“It was Angel’s idea,” Charlie replied. “She said it’s somethin’ you always wanted.”
“Yeah, it is,” said Joshua. “Thanks, Charlie.”
• • •
Charlie walked Joshua back to State Street. Joshua tried unsuccessfully, with his bandaged hands, to untie the cord that bound his pile of papers.
“Here, lemme do it,” Charlie said, pulling out a jackknife. “Have you read the papes yet?” he asked as he cut the string.
“I read Marc’s story about the tank.”
“Well, you oughtta take a look at the second page. There’s somethin’ there you need to see.”
Joshua opened one of the papers to page two.
A SONG IN THE CITY
BY MARC MUGGERIDGE
Yesterday, amidst the anguish and pain that filled our city, there was one moment of peace, faith, and hope when a song rang out over the scene of devastation.
As Mrs. Rosa DiPietro was fatally injured and barely clinging to life, a brave newsboy stayed by her side in a crumbling tenement. Instead of fleeing as the building slowly collapsed, he took her hand and sang a hymn.
Although Mrs. DiPietro died from the injuries she sustained in the Great Molasses Flood, her final moments were brightened by the song and the beauty of the voice that floated across the field of destruction and strengthened all who heard it.
The newsboy sang—not only for Mrs. DiPietro, not only for the victims of the disaster, but for our entire city. His name, Joshua Harper.
Joshua was stunned. “How did Marc know I sang to Mrs. DiPietro?” he asked.
“Everyone heard you, kid! Your voice rang out like a darned bell.”
Joshua looked away. “I didn’t know what else to do. Mrs. DiPietro wanted me to pray. I don’t know how to pray for Catholics.”
“What you did was fine. It was the right thing. Hey, you wanna know what one woman said? She said there was an angel there singin’ after the tragedy.” Charlie laughed. “Yep, she thought you were an angel. O’ course, I know better. You ain’t no angel, but you’re a real hero, kid. And you have the voice of an angel to boot.” Unexpectedly, Charlie threw both arms around Joshua and hugged him. Then, just as quickly, he pulled himself away. “You better get busy sellin’ those papes. People will be expectin’ to hear you singin’ your city song.” He clapped his hand on Joshua’s shoulder before heading up the sidewalk.
Joshua watched Charlie disappear around the corner at Washington Street. Then, holding up a newspaper, Joshua inhaled deeply—and sang out the day’s headlines.
Historical Note
Yes! It really did happen! The most bizarre tragedy that ever took place in Boston, Massachusetts, was the “Great Molasses Flood” of January 15, 1919, yet it is rarely referred to in history books. A fifty-five-feet-high steel tank containing two and a half million gallons of crude molasses burst open, causing a giant tidal wave of molasses that deluged everything in its path. Some folks joke about “the sticky situation” this event caused. However, this disaster killed twenty-one people and injured one hundred fifty others, some of whom died later from their injuries.
Cleanup took a long time. Boston Harbor itself was brown for six months. And it’s not easy to wash molasses from cobblestone streets! Fresh water didn’t work, so they sprayed seawater all over the area.
Although my story is fiction, the scenes that take place are based upon fact. The rat-a-tat of breaking rivets; the sucking cyclone of wind; the thirty-five-to-fifty-foot-high tidal wave as it descended upon the North End community; the broken trestle of the elevated train really happened. Some articles say that the El train screeched to a stop after the flood. Others say it passed safely by just before the flood.
Buildings were crushed by the wave of molasses. The fire station was lifted off its foundation and carried to the very edge of the harbor. The deadly thick goo filled basements, and as the buildings and tenements crumbled around them, victims—people and animals—fell into the churning gluey mess and drowned. One man was swept into the harbor and was later rescued. Children on their way home from school were caught in the molasses. Disaster pelted from the sky, too, as jagged chunks of the shattered tank flew like shell fire in a war. One boy suffered a fractured skull from a catapulting steel fragment.
Some of the people in my story were real. Anthony di Stasio did get swept up by the molasses on his way home from school—and lived to tell about it. But his little sister was killed in the flood. Officer McManus was at his police call box when the tank exploded, and his call for help is part of the story. Bridget Clougherty was killed when she was blown through the wall of her brick house at the foot of Copps Hill. Even poor Peter, the tiger cat, actually existed—and died in the flood.
What caused the tank to explode? The official cause was determined to be the tank’s structural weakness, including an insufficient number of rivets and poor quality steel, plus the fact it had recently been filled to capacity. The weather in Boston had been cold for several days, with temperatures down in the single digits. Then a “January thaw” rapidly brought the temperature up to about forty degrees Fahrenheit. With the sudden changes in outside temperatures, the expansion and contraction of the molasses caused the tank to blow apart.
