Personal Accounts ~ page 9
(email your story to circusfire1944@gmail.com)
...screaming “Get out Dad! Get Out!” ....
My name is Earl Francis, and at the time of the fire I was 12 years old and resided with my parents at 10 Murray Street in East Hartford. On July 6, 1944, my brother Bill (15) and I took a bus to Hartford where my father, Donald Francis, picked us up to see the circus. Despite being a very hot July day, my dad wore his suit clothes since he came directly from work to take us to the circus. Fortunately he bought 3 reserved seats, where there were fewer people compared to the crowd directly across the tent from us. My father discarded his suit jacket and loosened his tie. It seemed a long time before things started, but gradually the band began its music and we were underway.
The first time I was aware something was happening was when I heard some people screaming across the tent from us. Soon we could see some flames and smoke, and could see people leaving their seats to get down to the circus floor. The flames were increasing, like an expanding circle. On our side of the tent was a wire cage connecting the lion cages outside with one of the performance rings inside. I saw the crowd swarming to get over the wire cage since there was only a narrow step ladder to go up and over the cage. I think they said later that this caused a problem for people trying to get out. My father, a veteran of WW1 having survived two major battles in France, told us to stay calm and do not try to run for the entrance. Finally he told us to go to the top of the seats behind us and get out through the air space. I slid down the tarp and my brother slid down a guy wire. I can place my location pretty well because I landed between two lion cages where two lions were roaring nervously. My father was still in the tent and I was scared, yelling and screaming “Get out Dad! Get Out!” What he was doing inside the tent was throwing people out of the air space opening because they were unable to move, frozen in place. One of these people broke an arm, and later someone with a care took the one who was hurt and the three of us away from the area.
My dad ended up getting out by dropping down inside the tent; his suit jacket was burned up, along with his car keys, and he was badly singed. He was one of the many unsung heroes of that fire. Like any 12-year-old, going home on the bus I was thinking about telling my friends about the big adventure I was in, burying in my mind the screams, the crying, and the smell. One thing haunts me more than anything else, and I have to hold back tears as I write about the incident. A very obese woman hugged me as I stood outside the tent, and she was crying “Where is my baby? Where is my baby? Find my baby!” I like to think that she found her baby, alive and well.
Earl S. Francis
St. Petersburg, Florida
The first time I was aware something was happening was when I heard some people screaming across the tent from us. Soon we could see some flames and smoke, and could see people leaving their seats to get down to the circus floor. The flames were increasing, like an expanding circle. On our side of the tent was a wire cage connecting the lion cages outside with one of the performance rings inside. I saw the crowd swarming to get over the wire cage since there was only a narrow step ladder to go up and over the cage. I think they said later that this caused a problem for people trying to get out. My father, a veteran of WW1 having survived two major battles in France, told us to stay calm and do not try to run for the entrance. Finally he told us to go to the top of the seats behind us and get out through the air space. I slid down the tarp and my brother slid down a guy wire. I can place my location pretty well because I landed between two lion cages where two lions were roaring nervously. My father was still in the tent and I was scared, yelling and screaming “Get out Dad! Get Out!” What he was doing inside the tent was throwing people out of the air space opening because they were unable to move, frozen in place. One of these people broke an arm, and later someone with a care took the one who was hurt and the three of us away from the area.
My dad ended up getting out by dropping down inside the tent; his suit jacket was burned up, along with his car keys, and he was badly singed. He was one of the many unsung heroes of that fire. Like any 12-year-old, going home on the bus I was thinking about telling my friends about the big adventure I was in, burying in my mind the screams, the crying, and the smell. One thing haunts me more than anything else, and I have to hold back tears as I write about the incident. A very obese woman hugged me as I stood outside the tent, and she was crying “Where is my baby? Where is my baby? Find my baby!” I like to think that she found her baby, alive and well.
Earl S. Francis
St. Petersburg, Florida
More stories can be found in the ESSAYS section.