by Al Lacy
“He’s right,” spoke up Chief Murham. “I’ve worked with the public all my adult life, and it’s hard to get them to listen when you warn of potential danger. Somehow they just don’t think anything bad can happen to them.”
Williams nodded. “Now, let me elaborate to you men some cold, hard facts. Chicago is in a period of rapid growth. Thirty years ago this was a town of some four thousand people. Today there are in excess of three hundred thousand. This growth has demanded the continual construction of homes and places of business, and both kinds of buildings have been put up quickly to accommodate the rising population. Only the very wealthy on the east side of the city are constructing their homes of stone or brick. All other residential buildings are wood, and about two-thirds of the commercial buildings downtown are wood.
“Of course this means that most homes are especially vulnerable to fire. Many of them have woodpiles for the coming winter stacked against their outer walls. If any one of those houses were to catch fire, there would be plenty of fuel to feed it.
“As you men know, all of the 27th District is of wood construction. Some of the homes are little more than shanties. It wouldn’t take much to get a major fire going.”
Every man was listening intently, and many were nodding their agreement with Williams’s assessment of the fire danger.
“To make matters worse,” said Williams, “all of the fire-prone structures are tied together by a network of wooden sidewalks and fences, making it easy for fire to spread from one home to another, especially with the kind of winds that whip through this city.”
Fireman Mick Delaney raised his hand.
“Yes?” said Williams.
“Chief Williams, I’ve only lived in Chicago for about a month. I came here as a veteran firefighter from Milwaukee. It appears that these wooden sidewalks and fences have been here for some time. If they are such a hazard, why isn’t something being done about getting rid of them?”
“Let me explain…what was your name?”
“Mick Delaney, sir.”
“Let me explain, Mr. Delaney, that the wooden sidewalks are very necessary when we do have rain. Without them, the mud is horrendous and would make it impossible to walk in those areas. As for the fences, most people have animals of one kind or another. Fences are necessary. It would be too costly to have all of them replaced by fences of stone or brick.”
Delaney nodded. “So the point you are making, sir, is that the fire danger is extreme right now. And this is rare for Chicago, so most everybody would not be interested in making preventive changes.”
“That’s it.”
Another fireman raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“Sir, my name is Thomas MacMahon. I’ve been here just a little longer than Mick Delaney. Wouldn’t it help—since the city has grown so rapidly—if we had a better fire alarm system? I mean, one paid fire watcher in the Courthouse Tower downtown can hardly be sufficient in a city this size. Maybe even as recent as ten years ago the one tower would have been enough. But today—”
“You are correct, Mr. MacMahon,” said Williams, “but the city is in no financial position to erect more towers. We’re going to have to make do with one tower for now. The main thing I’m trying to say is that when you have a fire, fight it with tenacity and put it out in a hurry. With this lengthy drought on us, the city is a virtual tinder-box. If we get a combination of a fire out of control and high winds, I don’t even want to think about what could happen.”
Another fireman raised his hand. “Chief Williams…”
“Yes?”
“Have the city fathers talked at all about building more fire stations? Seems to me with this rapid growth, the fire department has to keep up with it.”
“It’s been mentioned in the meetings, but they all agree there just isn’t enough money to buy land and erect firehouses and barns, let alone pay the extra firemen they would have to hire. So it looks like we’re going to have to carry the load until—”
William’s words were cut off by the clicking of the telegraph key in Chief Murham’s office.
Murham dashed to intercept the message from the Courthouse Tower downtown and shouted over his shoulder, “We’ve got a fire, men! Cal Perkins says it looks to be about five or six blocks east of us and a little south! Let’s go!”
Nine of the dozen firemen on duty quickly boarded two fire wagons, set the bells clanging, and raced in the direction of the black smoke billowing toward the clear afternoon sky.
Chief Williams rode in the lead wagon with Chief Murham.
Three men and one wagon were left at the station in case of another emergency.
The fire was indeed some six blocks from the station. A vacant lot was ablaze in the middle of the 700 block on Sampson Street. Tall brown grass and powder-dry weeds and leaves were sending up flames four and five feet high, fed by a stiff breeze.
As the fire wagons drew up, Bill Murham peered through the swirling smoke and said, “Looks like you were a prophet, Chief. This is exactly what you were talking about. And with all the grass, weeds, and leaves in this lot, the fire has plenty of fuel!”
THE LARGE CROWD OF PEOPLE GATHERED near the vacant lot were keeping their distance from the searing heat. They applauded when the men of Company Six pulled up.
Men from the crowd offered to work the water pumps so all the firemen could fight the fire. Other neighborhood people were helping those who lived on both sides of the vacant lot to douse their houses, outbuildings, and yards with water.
The firefighters breathed dry, smoke-scented air as they sprayed the edges of the blazing lot. Sweat poured off their faces in spite of the stiff breeze. The horses that pulled the fire wagons were trained to stand still in the face of heat and smoke, but they fidgeted nervously.
Patrick O’Leary, who was at the front of the line of men holding the hose, sprayed a wide swath of water over the blaze. Periodically the wind blew puffs of hot air into his face, making his eyes smart. Though the grass was quickly blackened, O’Leary could still see a thousand flashing yellow tongues leaping out of the ground, licking at what grass still remained.
