An unthinkable, most unbelievable, event occurred in Boston in 1919 right after First World War. I didn’t believe it after I read about it, but I found articles about it to be listed in The Boston Globe, The New York Times, The Christian Monitor, Wikipedia, and CBS News websites. So I have some confidence that it really happened.

Called a deadly Tsunami, the explosive rupture of a giant, 2.3 million-gallon, 5-story high storage tank, filled to capacity with hot, fermenting molasses weighing 26 million pounds, caused probably the most bizarre disaster in our country’s history.

The exploding hot, sticky molasses formed a 15-foot high, 160 foot-wide-wave that moved through the north end of Boston at 35 mph, swallowing up everything in its path. Rivets popping from the tank scourged the neighborhood like machine bullets, and a small boat was found slammed through a wooden fence like an artillery shell. The Globe reported people were picked up and hurled many feet.

Chuck Lyons published in “History Today” that it smashed child with a railroad car; pinned a railroad clerk, against the wall of a freight shed, his feet held 3-feet off the floor as he watched a horse drowning nearby. The wave broke steel girders of the Boston Elevated Railway, almost sweeping the train off its tracks, knocked buildings off their foundations, topped electrical poles, the wires hissing and sparking as they fell into the brown flood.

The 3-year-old tank, costing $30,000, stood 200 feet from the harbor where ships brought molasses from Cuba, and was situated near the railroad tracks where molasses would then be shipped out. Since the tank’s construction had finished days before its use, its company had never tested it by filling it with water.

From the beginning, leaks had appeared, with molasses streaking down the sides. People living nearby filled up cans to take home and children would scrape leaks onto sticks to make molasses suckers.

After the tank burst, the15-foot gooey wave crept through the area, and when a train brakeman saw it, he stopped his train and ran up the tracks to stop another oncoming train. Writers described that the entire waterfront area was leveled and rails from the overhead railway dangled, appearing like Christmas tinsel. It destroyed many city stables where police had to shoot injured horse stuck in the heavy mess.

Those rescuing people from the sticky horror consisted of sailors, police, Red Cross workers, and army personnel. The medical examiner described the bodies seemed to be covered in heavy oilskins. Rescuers, including the hospital personnel, were soon covered from head to foot with brown syrup and blood. Sanitary conditions were impossible.

It took four months to recover all the bodies. By the time it was over, it had killed 21 people, injured 150 more, and caused over $100 millions in damages— all caused by thick, gooey syrup!

The cleanup took about 87,000 man-hours. Fire department pumps removed thousands of gallons of molasses from cellars. As the goo began to harden, it took chisels and saws to break it up.

This happened in January. It was summer before the city’s brown water began to clear. For some time, as rescue workers, sightseers, and residents went to other parts of Boston, they carried the gooey brown residue on their clothes, making streetcar seats, trolley platforms, and public phones sticky.

Individuals and businesses filed 119 lawsuits. To save time, they were consolidated into one with one attorney on each side to handle it. At first the company argued that the failure of the tank was due to sabotage by Italian anarchists, known to be active in Boston at the time. However, the plaintiffs argued about the tank’s ill structure, without pretesting it before use.

It took 3 years for the hearing, with 921 witnesses, a 25,000-page transcript being presented with 1,584 exhibits. It took a year for the auditor’s conclusions. It was the longest and most expensive civil case in the state’s history. In 1925, the 51-page verdict held the company liable because of the faulty construction. The $300,000 in damages (equals $30 million today) includes $6,000 to families of those killed, $25,000 to the city, and $42,000 to the railway system. The company quickly settled out of court with slightly higher amounts for the families.

The tank was never rebuilt. A public recreational complex stands in the area now. All that remains of the terrible day is a small plaque. Local residents still say, on warm days, a sweet scent of molasses lingers in the air.

Why hasn’t Hollywood used this event for a movie? It beats the Blob From Outer Space since it’s creepier because it was REAL. Incredible, but real. Good grief! I’ll forever be reminded of this story when I pour slow-moving molasses on hot, buttered biscuits for breakfast!