Flower in the River: A Family Tale Finally Told

Through Tears and Time: The Day of the Eastland Disaster

• Natalie Zett

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Note: this is a special episode commemorating the 108th Anniversary of The Eastland Disaster (July 24, 1915).
Can you imagine the excitement of a 19-year-old embarking on what is supposed to be a fun-filled journey, only to have it end in one of the most disastrous maritime incidents in history? Episode 19 of Flower in the River podcast is the personal account of my family's experience with the Eastland Disaster of 1915, primarily through the death of Martha Pfeiffer, my ancestor and the young girl at the center of this tragic story. We take you back to that fateful day, the sheer horror and panic of learning about the ship's accident, and the desperate search of Annie Pfeiffer Donovan, Martha's sister, for her sibling amongst the chaos. 

The episode then takes a sober turn, as we traverse the painful aftermath of the disaster. You'll find yourself immersed in the somber tale of Annie's grim discovery at the armory, each description underscoring the unbearable reality of the tragedy. But amidst the despair, you'll also witness the strength and resilience of a family that refused to be broken. This narrative is more than just a recount of a historical event; it's a testament to the courage and determination of a family forever scarred by a devastating incident. Join me for a journey through time, where sorrow meets strength and tragedy gives way to resilience. Listen in, and share in the experiences of a family forever marked by an unforgettable tragedy. - Natalie Zett

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Hello, this is Natalie Zett and welcome to Episode 19 of Flower in the River podcast. I am recording this on July 21, 2023, which is 108 years after the Eastland disaster, which took place on July 24, 1915. It's the day that changed my mother's family forever, the day that 844 people lost their lives. I will play an excerpt from Chapter 1, a Family Tale Untold, and this part of the story begins shortly before the Eastland disaster the day of the Eastland disaster and the aftermath. Now, if you haven't read the book or you haven't been following this podcast out of context, this might not make a whole lot of sense, but let me introduce you to the characters, and these characters are fictional representations of my actual family, and these are their names Bertha -Pfeiffer is the widowed matriarch of the Pfeiffer family. She's 51 years old. Anna Pfeiffer Donovan, my grandmother, who worked for Western Electric. She's 26 years old. Martha Pfeiffer, my grandmother's sister, who, with her friend, boarded the Eastland and was killed. She was 19. The other siblings were Herman, who was a teenager, Lusia, who was also a teenager, Eddie, who was about 11 years old, Emma, who was the oldest sister, and Ida, who was the youngest sister and the baby of the family. There was also a neighbor. Her name was Mrs Thiele. Here is the reading.

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It's not fair that I should not have dreams just because I'm a woman, said Martha. I have something for you, A present, said Annie. You have a present for me, said Martha. What? Well, I know how much you and Heide have been trying to get tickets for the Western Electric Picnic and I want to give you mine, the Western Electric Picnic. Annie, how can you give away your tickets to the greatest social event of the century? Annie laughed. Well, john doesn't like ships. I think he spent too much time on the ship from Ireland. Besides, that's next month in July, when it's hot and I am not feeling well. Carrying this baby is harder than it was carrying Will. Oh, you have at least a few more months to go and you might feel better. Annie, are you sure? I would love to go, but you like to have fun too. This may be the first time in my life that I pass up an adventure, said Annie, and the two sisters hugged. I've always dreamed of going across Lake Michigan on one of those ships, so maybe this is one dream of yours that will come true. Yes, said Martha, thanks to you. I have to run and tell Heidi. With that, Martha scurried out of the house dropping the flyer for the Western Electric annual picnic, promising a band, dancing, food and adventure on the Indiana dunes, the eventual destination after the two-hour boat ride.

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Friday evening, July 23, 1915. Mama, the dress is beautiful, said Martha, touching the white frock that Bertha hemmed Quit moving Martha, said Bertha, who stood up behind Martha as they gazed into the mirror. Mama, I love it, you are the best dressmaker, and not even Heide will have a dress this beautiful. Annie came into the bedroom and said I have the loveliest sister. Thank you again, Annie. Just remember to do what I would do and enjoy yourself. I will, said Martha, Saturday morning, July 24, 1915. Kissing her mother, goodbye.

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Martha left the house and met Heidi by the streetcar on Saturday at 5 am. By 9, later that same morning, mrs Thiele knocked on their door. Did you hear? Did you hear? Said Mrs Thiele. Hear, what said Bertha? One of the ships turned over in Saritha. Everyone aboard was killed. No, no, how do you know this? Someone is having a joke with you. Bertha is no joke. Josephine Schmidt heard it from Celia down the street. How does Celia know? She heard it from the news boys on the street.

