THE EXPLOSION THAT
SHOOK THE NATION
by Howard Coleman
The New London School Explosion
It was a beautiful
spring day in East Texas on March 18, 1937, at 3:20p.m., when this terrible
blast that shook the heart of East Texas, and the Nation.
The people of the community were proud of
their beautiful new school building and campus. Money was no object, at that
time, they built the best. The school was the pride of New London patrons, and
the envy of the surrounding
area. The oil Boom had settled down,
people were working and life was good. Men and their families were enjoying good
jobs for a change. Many of us had struggled through the great depression.
Before I try to
explain my part in this tragedy, I would like to present a picture of how most
of the working men felt about living in the New London, Old London, Texas area. There were thousands
living and working in the surrounding area. Playing together, working together and
praying together. My wife and I lived just east of the school; I was employed
by an Independent Oil Company.
Carolyn,
the oldest daughter was five, and attended the Kindergarten on the campus. It
was a wooden building west of the main school building. She was picked up at noon
every day, and was safely at home when the explosion occurred. My wife and I
were so thankful.
I was
off duty that afternoon, we were getting the youngsters ready to go to a movie
in Overton, when the blast sounded, the house shook, and I knew at once that
something terrible had happened. Since I worked in the Oil field, and there was
a rig running, almost in a straight line between where I lived and the school,
my first thought was that a steam boiler had blown up. At that time the
drilling rigs were all powered by steam. I ran outside and could see dust and
debris in the air. I got the family in the car and went looking for the
trouble. When we arrived at the drilling rig, all was well there. The rig crew
heard the explosion and shut the rig down. They were preparing to search for
the trouble.
I drove the short
distance to Old London, I began to meet people coming from the West, and I
stopped a motorist and ask if he knew where the explosion was. He told me that
he heard it was the school building. We
arrived at the school about twenty-five or thirty minutes after the blast. I
parked the car near the high wire fence surrounding the school property. It was
about forty yards from the school building. I could not believe what I was
seeing. That beautiful two story school building was completely shattered, only
a few walls were standing, and they were at a crazy angle.
I went over the fence
and approached what had been the school building. What I saw that day is still
impressed in
my mind. All I could see
was mangled steel and
concrete with small
bodies everywhere. I suppose I was in shock, I thought I could not stand to go in there. Then I thought about my wife and children, I
turned and ran back
to my car, where they were
waiting. I told my wife
that I could not go in there. I took
my wife and small children home. A neighbor came to stay with them.
When I arrived back at the school building,
there were hundreds of cars parked near by and workmen were trying to do what
they could. After circling the building to
build up my courage, I joined them. I saw tough oil field men crying, but still
tearing away at that rubble with their bare hands. Many of these men were my
friends many were working in a daze condition hunting their own children. Some
would ask. "Have you seen my little Johnny or my little Susie?" You could only answer in the negative. Many
of the bodies could only be identified by the clothing they wore.
I have to admit, I
was no hero, and I could not make myself handle those broken bodies. I had to
leave that part to braver men than me. I
could handle the broken concrete and steel, I had to be content to help move
the debris. As I remember it now, before dark that evening the Oil Companies began
sending every available piece of machinery at their disposal, to help move the
heavy
wreckage of the building. This was a
great help. The oil field was practically shut down. All personal was sent to the school to work
clearing away the debris. There was very little talking, as I remember,
many hands were bleeding from handling the rough concrete. The Salvation Army came later handing out
cotton gloves, they helped, but soon were worn through. To these people I shall
always be grateful for their thoughtfulness.
My Superintendent cane got me to go with
him. He took me to one of our oilfield trucks equipped with a heavy steel wench
line. It was being used to tie on to the heavy pieces of wreckage, and pull it
out of the way in order to reach more bodies.
The young man operating the wench was so shook up. He was endangering other
workmen near by. I operated the truck
for several hours, and then was relieved by another workman.
I joined a work crew going into the
basement Manual Training room. It was equipped with all kinds of wood working
machinery. When we cleared away the
wreckage covering the floor, we found the bodies of several young men, all were
dead, and they were Junior or Senior students. I never knew. As I remember, they were all laying on the
floor, side by side. We heard a call for
"Help".