A conflicting account says the tank contained steam pipes that warmed its contents, so it could be poured easily into tank cars and transported to nearby Cambridge for processing. When overheated, molasses ferments and exudes a highly volatile gas. Some experts feel this gas ignited, creating the deadly explosion. If this was the cause, it would explain some references to the molasses being “boiling hot.” Also, some stories say, “If the molasses didn’t drown you, it would cook you!” However, other accounts by victims do not mention the molasses being hot. Some authorities believe this rumor was spread by police to keep people away from the scene of the disaster.
Other parts of this story are based on fact. The Great Influenza Epidemic, also known as the “Spanish Influenza,” was the most devastating plague in history. Boston, Massachusetts, and the nearby army base, Fort Devens, were among the first American communities to contract the deadly disease. The plague began in September 1918, and lasted less than a year, killing an estimated forty million people worldwide!
Boston’s famous Custom House Tower was the city’s first skyscraper. It is listed with the National Register of Historic Places. Visitors can now ride elevators all the way up to the observation deck to enjoy the view.
Many of the newsboys and bootblacks in 1919 Boston were spoken of as “boys in men’s shoes” since they took on responsibilities for their families by working long hours and often sacrificing their own education. Girls were also among this group. Foundations and scholarships were set up for the newsboys and bootblacks, and some of these young people grew up to become lawyers, publishers, and musicians. A picture from one of the foundations for newsboys shows an older newsboy comforting a younger one, saying, “Never mind, Jimmie, tomorrow you’ll sell all your papers.”
Boston’s Mayor John Fitzgerald, the grandfather of President John F. Kennedy, was at one time a Boston newsboy. The experiences he relates to Joshua in the story are true. And it was Mayor Fitzgerald who established the North End Playground, where part of the story takes place.
The snowball fight on the Boston Common was a custom for many years when the “highbrow” Beacon Street boys would fight in the park with the poor Irish and Italian gangs from the North End of the city.
The historic North End of Boston is where you’ll find the home of Paul Revere and the Old North Church, where the signal was given on April 18, 1775, for the minutemen to spread the warning “The British are coming!” at the time of the American Revolution.
At the foot of Copps Hill, a skating rink and park have replaced the gloomy area where the molasses flood actually took place. The quaint North End neighborhoods and the Copps Hill Burial Ground are great places to visit—and to enjoy the Italian restaurants that line the narrow streets.
If you visit Boston, Massachusetts, on a summer day, close your eyes and sniff the air. It is said that on hot days the smell of molasses still rises from beneath the Boston streets.
Acknowledgments
Many, many thanks to:
Nancy McCue, Jane Rice, and Sue Stokes, at the Moultonboro, New Hampshire Public Library—my “summer” library—who can find information on just about anything; Ann Lieberman and the Reference Department at the Venice, Florida, Public Library—my “winter” library; Robyn Christensen, at the Bostonian Society Library, who supplied me with much of the historical data and photographs regarding the Great Molasses Flood; and the Boston Public Library’s online resource program.
Much appreciation to Charles Parrott, National Park Service Historical Architect, who provided facts about old Boston and its first skyscraper, the Custom House Tower.
Thank you to Ellen Silverman, Chef Concierge; Karen Connors, Concierge; and Mark Harrington, Security Supervisor at Marriott’s Custom House, for a spectacular tour of the Custom House Tower and its breathtaking view.
For critique, moral support, and friendship, I am grateful to my Sarasota, Florida, writing group: Carol Behrman, June Fiorelli, Gail Hedrick, and Elizabeth Wall.
A million megabytes of thanks to my cousin, Hugh Small, who, in his passion to dig up online history, unearthed fascinating details about Boston’s “sticky” past.
Ciao! and Mille grazie! to my dear friends Elena and Ed Morse for help with Italian dialogue.
To Emma Dryden, my inspiring editor, who believed in this story, thank you!
And to Debbie, Lisa, Kristan, Scott, and Jennifer, my captive audience, who cheer me on in innumerable ways, I send more thanks and love than all the beans in Boston!
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition April 2003
Text copyright © 2001 by Joan Hiatt Harlow
Illustrations copyright © 2001 by Larry Day
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Also available in a Margaret K. McElderry Books hardcover edition.
Designed by Michael Nelson and Sammy Yuen Jr.
Map by Kristan J. Harlow
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Harlow, Joan Hiatt.
Joshua’s song / Joan Hiatt Harlow.
p. cm.
Summary: Needing to earn money after his father’s death during the influenza epidemic of 1918, thirteen-year-old Joshua works as a newspaper boy in Boston, one day finding himself in the vicinity of an explosion that sends tons of molasses coursing through the streets.
ISBN 0-689-84119-1 (hc.)
[1. Newspaper carriers—Fiction. 2. Child labor—Fiction. 3. Disasters—Fiction. 4. Molasses—Fiction 5. Boston (Mass.)—Fiction] I. Title.
PZ7.H22666 Jo 2002
[Fic]—dc21
00-052537
ISBN 0-689-85542-7 (Aladdin pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8717-8 (eBook)
Joshua's Song Page 10