Cold Open

It’s just after 9 AM, on April 16th, 1947, at Texas City, a deep-water port on the Gulf Coast.

Police Officer Bill Reeves steps out of his cruiser, sets his cap on his head, and covers his mouth with his hand. Thick orange smoke pours from the hold of a cargo ship a few hundred yards away, while firefighters douse its decks with water.

Officer Reeves isn’t here to help fight the blaze, though. His job is to keep a growing crowd of bystanders from getting in the way.

Two more fire department trucks approach, and Reeves tries to hold people back to let them through.

But then, without warning, an enormous explosion rocks the port. Reeves’ world momentarily goes black. And when he comes to, blinking mud and dust from his eyes, he isn’t by his car anymore. He’s lying on his back in some kind of drainage ditch.

But he doesn’t understand how he got here. Oily water cascades into the ditch. He tries to move, but his arms and legs don’t respond. He can’t seem to save himself, and within seconds, the water is up to his waist, then his chest. He tries to shout, but no words come from his mouth.

Now the water is up to his neck, and he fears he’s going to drown. But then two blackened faces look over the edge of the ditch.

Hands reach down and seize Reeves’s jacket, pulling him out. He looks around, confused. He’s hundreds of feet away from where he was just a few moments ago. And the ship that was on fire has completely disappeared.

Officer Bill Reeves is lucky to be alive. The explosion on the French cargo ship Grandcamp has killed hundreds of other people, and thousands more are injured. It’s already the worst industrial accident in American history. But the destruction on the Gulf Coast is not over yet. Another ship in the harbor has caught fire and will soon unleash an explosion even more powerful than the first to rock Texas City on April 16th, 1947.

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 April 16th, 1947: The Texas City Disaster.

Act One: First Explosion

It’s 8:15 AM, on April 16th, 1947, in Texas City, an hour before a deadly explosion at the port.

Peter Suderman hurries along Dock O at a near run. He’s the superintendent of dockworkers, and he’s just had a call that there’s a fire aboard the Grandcamp. This French cargo ship docked five days ago for engine repairs, but something must have gone wrong. Breathing heavily, Peter reaches the Grandcamp's gangway and climbs to the deck. It’s a scene of chaos, as sailors and dockworkers desperately throw jugs of water into the smoking hold.

Peter finds the captain and demands a report. The captain declares that they’ve discovered a fire deep in one of the holds. His crew has used fire extinguishers and water, but it hasn’t been enough to quench the flames. Now, thick orange smoke is beginning to roll out of the hatch. Peter studies the toxic-looking fumes and asks what the Grandcamp is carrying. The captain replies that the hold is full of ammonium nitrate, destined for France to be used as fertilizer.

The foul-smelling smoke is already burning Peter’s throat, so he orders the dockworkers away and calls the fire department. He says that when they arrive, they’ll flood the hold and extinguish the blaze. But the captain of the Grandcamp folds his arms and insists that they do no such thing. Flooding the hold would ruin the cargo inside. Instead, the captain has an alternative plan—he’ll seal the hold and pump in steam to starve the fire of oxygen.

The captain’s decision sounds reasonable, but it’s a catastrophic mistake. Ammonium nitrate is not just a fertilizer—in the right conditions, it’s also a powerful explosive. The labels on the cargo say nothing about it, but ammonium nitrate will detonate if it is heated in a confined space, and that is exactly the situation that will be created by battening the hatches and pumping in steam. The captain of the Grandcamp has unknowingly just turned his ship into a bomb.

But dockworker superintendent Peter still thinks they need outside help, so he descends the gangplank and heads back to his office. But before leaving, he agrees to let his dockworkers stay aboard a little longer. There are crates of ammunition on the ship, and Peter wants them moved in case the fire spreads. As the dockworkers hurry to get the ammunition off the Grandcamp, no one notices the steel hatch to the now-sealed fertilizer hold beginning to buckle under the pressure.

