Vernon Blvd at Jackson Ave, Greater Astoria Historical Society 1

Around eight in the morning, on December 28th, 1892, the workers and residents of Davren’s Flats were getting ready for another day. The buildings, informally named for their owner, John Davren, were a block front row of four story brick storefronts with tenement apartments above. They stood on Jackson Avenue, between what were then 3rd and 4th Streets; today’s 51st and 50th Avenues. There was a post office building on one end of the block, a restaurant and a barbershop in the middle, and a jewelry store on the other end. At eight in the morning, the barbershop, post office and restaurant were already open for business, and serving customers.

Across the street, construction was going on to build a tunnel that would connect Manhattan and Queens by laying tracks for the railroad under the East River. The New York and Long Island Tunnel Company was digging a project that would take years to complete, and involved blasting through miles of tough metamorphic bedrock, in order to get deep enough to go under the river safely.

To do that, the diggers were using dynamite. As explained in the Chapter One of this story, dynamite could be very unstable, especially in the cold. In order to warm it up for safe use, the sandhogs had built a warming box which had proved very successful in using steam heat to slowly warm up the sticks of dynamite to a safe temperature. At six that morning, they had transferred two boxes of dynamite, enough for a couple of days’ work, from their storage facility well off-site.

At 8am, the diggers were ready to work. As they approached the shed, which was near the entrance to the shaft, the world suddenly exploded with the shed. The unstable dynamite had blown sky high, two boxes worth of unstable nitroglycerine, with enough power to shatter the streets of Long Island City, and change the lives of its residents forever.

The blast knocked the men literally across the street, breaking bones and tearing flesh. Davren’s Flats were right at the epicenter of the blast. The brick chimneys and walls of the buildings came tumbling down on the occupants inside. The blast shattered every window for miles around, sending knife-like shards of glass in all directions like missiles. Wooden beams and posts collapsed and crushed whatever was beneath them. For a few horrible moments after the blast, everything was silent. And then the screaming began.

At Hopkin’s Restaurant, the shattered plate glass windows and the force of the explosion were deadly. Killed instantly was one of the restaurant’s owners, 22-year-old Edward Hopkins, and one of his waitresses, 22-year-old Mary Graden. They were both in the back of the restaurant with Edward’s brother John, the other owner of the establishment. They were found in a heap in the back, ripped to shreds by the glass and falling debris. John had lost an arm, had massive facial injuries and was not expected to live.

Upstairs in one of the apartments, Henry O’Brien, age 33, a grocery clerk, was getting ready for work. He was standing at the window, talking to his wife when he was crushed by the exploding walls and ceiling. He never knew what hit him. Mrs. Peter Rocco, the wife of the barber, was also killed instantly, with massive head injuries. Her brother, Nico Loadona, was in the barber’s chair getting a shave. He was unrecognizable, and also died instantly, although it took a day to identify him.

If you think these descriptions are rough, I’m actually toning them down. The newspapers were much more graphic than this, with explicit descriptions of how each of these people died and how limbs and organs were damaged or destroyed. They printed details that would never pass muster today. There were dozens of injuries, some minor, but most quite major. People lost arms, eyes, had massive head injuries, blunt force trauma, broken bones, internal injuries and deep cuts and lacerations. There would be many amputations and long recovery times for the most seriously injured.

The owner of the buildings, John Davren, and his family lived on the top floor of one of them. They were all injured, but miraculously none very seriously, especially compared to some. All up and down Jackson Avenue and the surrounding blocks, windows were blown out, doors blown in, and storefronts and apartments suffered damage. The cupola on nearby St. Mary’s Catholic Church was smashed to splinters. Yet a horse trolley owned by the Steinway Company that passed just as the blast occurred was knocked clear off its tracks, but the horse and driver were barely touched. Other neighborhood people also had amazing escapes from serious injury.

