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The PS General Slocum
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Anyone who’s been reading the articles I write for this blog knows that I am a Sicilian* and am quite proud of that fact. My people have a long and rich history filled with fascinating people and events that deserves to be retold and discussed. Though the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies was invaded and destroyed by its enemies in 1861, its children, scattered across the globe, still contribute to this wonderful thing we call Western Civilization, even if we no longer have a homeland to call our own.
However, I am also an American, born and raised in the City of New York and am equally proud of both of those facts, as well. Why shouldn’t I be? America, economically and militarily, is still the preeminent power in the world. New York City is the economic hub of America. Just as the Christian theologian Saul Paulus of Tarsus (aka the Apostle Paul) was proud to call himself a Roman citizen, so am I proud to call myself an American one.
Some might accuse me of being a “hyphenated American” or worse, a dual loyalist, saying it is impossible to share love and loyalty with two homelands. I find such a sentiment laughable! Do we not as human beings share our love and loyalty with both our parents (if we’re lucky enough to have two parents, anyway)? I have always thought of i Due Sicilie as my fatherland, because the seed which produced me sprang from there. Likewise, I have always felt America was my motherland because I was raised and nurtured here.
Make no mistake about it; I was born and raised in these United States of America, and I intend to die and be buried here! Yet I shall also always have a place in my heart for members of my ethnos and the lands from which they sprang. Call it tribalism, ethnocentrism, or anything else you wish; that’s just the way it is, with no apologies to anyone, including narrow-minded nativists.
To date I have written exclusively about the trials and travails of my people, the Sicilians*, both here and abroad. This is hardly surprising; given the fact this is an ethno-cultural blog. Yet if the expatriates of i Due Sicilie are my brethren, are not Americans my fellow citizens? I do not intend to go off on a tangent and start writing about American history; there are plenty of other blogs that engage in that activity, for those interested in such a topic.
Yet sitting here, staring at my calendar, I am reminded of the imminent approach of a somber date in the history of the City of New York. An anniversary of a tragedy, a horror in fact, that took the lives of over a thousand innocent New Yorkers. It is to them, my fellow New Yorkers, that I dedicate this article.
From its inception America was intended to be a place for European expatriates, wishing to escape authoritarian regimes on the other side of “the Big Pond”, to settle (read the Immigration Act of 1790 and its revision in 1795 if you don’t believe me). In the beginning the bulk of those who chose to come were mainly from northwestern and central Europe. In time, however, others joined them for a variety of reasons.
Large numbers of Germans began immigrating to what is now America as early as the 1680s. The Colony of Pennsylvania was the favored destination of these early settlers. Its rolling hills, dense, deciduous forests, mild summers and snowy winters undoubtedly reminded them of Deutschland.
Though it is long-forgotten by most Americans living today, these early German immigrants were hardly greeted with open arms by many native-born Americans of the time. Differences in language, culture and religion caused many to speak out (or worse) against incoming Germans. No less than Benjamin Franklin wrote these words:
“Why should Pennsylvania, founded by the English, become a Colony of Aliens, who will shortly be so numerous as to Germanize us instead of our Anglifying them, and will never adopt our Language or Customs, any more than they can acquire our Complexion.“
In spite of this bigotry, the Germans continued to stream into the colonies. Sadly, many of them were poor and forced to sell themselves as indentured servants in order to raise the passage fare to get here. The ships that brought them were crowded, filthy and often disease-ridden. The mortality rates from such ‘niceties’ as epidemic typhus, especially among children, were horrid!
Once here, they were often abused by their “employers” as indentured servants had few if any rights. In fact, indentured servants were typically treated worse than black slaves because unlike indentured servants, slaves were chattel property. The mindset of many plantation owners was undoubtedly: “Why risk an expensive slave when a dumb immigrant will do?”
The bulk of these German immigrants passed through the City of New York on their way to the American Dream. Though most eventually settled elsewhere, a goodly number of them remained in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, forming a tightly knit community of German immigrants known affectionately as Kleindeutschland (German: “Little Germany”). Non-German inhabitants of New York City erroneously referred to it as “Dutchtown.”
As New York City grew, so did Kleindeutschland. Between 1845-55 its population more than quadrupled. By the beginning of the 20th century it was home to more than 50,000 people, almost all of whom were German. Though many if not most of these people went on to become American citizens, they were by no means in any hurry to assimilate (i.e. lose their ethno-cultural heritage). There were German shops, German factories, German language newspapers, German-style beer gardens (!), German theatres, German churches and synagogues. A person in Germany rendered comatose and who woke up in the middle of Kleindeutschland might be tempted to think they were still somewhere in Germany!
As one might expect to happen in an area such as this, the older families had become more settled and established by the turn of the century. Some of them had even achieved a fair degree of opulence!
Such a vibrant and colorful community could have and should have continued well into the 20th century (and beyond); a totally avoidable disaster, however, sealed its fate.
St. Mark’s Lutheran Evangelical Church (founded 1848) was located at what is now 323 East 6th Street in downtown Manhattan. It was the parish of choice for many of “Little Germany’s” finest citizens. Starting in 1887 and for ever year after that, the church would organize a community picnic to commemorate the end of the school year. For the year 1904 the church had decided to rent (for $350) a wooden paddle steamer, the PS General Slocum, as it had done every year previously, for its outing.
The General Slocum was 235 ft. long, 37.5 ft. wide, and had three decks. It had a crew of 23 including its captain, one William H. Van Schaick and two pilots. Captain Van Schaick was 68-y.o.with years of experience under his belt. He had recently been giving a citation for having ferried millions with an unblemished sailing record.
The day’s outing would be as follows: the ship would depart north along the East River for a tour of Manhattan, then turn east and continue sailing along the Long Island Sound before finally arriving at Locust Grove in Eatons Neck, Long Island for the day’s picnic.