In his office, Peter grabs the telephone to call the fire department, but is put on hold. Local phone operators are on strike, so he has to wait for his call to be connected. And when the fire department finally answers, Peter explains the emergency—but while he’s on the phone, a dull thud echoes across the port. Stepping over to the window, Peter sees that a column of orange smoke is now pouring into the sky above the Grandcamp.

Peter quickly places additional calls to request a fireboat from nearby Galveston, ask for police backup, and alert his bosses. Then he begins making his way back to the Grandcamp to see what he can do. But by now, the roads are clogged with curious onlookers—workers from the port, passersby, parents, and children on their way to school. They’ve all been drawn to the scene by the strange-colored smoke billowing into the sky.

And Peter is halfway back to the Grandcamp when the world around him explodes. He is flung 30 feet through the air and buried beneath splintered planks and raining debris. Groggily, he pushes the wreckage aside and pulls himself upright. Staring at the scene in front of him, he can’t believe his eyes. The Grandcamp is gone. The dock is a ruin of twisted metal and blackened timbers. A nearby chemical refinery is in flames. And even the water is ablaze with burning oil.

Over the next few hours, a rescue effort begins, but the scale of the damage is overwhelming. Fires ignite all over Texas City as hot shrapnel from the explosion rains down for miles. Hundreds are feared dead, thousands more are injured, and volunteers flock to the port to help search the rubble for survivors.

But in the chaos, no one thinks to check on another cargo vessel that was torn from its moorings in the explosion and is now wedged against another ship. The High Flyer's hull has been drilled through in several places by shrapnel, and a fire has begun below its decks.

Soon, though, this new inferno will be discovered, and a frantic operation will begin to put it out. Only then will the High Flyer’s cargo be revealed—another hold full of explosive ammonium nitrate.

Act Two: Second Explosion

It’s 9:30 PM, on April 16th, 1947, in Texas City Harbor, twelve hours after the Grandcamp exploded.

Angelo Amato stands in his wheelhouse on the tugboat Albatross, staring at a scene that looks more like a battlefield than a port. Fires have burned across the city all day, and the air reeks of sulfur and burning chemicals. Even out on the water, the danger hasn’t passed.

Angelo was miles across the Bay in Galveston when the Grandcamp exploded. But he still heard it, and a column of smoke climbed so high that rumors spread that the Soviets had attacked the United States with an atomic bomb. When the news filtered through about the accident in Texas City, Angelo volunteered to pilot his tugboat across the Bay to help. Soon after he arrived, Angelo was told that another ship was on fire, and its holds are also full of highly explosive ammonium nitrate. Now, the Albatross and another tugboat named the Guyton have been tasked with dragging the burning vessel away from the docks and into open water, where fireboats can reach it.

But the burning ship, the High Flyer, is wedged against another vessel, the Wilson B. Keene. Twisted steel has locked them together. And separating them won’t be easy, still, it must be done as quickly as possible—orange smoke is already spilling from the High Flyer’s hatches, and Angelo can see flames licking through the pockmarked hull.

So, Angelo maneuvers his Albatross against the burning High Flyer. Several volunteers from his crew then climb aboard the High Flyer and cut its anchor chain. They secure towlines to hook up the burning ship to the two tugboats. But the work takes time, and Angelo can do nothing but wait. Finally, more than an hour after the volunteers went on board, they signal that they’re ready. Angelo pushes the throttle to full power, and the Guyton does the same.

The lines pull taut, and metal screeches above the tugboats’ roaring engines as the High Flyer grinds against the Wilson B. Keene. Eventually, the High Flyer begins to move.

But progress is slow. By 1 AM, the cargo ship has only moved 50 feet, and the smoke billowing from the hold is getting steadily thicker. It’s at this point that Angelo gets a call over his radio. The men still aboard the High Flyer ask to be taken off—the heat has become unbearable. Angelo decides it’s too dangerous for any of them to stay. So as soon as the men are off the ship, they’re all leaving.

The Guyton is the closest of the tugboats to the High Flyer, so its captain agrees to collect the men aboard. In the meantime, Angelo’s crew cut their lines, and the Albatross speeds away from the burning ship.