None of the sandhogs, or people associated with the dig was seriously injured, either. A couple of the men were pretty battered, but compared to many of the neighbors, they escaped harm. As soon as the dust settled, the police and hospital workers rushed to the scene, pulling people out of the rubble, and treating the wounded, taking most to local hospitals. Volunteers helped pull people out, comfort others and the investigators began to piece together what happened.

The damage to property was massive, and the glaziers of Queens were set to have a record season installing all of the windows destroyed in the blast. Many of the buildings in the area would have to be rebuilt or torn down completely. Many people had insurance, but just as many did not. The investigation of why the blast occurred would begin with the coroner’s inquest.

The next day, the death toll was complete at five people. All had died instantly, or very soon after. Many people were still in the hospitals, or recovering at home. The police had gone to the flat of the project foreman, Peter McIntee, and placed him under house arrest. He was home in bed, recovering from internal injuries suffered when he was blown across the street by the blast. He had been in charge of the tunnel blasting and the care and use of the dynamite. Since he was injured as well, the police didn’t leave anyone there, and that evening, McIntee left the house and disappeared.

The President of the NY and LI Tunnel Co, Malcolm W. Niven, came by the neighborhood and had his men begin to board up the windows of the tenement apartments at their expense, until glass could be purchased. He promised to cooperate with the investigation fully. He said that he realized most of the people in the tenements were poor and could not afford to do the repairs themselves, so his company would see to it. He was not going to rebuild any of the businesses at this time, as they had, or should have had, insurance. He also wanted to wait until the investigation was complete.

Mr. McIntee, the foreman now in the wind, had an excellent reputation, and was very experienced with dynamite and how to use and take care of it. But one of the neighbors whose windows overlooked the construction site reported that the men had placed not the usual two, but four boxes of dynamite in the warming box that morning. Another neighbor said he saw many more boxes than just four. The investigation would continue.

Within days of the disaster, the five victims had their funerals and were buried. John Hopkins, the brother of Edward, the restaurant owner, missed the funeral, as he had to have his eye amputated, and was suffering from a severe concussion. The coroner had scheduled an inquest, and was prepared to indict a number of people, charging them with manslaughter. More than a dozen people were subpoenaed and expected to testify. The local Alderman and other politicians were also making speeches and demanding answers.

The night of the inquest, the proceedings, which were supposed to be run by the coroner, Dr. Meiners, were taken over by former LIC mayor, Patrick Jerome Gleason, a character among characters. He stood up and demanded answers, and also announced that he was representing the dead, their families, and most of the injured parties involved. When the coroner was finally able to get the proceedings going, the audience heard from a host of witnesses, including the construction workers, their bosses, neighbors and victims.

Gleason took over the cross-examinations and grilled the construction company men, trying to get them to admit that they had been negligent in their handling of frozen dynamite, and in the warming up process. He also tried to nail them on charges that they didn’t have permits to do the work they were doing. He also wanted to cross-examine city officials, whom he accused of being paid off by wealthy railroad men and negligent in their duties. The coroner finally closed the hearing down without coming to any conclusions, charging that Gleason had hijacked the proceedings for his own political gain.

Long story long, in the end, justice was deferred. Lawsuits were filed on behalf of living and dead victims, against the LIRR and the NY and LIC Tunnel Construction Company. Forman McIntee was cleared of all wrong doing. The Tunnel Company was held liable, and settled. Unfortunately, the great financial Panic of 1893 took everyone’s attention away from the railroad and onto Wall Street and the banks. The Tunnel Company went under, and no one got paid.

Work on the tunnel was halted, and the Jackson Avenue tunnel project closed down. Not even William Steinway’s money could get it moving again. The Long Island City tunnel project was dead. New tunnels financed by Steinway and financier August Belmont were planned further upriver. The Belmont Tunnels, as they came to be called, were constructed between 1905 and 1907. Much later, in 1913, Belmont sold his tunnels to New York City, which enlarged, changed and generally rebuilt them. Today, the 7 train rolls through those tunnels daily, on its way to Grand Central Station. GMAP

19th century photo of Vernon Blvd at Jackson Avenue via the Greater Astoria Historical Society


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