 Firefighters view the remains of the trucks that started it all - one carrying carbon disulfide (right) and the other carrying paint supplies (left). From the "Report: The Holland Tunnel Chemical Fire." May 13, 1949. National Board of Fire Underwriters, N.Y., [July 1949.] Courtesy Hoboken Historical Museum. Last week we learned about the Lincoln Tunnel, but the earlier Holland Tunnel has stories of its own. Opened in 1927, the Holland Tunnel was at the time the longest vehicular underwater tunnel in the world. It connects Jersey City, NJ to lower Manhattan and is still in use today. But in 1949, an extraordinary event would occur. On Friday, May 13, 1949 truck carrying 55 gallon drums of carbon disulfide entered the tunnel. Carbon disulfide is still used today, primarily in the manufacture of viscose rayon and cellophane film. The driver had no idea of the danger of his cargo, which was actually banned from the tunnel because of its toxic and highly flammable fumes. Less than a hundred yards into the tunnel, a drum broke loose from the truck and fell onto the roadway, breaking open and releasing the highly flammable gas. The resulting fire would burn for hours. To tell the full story, we actually have FOUR media resources for you today - two original newsreels from 1949 recounting the event, a podcast entitled "A Miraculous Disaster – In 1949 The Holland Tunnel Burned At 4,000-Degrees And No One Died," and an original report from the National Board of Fire Underwriters. Although no one died in the fire itself, 66 people were treated and 27 hospitalized for smoke inhalation. Among them was Battalion Chief firefighter Gunther E. Beake, who succumbed to injuries from toxic smoke inhalation on August 23, 1949. The incident ultimately resulted in legislation in both New Jersey and New York enacting stiffer penalties and fines for companies who violated cargo rules. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
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In 1976, the year of the Bicentennial, folksinger Pete Seeger and songwriter Ed Reneham released the album Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay. Designed as a fundraiser for the Hudson River Sloop Restoration, Inc. group, which would later becomes Clearwater, the album featured a number of traditional and original songs about the history of the Hudson River and other New York waterways. Recorded in Woodstock that summer and released in October, 1976, the album features Pete Seeger and Ed Reneham.
This particular song, "Hudson River Steamboat" has a murky history, but appears to be a traditional tune. In the liner notes for Fifty Sail on Newburgh Bay, William Gecke, lyricst for five of the original songs, wrote that "Hudson River Steamboat" was performed "as learned from John and Lucy Allison."
"Hudson River Steamboat" Lyrics
Hudson River steamboat, Steamin’ up and down. New York to Albany Or any river town. Choo-choo to go ahead, Choo-choo to back ‘er. Captain and the first mate, They both chew tobacker. Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker. Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker. Choo-choo to Tarrytown, Spuyten Duyvil all around. Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er Shad boat, pickle boat, lyin’ side by side. Fisherfolk and sailormen waitin’ for the tide. Raincloud, stormcloud over yonder hill. Thunder on the Dunderberg the rumble’s in the kill. Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker. Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker. Choo-choo to Tarrytown, Spuyten Duyvil all around. Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er. The Sedgwick was racin’, and she lost all hope. Used up her steam on the big calliope. She was hoppin’ right along, she was hoppin’ quick, All the way from Stony Point to Popalopen Creek. Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker. Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker. New York to Albany, Rondout and Tivoli. Choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to back’er. ​Oh, choo-choo to go ahead, choo-choo to slacker. Packet boat, towboat, and a double-stacker.
The General Sedgwick was a steamboat built in Jersey City in 1862 and was one of the last to be equipped with a steam calliope. If you have heard the organ-like music on an old-fashioned steam-powered carousel, you have an idea of what a steam calliope sounds like, but you can also listen to one here.
Few calliopes were installed on Hudson River steamboats for one primary reason - sometimes they took all the steam! So the lyric, "The Sedgwick was racin’, and she lost all hope. Used up her steam on the big calliope," is a reference to using too much steam to make music, leaving too little to propel the engines. Calliope music could be heard for miles and although it must have been quite loud aboard, the sound was nonetheless much-beloved by New Yorkers. In the 1880s, the Sedgwick was renamed the "Bay Queen" and by the early 1900s was lying in wreck at Ward's Point, Staten Island. If you'd like to hear a steamboat with a steam calliope in person, you can visit Lake George and take a ride aboard the Minnehaha, or listen to this great video of the Minne playing her calliope in a duet with its echo!