And they get away just in time. Only minutes after they’ve cast off, the High Flyer explodes. Angelo is thrown to his knees as the wheelhouse windows disintegrate, and the deck lurches violently beneath him.

When the tugboat stops rocking, Angelo stands and looks out of the broken window. The blast has propelled the Albatross hundreds of feet out into the bay. Looking back through the darkness, Angelo can’t see the Guyton at all. He calls over the radio but gets no response.

Fearing the worst, Angelo turns the Albatross around. And he hasn’t got very far when he comes across the Guyton. The tugboat has been battered by the explosion. It’s lost power and dead in the water. But it’s still afloat, and miraculously, its crew are safe.

Meanwhile, red-hot debris rains down, hissing as it hits the water. Angelo scans the darkness for any sign of more survivors. The High Flyer itself is simply gone, obliterated by the explosion, and the Wilson B. Keene is leaning heavily, its bow almost underwater. It’s soon obvious that there’s little Angelo can do.

So during the rest of the night, the already exhausted emergency services turn to dealing with this second explosion. This time, there are fewer casualties. The docks had already been evacuated after the first blast, and many local residents were safely at home. Even so, several more fires are ignited in the city by burning shrapnel from the High Flyer. And one of the cargo ship’s enormous propellers even crashes out of the sky more than a mile inland.

It will be several days before all the fires are put out and the last survivors are pulled from the wreckage. Rebuilding the port will take far longer—and it will be years before the victims of the disaster get any semblance of justice.

Act Three: Justice

It’s June 8th, 1953, at the U.S. Supreme Court Building in Washington, D.C., six years after the Texas City Disaster.

78-year-old John Lord O'Brian takes his place at the counsel’s table as the session is called to order. John is no stranger to this courtroom. During his long legal career, he’s appeared before the Supreme Court many times. And today, he’s awaiting the verdict of one of his most recent cases.

John represents the widow of Henry Dalehite, who is suing the federal government for compensation after her husband was killed in the Texas City Disaster. According to her complaint, the government made a series of errors in the manufacture and packaging of the ammonium nitrate that caused the explosion. These mistakes were compounded by poor management of the Port of Texas City. And together, it set the stage for disaster.

Elizabeth Dalehite is far from the only person who suffered a tragic loss in the accident. The official death toll stands at 468, with another 100 missing, their bodies never recovered. More than 3,500 people were injured. And even those in the vicinity who weren’t hurt lost homes and businesses. The houses nearest the port were obliterated. Water pipes ruptured, power lines were downed, and almost every window in Texas City was shattered. Booker T. Washington Elementary School partially collapsed, and the shockwave even downed two light airplanes flying nearby. So now, John hopes to force the government to accept the blame—and pay restitution.

Justice Stanley Reed begins to read the court’s opinion, but John’s heart sinks before he’s even a few lines in. By a narrow 4-3 majority, the Supreme Court finds that the U.S. Government cannot be held legally responsible for the disaster. The opinion acknowledges that there may have been negligence, but that it was not necessarily against the law.

When the session ends, John stomps from the courtroom. As far as he’s concerned, justice has not been served. But there’s nothing more that can be done for Elizabeth and the other families through the courts.

Instead, it will fall to Congress to act. And two years after the Supreme Court ruling, lawmakers will approve legislation to create a compensation fund for the victims of the disaster. More than 1,400 claims will eventually be filed, and almost $17 million will be paid out to victims and bereaved families. But no payment, however large, will ever truly heal the wounds of the Texas City disaster, the worst industrial accident in American history, which took place on April 16th, 1947.

Outro

Next on History Daily. April 17th, 1860. Two boxers clash in a brutal and chaotic two-hour fight that is now regarded as the first world championship bout.

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 Mollie Baack.

Music by Thrumm.

This episode is written and researched by Samuel Hume.

Edited by Scott Reeves.

Managing producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are William Simpson for Airship and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.