Fire Chiefs Bill Murham and Robert Williams moved about, shouting words of encouragement to the men.
Within an hour after their arrival, the “Little Giant” company had the fire under control; some thirty minutes later the blackened lot still smoldered, sending up tiny wisps of smoke, but the danger was over. There was nothing left to burn.
“Good job, men! You handled it well!” Chief Williams said, moving past the firemen as they wound the hoses. He commended each man individually.
The men whose houses and outbuildings had been saved, along with the neighbors who had helped them preserve their property, approached the two fire chiefs.
“Chief Williams… Chief Murham,” said a husky Irishman, “you don’t know me, but I know you. I’m John Mulligan. I own that house right over there. And this is Cavan Feeny. He lives in the house on the other side of the lot.”
“Glad to make your acquaintance, gentlemen,” Williams said.
“Likewise,” put in Murham. “Did either of you suffer any damage to your property?”
Cavan Feeny shook his head. “No, thanks to our wonderful neighbors and the efficient Little Giant fire company. If not for all of you, we could have been wiped out.”
“Well, I’m sure glad you weren’t,” Williams said.
Mulligan’s and Feeny’s wives joined them and expressed their appreciation to Chief Murham, and other people from the crowd gathered around to listen.
One man said, “Chief Williams, I’m Dermot Kildare. My family and I live across the street and down the block a ways. These people around us all live close by. We were just talking about the fire hazard Chicago has become because of the dry spell. What cautions are being taken to keep this city safe from such fires as we just had right here?”
“Well, Mr. Kildare, there really aren’t any precautions we can take, other than the normal
ones. We have the fire stations manned as well as we can, and we’ve got the man in Courthouse Tower to watch over the city and sound the alarm with his telegraph key anytime a fire breaks out.”
“Shouldn’t the citizens of Chicago be admonished to be especially careful with everything so dry?”
“They have been, Mr. Kildare,” spoke up Chief Murham. “Both of Chicago’s newspapers have run articles telling everybody to be extra cautious.”
“Oh. Well, I seldom ever read a paper,” said Kildare. “And apparently some of these people don’t either. None of them mentioned such articles to me as we discussed what might be done to alert the people to the danger.”
“How do you suppose this fire got started, Chief Williams?” a woman asked.
“I can only guess, ma’am, but some careless man probably threw a lighted cigar or cigarette butt into the weeds.”
“All we can say, folks,” said Murham, running his gaze over the crowd, “is that everyone in this city must be very, very careful and stay alert.”
“There will be another cautionary article in both papers, I assure you,” said Williams.
“Maybe the fire department ought to print up notices of some kind and spread them around,” suggested Cavan Feeny. “You know…take them from house to house. Make folks aware of the danger.”
“There’s no way we can do that,” said Williams. “We don’t have the manpower.”
“Chief Murham,” said Patrick O’Leary, threading his way through the crowd, “we’re ready to go.”
Murham set his gaze on O’Leary’s smoke-blackened face and nodded.
As the crowd began to break up, Chief Williams lifted his voice so that everyone could hear. “I suggest that all of you pass the word to everyone you see. Tell them to be careful with fire and to stay alert.”
With that, the two fire chiefs followed the tall, slender O’Leary to the fire wagon.
The nine firemen washed up as soon as they returned to the station, while the chiefs told the men who had stayed behind about the successful firefight at the vacant lot. Shift change came at 4:00 P.M.
“You going to walk with me today, Burgo?” Patrick O’Leary asked his friend, Burgo Murray. “Planning on it.” “I’m ready if you are.”
As the two men left the firehouse, O’Leary said, “I’ll have to let you go on when I reach O’Malley’s Grocery. Katie gave me a list of things she needs.”
“Okay,” said the short, stubby man. “Since Katie does the milkin’ on your work days, I reckon it’s only fair that you carry home the groceries for her.”
They walked on for a while without talking, then Burgo said, “Chief Williams seems really scared, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. Can’t blame him. A good healthy rain would make us all feel better.”
“One without lightning, preferably,” Murray said with a chuckle.
Teenagers Ross Tralee and Eoin MacNeill were standing on the board sidewalk in front of O’Malley’s Grocery on the corner of Fifth Street and Bolton Avenue. Carriages, surreys, and wagons, as well as riders on horseback, moved through the busy intersection while customers came and went from the store.
“What is it, Ross?” said Eoin. “You got the jitters?”
Ross ran the back of his hand across his mouth in a nervous gesture. “Well, I guess you might call it that.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“That she’ll turn me down.”
“A fella can’t live like that, my friend,” said Eoin, brushing coal black hair off his forehead. “Remember when I first fell for Doreen, and I told you I was going to ask her for a date?”
“Yes.”
“And you asked me what if she said no. Remember that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And what did I say?”
Ross looked toward the sky for a moment. “You said, ‘Ross, as irresistible as I am, she’ll jump at the chance to go out on a date with me.’”
“Right. And did she?”
