Death by Molasses!

Until the moment disaster struck, January 15, 1919, was a perfectly lovely day. 

The weather was unusually warm for winter in Boston, Massachusetts. Around noon, a neighborhood called the North End was bustling with life. Workers ate their lunches in the mild air. Large ships pulled in and out of nearby Boston Harbor. The elevated train rumbled overhead on its tracks.

Antonio Distasio, 9, was out in the street with his sister Maria and his friend Pasquale Iantosca, both 10. Members of the North End’s large Italian immigrant community, they were helping their families by gathering scrap firewood. 

By chance, the kids happened to be next to the neighborhood’s major eyesore: a 50-foot-tall steel tank filled with molasses—a thick syrup that was once a popular sweetener. People hated the ugly tank, which cast a shadow over the neighborhood. It often oozed brown goo. And when it was full, as it was now, the tank would groan as if it were a great beast suffering from a stomachache.

At about 12:40 p.m., patrolman Frank McManus was making a call at a phone box on Commercial Street, near the tank. Suddenly, he heard “a tremendous rumbling, grinding sound,” he later said, along with “the rat-tat-tat of what sounded like machine-gun bullets.” That was actually the sound of thousands of metal rivets—which held the tank together—popping out. 

McManus turned to see the giant structure burst apart and a wall of thick, dark liquid come roaring out.

“Send all available rescue vehicles and personnel immediately!” he managed to shout into the phone. “There’s a wave of molasses coming down Commercial Street!”

January 15, 1919, was a perfectly lovely day—until the moment disaster struck.

The weather was quite warm for winter in Boston, Massachusetts. Around noon, a neighborhood called the North End was lively and busy. Workers ate their lunches in the mild air. Large ships pulled in and out of nearby Boston Harbor. The elevated train ran on its tracks.

Antonio Distasio, 9, was out in the street. So were his sister Maria and his friend Pasquale Iantosca, both 10. They were members of the North End’s large Italian immigrant community. The children were helping their families by gathering scrap firewood.

By chance, the kids happened to be next to the neighborhood’s major eyesore, a 50-foot-tall steel tank. It was filled with molasses. That thick syrup was once a popular sweetener. People hated the ugly tank. It cast a shadow over the neighborhood. It often oozed brown goo. And when it was full, as it was now, the tank would groan. It sounded like a huge beast with a stomachache.

At about 12:40 p.m., patrolman Frank McManus was making a call at a phone box on Commercial Street. That was near the tank. Suddenly, he heard “a tremendous rumbling, grinding sound,” he later said. He also heard “the rat-tat-tat of what sounded like machine-gun bullets.” That was actually the sound of thousands of metal rivets popping out. The rivets had held the tank together.

McManus turned to see the giant structure burst apart. A wall of thick, dark liquid came roaring out.

“Send all available rescue vehicles and personnel immediately!” he managed to shout into the phone. “There’s a wave of molasses coming down Commercial Street!”

Ordinarily, molasses moves very slowly. But the 2.3 million gallons under pressure in the tank burst forth like lava from a volcano. The syrup formed a wave 15 feet high that surged at 35 miles an hour.

Antonio turned to see the brown flood bearing down on Maria. Pasquale’s father, looking out a window, saw his son swallowed up. People on the street vanished.

The wave ripped the local firehouse from its foundation. It crushed houses and swept them away. Then a huge piece of the tank hit a column of the elevated railroad, causing part of the track to collapse. 

Somehow, brakeman Royal Albert Leeman was able to stop his train, scramble across the damaged track, and keep another train from plunging into the street.

“In seconds,” historian Stephen Puleo wrote years later, the North End “resembled a bombed-out war zone.”

Molasses usually moves very slowly. But the 2.3 million gallons under pressure in the tank burst forth like lava from a volcano. The syrup formed a wave 15 feet high that surged at 35 miles an hour.

Antonio turned to see the brown flood bearing down on Maria. Pasquale’s father, looking out a window, saw his son swallowed up. People on the street vanished.

The wave ripped the local firehouse from its foundation. It crushed houses and swept them away. Then a huge piece of the tank hit a column of the elevated railroad. That caused part of the track to collapse.

Somehow, brakeman Royal Albert Leeman was able to stop his train. He scrambled across the damaged track and kept another train from plunging into the street.

“In seconds,” historian Stephen Puleo wrote years later, the North looked like “a bombed-out war zone.”

How could such a tragedy have happened? The flood is a classic tale of greed and prejudice.

At the time, molasses was highly valuable. People could get rich turning it into a substance called industrial alcohol, which was used in explosives (see sidebar, below). 

In 1915, a company called United States Industrial Alcohol (USIA) built the tank in the North End to store molasses. The location was perfect. Ships pulling into Boston Harbor could pump millions of gallons of the syrup directly into the tank. 

How could such a tragedy have happened? The flood is a classic tale of greed and prejudice.

At the time, molasses was very valuable. People could get rich turning it into a substance called industrial alcohol. That was used in explosives (see sidebar, below).