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Annie, Herman and Bertha hurried out the front door to see their neighbors clogging the streets, shattering in multiple languages about what had happened. Everyone had someone who had gone to the Western Electric Company picnic. Annie ran into the crowd querying everyone she knew and kept getting different stories. One boat fell over. All the boats fell over. One boat caught on fire. She found her mother talking with another neighbor and took her hand. Come on, mama, come in the house. None of them know anything.

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Herman talked to some men to find out what had happened and returned home. It was one ship that capsized and people were already aboard, said Herman. Bertha looked at him expectantly. No one knows what happened. Mama, I'm sure that Martha is fine. I go and wait for Martha by the streetcar. She got on the streetcar and she will get off on the streetcar. I will go and wait for her, said Bertha. But Mama said Herman, let her go, said Annie. After Bertha closed the door, annie stared at Herman. What did they really tell you? Herman hung his head. There were thousands of people down by the docks and as soon as everyone boarded the first ship, it kept swaying until it turned over on its side Right in the river, said Annie, it can't be. Salbertoli said that people were thrown into the river. Rescuers are drilling holes in the ship to pull people out. What else did he say, herman? That the river is filled with dead bodies, said Herman. What can we do now? Annie? Said Eddie, I have to go down there. Said Annie, wait for Mama to come back first. I don't think she could stand it if you were gone. When she came back, said Herman.

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The Pfeiffer household, July 24, 1915. The family sat in the living room boring holes in the walnut floorboards with their eyes wondering what they would do if Martha were dead. The front door opened and they all looked up expectantly. Instead, bertha walked inside and stood her eyes empty. I waited and waited for her by the streetcar. The streetcar comes and she doesn't get off. Bertha began wailing and praying in German. Eddie bolted from his chair and punched his little sister, ida, in the back of the head and began pummeling her. Herman Jr separated Eddie and Ida, scooping up Ida. Emma held her close while Louisa ran into the back hallway crying and screaming Amid the pandemonium. Annie stood and stared out of the window Without them asking. She knew she was designated to carry out the deed. No one slept that night. Instead, they kept vigil.

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Sunday morning Annie moved her shoulder and winced in pain. She hadn't remembered falling asleep in the living room chair, but she must have. Others were still asleep and Annie silently moved around, the children on the floor and her mother on the couch, grateful that the older woman was resting Quietly, putting on her hat. She carefully opened and closed the front door. The sun glared. How dare it shine today, she wondered. Walking to the corner of 23rd Street and Sacramento, she saw the newsboys waving. The Chicago Herald Morning Edition. Martha's photo shared the front page with many others, with the inscription missing written underneath no no, she was not missing. Annie would find her. Martha will like this being on the front page of the newspaper. It'll make her laugh.

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Walking to the streetcar stop, Annie observed dozens already there, waiting to make the unholy journey. There must have been extra streetcars operating that day, for one arrived just as she queued up. As Annie wandered to the back, a man stood offering her his seat. She moved to the outside, fixated on the beautiful morning sky swallowing hard. A neighbor, Mrs Z as they called her, sat alongside her. Oh, Annie, cried the woman. My Rudy and his wife and children were all on that boat. Annie took the woman's hands in hers, or Martha. She explained and could say no more. The man over there said we have to go to the armory, said Mrs Z, the second regiment, armory. The man sitting in front of Annie said why the armory, asked Annie. There's so many of them, so many people. They had to have a place big enough, said the man. So that is where we're going, said Mrs Z. Yes, said the man.

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The streetcar jolted and shuddered like a snappish horse rebelling against its destination. Annie worried that this jerking and bouncing would cause her to lose the baby she was carrying. Martha, just two nights before, was giddy chatting nonstop about the big western electric picnic. Martha complained about her shoes and argued with Heidi about which hat to wear. Later that evening Martha was so wound up that she spilled food and dropped forks and knives in the kitchen. When she leaned over, Herman undid her apron. She laughed as she picked up her apron and punched her brother lightly in the stomach. Shlopunous, he called to her. She stuck out her tongue and laughed. What would her mother do now, Annie wondered, with her husband dead not even a year and a half, and now, presumably her nearly twenty-year-old daughter killed on that ship. Annie wanted to ask God why he cared so little for them. She sometimes fell out of place in her family, but she and Martha shared an intimate camaraderie.

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This marriage took on increasingly depressing hues now that Martha would not be there to distract, no longer there for Annie to live through. The women, more so than the men, of this family were the most perplexing creatures, even to themselves From Bertha, who quoted scripture and incessantly read the prayer book, to cold, harsh Emma, to hysterical Louisa. They were all so different. Even little Ida already seemed destined for some of these eccentricities, what with her proclivities toward play-acting. Then there was Martha.