On June 15th, 1904 the Slocum set sail with at 9:30 AM with some 1,358 passengers, most of whom were women and children. In addition to refreshments, a live band was onboard to provide entertainment. All indications were this day was to be a joyous one!
Around 10 AM, the PS General Slocum began to die.
The fire began in the Lamp Room in the forward section, probably by a discarded cigarette or match. That would have probably been nothing in and of itself, but for the fact the room was a mess of discarded straw, oily rags and lamp oil. The fire spread quickly to a paint locker filled with flammable liquids and a cabin room filled with gasoline. By this time the fire had evolved into a full-fledged conflagration!
Even at this time, most of the people on the ship were still unaware of their impending doom. Witnesses on shore stated that while they could plainly see the smoke and fire, the band onboard was still playing.
One of the first people on the Slocum to notice the fire was 12-y.o. Frank Prawdzicki, who ran to the pilot house to try to warn the captain. Instead, he was told: “Get the hell out of here!” He and his mother survived, but his four sisters perished.
When the crew finally realized what was happening it was still another ten minutes before they notified the captain. A number of other factors had a hand in the monstrous death toll. The Knickerbocker Steamship Company, which owned the General Slocum, had allowed the safety equipment to rot, never replacing a thing. Fire hoses and life preservers crumbled to the touch. Life boats were either tied up, or some claim were wired and painted in place! Incredibly, the crew had never been given fire drills!
In addition, most of the passengers were unable to swim. Given the fact beach-going was still a rarity in those days, this was hardly unusual.
Finally, in what could only be described as a moment of monumental stupidity, Captain Van Schaick, instead of ordering the ship immediately beached along the shores of the East River, commanded that it stay its course! By continuing into the headwinds, he actually fanned the flames, helping them to consume the ship.
Numerous people threw themselves into the waters of the East River in a desperate attempt to escape the fire. Unfortunately, the weighted dresses of females at that time dragged down even those who knew how to swim. Many people put aged life preservers around their children, threw them into water, then watched in horror as the preservers crumbled and their children sank!
Before the ship reached North Brother Island, just south of the Bronx shore, the scene became one of gore. Hundreds perished when the overloaded decks of the ship collapsed. Still others were literally torn apart by the Slocum’s still-turning paddles as they tried to escape into the water or over the sides of the vessel.
By the time the ship reached the island it is estimated 1,021 people were dead from fire or drowning, including two crew members. Numerous acts of heroism occurred among passengers, witnesses and emergency personnel. Both staff and patients from the hospital on North Brother Island helped to form a human chain, pulling victims from the waters.
Seven people in all were indicted following the disaster: Captain Van Schaick (who lost an eye in the fire), two inspectors, the secretary, treasurer and commodore of the Knickerbocker Steamship Company. Only Van Schaick was convicted, of criminal negligence, for failing to maintain proper fire drills and extinguishers. He argued the reason he refused to beach the ship was to prevent the flames from spreading to buildings along the shore.
The judge sentenced him to 10 years imprisonment. In spite of appeals for clemency, then-President Theodore Roosevelt refused to pardon him. He was eventually released after serving only 3 ½ years by the Federal parole board under the Administration of President William H. Taft, who pardoned him in 1912. Van Schaick died 15 years later.
In a gross miscarriage of justice, the Knickerbocker Steamship Company was only given a relatively small fine, in spite of the fact evidence existed they falsified safety inspection records. The remains of the ship were recovered and made into a barge, which sank in 1911.
Though official estimates put the death toll of the disaster at 1,021, in actuality no one knows the true number, since this figure does not include family and close friends of the victims who later committed suicide out of grief. It also does not include those who survived but may have later died as a result of injuries sustained in the fire.
Little Germany, which was already in a state of decline, saw its demise rapidly accelerated as many of those who perished were among its leading citizens. In addition, the desire to find someone to blame caused sharp differences of opinion among the locals. Finally, disagreements as to how to properly disperse relief funds caused many family members and friends to turn on one another. Large numbers of denizens of Kleindeutschland eventually wound up living in Yorkville, Manhattan or on Long Island, NY. St. Mark’s Lutheran Evangelical Church is now the Max D. Raiskin Center of the Community Synagogue.
On January 26th, 2004 Adella Wotherspoon (née Liebenow), the last survivor of the General Slocum horror, died at the ripe old age of 100. She was only six months old at the time of the tragedy. Her two older sisters perished in the blaze.
In spite of the fact the death toll surrounding the burning of the PS General Slocum remains the second largest loss of life in New York City history (surpassed only by the events of September 11th, 2001), incredibly, few New Yorkers alive today seem to remember it. Probably even fewer Americans can recall it. Why?
Undoubtedly the events of the next 41 years (two world wars, with Germany the chief antagonist) are partly to blame for it. It was not popular to be German in this country for quite a long time. There’s also the fact that, unlike the Titanic, there were no super-rich among the victims of the General Slocum. Hey Steven Spielberg, how about a movie about this ship?
As a New Yorker and a European-American, I find those excuses totally unacceptable. The victims of the burning of the Slocum were Americans and New Yorkers, as well as Germans. They have every right to have their memory honored, and we as Americans (and especially New Yorkers) have a duty to honor it. To do anything less is a desecration of the dead.
Sitting here, staring at my calendar, I’m reminded of a somber event in the history of this city; when a piece of the tapestry of New York was cut from it, and “the Big Apple” was made lesser for it.
*Sicilians – native inhabitants of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.
Further reading:
1) O’Donnell, Edward: Ship Ablaze: The Tragedy of the Steamship ‘General Slocum’; New York, Broadway Books (2003).
