On the 30th of December, 1903, a fire began on the stage at the newly built Iroquois Theater in
Chicago, Illinois. Advertisements for the theatre had boasted that it was "absolutely fireproof",
but it was far from it. Indeed, the design of the theater building led to a death toll
that outstripped that of any single building fire in all of American history, and lead to
changes to the design of mass-occupancy buildings that are still in place today.
Construction of the Iroquois Theater was completed just a few weeks before the fire,
with the venue opening on the 23rd of November, 1903. The building was a grand edifice, fitted
out with marble staircases, soaring ceilings, and huge amounts of polished mahogany trim.
Critics went so far as to call the building "a temple of beauty" and to
state that no other theater could match the "architectural perfection" of the Iroquois.
But the building wasn't perfect - not by any stretch of the imagination.
The fire safety standards of the day were far more lax than they are now, but even so
the building didn't come close to meeting them. Workers had gone on strike during construction,
and so the owners had to push for the build to be completed on time. Luxuries were left aside, to be
added at a later date - fire alarms, a sprinkler system and emergency telephones among them.
At the same time as corners were being cut for expediency the architect was also fine-tuning
the design. Lighted exit signs just didn't fit the decor, and so they were scrapped too.
The vast majority of patrons, few of whom were likely to read the criticisms of the venue in
Fireproof Magazine, were largely unaware of any issues. They flocked to the Iroquois Theater.
Seating was offered on three levels, with a corresponding tiered pricing system. The cheapest
seats were way up high in the gallery, far from the action and accessible only via a complicated
series of narrow staircases and landings. Those who could afford a little more might plump for
seats in the dress circle which was accessed via the sweeping marble staircase in the foyer, or in
the ground floor "orchestra" seating area, which was up close and personal to the action on stage.
Of course, gates were installed between each level and locked during performances to prevent
patrons in the cheap seats from sneaking down and taking open spots in the more expensive tiers.
Even without the gates, theatergoers attending the 30th of December matinee wouldn't have been
able to sneak a seat. The place was sold out. The Iroquois had a capacity of around
1,600 persons, but that evening it welcomed more than 2,000. So full was the venue that
many patrons had to make do with a seat in the aisle, even if it did block access for others.
The afternoon's show was a performance of the musical Mr Bluebeard. This was a family-friendly
production based on a French fairytale, and had received rave reviews from critics. With school
out, many of the patrons packing the Iroquois beyond capacity were children and their mothers.
At around 3:15pm, as the stage lights were dimmed for a night scene, a spotlight arced and set fire
to the top portion of a stage curtain. This tiny flame was visible to the audience, but
innocuous enough for most people to write it off as an intentional special effect - just another
bit of theatre. Behind the scenes, however, ushers were frantically trying to extinguish
the flame. They attempted to do this using the only firefighting equipment in the building:
a few small cans of Killfyre - a fire extinguishing powder that was really only intended
for damping down domestic fireplaces. The powder just floated down to the stage, achieving nothing.
Similarly, when they tried to beat the flames out with poles they only succeeded in showering
the stage with flaming debris. The Stage Manager tried to lower the fire curtain,
which would separate the fire on stage from the audience and buy time for an orderly evacuation.
Halfway down, the curtain hit a light reflector and jammed. No good. The flames climbed up
into the area above the stage, took hold of the highly-flammable oil paint and canvas backdrops
that were suspended there and bloomed. Smoke billowed into the auditorium and a panic began.
At this point comic actor Eddie Foy, who was backstage, sensed impending disaster. His own
child was in the audience and he quickly ordered a stagehand to grab the boy and get out. He then ran
out onto the stage. There, even as flaming bits of canvas fell all around him, he appealed for calm.
He encouraged the orchestra to play to reassure the crowd,
and reminded them that the theatre was, as the marketing materials claimed,
"absolutely fireproof". No sooner had he said this than a blazing swath of scenery crashed down onto
the stage, sending the other actors fleeing in panic... some of them with their costumes aflame.
The brief moment of calm was over. Chaos ensued. Crushes quickly formed around exit doors, some of
which the audience simply couldn't open because of unfamiliar mechanisms. Escape was blocked in
the gallery by those iron gates designed to stop patrons sneaking more expensive seats.
Elsewhere people crowded around ornamental windows that looked like doors. but which couldn't be
opened. Patrons from the upper levels poured out onto fire escapes only to find them narrow, icy,
and in some cases unfinished. Many fell to their deaths while trying to descend, with those who
fell later standing a greater chance of survival as the bodies below would break their fall.
Witnessing the developing crushes and believing the claims that the theater was fireproof
many chose to stay seated rather than risk being trampled to death. Within minutes, however, the
flames on the stage had built to an inferno. As exit doors elsewhere in the building were opened
air flooded in, feeding the flames. A fireball rippled through the auditorium,
destroying everything and everyone in its path. The lack of a working alarm system
in the building, and the lack of emergency telephones, meant that the fire service was
only alerted when an usher ran from the Iroquois to a fire alarm box on the next
street. By the time fire crews were in attendance it was too late for many of the victims.
For some others, though, luck was on their side.
Passers-by outside the building were miraculously well-equipped to help. One door, for example,
became almost instantly jammed... until a passing railway worker who happened to have
his tools with him at the time was able to remove the hinges and allow dozens of victims to escape.
Elsewhere builders scrambled up scaffolding and extended ladders across to the people trapped
on the fire escapes, allowing several to crawl across to safety. Rescue efforts were, in the end,
grimly brief. The building was so well-sealed that the fire had practically burned itself
out by the time firefighters were able to gain access through doors blocked by piles of bodies.
All in all 573 people lost their lives in the fire,
with a further 30 perishing from injuries sustained during the blaze.
The appalling news of the fire filled the front pages for months, fueled by
a number of maddening revelations: the fire curtain, it turned out, was made of wood pulp.
Even if it had been successfully lowered it wouldn't have helped.
No fire drill had ever been conducted, and there were allegations that fire safety
officials had been bribed with the promise of free tickets if they let all this slide.
Vents in the roof which should have prevented a fireball by acting as a chimney for the fire
were found to have been wired or nailed shut. Although reports were clear that theater owners,
managers, and floor staff were culpable, nobody involved ever faced any penalties.
Defendants dragged out proceedings for year after year until the case finally collapsed.
Public outrage, however, and a genuine desire to avoid another catastrophe like the Iroquois
Theater fire, led to several swift changes. The practice of overselling theaters was cracked
down on, and the disaster also saw the adoption of outward opening panic bar doors in most theaters.
The panic bar was something that had been invented many years before following the Victoria Hall
disaster in England, but which hadn't (at the time) been widely adopted in America.
Eddie Foy, who had escaped the fire along with his son, was hailed as a hero even though his
appeal for calm hadn't entirely succeeded. He went on to have a long and successful career.
The Iroquois Theater, on the other hand, had been gutted by the fire.
The exterior remained relatively intact and so after much interior reconstruction
it was re-opened as the Colonial Theater, which operated without incident until 1925, when it
was demolished and replaced by the Oriental (known today as the James M Nederlander Theater.
Though the Iroquois Theater existed for just a few short weeks before it was destroyed, its legacy
is visible to this day in the Nederlander and in every theatre across the country.
Exit signs, fire doors, safety curtains...
these things, now just an ordinary part of the everyday world, were not always so commonplace.