In Memoriam: The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

Today marks the 114th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, the deadliest disaster in New York City history prior to the September 11th attacks.

Last Tuesday, I attended a lecture at the Jefferson Market Library put on by Village Preservation and the Remember the Triangle Fire Coalition. Dr. Daniel Levinson Wilk, Associate Professor of American History at FIT and board member of the Coalition, told the story of the factory, the fire, the survivors, and those who perished.

Dr. Wilk began by explaining the history of ready-made clothing. Prior to the late 1800’s, all clothing was handmade and tailored to a person’s specific size and measurements. The market for standard sized garments began with sailors and slaves, with a significant turning point during the Civil War, when uniforms were mass manufactured for soldiers. One of the first methods for the mass production of clothing in New York City was through a process called “outwork,” wherein a specific part of, say, a shirt, was brought, en masse, to the home of a seamstress in her tenement apartment. She may be responsible for stitching one single seam on one hundred of the same item, then the garments were picked up and brought to another apartment to be handled by another seamstress, and so on and so forth until the garments were complete. (A lot of running around.)

When the original factories were built, immigrant seamstresses had to carry their own sewing machines to and from the factories each day, until such time as more efficient processes were invented and installed. The floors of garment factories were crowded, messy, and safety standards as we know them today were non-existent; there was no OSHA. The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory occupied the top three floors (eight, nine, and ten) of the former Asch building, now called the Brown building. It is suspected that the fire started on the eighth floor from someone accidentally igniting a fabric scrap pile with a cigarette butt. As the fire spread, the workers on the eighth floor were able to escape through the elevator and the stairs, and the workers on the tenth floor were able to escape via the roof. The workers on the ninth floor, however, were trapped. The doors to the exits were locked, and after sheltering under their work benches and attempting to break down the doors, some made it out to the fire escape that then collapsed and they plummeted to the street below. Others jumped from the windows, falling so hard they crashed through the sidewalk below. 146 people, 123 of them recent Italian and Jewish immigrant women and girls, most aged 14 to 23, lost their lives…all in the space of fifteen minutes.

As mentioned, there were no safety standards for factories at that time. Sprinklers were available but very expensive to retrofit, and the ownership of Blank and Harris were as cheap as they come. After so many people lost their lives, Blank and Harris were acquitted of any wrongdoing, collected on the hundreds of life insurance policies they had quietly taken out on their employees, and never offered a dime to the bereaved families.

As a direct result of this tragedy, three major safety standards were put in place. First, all floors of factories had to install illuminated exit signs over every exit. Second, smoking of any kind was banned from factory floors. And third, all doors must open outward to prevent a bottleneck in the event of an emergency. This disaster was also one of the catalysts for the labor movement; Frances Perkins, workers-rights advocate and the fourth US Secretary of Labor (1933-1945 under FDR), was one of the bystanders who watched workers plummet to their deaths from the fire.

When Dr. Wilk finished speaking, other members of the Coalition talked about their work for the recently installed memorial at the Brown building. A group effort by descendants of the victims of the fire or others who felt connected to the tragedy in some way were invited to sew together a 300-foot-long ribbon, The Collective Ribbon, made from 400 pieces of fabric along with a description of their personal connection. This Ribbon was then etched onto metal, which has been installed on the southeast corner of the building, all the way to the 10th floor. The bottom part of the Ribbon hangs horizontally over black glass, in which the names of all the victims have been carved out and can be read from below in the reflection on the glass. I perused the photographs the Coalition had brought with them, then walked over to see the installation myself after the event was finished.

Nine Years Roaming

For the first time in many years, winter has actually felt like proper winter. Bundled up all the time, fingers painfully numb from frequently removing gloves to take photos, my roaming outings have been few and far between. However, here in New York, we're starting to see some slightly less frigid days, so I'm hoping to get outside more soon.

Because the true anniversary of my project is on Leap Day, I have two days to choose from on non-Leap Years to celebrate and take stock of where I've been and what I've done. With that in mind, the following photos offer a brief glimpse of neighborhoods I've roamed in the last few months. 

Upper West Side

Astoria

East Village

In Focus: Robert Doisneau

If you have been following this blog, it’s clear I have a deep affection for the street photographers of last century. The fervent reverence for these artists stems from a mix of both admiration of the craft and nostalgia for bygone eras. 

I just finished reading a biography of pre-Kennedy Jackie Bouvier (Camera Girl: The Coming of Age of Jackie Bouvier Kennedy by Carl Sferrazza Anthony) that covered 1949-1953, which included the tail end of her time in college, her brief stint abroad in Paris, and her also brief career as a photographer and columnist for the now-defunct Washington Times-Herald. Typically not one for biographies, I did enjoy this one, and found myself curious what Paris in the early 50’s may have looked like when she visited. 

This is where Robert Doisneau comes in. 