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Editor’s note: Twenty years ago, four friends with an abiding love of the Hudson River and its history stepped away from their families and their work to travel up the river in a homemade strip-planked canoe to experience the river on its most intimate terms. The team set off from Liberty State Park in New Jersey and completed the adventure nine days later just below Albany where one of the paddlers lived. They began with no itinerary and no pre-arranged lodging or shore support. There were no cell phones. The journey deepened their appreciation for the river and its many moods, the people who live and work beside the river and the importance of friendship in sustaining our lives. Please join us vicariously on this excellent adventure. We'll be posting every Friday for the next several weeks, so stay tuned! Follow the adventure here. Making the Decision The Bear. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. Time to get back to the river. We gathered on my screened porch on a sultry evening to talk about our previous river adventures and soon we convinced ourselves to paddle the river once again. Instead of a major youth trip with all of the attendant planning, food, gear and boys of all ages and parents, we imagined a simpler, self-contained trip with one boat and no pre-planned overnight campsites. Of all of the available boats, we chose to use a 26-foot strip planked canoe named Bear. Built about 10 years earlier in a church basement, the Bear was large enough to take four or five adults and enough gear and food for a week. It had a simple mast and square sail for use when winds were favorable, that is running or sailing on a broad reach. The canoe had a relatively flat but slightly misshapen bottom, high freeboard, flat gunwales and an amber wood color inside and out. The deformation of the hull resulted from the collapse of the sides as the builders struggled to remove the boat from the dust laden church fellowship hall. Hydraulic jacks were required to once again give form to the canoe. Once thwarts were installed, she held her form for the most part. Remarkably, this canoe was an excellent rough water boat and a good sailor although her bottom would flex in an unsettling way over deep troughs. We decided to approach the journey differently this time. We chose to begin in Jersey City and use flood tides and expected southerly winds to carry us up the river. That way, when tired at the end of the journey, we would be home instead of trying to arrange to get the boat and gear home from some difficult site in metropolitan New York, most likely during a rush hour or some typical urban calamity. One month later on a humid and overcast fall day, we met at the old barn to get the Bear out of storage with help from the barn owner and several others. The canoe was in good shape after resting for three years. However, when we unfurled the canvas sail, two of us got facefuls of raccoon and mouse crap. After brushing it out, holes appeared. There was no time for sewing, so the sail was expertly mended with generous applications of duct tape. We inverted and hoisted the Bear onto the steel rack on Steve’s small rusted-out pick-up truck and fastened red rags to the awkwardly overhanging bow and stern. The weather forecast was unsettling. A cold front followed by northwest winds was expected to sweep through on day one, and three tropical storms are lined up in the Atlantic. We returned to our homes to pack our individual gear in bright yellow dry bags. Sunday (day of departure) The Statue of Liberty. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. We gathered on the river at Steve’s House in Cedar Hill for bagels and coffee before driving to Jersey City in the truck and Dan’s father’s car. We arrived at Liberty State Park in approximately two hours and after driving around the perimeter of the park we found the boat launch. It was sunny and humid. We carried the Bear into the slip and stepped the mast, lashing it securely to the forward thwart. We loaded the boat with dry bags containing personal gear, tents, food and water. By now, curious onlookers had gathered and we took a few moments to tell them we were headed for Albany. They shook their heads in disbelief. New York Harbor and Manhattan At 12:45, we said goodbye to our drivers, Roger and Dave, and began paddling directly toward Bedloe’s Island and the Statue of Liberty. A light west breeze could be felt, so we raised our newly mended sail and threaded a course between the Statue and Ellis Island. Did you know that the Statue of Liberty once served as an official lighthouse? We passed several ferries carrying tourists to the monuments before rounding Ellis Island and turning north into the mouth of the Hudson River. The wind began strengthening and shifting to the northwest setting up choppy waves as we sailed up the river. We were able to cant our sail and sail on a reach as the wind rose to 10-20 mph. Power cruisers began churning up big wakes and each time we had to turn the canoe to meet them head on, losing momentum. One