“Well, I guess! You took her on a date, and now you’re her steady beau.”
“Yeah! Now listen, Ross, you’ve got to take a deep breath, walk through that door, get Kathleen into a conversation, then ask her to go to Marybeth Monaghan’s party with you. Just tell her that almost everybody in the senior class is going to the party, and how honored you’d be if she would be your date.”
Ross wiped sweaty palms on his pants. “But what if she’s busy taking care of customers? How will I get up to the counter to talk to her?”
“Honestly, Ross,” sighed Eoin, “can’t you figure that out?”
“Huh?”
“Be a customer. Buy something.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Okay. I’ll buy something. Sure. Ah…Eoin…”
“What?”
“What’ll I buy?”
“Anything. Just buy…a pencil. That’s it. Buy a pencil.”
“Okay. I know where the school supplies are.”
Eoin gave his friend a gentle shove. “Go on.”
Ross took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah, let’s go.” He took two steps and stopped. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
People passed by, glancing at the boys’ curious behavior.
Exasperated, Eoin said, “Why not?”
“Because…well, Kathleen’s so beautiful. I…I’m just plain ol’ Ross Tralee.”
“Well, I’m just plain ol’ Eoin MacNeill, but I landed Doreen, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. No offense, ol’ pal, but Doreen’s not the looker that Kathleen is.”
“Hey, that was uncalled for. Now, come on. I’m right here with you…in spite of your insult toward my girl.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Ross said. “Doreen’s a pretty girl. She just doesn’t have the looks Kathleen has.”
“Well beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Now, let’s move. You can’t ask her for the date standing out here.”
Ross Tralee’s knees felt like boiled mush as he walked toward the door with his friend.
An elderly couple came out, and Eoin took hold of the door. He waited for the old folks to pass, then held the door open for Ross.
“Okay, Romeo, your Juliet is waiting.”
Inside the store, Maureen and Kathleen O’Malley were behind the counter, checking groceries and adding up totals for customers. Kathleen happened to look up. She smiled when she saw the boys, then went back to her work.
“Did you see that?” Ross whispered. “She smiled at me!”
Ross went to the shelf that held the school supplies and picked up two pencils. Eoin followed him to the line in front of Kathleen’s part of the counter. There were five people ahead of them.
Ross fidgeted, first standing on one foot, then the other.
“I think her mother’s line is going down faster,” Eoin whispered from the side of his mouth.
“If Mrs. O’Malley gets done ahead of Kathleen, I’ll just tell her I need to talk to her daughter,” Ross said.
“Good boy! Hang right in there, Romeo!”
Ross gave his friend a sick grin.
Soon, a woman with an armload of items drew up and smiled at the boys. “You can move over in front of Mrs. O’Malley,” she said. “Her line is shorter, and you’ve been waiting longer than I have.”
“Oh, it’s all right, ma’am,” Ross said. “You go ahead. We’ll wait in this line.”
“Such nice young men,” said the woman, and moved ahead.
Five more minutes brought the two boys to the counter.
“Hello, Ross,” Kathleen said with a smile.
The boy’s heart was beating his rib cage unmercifully “H-hello, Kathleen.”
She then flashed a pearly smile at MacNeill. “Hello, Eoin. How’s Doreen?”
“She’s fine. Just fine.”
Kathleen nodded, then looked down at the two pencils Ross laid on the counter. “That’s all you need, Ross?” she asked.
“Uh…yes. Just these pencils…as far as what I need to buy
. I, uh—”
“That will be five cents,” she said, marking it down on her pad.
Ross placed a nickel on the counter. His lungs felt as if they were being crushed. Pulling hard for air, he said, “There’s…ah…there’s something else, Kathleen, I—”
“Something you couldn’t find on the shelves?”
“Oh, ah…no. All I need to buy are the pencils. There’s…there’s something I would like to ask you.”
Kathleen picked up the nickel and dropped it into the cash drawer. “All right.”
While Ross labored to find courage, Kathleen put the pencils in a small paper bag and laid it before him. “Yes, Ross?”
“This has nothing to do with the store, here…I…ah—”
“Yes?”
“You know Marybeth Monaghan.”
“Of course.”
“Well, she’s giving a party at her house for all the students in the senior class on Friday night of next week, and…and I’d like to know if you would go with me to the party.”
Kathleen tilted her head and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Ross. I’m dating someone rather steadily right now. I appreciate your offer, but…well, you know how it is.”
Ross Tralee did his best to keep his countenance from falling as he said, “Oh, I…I wasn’t aware you were dating someone. I haven’t seen you with any of the fellas at school, so I naturally assumed—”
“He’s not someone from school,” she said in a soft tone.
“Oh. I see. Well, you can’t blame a fella for trying.”
“It was very nice of you, Ross,” she said.
Ross nodded silently and headed for the door.
“Bye, Kathleen,” Eoin said, lifting his hand in a little wave.
When they were outside the store, Ross wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “Well, this Romeo sure didn’t land his Juliet.”
“I’m sorry, pal,” Eoin said, his eyes trailing down the street. “Hey, here comes Hennie Killanin. Maybe she’d go with you to the party!”
