Dear America: Hear My Sorrow

by Deborah Hopkinson

Sunday, March 19, 1911

  Mama had a little dinner today for Rosa and Audenzio. As a special treat we had a chicken, and also macaroni. We laughed together, although once I caught Mama wiping away tears. She was thinking about Teresa, I know. Just as Rosa was thinking of her mama.

  Luisa was quiet. I think maybe she’s a little jealous of Rosa. Luisa is probably wanting to be married soon herself. But of course she wouldn’t tell me that.

  Wednesday, March 22, 1911

  Teresa has been gone a year. I went to church with Mama and lit a candle. We don’t go to church so much here. We are always working, working. But maybe on Sunday mornings Mama and I will start to go.

  Friday, March 24, 1911

  The weather is getting a little better. It almost feels like spring. I looked for my sparrow this evening, but I didn’t see him.

  Sarah says I need cheering up. She says we should start walking to Washington Square Park on Saturday afternoons again like we did last year, to meet Clara, Luisa, and Rosa.

  So tomorrow we will go.

  Saturday, March 25, 1911

  I pick up my pen, but my hand is shaking.

  It is late, but Mama can’t sleep. She wanders around our three dingy rooms, like a mother bird whose nestling has fallen from the tree. Vito sat awkwardly beside me tonight until he fell asleep. He was silent for once.

  Mama made me dark, strong coffee, but I cannot get warm. She wanted me to eat, too, but my body shook too much. No matter what I do, the shivering won’t stop.

  “Sleep, Angela,” she crooned a little while ago. “Do not try to write in your book tonight.”

  But I’m afraid to sleep, afraid to close my eyes. I put my hands over my ears and try to make the screams go away. But I hear them still.

  It happened like this. After work, Sarah and I went to the park at Washington Square to wait for Rosa, Luisa, and Clara. As we walked, I told Sarah that Rosa would be married soon, perhaps in May. “Audenzio will be a good husband. My mama is happy. She thinks of Rosa almost like a daughter.”

  We stayed in the park until Sarah said, “It’s about a quarter to five. They should be leaving work soon.”

  That’s when we heard the cry. “Fire!”

  People around us began to run. Sarah grabbed my hand and pulled me along. We ran a little way down Washington Place, to the corner of Greene Street.

  Around us, people stopped. They looked up and pointed. And then I saw. Smoke! Smoke was pouring from the top of the Asch Building.

  “It’s at the Triangle,” someone yelled. “Fire in the Triangle Waist Company!”

  Smoke poured out from the eighth floor.

  Just a few minutes later, something dark tumbled from a window. At first my brain was stupid. I thought it was a large bolt or bundle of cloth someone was trying to save by tossing it out. And so I watched the bundle tumble through the air and land on the sidewalk.

  While the bundle was falling, everything seemed to become completely still. And then came an awful, awful sound. Thud.

  After that, screams pierced the air. I felt a sharp pain clutch my whole body. A wave of fear and horror made my knees collapse. Everyone seemed to understand at the same instant.

  It wasn’t a bundle at all. It was a girl.

  People screamed again. I looked up. There was another girl in the window. Her clothes and hair were smoking, on fire. Suddenly she stepped into the air, her hands waving. Her skirts billowed around her.

  Her arms and legs came hurtling down so fast. Just before she hit the ground, everything went still. All my breath drained out. Then came that same terrible thud.

  I screamed again and so did Sarah and everyone near us. And we all yelled the same thing. “No, no! Don’t jump! Don’t jump! Wait for the fire nets!”

  The fire engines were clanging, so I knew they were close. From behind us came the sound of galloping hooves. I turned to look. The fire horses had stopped, panting, their sides heaving. The firemen raced to get their hoses ready.

  “Get nets! Hurry! Hurry!” we shouted.

  When I turned back, there were more bodies on the sidewalk.

  All I could think of was Luisa. Luisa, Rosa, Clara. Trapped. Trapped on the ninth floor.

  I pulled at Sarah’s sleeve. I wanted to scream, but my voice came out in a hoarse, terrified whisper. “Luisa. Luisa. Rosa, Clara.”