Doisneau began photographing at an early age, then worked as a freelance street photographer before his time in World War II documenting the French Resistance. His career as a photographer really started to blossom after the war, when he again turned his photographic eye to the streets of Paris. A contemporary of Henri Cartier-Bresson, Doisneau was also a worshipper at the altar of the “decisive moment.” While his portfolio is large and sprawling, the most striking of his images are those where he was at the right place at the right time. 

The marvels of daily life are so exciting; no movie director can arrange the unexpected that you find in the street. 

— Robert Doisneau

Two ladies in their Sunday best, rue de Buci, Paris, Sixth Arrondissement, Sunday, March 22, 1953

Maurice Baquet by the steps at rue Vilin, Paris, Twentieth Arrondissement, 1957

Le Garde et les Ballons, 1946

While I was flipping through Robert Doisneau: A Photographer’s Life, the giant tome I picked up at the Strand several years ago, I came across the following photo of Doisneau’s friend Robert Giraud on a rooftop holding a cat all trussed up in what appeared to be a cat-sized straight jacket. Entitled “Thief of Cats,” I believed at first that Giraud was simply removing the feline from the rooftop after having captured it. When I read the caption, I discovered I could not have been more wrong.

Robert Giraud, "thief of cats," 1954

 

“Bob” Giraud with cat-catching equipment on the rooftop of the Hôtel de Ville, Paris, Fourth Arrondissement. “It was not long after the Occupation. The scarcity of furs and coal gave birth to a new industry – the exploitation of cat fur. The pelts of this carnivore were, it seems, charged with electricity, possessing the power to keep you warm at relatively modest cost, to cure rheumatism. Advertising slogans confirmed it. (Robert Giraud, Le Vin des rues, 1955).

While heartbreaking to know house cats were being hunted for their coats, it is certainly a poignant commentary on the state of post-war Europe and the means by which people got by. Though not all dismal, there are also photos of joy, especially when he was photographing children in the streets, before, during, and after the war.

Le remorqueur, 1943

Danse à la fontaine, Latin Quarter, Paris, Fifth Arrondissement, 1947

I’m sure the Paris that Miss Bouvier experienced was an interesting juxtaposition of both ends of the post-war spectrum and her own privileged means. So enthralled was she with the people she met and the places she visited, she very nearly did not return to the US to finish college. Through exploration of Doisneau’s work I have gained a better understanding of that era of Paris, and for the first time, I feel a kinship with Jackie: I did not want to return to the US when I visited Paris either.

City of Loss

I’ve been feeling the losses in the city again lately: a ramen spot I finally tried in the East Village on the 14th of this month shuttered suddenly two days ago. Rai Rai Ken had been in business for 24 years and closed “due to an unfortunate series of events.”

Something similar happened at the beginning of 2022. My parents visited for a few days in March to make up for the Christmas trip they were forced to postpone due to covid, and we went to dinner at Forlini’s, an old school Italian joint just south of Canal Street. We found out while we were sitting in our booth that the restaurant would be closing at the end of that month.

The city has been going through a continuous hailstorm of business closures the last few years thanks to both covid and astronomical rent hikes by greedy landlords. An old haunt of mine, Grassroots Tavern at 20 St. Marks Place, closed on the last day of 2018 due to an insane rent hike. The space has since been gutted (workers found some incredible murals while they were ripping out the bar), and has now, to my dismay, been turned into a doggy daycare.

These losses had me thinking about the truly unbelievable losses this city has faced and the organizations that are working so hard to make sure we don’t lose more irreplaceable historically significant buildings. The demolition of the original Penn Station was the catalyst for the creation of the Landmarks Preservation Commission (LPC). The LPC takes a long time and a lot of convincing to designate a landmark, as I’ve seen through the work of Village Preservation (Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation) (VP). I’ve been attending many of VP’s virtual programs and keep abreast of the various landmark designations they are working toward.

 

Original Pennsylvania Station ca. 1962 by Cervin Robinson, courtesy of the Library of Congress

During the last nearly nine years of my roaming project I have marveled at the gorgeous architecture of the past: Art Deco skyscrapers, Federal style townhouses, Gilded Age mansions, and more. I have simultaneously scoffed at the modern architecture popping up everywhere: soulless glass boxes, constructed quickly with cheap materials, that prioritize function over form.

Luckily, the LPC’s work will help to keep the city from being fully homogenized into a sheet glass nightmare, but I lament the loss of the craft and craftsmen that brought the most beautiful of these landmarks to life.

Roaming Update

As we slide slowly into the colder months, the roaming outings become fewer, and I have time to reflect on what I’ve shot in the past year. As this was the eighth year of this project, I’ve focused on revisiting some locations I’ve photographed in the past, both to see if anything has changed (to see if they’re still there amid the latest wave of hypergentrification), and also to preserve locations in my mind (I can recall the locations of ninety percent of my collection, but there are a few that escape me).

Below are some of my favorites from the second half of the year:

Open House New York

Earlier this month I was selected to be a volunteer photographer at this year’s Open House New York (OHNY) weekend. I had applied to be a volunteer the day registration opened back in August and was delighted to be chosen. I signed up to document five events over the two weekend days, Saturday the 19th and Sunday the 20th.

