Tragic fire is lost in the pages of history

Helen Holzer

Friday, Sept. 13, 2002 | 9:13 a.m.

Title: "Firestorm at Peshtigo."

Author: Denise Gess and William Lutz.

Pages: 242.

Publisher: Henry Holt.

Grade: A-

Price: $26.

Can you name the deadliest fire in American history?

If you thought it was the MGM Grand fire in Las Vegas, which killed 84 on Nov. 21, 1980, or the great Chicago fire, which killed 300 on Oct. 8, 1871, you'd be wrong.

America's worst fire occurred on the very same night in 1871 as the Chicago blaze -- but it was in Peshtigo, Wis.

The exact figure of how many lost their lives will never be known, but it is estimated that 2,200 people died in the "Firestorm at Peshtigo."

Few outside Northern Wisconsin know about the most massive fire in modern history. Authors Denise Gess and William Lutz have pored over history books and personal accounts of the fire to write this timely book. After this year's terrible wildfires, there are lessons to be learned from that chapter of American history.

The town of Peshtigo lies north of Green Bay on Lake Michigan, 262 miles due north of Chicago. The same weather conditions that ignited the great Chicago fire -- not Mrs. O'Leary's cow -- also caused the Peshtigo blaze.

Similar to conditions this summer, a severe drought plagued the Midwest in 1871. But drought and tinder-dry conditions didn't stop Western expansion, as railroad entrepreneurs, the logging industry and farmers used slash-and-burn methods to clear land.

Northern Wisconsin was a virgin forest in those days covered by gigantic trees reaching heights of 200 feet, or the size of a six-story building, and a circumference of 12 feet across. A Detroit newspaperman of the time called it "the Eden of our country."

Before tackling Wisconsin's 1 billion acres of forest, lumberjacks "had successfully denuded forests of Maine, New York, Vermont and Pennsylvania." Their success in clearing trees also made for fewer barriers against storms and wind.

In 1871 Peshtigo was a boom town with new immigrants arriving daily. There was a thriving logging industry, a wood products manufacturing plant, a hotel, mercantiles and all the other buildings that made up small town America. Massive forests led right up to the city, its river and lakeside.

Newspaper reports from Minnesota on Oct. 3, 1871, spoke of massive forest fires in the northern part of that state, with "150 miles swept by fire."

Meanwhile, smoke from Peshtigo's surrounding area drifted into town, making eyes red and breathing difficult. Visibility was down to 30 feet. Then, two weather fronts collided in the upper Midwest.

The result was not a rainstorm or a tornado, but a tornado of fire. The authors wrote, "When a firestorm erupts in a forest, it is a blowup, nature's nuclear explosion, generating the same heat and devastating power of an atomic bomb."

The "Firestorm at Peshtigo" was a conflagration with winds up to 100 mph. Like a tornado it skipped around, leaving some areas untouched while others were hit with 2,000-degree heat, the same temperature as a crematorium.

People and animals were stopped in their tracks with little hope of escape. Where only the fire's gasses passed through, all living things were asphyxiated. Some people were never found, others were charred beyond recognition, some were left as bones, and still others looked as if they were just sleeping.

Those who went to their storm cellars were roasted alive as if in a furnace. Those caught outdoors who tried to hide in ruts or ravines, were either incinerated or asphyxiated. Those who stayed in their homes were tossed about as if in a tornado.

Of the survivors, most had made it to water, where they had to remain submerged for hours, coming up only for air.

" 'Faster than it takes to write these words' is the phrase every survivor used. They used it to describe the speed of a fireball hitting a house and setting it into instant flames; they used it to describe the speed with which one house was lifted from its foundation, then thrown through the air 'a hundred feet' before it detonated midflight and sent strips of flaming wood flying like shrapnel.

"They used the phrase to explain Helga Rockstead running along the boardwalk. Her long, waist-length hair was streaming out behind her and she was running from the flames, but she could not run fast enough from the fiery predator. Fire caught her by the hair and several onlookers watched as 'her head burst into flame.'

"The next thing they knew she was wrapped in a sheet of fire. They used it to describe the sight of a small boy, separated from his family, and how he knelt on the ground, crouching in prayer as fire lit his body. 'Faster than it takes to write these words.' "

Since telegraph lines were down, no one knew of Peshtigo's fate. Wisconsin's governor had gone to Chicago to offer aid there. The governor's wife, however, had stayed behind and immediately sent help and relief supplies to Peshtigo and its surrounding communities. But most relief efforts fell short amid red tape. "On a remote farm, rescuers arrived with supplies only to find the young girl who was the only member of her family to survive the fire, dead of starvation."

"Eight days after their marriage, J.C. Clements, who had vowed to his mother-in-law, Mrs. Trudell, that he would 'die for his new wife,' was now dead." Clements' bride survived.

"John Bagnall found the body of a young girl with long, curly hair lying by a bog as if sleeping. Bagnall was struck by how peaceful and lonely she looked. With no one to claim the body she would be buried in the mass grave. He leaned over and clipped a lock of her hair. He carried that lock of hair in his wallet for the rest of his life. He told his daughter that every time he looked at it, that unknown child was remembered."

Of Peshtigo's 2,000 residents, 1,800 were known to be dead. Outlying areas added to the fire's human toll, with loggers, farmers and other travelers caught in the firestorm upping the number of dead.

The fire is estimated to have been five miles wide and 1,000 feet high. The U.S. Weather Service was in its infancy and early storm warnings given to officials in Washington, D.C., were ignored.

Fire ravaged six counties in Wisconsin that night. All or part of 17 towns were destroyed, along with vast timber lands and much of the city of Chicago. Ships sailing seven miles from shore on Lake Michigan were covered with cinders.

To this day if you read recent newspaper stories about the Peshtigo fire, you'll find conflicting accounts of the death toll and the fire's origin. Some say it was caused by lightning, some say meteorites. Few blame the men who profited from the logging and railroad industries, and who contributed to nature's wrath.

In 1871 America seemed to have unlimited forests and natural resources. But there are lessons to be learned.

How do people come back from such a catastrophe? Whether it is the aftermath of Peshtigo or that of Sept. 11, the answer lies in the resiliency of the human spirit.

Denise Gess and William Lutz have presented us a chance to learn from history. "Firestorm at Peshtigo" is an important lesson, and it should be required reading in our schools and in the halls of Congress.