When we worked our way to him, he was
conscious and could talk to us. He was
trapped under a huge cement slab, from his waist down. There was no way we
could lift that heavy slab off him. He
kept telling us to hurry his body was getting cold. Thanks to one of my co-workers called
"Pop", remembered he had two heavy duty hydraulic jacks on his
truck. When he returned with the jacks,
several men came with him and helped set the jacks under the slab of cement to
try raising it off our young friend. As
we started jacking, the cement started
crumbling, but we kept trying. Would you believe, two firemen whom Pop had
spoken to came with two more jacks. With
this help, we were finally able to raise the concrete slab enough to get our
young man out from under it. He was rushed to the hospital. One happy note, he
fully recovered. The next morning, the picture had changed very little, some of us backed away, trying
to stretch our weary bones
and drink some cool water and coffee. Some one brought around giving to the working men. My company superintendent
came to me and assigned me
a family, instructing me to remain with that family until all of this was
cleared up. He gave me a one hundred dollar bill to help with expenses, and
said there was more if needed. These funds came from the company owner. I won’t
call any names, but he will always have a soft spot in my heart for this fine
old gentleman. Not only for his generosity, but for the fact, he gave me
employment for over forty years.
I was assigned a fellow worker, who had
lost a seventeen year old son. To say the least, this family was completely
devastated, like all the other parents that lost children in this terrible
blast that shook the nation. Then came the heart breaking task of trying to
help this distraught mother and father locate their son for burial. Bodies were
taken to Overton, Henderson, and every little
town there was a place for them like gymnasiums, funeral home and churches. On
the third day, we located their son. We had overlooked him several times, and
failed to recognize him. I suppose a mother's
instinct will lead her to her
child. She remembered what color shirt
he had worn to school that fatal morning.
You might say, "How could this
happen?" Who knows, I say "Some one watches over all of us." My
friend originally came from Arkansas, and wanted
their son to be buried there. The
problem was to find transportation to Arkansas.
Every hearse or vehicle possible was being used to carry bodies to the
cemetery. Before I gave up, some one told me Mr. Alford of Alford Motors in Henderson,
Texas was furnishing every vehicle he had to those who needed them. Because I
knew Mr. Alford, I rushed to Henderson. When I walked in, I met him in the
lobby, and told him my sad story, and my need of a vehicle to transport a body
to Arkansas for burial. He just looked at me and said the only thing he had
left was a little Ford flat bed truck, and that I could have the truck. He had
it serviced and filled with gasoline. He even assigned one of his salesmen to
go to Junction City, Arkansas with me. I was to drive the family car. It took
us three days to make the trip, and bring the family back home. I will always
be grateful to those who gave assistance, when it was so badly needed.
Mr. Alford furnished every vehicle at his
disposal to others in need. He refused
any compensation for this service. That's an American, to help, when people are
really in need. I do not write this article for any glory for myself,
but to let people know that after more than fifty years, and my eightieth year,
I still grieve for those people who lost loved ones, at the same time I feel
grateful toward so many who gave of themselves, and demonstrated a great love
and generosity to their fellow men and women who had suffered through this
tragedy.
The paper stated two hundred ninety four
lives were lost that day. Today as I
visit the beautiful Monument erected in memory of those whose life was snuffed
out that day in March, with all of the names inscribed in gray granite, these names
nudge my memory, and my heart still feels sadness and brings back many
memories, of that terrible day, so many lives were lost. The Memorial is erected in the middle of the
streets directly in front of the beautiful new school building, and Charlie
McConico's old Drug store, on the other side of the street. Charlie's place was
where the working men could go to drink coffee or a coke, and chat a few
minutes in better times.
As I
look out over that modern school building, my heart skips a beat, and across my
mind flashes the horrible vision of yesteryear, in all of its reality. An after
thought, in writing this article, I do not try to paint a complete picture of
all the anguish, suffering and horrible deeds that happened during those
dreadful days. I am not qualified to do that; it would take many pages, and a
greater mind than mine to cover the picture as a whole. I only tried to give
you a one on one experience, of what actually happened to me personally. Those
first few days were hundreds of men doing the same things that I was doing,
maybe more.
It
covered many days, even weeks and involved so many individual families, touched
by this one of the greatest tragedies that hit East Texas area. There is not
many of my group left, after all these years.
Every now and then I run into some one who was there, of course we
reminisce about our experiences. Maybe I didn't even know him, but there is
always a feeling of comradery, because of the fact we were there.
- Howard
Coleman