Chicago's Awful Theater Horror Part 27

GIRLS' CLUBS SORELY STRICKEN.

Mrs. Walter Raymer, wife of the alderman, attended the Iroquois in charge of the "F. P. C.," a club of young girls, of which her daughter was treasurer. Of the eight members only two escaped uninjured. Miss Mabel Hunter, the president, was killed; Miss Edna Hunter was taken to her residence, 85 Humboldt boulevard, severely injured; Miss Lillian Ackerman was borne to the Samaritan Hospital, burned about the head and body.

Edna Hoveland was badly injured, and her little sister, who accompanied her, was burned to death. May Marks is dead. Viva Jackson, missing all Wednesday night, was found in the morning at an undertaker's rooms. The two who escaped injury were Miss Abigail Raymer, daughter of the alderman, and Miss Florence Nicholson.

The eight girls, all between sixteen and eighteen years old, had organized their little club a few weeks ago for the purpose of literary study and recreation, and the theater party was arranged by Mrs. Raymer as a surprise for the members.

The Theta Pi Zeta club of the junior cla.s.s of the Englewood High School, with the exception of two members, was wiped out of existence. The club was composed of eight young women living in Englewood and Normal Park.

Seven had purchased seats in the sixth row of the dress circle. What they encountered after the panic started no one knows, for of the seven only one, Miss Josephine Spencer, 7110 Princeton avenue, was saved and she was taken to the West Side Hospital terribly burned. The only member who entirely escaped was Miss Edith Mizen of 6917 Eggleston avenue, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George K. Mizen. Her parents objected to her attending a theatrical performance.

Those who perished are Helen Howard, 6565 Yale avenue; Helen McCaughan, 6565 Yale avenue; Elvira Olson, 7010 Stewart avenue; Florence Oxnam, 435 Englewood avenue; Lillie Power, 442 West Seventieth street; and Rosamond Schmidt, 335 West Sixty-first street.

CHAPTER XVI.

EDDIE FOY'S SWORN TESTIMONY.

Eddie Foy, whose real name is Edwin Fitzgerald, has faced many audiences under all conditions and circ.u.mstances during his stage career of a quarter of a century, during which he rose from a street urchin to the distinction of one of America's most entertaining and unctuous comedians.

Never before had such interest centered in his appearance as when on Thursday afternoon, January 7, 1904, he took the witness stand to relate under oath what he knew concerning the calamity of the preceding week.

The actor's face was a study. His deep-lined countenance, ordinarily irresistibly funny without effort on his part, took on a truly tragic aspect as he entered upon his story. His indescribable, husky voice that has made hundreds of thousands laugh with merriment, was broken; there was no suggestion of humor in it. Instead it was a wail from the tomb, the utterance of a man broken with the weight of the woe he had beheld in a few brief, fleeting moments.

The questions were propounded by Coroner Traeger and Major Lawrence Buckley, his chief deputy, and were promptly and fully answered by the comedian.

The full text, as secured through a stenographic report, follows:

Q. Will you kindly tell us, Mr. Foy, or Fitzgerald, in your own way, what transpired?

A. Well, I went to the matinee with my little boy, six years old, and I wanted to put him in the front of the theater to see the show. I sent him out before the first act by the stage manager, and he took him out and brought him back and said there were no seats. I sent him downstairs and put him in a little alcove that is next to the switchboard, underneath where they claim the fire started, and where I saw the fire first.

Q. That is on what side of the stage?

A. On my right facing the audience. On the south side of the stage. The second act was on. I was in my dressing-room tying my shoes, and I heard a noise, and I didn't pay much attention to it at first. I says to myself, "Are they fighting again down there"--there was a fight there about a week or two ago; and I says, "They are fighting again." I looked out of the door and heard the buzz getting stronger and stronger, with this excitement, and I thought of my boy and I ran down the steps. I was in the middle dressing-room on the side, and I ran down screaming "Bryan." I got him at the first entrance right in front of the switchboard, and looked up and saw a fireman there. I don't know what he was doing; he was trying to put the fire out. Then the two lower borders running up the side of this canvas were burning. I grabbed my boy and rushed to the back door, and there was a lot of people trying to get out.

DESCRIBES STAGE BOX.

Q. What door?

A. The little stage door on Dearborn street.

Q. How did you find that door--was it open?

A. No. I knew where the door was.

Q. Was the door open when you got there?

A. Yes; they were breaking through it.

Q. Who?

A. All of our people.

Q. Employees on the stage?

A. Not many of them. It was crowded there, and I threw my boy to a man. I says: "Take this boy out," and ran out on the footlights to the audience.

When I did they were in a sort of panic, as I thought, and what I said exactly I don't remember, but this was the substance--my idea was to get the curtain down and quietly stop the stampede. I yelled, "Drop the curtain and keep up your music." I didn't want a stampede, because it was the biggest audience I ever played to of women and children. I told them to be quiet and take it easy "Don't get excited"--and they started up on this second balcony on my left to run, and I says, "Sit down; it is all right; don't get excited." And they were going that way, and I said to the policeman, "Let them out quietly," and they moved then, and I says, "Let down the curtain," and I looked up and this curtain was burning--the fringe on the edge of it.

WOULD NOT COME DOWN.

Q. It was caught, was it?

A. It did not come down.

Q. How near to the bottom of the stage was it?

A. Three feet above my head. I would have been outside if the curtain had come down.

Q. It was lowered down after you hallooed?

A. I hallooed for it to come down.

Q. And it came down that far and then caught?

A. I did not see it come down, but it was there when I looked up.

Q. When you looked up it was caught, was it?

A. Yes, sir, it must have been caught--it didn't come down. Then when I was hallooing, I kept hallooing for the curtain to come down--how many times I don't know--and talked to this man to let them out quietly, there was a sort of a cyclone; the thing was flying behind me; I felt it coming.

Q. What do you mean by a cyclone--cyclone of what?

A. It was a whirl of smoke when I looked around--the scenery had broken the slats it was nailed to; it came down behind me, and I didn't know whether to go in front or behind. The stage was covered with smoke, and it was a cold draft, and there was an explosion of some kind like you light a match and the box goes off. I didn't know whether to go front or not, so I thought of my boy--maybe the man did not take him out--so I rushed out the first thing and went back of the stage.

Q. You went out yourself, then?

A. Yes, sir, and I was looking for my boy all the way in. I wasn't sure he was out. I found him in the street.

Q. Do you know what started the fire, Mr. Fitzgerald?

A. No, sir.

LIGHT NEAR THE FIRE.