December first was a Monday in 1958, and as the clock made its slow journey to dismissal time that afternoon, the elementary school’s students were getting antsy. There were 1,600 of them crammed into the school that month, reflecting the peak years of the Baby Boom.
Sometime around 2:20, a small fire of unknown origin flickered in a cardboard trash barrel located in the basement. Minutes later, neighbors saw smoke pouring out of the building and rushed to find telephones (still a luxury for many working-class folks). The school’s fire alarm sounded, but it wasn’t connected to the fire department, which didn’t receive the first phone call until 2:42. The first truck drove up four minutes later, immediately radioing for extra help in what became a five-alarm fire.
Vandalism problems had led the school to lock gates in the steel fencing surrounding the building, and desperate firefighters drove their trucks through the fence so they could reach the screaming children on the other side. Dozens of little ones were injured, many after jumping out of windows perched 25 feet above the concrete surrounding the school. Motorists scooped up burned and injured students and rushed them to nearby hospitals.
The design of the building and its materials contributed to the blaze. The wooden main staircase quickly became a giant column of flame, fueled by oxygen pouring through an open window. Access to the lone fire escape was blocked by flames. Petroleum-based wax on the floors generated thick, noxious smoke that spread through the building, choking students. With no intercom, teachers in other parts of the school had no idea what was happening until they heard sirens and discovered their escape routes were already impassable. The final blow came when the wooden roof timbers caught fire and crashed down upon the students in the upper-floor classrooms.
92 children and three of the nuns who taught at Our Lady of the Angels School in Chicago’s Humboldt Park neighborhood died in their classrooms that day, some children found seated in their desks with their heads bowed and hands clasped in prayer. It remains the deadliest — and last — large school fire in post-WWII America.
You’ve heard of many school shootings over the years, but when was the last time you heard about students perishing in a school fire? In all likelihood, you can’t think of any. While there have been a handful of deaths from school fires in the years that followed, there haven’t been mass casualty events, largely because of the lessons learned on that December afternoon.
Student safety is a key priority in every Hendricks County school. It’s why Hoosier schools are required to hold fire drills each month. When small fires break out (such as the stove fire at Plainfield High School shortly after this school year started), the staff knows exactly what to do to safely escort students to safety. Principals and fire officials sometimes create obstacles during fire drills to ensure teachers know where to head if their designated route can’t be used. Local and state fire marshals perform extensive inspections and firefighters rehearse their responses to those dreaded fire alarms.
Safety is also a key reason most of today’s schools are constructed from steel and masonry, rather than more flammable materials like wood. Architects and engineers incorporate a variety of elements to slow the development of fires, such as smoke and fire doors that isolate areas and delay the spread while fire trucks respond to the alarm. (Parents often wonder why most school buildings are built without sprinkler systems. Wouldn’t that increase student safety? Actually, no. Sprinklers aren’t designed to protect the occupants of buildings – they exist to protect the contents, reducing damage to furniture and other objects.)
The loss of 92 children is unimaginable and heartbreaking, but it led schools and firefighters to look at everything differently and work together to prevent future tragedies. Every Hendricks County student and school is the direct beneficiary of what happened on that December afternoon nearly seven decades ago.