Saturday: 

Minetta Lane
Owned and built by Adam Kushner, this modern architectural gem is a fascinating, multi-story work of art. Hearing the history of the townhouse, Minetta Lane itself, and the frequent intrusions by the still existent Minetta Brook made for an interesting morning, as my fellow site volunteers and I toured the home prior to it being open to the public.

 

New York Marble Cemetery
An iron archway before an alley on Second Avenue is the only indication that this historic burial ground exists at all. Established in 1830, it is, as their informational brochure says, “the cemetery that doesn’t look like a cemetery,” as no grave markers are placed on the ground, but rather marble plaques are set into the walls to indicate those buried in vaults beneath the grass. I spent some time conversing with my fellow volunteers and learned that there is to be a burial there in November, the first in 90 years.

 

East Village Sustainability Walking Tour
The most unusual event of the day, this tour met at the Museum of Reclaimed Urban Space on Avenue C. Run by residents of the squat it occupies, C-Squat, and other squats in the neighborhood, our tour guide Bill Di Paola (resident of the Umbrella House squat – I visited several years back on another OHNY weekend to see their sustainable rooftop garden) showed us examples of reclaimed spaces like volunteer-run urban gardens, and adaptive reuse buildings like the long-embroiled former (and hopefully soon to be again) El Bohio/CHARAS building on East 9th Street.

 

Sunday: 

Greenwich Village Row Houses Walking Tour
Lead by brownstone preservationist Patrick W. Ciccone, this tour around historic West 10th to West 12th Streets traced the history of the neighborhood’s row houses, their architectural styles, and their impact on the development of the city. My favorite stop was 18 West 11th Street with its angled façade, the site of the Greenwich Village townhouse explosion on March 6, 1970, where members of the Weather Underground were making bombs in the basement when one of them detonated, destroying the Brevoort Row Greek Revival townhouse. The unusual façade has a long history itself but has since been embraced by the community.

 

Westbeth Artist Housing
My last stop of the weekend and the place I spent the most time, I was thrilled to finally enter and explore the Westbeth facility, the largest adaptive reuse project in the city. Located in the former Bell Laboratories building, Westbeth was founded in 1970 to provide affordable housing to artists and their families. I took a tour of the building with resident and Latin Grammy Award winning composer and bassist Pedro Giraudo, who showed us several points of interest including the rooftop which offers stunning views of the Manhattan skyline from the vantage point of the far West Village. When the tour was over, I explored the building on my own and met several artists in their studios.

 

 

I had such a blast running around the village all weekend with my camera. It's been a long time since I've had such an adventure, and though my feet and legs were screaming by the end, it was so worth it. 

In Focus: Fred W. McDarrah

Over the last month or so I’ve been reading The Freaks Came Out to Write: The Definitive History of the Village Voice, the Radical Paper That Changed American Culture by Tricia Romano. A massive, detailed, oral history of what it was like to work for such an iconic publication, through every phase of its lifespan, by the writers and artists who made it what it was. Fred McDarrah was one of those artists, staff photographer for the Voice for fifty years.

parsimonious - adjective
    1. unwilling to spend money or use resources; frugal or stingy

This term was how Tim McDarrah referred to his father’s shooting style in The Freaks Came Out to Write. He would show up to an event, shoot a few frames, then turn and leave. Fred showed up on the second night of Stonewall, shot nineteen frames, and left; he was the only photographer who bothered to document the uprising (though it wasn’t called such at the time), and one of his photographs became synonymous with the start of a massive cultural movement.

Young people outside the Stonewall Inn, June 28, 1969

One of the most famous images of Bob Dylan is McDarrah’s, and on the occasion that photograph was made, outside the Sheridan Square offices of the Voice, he only took a handful of shots.

Bob Dylan, sitting on a bench in Christopher Park, January 22, 1965

Parsimonious as he may have been with his film, McDarrah was still prolific and seemed to have his finger on the pulse of the neighborhood. Often he was the only photographer to document what would later be seen as significant moments in the countercultural fabric of the bohemian village, sometimes without being aware how important those moments would come to be.

“There’s a picture of [Bob] Dylan, Joan Baez, and [Noel Paul Stookey] from Peter, Paul and Mary, alone backstage at the Lincoln Memorial, and my dad figures, “Everybody’s gonna have pictures of Martin Luther King, but I’m gonna go and take pictures of these three unknowns.”” – Tim McDarrah, The Freaks Came Out to Write, page 38

Folksingers Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, and Noel Paul Stookey warm up at the Lincoln Memorial, August 28, 1963

I was present in 2019 when his family received, on his posthumous behalf, the Regina Kellerman award for preserving the cultural heritage of the village at the Village Preservation Awards. McDarrah’s photography has run parallel to most of the historical non-fiction I have consumed, even informing some of it. His work has been ever-present in my quest to learn as much as I can about the history of New York City, though I never stopped to recognize his impact. The reason we have documentation of some of the most significant occurrences in NYC history, especially of the 1960's and 70's, is thanks to Fred and The Village Voice.