  I should go find them, I thought stupidly. I started to push through the crowd. But Sarah grabbed my arm hard and held me. “No. Stay back! Angela, you can’t go in there.”

  Tears were streaming down my face, although I didn’t know when I had begun to cry. “Why don’t they come out the door? Why are they jumping?”

  Sarah shook her head helplessly.

  A man next to me said, “A girl who came out the other way said some of the doors are locked. Some girls came down the elevator, but now it’s not working.”

  “The door is locked. The door to the ninth floor must be locked,” Sarah began to repeat, over and over. “I remember when I worked here, that door was locked. We all had to file out one narrow passage and one door at the end of the day so they could check our pocketbooks.”

  Sarah took a ragged breath, her voice choking in her throat. “More than two hundred girls work on that floor.”

  A woman behind me yelled to the people up front, “Do something! Can’t you see that girl in the window is going to jump?”

  Some people grabbed a horse blanket from a horse standing nearby. Four men held it out. I watched, putting my hand in my mouth and biting it hard to keep from screaming. Maybe she would be all right. Maybe it would work.

  But when the girl landed, the blanket simply gave way.

  The firemen rushed to put ladders against the building and hold out their fire nets.

  I clutched Sarah. Slowly, slowly, I watched one ladder swing up the side of the building. “It’s too short,” I whispered in horror. “The ladder isn’t tall enough to reach even the eighth floor. And look! The water from the hoses won’t reach, either.”

  “The girls keep leaping. The fire is too hot,” Sarah said.

  “But the nets! Can’t the nets help?”

  Another girl leaped. Smoke drifted into the air from her clothes and hair.

  She seemed to roll in midair. She hit the net squarely in the middle. The net was only about ten feet around. She came down so fast, she bounced out of the net. She hit the hard sidewalk. After that, she did not move.

  The next moment two more girls appeared in the window. I could see red flames from the floor below flashing around their faces. They must have seen the other girl fall. Maybe they even heard the thud. But they threw themselves into the air, anyway. They had to, the fire was too fierce. They twined their arms around one another. They were friends — maybe they were from the same village back in Russia or Italy, or maybe they had sat at sewing machines next to one another, hour after hour.

  The firemen did their best. They got the net right under them, but it did nothing. The girls broke through the net.

  More girls appeared on the ninth floor. They were pushed together in the windows, screaming. And then the window broke loose and bodies flew through the air, burning hair streaming.

  And then one more girl appeared on the ninth floor. I was too far away to see her face. But there was something about her. My heart lurched. Rosa.

  I shook my head. “No, no. Rosa! It’s Rosa!”

  Where was Luisa? Was Luisa behind her in that black smoke?

  I saw Rosa move. She couldn’t hear my screams, she couldn’t see me wave and throw my arms up, as if somehow I could stop her, keep her there, until the ladders reached, until the fire was out. Until …

  “Rosa! No. No! Don’t jump!”

  I felt my head get light. The next thing I knew, my cheek was on the ground.

  Sarah and a policeman helped me up. “It’s no wonder you fainted, miss,” he said. “This is the worst I ever saw. You best be gettin’ home, dearie, this is no place for you.”

 
Sarah’s hands were like ice.

  I leaned against her and whispered, “Is the fire out? We must go find them.”

  “Angela, Angela, listen. Rosa is gone. She’s gone, she jumped.”

  “What about Luisa? Where’s Luisa?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I didn’t see her,” she said in a dull flat voice. “Or Clara, either.”

  The crowd was larger now, people pressing against us. Sarah and I tried to make our way closer, but the policemen kept pushing us back. Dark, black smoke poured out of the windows. The water from a fireman’s hose streamed down the sidewalk. It was red with blood. On Greene Street someone stretched out a dark, red canvas. The police began to lay bodies on it in a row.

  I saw mothers and fathers wailing and fighting to get past the policemen. Someone jostled me and I tripped. When I got up I had lost Sarah. I tried to call for her. I stood, trembling and shaking, I don’t know for how long. I didn’t want to give up looking for Luisa.

