Cold Open

It’s 10:15 PM, on November 28th, 1942, in Boston, Massachusetts.

Charles Kenney, a ten-year veteran of the Boston Fire Department, sits sipping coffee in the station as his colleagues mill around, waiting for their next call.

It’s not long before a bell jolts Charles and the rest of his crew into action.

Charles slams his cup onto the table, grabs his jacket, and races toward the fire engine.

No sooner has he jumped on board than the engine's siren cuts through the air and wheels screech on concrete as it pulls out of the station. As the truck speeds through the streets of Boston, Charles hears one of the crew talking about their destination - the corner of Stuart and Carver. A report has come in that a car there has caught fire.

Minutes later, Charles sees the blaze himself. Flames licking every inch of the vehicle.

The engine screeches to a halt and firefighters stream out. They move nosy onlookers back to a safe distance, while one crew member grabs the hose and connects it to a nearby hydrant.

Another of the crew mends the other end of the hose and blasts water against the fiery car. In under two minutes, the roaring flames are extinguished leaving just charred paintwork and wisps of smoke.

Charles and his crew breathe a sigh of relief. There are smiles all around and a few slap each other on the back. One of them looks distracted though. Charles follows his crew mate’s gaze and sees a dark smudge of smoke rising a few blocks away, in the direction of the Cocoanut Grove supper club.

Sure enough, it's a fire and the men jump back in their engine, start their siren, and hurtle down the road again. They’re no strangers to a busy shift, but none of them are prepared for the night that lies ahead.

Before this weekend is over, almost five hundred people will have lost their lives in one of the worst single fires in American history. The subsequent investigation will highlight a catalog of negligence that contributed to the tragedy, bringing about sweeping legal changes. But this reform will be too little too late for the victims of the blaze that engulfs the Cocoanut Grove on November 28th, 1942.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is November 28th, 1942: America’s Deadliest Nightclub Disaster.

Act One

It’s late afternoon on November 28th, 1942, in Boston, where Fenway Park is playing host to a college football clash.

Actor Buck Jones settles in to watch what many expect will be an easy day at the office for Boston College against the visitors from Holy Cross.

Fifty-year-old Buck is a well-loved Hollywood figure, known for appearing in dozens of Westerns. He’s in Boston though, as part of a drive to sell government bonds to fund the country’s efforts in World War Two, and he was invited to the game by none other than the Mayor of Boston.

Boston College has remained unbeaten in all eight games this season, but as the match starts, it’s clear that Holy Cross Collage have no intention of rolling over. Buck watches in disbelief as the visitors take control right from the start, and cruise to an incredible victory winning fifty-five to twelve - one of the biggest recent upsets in college football.

As hometown fans trudged off the field dejected, Buck glances at his watch. His agent has arranged to have dinner with him at the Cocoanut Grove - a nearby nightspot and popular destination with a checkered past. It was once owned by a local mob boss, who was gunned down 9 years ago, after that it passed to the mobter's lawyer, Barney Welansky. Now, the restaurant and supper club is one of downtown Boston’s most popular establishments, drawing many celebrity visitors, like Buck.

But tonight, Buck isn’t so sure he wants to spend his night at the Cocoanut Grove. The actor isn’t feeling great. He’s been under the weather for a few days and would love nothing more than just to head back to his hotel, and crawl under the duvet. But when Buck tries to back out of his dinner plans, his agent won’t hear of it. Buck protests for a while, but finally gives in, and agrees to stay out for some food, and maybe a few drinks.

When Buck and his agent arrive at Cocoanut Grove, there’s already a line gathering.

And Despite feeling unwell, Buck smiles at several of those waiting in line who recognize him and call out his name. He shakes a few hands, and exchanges pleasantries with fans, before finally heading in through the front door.

The single-story building is deceptively large inside. It houses a dining room, a ballroom, and bandstand on the ground floor, while the hidden basement below has a bar known as the Melody Lounge, as well as the staff-only areas like the kitchen.