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The streetcar slammed to a standstill. They filed out and Annie stared at the endless queue of people. Blocks of people waited to enter the second regiment armory, which looked like a medieval castle with its murky bricks and slithered windows. Eddie used to say they tortured people in there, and now she was sure he was right. Annie stood in line and saw neighbors, friends and people from church. She nodded to a few, but no one spoke and the only sounds came from wailing women. Banshees, thought Annie remembering her Irish-born husband talking of the spirits that foretold death. The rest waited until it was their turn to go in and identify their loved ones. I gave her those tickets. If I hadn't given her those tickets, annie muttered. Well, it's really Pa, pa's to blame for following his sister and her husband to this god-forsaken Chicago. We should have stayed in Johnstown or have gone to Wisconsin with Aunt Minnie, fredrica and Grandma. None of this would have happened Then. Baby Frida would be alive, papa would be alive and Martha the makeshift morgue second regiment armory.

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Annie was lost in thought when she saw it was finally her turn to enter. She wanted to run to flee, but she couldn't. She mustn't. Once through the dismal castle doors, she saw the unbelievable and turned her head T smel s awful stench of death emanating from bodies lying on the floor, seared her nostrils and lungs. Annie grew dizzy and her legs felt hollow. Removing a handkerchief from her pocket, she covered her mouth, trying to breathe the fragrance from the talcum powder on her hands.

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Seeing the rows and rows of dead bodies, annie was the stranger one of the few living ones outstretched on the floor where people she recognized Co-workers, neighbors, people from church and friends. She started retching and a Red Cross worker ran to her asking Can you do this? Annie nodded, stood and took a deep breath, scanning the floor. She did not see Martha and half expected to find her waving in the back screaming Look, annie, I'm here. Then she spied another Red Cross worker leaning over one of the newly dead, combing the corpse's hair and sobbing. Annie knew, walking over, she stood above the body and shook her head. The woman looked up at Annie, who said she is my sister.

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Staring at her sister's body, annie leaned over to stroke her hair. How did her red hair end up in shambles? And why was her beautiful white dress the dress that mom made for her with the intricate lace patterns hanging in shreds from her body, with only her corsets and shoes intact? The blanket barely covered her and Annie put her hand over Martha's closed eyelids and touched her cheek. No longer warm, annie felt as if she was floating away, soaring through the ceiling to the clouds above where she would meet Martha. Annie remembered Martha's embrace, the day she gave her the tickets to the picnic she had held Annie close and whispered Thanks. She remembered Martha's warm breath in her ear. A man on the other side of the room was laughing and she glared in his direction. Then she saw the tears streaming down his face as his voice transformed into a howl. Annie looked at the red cross worker. There are papers to sign, said the woman.

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The burial, Martha, was buried on a warm afternoon in Bethania Cemetery next to her father and her baby sister, rFrieda. A death should be significant, but there were no neighbors and no extra grievers, except for the family. Martha was just one among the 844 who perished. There were not enough black sashes and coffins for the deceased, not enough undertakers and assuredly not enough mourners.

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After the burial, annie opened the top drawer to Martha's chest of drawers. Martha's smell, the flowery aroma, overpowered her For that moment. Martha was there. Annie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Martha, she said. Then Annie noticed an envelope in the drawer, partially obscured by handkerchiefs. Lifting the unsealed flap, annie removed a small locket that she gave Martha for her 18th birthday. She always wore the locket, but not on that day, and Annie opened it, staring at the tiny portrait of Martha that Annie had also placed there. My favorite sister, she said to Martha when she gave her this gift. There was something else in the envelope a photo that Annie had never seen of Martha and seven of her girlfriends all dressed in men's clothes, martha standing in the center of the adoring crowd dangling a cigarette. On the back, she had written Say H. Can you find me on here? Some kind of picture? I must say. Love Mart. Annie sat on Martha's bed trying to understand. Martha told Annie everything, but not this why was she dressed like a man and who was H? Annie took the photo and locket with her, for she didn't want anyone else, notably her mother, to find this.

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For two months Bertha would wake up at 3 am, walk to the streetcar stop and wait for Martha. As far as Annie was concerned, this craziness had gone on too long. But when she tried stopping her, Bertha shrieked. She left on Ztrali trali She will come back on . Sometimes Bertha would wait all day while the children cared for the house. After Bertha ceased going to the streetcar stop, she cried at night. During the day she sat motionless in the living room. Annie's daughter, pearl Pearl was born on February 4, 1916, and Bertha came to life again. Annie returned to her mother's home so Bertha could tend the baby and Annie could leave her husband inch by inch. Thank you for listening. We'll continue next week with the following chapter in Flower in the River, and I dedicate this episode to the 844 people who were killed aboard the Eastland on July 24, 1915. Memory Eternal. This is Natalie Zet Zett I'll talk to you next week.

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