respiration. Every time he moved the little arms a jet of water gushed from the baby’s mouth. His efforts were in vain.

When a reporter called at the little home some time later, Mrs. Stock was seated in one room surrounded by a semicircle of sympathizing neighbors, and in the next room Louis, who has sunny Lord Fauntleroy curls and a dimpled face, was down on his knees looking through a photograph album. He looked up at the visitor with steady blue eyes and a smile when he was asked who put the baby in the water.

“Dorey did,” he replied.

“Where is the baby now?”

“I know,” he said. “It’s on the bed. It’s sleeping.”

Then he turned to his photograph album, but when a search was made for little Dorothy, he led the way up the stairs and showed the visitor how to open the door.

Brown-haired Dorothy, with ear-rings in her ears, hid her face behind the skirts of a neighbor. She thought the man who came was going to take her away somewhere, and she hung her head.

“Louis put the baby in the water,” she said. That was all she seemed to know about it. Louis laughed and went back to his album. He could not understand why his mother was crying so in the next room. Wasn’t the baby on the bed just as she had left it?

SHOOTING ACCIDENT

Chicago Tribune

Elgin, Ill., Oct. 28—[Special.]—Walter Black, 17 year old son of August Black of 416 Carroll street, came home from a hunting trip at 7 o’clock tonight and stood his single barrel shotgun up in a corner of the kitchen.

“Big bruvver’s a sojer,” lisped Harold Black, 5 years old.

“Naw, there ain’t any war in Elgin,” replied August, aged 11.

Walter went upstairs to change his clothing. Harold went to the corner and attempted to drag the heavy gun along.

“Le’s play sojers,” he said.

“You ain’t big enough to carry the gun,” retorted August. “Let me take it.”

August took the gun, swung it across his shoulder, and marched around the kitchen shouting “Hep! Hep!” with Harold composing the rear guard of the army.

“Now we’re at the war,” sang out August. He turned suddenly and pointed the weapon at Harold, his finger on the trigger. There was a roar and a spit of flame. The muzzle was only a few inches from the head of the younger boy. He fell dead with the whole charge in his head.

Mrs. Black ran to the kitchen and fainted when she saw what had happened. An inquest will be held tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.

Note—The following three stories published in Milwaukee evening papers should be compared as different versions of the same incident in a suburb.

SEARCH FOR LOST CHILD

(1)

Milwaukee Evening Wisconsin

WEST ALLIS, Oct. 21.—After 2000 residents of West Allis had spent an entire night searching for Walter, the 18-months’-old son of Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Strong, 5402 Fargo avenue, the little fellow was found sleeping in a coal bin in the basement of the home of Mrs. Johanna Bitter, Fifty-fourth and Fargo avenues.

The little lad had wandered away from his father’s yard on Friday afternoon and reached the yard of Mrs. Bitter. While at play near a basement window he probably tumbled through to the coal below.

There he slept soundly until early this morning, when he was found by Mrs. Bitter when she went to the basement to clean out the bin. She picked the child up and carried him in her arms to the home of the distracted mother, who had been waiting and watching all through the night for the return of her baby.

With a cry of joy she seized him and clasped him to her breast and imprinted kiss after kiss upon his face. The father, who, with a party of neighbors, had been searching every corner of the village, was notified and hurried to his home to see his boy.

Walter was playing on Friday afternoon with his brother Willie in the back yard of the home. About 3 o’clock Willie went into the house, and his mother asked where Walter was. The brother told her that he was playing in the yard. She was entertaining visitors and forgot about the lad until after 4 o’clock.

When she went into the yard, the boy was not there. She searched through the neighborhood for a time and then notified her husband, who works at the Allis-Chalmers plant. He organized a searching party and spent the entire night with almost 2000 others in trying to locate the baby.

At first it was feared that the child had been kidnaped, as a man with a young child was seen driving down Fargo avenue shortly after the Strong child was missed by the mother.

(2)

Milwaukee News

He was such a little chap—only 18 months old—and when he started out yesterday to take his pedestrian exercises, in which he had not progressed very far, he met with a mishap in tumbling through the basement window of a neighbor’s house into the coal bin.

His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Strong, Fiftyfourth and Fargo avenues, called him Bootsie. When Bootsie found himself in a pile of coal, it tickled his childish fancy to learn what beautiful black marks the coal made on his hands.

He tired of playing with the coal, rolled over and went sound asleep. Then the trouble started. An older brother who had been left in the yard to watch the baby, came into the house alone.