Buck follows his agent as he weaves through a sea of people. The Cocoanut Grove is the place to be seen on a night out. But noticeably absent are any members of the Boston College football team. Buck had heard talk of the Cocoanut Grove being the venue for a post-match celebration, but it seems to have been canceled after their humiliating defeat.

Even without them though, the place is packed. Records will later show that around one thousand people will have flocked here tonight - more than double the building’s maximum safe capacity of 460.

Regardless of the swelling numbers, a celebrity like Buck needn’t worry about finding a table. His agent has arranged it all, and they’re all swiftly led downstairs to their spot in the Melody Lounge by the maître d himself.

The Cocoanut Grove often has lavish live entertainment, and tonight is no different. Surrounded by rows of tables and booths, a singer stands on a revolving stage, serenading the supper guests. Buck looks around, taking in the themed décor.

Fake palm trees are dotted around the room. Their fronds droop down, creating a canopy that gives the place something of a tropical feel that befits the club's name. Bulbs nestled in bunches of coconuts provide a little mood lighting.

But around ten-fifteen, Buck glances around again and notices a young man fiddling with one of these lights. The bulb flickers out, and the man sits back next to his date, slipping his arm around her, and smiling in the patch of dark privacy he’s just created.

But when Buck turns back to look at the stage, he will be unaware that he’s just witnessed what many will point to as the cause of tonight’s imminent tragedy. In less than ten minutes, the entire club will be a roaring inferno, turning into a deathtrap that will claim the lives of Buck and hundreds of others, leaving many Bostonians distraught, and desperate for answers.

Act Two

It’s 10:15 in the evening in the Melody Lounge, in the basement of the Cocoanut Grove.

Sixteen-year-old busboy Stanley Tomaszewski clears away empty glasses and listens carefully as customers recite their next drinks order. Then Stanley weaves his way to the bar and is just about to relay the order when the bartender holds up a hand to stop him.

The bartender points over Stanley’s shoulder. Stanley squints across the crowded tables, unsure what he’s meant to look at. The bartender says, he has just watched one of the customers, a young gentleman, unscrew a light bulb and create an area of darkness in the already gloomy interior.

He tells Stanley to go switch it back on. As Stanley heads to the table, he notices the young man cozying up to his date, one arm around her shoulder.

Stanley awkwardly interrupts, explaining that he needs to screw the bulb back. The guests protest, but Stanley ignores their objections and climbs on a seat, and begins tinkering with the bulb. But with the light extinguished, it’s too dark to see what he’s doing.

So, Stanley pulls a book of matches from his pocket and strikes one. He holds the flame up to the light socket, tightens the bulb, and then blows the match out.

Stanley then steps down and apologizes to the couple, before turning around to head back to the bar. But before he does, something catches his eye: a flickering light up in one of the palm trees. He stares at it, puzzled for a second.

Then Stanley’s confusion gives way to concern as he realizes it’s not a faulty bulb. It’s fire. Several customers notice it too, and they call out in alarm. A bartender then rushes over splashing water and spraying a bottle of seltzer at the flames.

There’s a little nervous laughter after this because, to Stanley and the rest of the occupants of the Cocoanut Grove, this small flicker of flames doesn’t look overly alarming. But in reality, it’s catastrophic.

The club’s owner, Barney Welansky, has cut corners.

The gas in the club's air conditioning is a cheaper alternative to the usual refrigerant and is flammable. Worse still, Barney has used unlicensed contractors to install his electrical wiring, sealed up a number of emergency exits to prevent people from dining and dashing, and allowed the club to admit far more people than is safe. Put together, these conditions are a recipe for disaster.

Stanley looks on in horror and disbelief as the small flicker everyone thought was extinguished begins to grow across the ceiling. Customers begin shouting in terror and Stanley joins countless others making a scramble for safety.

But the only way out of the Melody Lounge is a four-foot-wide staircase that leads up to the ground floor. It’s not wide enough to accommodate a fast escape.