  And then at the edge of the crowd I spotted Tina, Arturo’s sister. Tina’s face was covered with dirt and blood. She was alone. Staring straight ahead, she began walking away.

  Maybe she has seen Luisa, I thought. I began to push through the crowd to follow her. I wanted to call out to her, but by the time I broke free of the crowd she was too far ahead.

  I followed Tina for blocks, but she was almost running, and my feet seemed to be made of lead. I don’t remember anything I saw on the way home, or even how my feet moved. When Tina disappeared into a tenement, I stopped.

  Then I realized I was already on Elizabeth Street. On the next block, I stumbled up the stairs of our tenement. I have to tell Mama now, I thought stupidly, not knowing what I would say.

  I flung open the door. Everything was empty and still. Mama was gone. Vito was gone. Babbo was gone. Where were they? Did they know?

  I spotted Luisa’s spring hat on the table. She had finally saved enough money for it. Mama was going to add more flowers to it today so Luisa could wear it tomorrow.

  Somehow seeing the hat made my knees so weak, I had to drop to the floor. I started to shake hard. I put my hands over my ears. I could still hear the screams.

  I huddled on the kitchen floor, and the tears took hold of me again. Great gulping sobs that made my throat hurt. I cried so hard, I began to choke.

  After a while I felt a shadow. The door was still open, but someone was standing there. I turned and looked, brushing my hair from my eyes. I screamed.

  “Luisa!”

  She held on to the door frame, as if she might fall down, too. She was bloody and dirty and trembling. She smelled like smoke. Her skirt was torn, her white shirtwaist black with soot. She must have fallen. Her face had a bad scrape that was still bleeding.

  Luisa stumbled through the door and fell almost on top of me. She was trembling so hard, I could hardly hold on to her. I kissed her face again and again.

  “I got out, Angela. I got out in the last elevator. Then I ran and I got lost and fell,” she whispered. “I got separated from Rosa. I wandered around and around, asking everyone, waiting. Then somehow I came home.”

  “Sarah and I saw the fire. We were coming to meet you. I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead.” I said it over and over. I grabbed her dark hair, full of ashes, and pulled it. I kept my arm around her neck. But she didn’t seem to mind.

  She was warm and her heart was beating. I whispered, “I’m sorry, Luisa. I’m sorry.”

  She held on to my shoulders. “Angela. I lost Rosa. Did you see Rosa?”

  I thought I could write everything in this book. But I can’t write this.

  Sunday, March 26, 1911

  Early Morning

  I am sitting on the fire escape. But yesterday the fire escape at the factory was useless. It collapsed, and the people on it died.

  I pieced together what happened. Luisa had come down the elevator. Somehow she’d gotten out and been swept into the crowd. She was confused and in shock. Eventually she made her way home, just as I had.

  Earlier, Zi’ Vincenzo had heard about the fire. He went to fetch Mama and Babbo and Vito. Together they set out to look for Rosa and Luisa. When Mama and Babbo and Vito returned home later, exhausted and frightened, Luisa and I were still on the kitchen floor, clutching each other.

  Mama took one step and collapsed to the floor with us. Babbo cried, tears rolling down his worn face. It seemed to me we cried for hours, petting Luisa’s hair and holding on to her hands. Even Vito cried.

  But Luisa does not cry now. Now that she knows Rosa is gone, she blames herself. She is too sad for tears.

  I didn’t tell Luisa I saw Rosa fall. I told her I knew that Rosa was dead, but I didn’t say I saw her jump. I think she knows, but she will never ask.

  Sometimes I still want to put my hands over my ears to stop the screams. I think that even if I live to be old, I’ll still be able to hear those sounds, smell the smoke, see girls leaping through the air.

  If only people could be like birds. If only we had wings.

  Later

  Zi’ Vincenzo and Audenzio went to look for Rosa. They found her in the temporary morgue, a covered pier on the East River, on East 26th Street. There the bodies have been laid out, with numbers on them.