“Where’s Bootsie?” the mother asked.

The little fellow shook his head and said he didn’t know. The mother ran to the yard. No Bootsie was in sight. Inquiries were made among the neighbors. Then the news of the mysterious disappearance of Bootsie traveled from mouth to mouth until West Allis became aroused.

Deputy sheriffs got busy; the West Allis police force was brought out; neighbors, relatives and friends to the number of almost 1,000 gathered near the home.

The father came home to supper, learned of his son’s disappearance and was puzzled. Mrs. Strong wept and at times was on the verge of hysteria. Women called and tried to comfort her.

Then a searching party of many hundred started over the territory, “with a fine tooth comb,” the police said, to look for Bootsie.

Ponds in the neighborhood were dragged, and until far into the night, lanterns could be seen bobbing over the fields, going here, there, everywhere, searching for Bootsie Walter Strong, youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Strong.

Then someone brought in a clew. An evil-looking man with a black mustache and smoking a cigarette was seen driving through West Allis about 6 o’clock in the evening. He had a child on his knees.

The child answered the description of Bootsie. He was crying and struggling to get away. The black mustached man leered at people in driving by and disappeared.

The child had been kidnaped! There was no use denying it. Had not the clew been almost conclusive? By midnight the search for Bootsie had been abandoned. Searchers returned home disheartened.

About 5 o’clock this morning Mrs. Johanna Bitter, who lives at 5418 Fargo avenue on property adjoining the Strong home, went to the basement to get some potatoes.

There on top of the coal pile was Bootsie—he of the mysterious disappearance—sound asleep, with his mouth open. The child was carried home by Mrs. Bitter, and when the crowd of last night’s searchers called at the Strong home again this morning, it was met by the wide-eyed Bootsie, munching on a cookie, with evidence of coal dust still lingering in his golden hair.

(3)

Milwaukee Journal

If Walter Strong, 18 months, 5402 Fargo-av, West Allis, were to try and make up during the next four years the sleep that he caused to be lost Friday night, he would fail. It would be impossible because 2,000 nights o’ sleep went a-glimmering in the twelve hours of darkness.

But that doesn’t worry Walter Strong, 18 months. Not at all. That sleep didn’t belong to him, but was the property of 2,000 neighbors.

Friday afternoon, when the baby’s father, Ernest Strong, was at work in the Allis-Chalmers plant and his mother, Mrs. Anna Strong, was busy with her household duties, young Walter toddled out into the yard in front of his home. That yard, the street beyond and the highways and byways that Walter could indistinctly see stretching out before him, were to him as were the unexplored new worlds to Columbus.

It was 3 p. m. when Walter began his journey. At 6 p. m. he had not returned. Strong had come home; the mother had noticed that her baby was missing, and a search was begun. At 9 p. m. Walter was still missing. An alarm was spread in the neighborhood.

Then the search began. The good neighbors of West Allis scurried to and fro, listening to stories of kidnaping, following various clews, telling of strange men seen in the neighborhood and, altogether, creating intense excitement. This lasted until 6 a. m. Saturday.

What Baby Walter thought as he toddled out of his yard cannot be told, for Walter is unable to say. He walked up Fargo-av until he observed a peculiar—to him—scene. To most of us it would have been an ordinary cottage at 5418 Fargo-av, the home of Mrs. Johanna Bitter, but to Walter there was a great cavern underneath a pile of wood. This cavern had a screen across the mouth, and, peering through, Walter could see a pile of dark stuff. To others that would have been a cellar filled with coal.

Walter was highly interested in his discovery and began to pry at the screen. Ah! the screen moved! It opened! Walter pushed his head inside and gazed about. Then he tumbled in.

Perhaps he cried a little when he fell, but if he did no one heard him. He soon reconciled himself to his imprisonment and began playing with objects at hand. Soon, however, he became sleepy and what makes a better bed than a large pile of potato sacks?

So while his frantic parents and the neighbors were searching for him, Baby Walter slept peacefully within a few hundred feet of home and mother.

Early Saturday Mrs. Bitter, who lives alone, entered her cellar to get some potatoes for breakfast. She carried no light, and when she neared the bin, stumbled over the sacks. The baby cried out. That ended his trip.

When Baby Walter sat on his father’s knee Saturday morning calmly munching a biscuit, he blinked and smiled. The father and mother were busy thanking the neighbors for their interest and assistance.