In 1915, a company called United States Industrial Alcohol (USIA) built the tank in the North End to store molasses. The location was perfect. Ships pulling into Boston Harbor could pump millions of gallons of the syrup directly into the tank.

But USIA rushed its construction and cheated on materials to save money. The tank’s steel walls were too thin to hold the heavy liquid. And the tank was never inspected or tested for safety. 

USIA counted on the fact that nobody from the North End would complain. That’s because most people in the area were poor immigrants from southern Italy. Many Americans viewed these newcomers with suspicion and prejudice. Even if residents had raised concerns about the tank, it would have been hard for them to find someone willing to help.

Just days before the incident, ships had pumped the tank almost completely full. As usual, USIA ignored the tank’s ominous groaning.

But USIA rushed its construction. It cheated on materials to save money. The tank’s steel walls were too thin to hold the heavy liquid. And the tank was never inspected or tested for safety.

USIA counted on the fact that nobody from the North End would complain. That is because most people in the area were poor immigrants from southern Italy. Many Americans viewed those newcomers with caution and prejudice. Even if residents had raised concerns about the tank, it would have been hard for them to find someone who would help.

Just days before the incident, ships had pumped the tank almost completely full. As usual, USIA ignored the tank’s ominous groaning.

After the molasses flood, many people rushed to sue USIA, including the families of the dead. A Massachusetts court put 119 cases together to be argued as one. This type of lawsuit, in which multiple parties sue the same person or company, is known as a class action suit. The court appointed a former military officer named Hugh Ogden to judge the evidence.

USIA’s lawyers insisted the disaster was not the company’s fault. They claimed the tank had been blown up by antigovernment terrorists. 

The people who sued—the plaintiffs—argued that the tank’s cheap construction showed USIA’s “utter disregard of the rights of the public,” as their lawyer put it.

The trial took three years. More than 1,000 people testified. Unusual for the time, they included many technical experts, such as engineers and architects, who explained why the tank might have broken apart. 

Finally, in April 1925, Ogden ruled that USIA was to blame for the disaster. He ordered the company to pay a total of $628,000 (equal to about $8 million today) to plaintiffs for the deaths of loved ones or for property that had been destroyed. 

That money could hardly repay families for their losses. Yet the ruling was a victory. For the first time in U.S. history, ordinary people had beaten a powerful company in court! 

After the molasses flood, many people rushed to sue USIA, including the families of the dead. A Massachusetts court put 119 cases together to be argued as one. This type of lawsuit, in which multiple parties sue the same person or company, is known as a class action suit. The court appointed Hugh Ogden to judge the evidence. Ogden was a former military officer.

USIA’s lawyers insisted the disaster was not the company’s fault. They claimed the tank had been blown up by antigovernment terrorists.

The plaintiffs (the people who sued) argued that the tank’s cheap construction showed USIA’s “utter disregard of the rights of the public,” as their lawyer put it.

The trial took three years. More than 1,000 people testified. The trial included many technical experts, such as engineers and architects. That was unusual for the time. The experts explained why the tank might have broken apart.

Finally, in April 1925, Ogden made a ruling. He said that USIA was to blame for the disaster. He ordered the company to pay a total of $628,000. (That is equal to about $8 million today.) The company had to pay plaintiffs for the deaths of loved ones or for property that had been destroyed.

That money could hardly repay families for their losses. Yet the ruling was a victory. For the first time in U.S. history, ordinary people had beaten a powerful company in court!

Over time, the molasses flood was largely forgotten, even in Boston. Today, the only reminder is a plaque on Commercial Street. But the impact of the trial was huge, says Puleo, the historian. Since then, courts have routinely relied on technical experts. Just as important, he says, “almost all of the building construction standards we take for granted today were created by the decision.” Now, if builders want to put up a new school or a high-rise building, they have to submit detailed plans to authorities and allow inspectors to visit the construction site. 

The incident also had an effect on the lives of Italian immigrants. Before the disaster, most people in the North End were not citizens, which meant they lacked political power. But afterward, many immigrants around the country applied for citizenship, realizing it could help them shape their destiny in the U.S. 

Safety, justice, and the lives of immigrants in America: “That all changed with the molasses flood case,” says Puleo.

Over time, the molasses flood was largely forgotten, even in Boston. Today, the only reminder is a plaque on Commercial Street. But the impact of the trial was huge, says Puleo, the historian. Since then, courts have relied on technical experts. Just as important, he says, “almost all of the building construction standards we take for granted today were created by the decision.” Now, builders who want to put up a new school or a high-rise building have to submit detailed plans to authorities. They also have to let inspectors visit the construction site.

The incident had an effect on the lives of Italian immigrants too. Before the disaster, most people in the North End were not citizens. That meant they had no political power. But afterward, many immigrants around the country applied for citizenship. They realized it could help them shape their destiny in the U.S.

Safety, justice, and the lives of immigrants in America: “That all changed with the molasses flood case,” says Puleo.