Firefighters had trouble finding the source of a stubborn fire in the Flatiron District 50 years ago, with tragic results. Twelve Bravest died when a floor collapsed.
(JOHN PEDIN/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS)
Brown, his wife, and their four kids lived atop one of three connected commercial structures that stretched along Broadway opposite the Flatiron Building.
He stepped outside to investigate and saw smoke at the roofline. Brown dashed to rouse his family and yanked Firebox 598 in Madison Square Park at 9:36 p.m.
Nearby firehouses sprang to life as men dutifully geared up and rushed to a baffling blaze destined for FDNY infamy.
It happened 50 years ago, on Oct. 17, 1966.
The fire erupted in a hazardous stew of paints and chemicals stored by an art dealer in the basement at 7 E. 22nd St., the brownstone where the Browns lived. It somehow snaked its way to 6 E. 23rd St., a five-story brick structure whose marquee tenant was Wonder Drug. In between, the three-story building at 940 Broadway smoldered as well.
The remains of an E. 23rd St. building are seen after it was destroyed by a deadly fire on Oct. 17, 1966.
Firefighters faced a confounding adversary as the hot spot seemed to shift.
A second alarm at 10:06 p.m. summoned Engine Co. 18, from W. 10th St. A third came 31 minutes later, and then a fourth. Soon there were 200 firefighters and 40 trucks at the scene, ogled by a throng of rubberneckers in Madison Square Park.
Joseph D’Albert of Engine 24 was among the reinforcements.
“I was cold when we left quarters,” D’Albert later wrote. “Nervous cold. Every man in the crew was feeling the same chill.”
The battle was focused on E. 22nd St., but fire had spread to Wonder Drug on E. 23rd. A crew led by Lt. Royal Fox descended the cellar there, seeking the elusive hot spot.
An oxygen tank still on his back, a firefighter gasps for air during the five-alarm fire on 23rd St. and Broadway..
(PAUL DEMARIA/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS)
Fox found only moderate smoke, so Deputy Chief Thomas Reilly and Battalion Chief Walter Higgins, each with two decades of firefighting wisdom, led a crew into the street level at Wonder Drug. They planned to push to the back of the 100-foot space, knock open the rear wall and hit any flames with firehoses.
But they had walked into a trap.
At 10:39, 63 minutes after the first alarm, a 35-foot section of the Wonder Drug floor collapsed, sending Reilly, Higgins and eight others tumbling into an inferno. All 10 perished, along with two others hit by a deadly fireburst that billowed up.
The calamity killed more firefighters than any blaze in the city’s history — a doleful record that stood until 343 died on 9/11.
The dreaded signal of “four fives,” a series of tones marking a firefighter’s death, rang that morning in firehouses. Chaplains knocked on 12 doors in Queens and Long Island, breaking the hearts of a dozen new widows and 32 children left without fathers.
Shock and sadness are etched on the faces of surviving firefighters after the tragic inferno.
(GEORGE MATTSON/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS)
The victims included Reilly, 53, a father of six, and Higgins, 45, a father of five. Lt. John Finley, 54, had four kids. Lt. Joseph Priore, 42, and Firefighters Rudy Kaminsky, 33, and Bernard Tepper, 41, left three children each.
Firefighters John Berry, 32, Carl Lee, 29, and William McCarron, 44, each left two children fatherless. Firefighters James Galanaugh, 27, and Joseph Kelly, 35, each had one child. The 12th victim, Daniel Rey, 26, was a newly hired probationary fireman and newlywed.
Virginia Galanaugh was among a handful of firefighter wives who made their way to the scene. She sought out Anthony Liotta, who worked with her husband.
“He’s all right, isn’t he?” she cried. “They got him out, didn’t they?”
Liotta drew the woman into his arms as she wailed, “Oh, no! Not again.” Her father, Vincent Laurance, died fighting a fire in Brooklyn in 1954.
Vincent Dunn has worked tirelessly to improve safety protocols since the 1966 incident.
(MICHAEL DABIN/FOR NEW YORK DAILY NEWS)
The Daily News’ Frank Mazza reported that Rey, the probie, had called his mother in Middle Village, Queens, hours before rushing to the Wonder Drug disaster.
“I’m doing great,” he told her, “but I haven’t had the ‘big fire’ yet.”
Following a bleak FDNY tradition, firehouse colleagues assembled to carry out the remains of the dead, most from Engine 18 and Ladder 7. Men with smudged faces streaked with tears doffed helmets as stretcher baskets passed.
After the last body was out, Chief of Department John O’Hagan called a muster in the park.
“This was the saddest day in the 100-year history of the Fire Department,” he said. “They never had a chance. I know we all died a little in there.”
Firefighter James Sorokac, of the FDNY Ceremonial Unit, rings a bell 12 times as FDNY personnel and families mark the 50th anniversary of the blaze on Monday.
A few days later, thousands of firefighters from across the country stood at attention as gleaming pumper trucks topped with flag-draped caskets led a grim funeral procession to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
An inquest finally unraveled the mystery of the moving hot spot.
Needing more storage, the art dealer had moved the E. 22nd cellar wall 35 feet into the space beneath Wonder Drug, building a new block wall that concealed from Lt. Fox the fire raging beneath the rear third of the drugstore.
Vincent Dunn, 81, a retired fire commander who spent 42 years on the job, made it his life’s work to honor the 12 victims by improving safety protocols.
“There was no criminal liability, but we had some hard-learned lessons from Wonder Drug,” Dunn told the Justice Story. The Building Department knew the cellar wall had been moved but didn’t inform fire officials.
“We were fooled by that,” Dunn said.
Structural changes to buildings now must be reported to fire officials. Wonder Drug also spurred better radio communication and a new focus on pinpointing a fire source.
Dunn and retired Lt. Fox attended a ceremony this week marking the somber anniversary. “We don’t forget,” Dunn said.
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