  Bless Audenzio. He would not let Zi’ Vincenzo go alone to identify his only daughter.

  Before Bed

  This afternoon, after we had been sitting for a while with Zi’ Vincenzo and the boys, I got up and whispered to Luisa, “I must find out about Clara. I must go see Sarah.”

  Without a word, Luisa got ready to come with me. We held hands as we walked down the street. Every few steps someone stopped Luisa to hug her and cry. It took us a long time to get to Orchard Street.

  I remembered where Sarah’s tenement was. We walked up the stairs. When Sarah opened the door, Luisa threw herself in Sarah’s arms. They hugged for a long time, though they’ve never been friendly.

  Sarah told us that Clara was dead. She had tried to escape on the elevator, the way Luisa had. But the last elevator had gone. Clara had fallen into the elevator shaft. She had fallen on top of a girl who was already dead.

  “We tried to get out the door to the stairs on the Washington Place side,” Luisa whispered. “The door was locked. I thought Rosa was right behind me….”

  We stood together. Sarah’s father came over. He put his hand gently on my arm and spoke to me in Yiddish. I think it was a prayer.

  Tuesday, March 28, 1911

  Last night I sat on the fire escape until it grew dark. Luisa came out to tell me it was time to come in.

  Then suddenly she sat down beside me and asked, “Do you remember the story of Teresa and the goat man?”

  I shook my head. Luisa began to speak in a low voice, telling me a story from long ago, in our village in Sicily, when we used to get milk in the mornings from a man who had a herd of goats. The families would bring a bottle and gather round, and he would hold the bottle and squeeze the goat’s milk right into it.

  “One day when Teresa was little — maybe only two — I was watching her for Mama,” Luisa said. “We went to get milk from the goat man. Teresa watched the bottle fill up, her eyes as large as the dark center of a sunflower! While I was paying the goat man, she broke free of my hand and went right up to the goat. She patted its nose and said, ‘Grazie.’”

  Luisa laughed. “It was a very bad-tempered goat! That goat butted her head right against Teresa and knocked her into the dirt! Teresa burst into tears. After that she wouldn’t drink goat’s milk for a week.”

  Luisa began to cry. She turned her face to look up at the sky. I looked up, too. But it was too cloudy to see any stars. I reached over and squeezed Luisa’s hand. She squeezed mine back.

  Wednesday, March 29, 1911

  People walk around stupidly. For a minute you forget, then the shadow falls back on you again.

  One hundred and forty-six people died.

  It doesn’t seem possible that I am still
working every day, as if nothing has changed. But what can we do? We must work to eat and eat to live.

  Sarah is still strong. Her resolve to fight for justice is greater than ever. Today she read me part of a poem from the Jewish Daily Forward, by a man named Morris Rosenfeld. I don’t remember all the words, but I remember one part:

  Sisters mine, oh my sisters; brethren

  Hear my sorrow:

  See where the dead are hidden in dark corners,

  Where life is choked from those who labor…

  Over whom shall we weep first?

  Over the burned ones?

  Over those beyond recognition?

  Over those who have been crippled?

  Or driven senseless?

  Or smashed?

  I weep for them all.

  Thursday, March 30, 1911

  Every day there is a funeral. Rosa’s was today. Her hearse was white. As the procession passed down the street, the people at the pushcarts stopped. Some of the men took off their hats and bowed their heads.

  The church was full to bursting, and Zi’ Vincenzo had to be held upright, he was so weak with tears. He has lost so much. Pietro sat silently, but Alfio kept his head buried in Mama’s lap.

  There is a Red Cross committee to give relief. They agreed to pay for Rosa’s funeral and a headstone. Babbo said the cost was about one hundred dollars.

  Later

  Vito showed me a notice today that read, “‘The Triangle Waist Company begs to notify their customers that they are in good working order. Headquarters now on University Place.’”

  Friday, March 31, 1911

  Some girls are unclaimed, their bodies left in the morgue. No one knows who they are. Sarah says one girl was identified by a braid in her hair, another by a darn in her sock, another by her engagement ring. But no one has come for these.