wave soaked Dan in the bow and me in the stern, carrying away my water bottle. The leading edge of the spar carrying our square sail proved hazardous to Joe and Dan in the bow. Steve’s Giants hat blew off and smacked me in the chest. We lost a paddle and had to backtrack. A small keel sloop from a nearby sail training outfit joined us briefly and we were actually able to pull ahead of her. A very handsome French ketch sailed by on her way to the basin at 79th Street. We began to drift leeward toward the Manhattan waterfront and the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Wind and tide turned against us in the vicinity of West 30th Street and after struggling against them and making little progress, we pulled for the marina at Chelsea Piers at 3:30 for a much needed break. Here, we washed the salt spray off our faces, bailed out the bottom of the canoe and replenished our fresh water.  Old boats, including the Frying Pan, on Manhattan's west side. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. At 4:00 PM we tried once again to make some progress. We tried to sail off of the northwest wind but without leeboards it was futile. We took down the sail and doggedly paddled north. We came upon up to a long rusty car float with spuds that was being used as a makeshift pier. The old lightship Frying Pan, recently raised from the bottom of Chesapeake Bay was tied up to it and at its outboard end was a rusty 1931 fireboat named John J. Harvey. There was a group of dirty but determined guys making repairs at the fantail (they later succeeded in making the fireboat operational; a year or so later, these same guys and their fireboat helped to evacuate lower Manhattan and pump water to the burning wreckage of the World Trade Center). We said hello and continued inching our way north. At 5:00 PM, exhausted and discouraged, we pulled out of the open river and into the lee of the aircraft carrier Intrepid, near 42nd Street, just to get out of the wind. It should have been slack tide but the current was still strong and southerly. We figured that we still had five miles to go to reach the George Washington Bridge and six more after that to reach a good campsite. This goal was becoming increasingly unlikely. Not to mention that we needed a rest. During our interlude below the Intrepid, we watched three cruise ships back into the river, turn with the assistance of tugs and head for sea. We drank lots of water and told a few stories, including a few of Steve’s Peace Corps tales. His description of the parasitic guinea worm and the way it eats its way through human flesh to release eggs did not improve morale. At 5:30 PM we covered our dry bags with the dirty canvas sail and decided to paddle for New Jersey in hopes of getting under the lee of the headlands leading to Fort Lee. It was fortuitous timing. Moments after departing on our westward heading, NYPD arrived in force at the Intrepid, apparently in search of a small boat load of refugees or terrorists. With blue lights flashing, they were everywhere; in squad cars on the pier, in patrol boats in the slip and individually climbing down beneath pilings. In fact the only place they failed to look was west toward the open river. We finally realized that the only place they couldn’t look was toward the setting sun and so we were able to escape by staying exactly between the setting sun and the Intrepid as we made our way to somewhere in New Jersey.  Departing cruise ship with Joe in the bow of the Bear. Illustration by Muddy Paddle. We pulled into the Port Imperial Marina for a rest since the wind and tide remained adverse. After drinking lots of water and realizing that the flood tide was not going to arrive in time to help, we began paddling north again in search for a place to spend the night. The New Jersey shoreline here was bleak and industrial and our progress was excruciatingly slow. We began losing daylight. Ever the optimist, Steve tells us that “the Lord always provides” and that “He loves canoeists.” He suggested that we consider the 79th Street basin in Manhattan, but I expressed concern about security. As night descended, we discovered an abandoned and undeveloped railroad pier with brush and grass, roughly west of 79th Street. The shoreline was littered with junk and the outer end of the pier was separated from a construction site and high-rise residential towers by a big earthen berm. We landed, investigated the site and agreed with Steve that the Lord had indeed provided for us. Hence we named this place “Providence Pier.” We drew the Bear well above the wrack line and set up camp in a clearing. Joe began dinner. Dan and I climbed up the berm to see what was in the immediate vicinity and noted an auto lube shop and a nearby hospital. It did not seem likely that we would be seen or disturbed. Meanwhile, we enjoyed the spectacular lights of Manhattan. Dinner was served at 9:30 PM and consisted of an appetizer of cheese and tomatoes and a main course of macaroni, spaghetti sauce and hot dog chunks. A full moon came up and the wind rose to 30 mph. We had a magnificent view of