Fire in the Grove: The Cocoanut Grove Tragedy and Its Aftermath by John L. Esposito

Author:John L. Esposito [Esposito, John L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-15T02:52:00+00:00

[Barney was there] every night.... His word was everything.... He was the owner, the actual owner and manager.... His word was the say at the Cocoanut Grove.

Mickey Alpert

0 ONE KNOWS WHEN Barney got the bad news. By early Sunday morning, Massachusetts General Hospital-his residence for the previous thirteen days-had taken in 114 victims of the fire. But Welansky may not have been aware of the turmoil at the hospital's White Building, where all of the Grove victims were being treated. He was in a separate building, the more serene, high-end Phillips House.

Even so, Barney surely learned by Sunday morning that his physical ailments were the least of his troubles. His brother Jimmy and Herbert E Callahan, his law partner and the man who would become his chief strategist and defender, must have been among the bearers of the bad news. One can only imagine how Barney's sense of horror over the deaths must have been tempered by his instinct for self-preservation.

Perhaps at that moment he recalled the letter written to him in 1939 by an advertising man who had handled the Grove's publicity The letter had warned: "Your exits are very bad. You've got tinderbox construction. It should be in absolute conformity with the building rules." What's more, Barney, Jimmy, and Callahan may have discussed how they would deal with the characteristically uneventful "inspection" on November 20 by the Fire Prevention Bureau's Frank Linney, after which the lieutenant had reported "no inflammable decoration" and a "sufficient number of exits." And what about those fusible doors that were supposed to be installed in the corridor to the New Broadway Lounge? Theodore Eldracher, the building department inspector who was to have signed off on their installation before the room opened, had quietly dropped the matter. Had Jimmy taken care of these municipal functionaries with a few bucks and a few drinks, or had they simply deferred to the well-connected Welanskys?

Who would they hold responsible for all of this-for the flammable satin that had carried the fire up the staircase and into the main dining room, for the 1,000 people in a room licensed for 460, for the locked exit doors? Young Stanley Tomaszewski would give a good account of himself, and most citizens were sympathetic to the boy. The politicians would no doubt obscure their responsibility.

Whatever corrupt and incompetent public officials had or had not done, their inaction would provide a flimsy shield for Barney. He must have known that the politicians would run for the hills and that he would be left holding the bag. After all, Barney was the Grove. Ignorance was no excuse, and ignorance was not his only sin. He surely must have felt the noose beginning to tighten the moment he learned of the fire.

Barney Welansky's personal journey had been in so many ways the classic American story of the child of immigrants who had steadily climbed the ladder of success through personal discipline, hard work, and education. As an earnest teenager, he sold newspapers in downtown

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