So stuck in the crowd, Stanley can do nothing but stare as flames engulf more and more of the lounge. He barely has time to hurl himself to one side as what looks like a ball of fire roars up the staircase, scorching many of the guests trying to escape.

Those who do make it up the staircase then have to struggle to make it out the club’s front door. The crush of customers trying to get out through the main revolving door just serves to block it shut. The weight of pressing bodies is so bad, it kills some of the guests trying to escape.

Luckily for Stanley, a member of the staff who knows the building, he manages to find an alternate way out. But hundreds of others aren’t so lucky.

In the days that follow, there will be some amazing tales of quick thinking amongst the chaos. One survivor will tell how he urinated on a napkin to cover his face from smoke and fumes, buying precious extra seconds to escape. But these miraculous cases will make up the minority.

Thirty-four fire engines will race to the Cocoanut Grove before the night is out, carrying 187 firefighters. Joining them will be dozens of police officers, as well as every man available at the nearby Boston Navy Yard. Together, they will launch an enormous rescue effort that will save some of the club’s occupants, but for many more, help will come too late.

Act Three

It’s a little after 10:20 PM, on November 28th, 1942.

As fireman Charles Kenney and his crewmates arrive at Cocoanut Grove, they recognize right away it's a bad fire. Heavy plumes of dark smoke pour out of the building, while countless people stagger through its doors, their eyes streaming and bodies convulsing with coughs. Charles and his men get right to work dousing the fire and helping those escaping from it.

Fortunately, tonight, they’re not alone. Dozens more fire crews arrive, along with army and Navy personnel and members of the National Guard and Coast Guard. Meanwhile, newspaper delivery trucks and taxis are commandeered as makeshift ambulances to ferry survivors to hospitals for treatment.

The rescue effort is vast and exhausting, but Charles has no choice but to push through. If he stops, people will die. And every time he goes in to help somebody out, countless others grab at him, begging for them to be chosen next.

Charles's job is made even more difficult by the worsening weather. As temperatures plummet, ice forms between the cobblestones on the street. At one point, Charles goes to tug a hose closer to the building to better direct the spray of water, only to find the hose has frozen tied to the ground. It’s brutal, backbreaking work, but Charles and others persevere long into the night.

Meanwhile, Boston City Hospital receives around three hundred admissions in just one hour - a rate of one every eleven seconds. For those who make it to an emergency room, there’s a stroke of luck. As a precautionary wartime measure, hospitals have been stockpiling supplies and running disaster drills. But even with this fortunate preparation, over half of the patients die from their injuries. By the time all is said and done, 490 people lose their lives as a result of the fire, making it the deadliest nightclub disaster in America’s history.

During the following investigation, authorities are unable to confirm whether the match lit by 16-year-old Stanley Tomaszewski sparked the blaze, or whether it was the guest tampering with the lightbulb. But regardless the finger of blame is pointed at the owner of the Cocoanut Grove, Barney Welansky.

Though the fire’s exact proximate cause can’t be pinpointed, it’s clear Barney is responsible for the conditions that allowed the flames to consume the club so quickly. And in 1943, Barney is convicted of manslaughter, and sentenced to 12 to 15 years, though he’s released only after four.

The fire at Cocoanut Grove will drive a host of health and safety laws across many states, designed to prevent a repeat of the accident in Boston. Doctors who treated the blaze’s victims will also draw on their experiences to pioneer new ways of treating burns and smoke inhalation. And the advances they make will save countless lives in the years to come — a bitter-sweet silver lining to the tragedy that befell Cocoanut Grove on November 28th, 1942.

Outro

Next on History Daily. November 29th, 1781. In what will come to be known as the Zong massacre, the crew of a British slave ship murders 54 Africans by dumping them into the sea to claim insurance.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Mischa Stanton.

Music by Lindsay Graham.

This episode is written and researched by Rob Scragg.

Executive Producers are Alexandra Currie-Buckner for Airship, and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.