the brightly lit Manhattan skyline. Steve chose to sleep under the stars but the rest of us climbed into pup tents. A family of skunks visited, but was content to sniff Steve and turn in for the night. The rising wind was an ominous sign for the next leg of the trip. Don't forget to join us again next Friday for Day 2 of the trip! AuthorMuddy Paddle’s love of the Hudson River goes back to childhood when he brought dead fish home, boarded foreign freighters to learn how they operated and wandered along the river shore in search of the river’s history. He has traveled the river often, aboard tugboats, sailing vessels large and small and canoes. The account of this trip was kept in a small illustrated journal kept dry within a sealed plastic bag. The illustrations accompanying this account were prepared by the author. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Editor's Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article written by George W. Murdock, for the Kingston (NY) Daily Freeman newspaper in the 1930s. Murdock, a veteran marine engineer, wrote a regular column. Articles transcribed by HRMM volunteer Adam Kaplan. For more of Murdock's articles, see the "Steamboat Biographies" category at right. No. 150- American Eagle One of the earlier steamboats to ply the waters of the Hudson River, the “American Eagle” made her appearance in 1831 and soon became a popular vessel along the banks of the lower section of the river and around New York harbor. A complete record of the “American Eagle” cannot be found, and thus the only data concerning the vessel’s construction places the date at 1831 and the location as Hoboken, New Jersey. Who her builder was or what her dimensions were, has been lost in the pages of time, but she was built for service on the New York and Harlem route to carry commuters between the two communities. The “American Eagle” was what is now known as the “older type side-wheel steamboat,” powered with the old type cross-head engine. This same type of engine was the predecessor of the more famous walking-beam engine, and the famous old “Norwich” plied up and down the river for many years with a cross-head engine furnishing power for her churning paddle-wheels. It is believed that the “Norwich” was the last steamboat in operation with the old cross-head engine. Carrying freight and passengers out of New York, the “American Eagle” was in service on various routes for a number of years. In 1843 she was placed on a route between New York and Cold Spring Harbor, leaving the foot of Fulton Street, East River, every afternoon and proceeding to a Harlem dock where she made a landing and was met by horsecars which conveyed her passengers to Fordham where stages ran to immediate points twice daily. Leaving Harlem, the “American Eagle” pushed her way to New Rochelle, a community which was popular at that period as a summer resort for the well-to-do people of New York City. Ladies were often seen meeting the steamboat with fashionable rigs- either to transport the “head of the house” to his summer estate or to convey visitors who came up from the city for a stay in the country. From New Rochelle the “American Eagle” would proceed to Glen Cove and Cold Spring Harbor- its terminus, and would then return to New York City. The vessel continued on this route until 1848 when she was sold. On May 18, 1849, the steamboat “Empire,” while on her way up the Hudson River to Troy, collided with the schooner “Noah Brown” in Newburgh Bay and had to be beached near Fishkill, with a loss of 24 lives. The steamboat “Hendrik Hudson” replaced the “Empire”, and then the “American Eagle” came on the route until the damaged vessel could be returned to service. The records next show the “American Eagle” on the route from New York to Low Point and New Hamburgh in opposition to the “William Young”- a vessel which was constructed at Cornelius Carmen’s Shipyard at Low Point for Benjamin Carpenter. This latter vessel was launched on July 17, 1830, and was completed in September of that year. The “American Eagle” remained on this opposition route for a short while and was then placed in service on the Peekskill-New York route as a freight and passenger carrier. Sundays found the “American Eagle” in use as an excursion vessel. Later in her history the “American Eagle” was running from Manhattanville to New York as a “market boat,” and from that time on records of the steamboat “American Eagle” have vanished- and what finally happened to the vessel is unknown. AuthorGeorge W. Murdock, (b. 1853-d. 1940) was a veteran marine engineer who served on the steamboats "Utica", "Sunnyside", "City of Troy", and "Mary Powell". He also helped dismantle engines in scrapped steamboats in the winter months and later in his career worked as an engineer at the brickyards in Port Ewen. In 1883 he moved to Brooklyn, NY and operated several private yachts. He ended his career working in power houses in the outer boroughs of New York City. His mother Catherine Murdock was the keeper of the Rondout Lighthouse for 50 years. |
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