“We had two hands and did whatever we could to save steps for those whose experience and ability was most needed elsewhere.”
The cries of burn victims echoed through the corridors of Municipal Hospital. Some patients lay on gurneys in the middle of the hallways, and others filled chairs in the waiting room. Hundreds of injured people and their relatives waited their turn to see the doctors.
Throughout the disaster, doctors and nurses at all three of Hartford’s hospitals did everything they could to care for their patients and, in many cases, they saved their lives. Volunteers played an important role too. They made beds, rolled bandages, applied dressings, passed out cups of juice, and comforted victims.
When new patients arrived at Municipal Hospital, nurses rushed the worst cases into operating rooms to receive treatment. There, doctors cut off their charred clothes, covered them with cool, sterile sheets, and gave them a drug called morphine to dull the pain. Burns were covered with salve and then wrapped in gauze. Nurses hooked up an IV that sent healthy, new blood into the patients’ veins. Finally, patients were given penicillin to prevent infection. This was important because their immune systems were already busy working to repair the burned skin, making it difficult for their bodies to also fight off germs.
One of the biggest problems for the hospitals was the sheer number of patients. There simply weren’t enough doctors and nurses to see everyone. A call for help went out to all medical professionals in the area, and it was answered almost immediately. Nurses from the city’s large insurance companies volunteered, and doctors from neighboring towns came too. Medical examiner William J. Brickley, a burn expert from Boston, came to help treat the victims. He brought a team of three men: a medical examiner and two mortuary assistants. These men had helped patients after a nightclub fire in Boston that had claimed 492 lives and left countless victims of severe burns. They used their experience from that disaster to help hospital workers give the circus fire patients the best possible treatment.
Everyone worked into the night, fighting exhaustion as they treated patient after patient. Hartford Hospital, the largest in the city, saw 51 patients. Doctors and nurses at the smaller Municipal Hospital saw nearly triple that number. Within the first hours after the fire, they treated 143 patients for burns and other injuries, many of them critical. By eight o’clock that night, too tired to work anymore, the first shift of medical personnel was sent home to rest. Mary Sullivan, the hospital superintendent, begged volunteers to come back after they’d had some sleep. “Please all of you … all of you who can come back tonight, please do. I think we are going to need everybody we can get.”
Fire victims bravely faced their injuries. “People as a whole were well behaved; there was no complaining even from those who were severely hurt. Small children, their skins charred with burns, tried to smile at us,” nurse’s aide Patricia Wakefield of Municipal Hospital told the Hartford Courant.
It would have been nearly impossible for the hospitals to help as many people as they did without the generosity of the nurses, doctors, and others who volunteered their time and knowledge. Fifteen-year-old Shirley Lawton and her best friend Dot were “a couple of pinkies” (the nickname used for young hospital volunteers). The two had escaped the fire themselves, only to find the terrible sights in the halls of Hartford Hospital when they reported for duty. “We had a hard time getting off that day,” Shirley said. “The head nurse didn’t want to let us off. It was just a horror.”
The mayor of Hartford gives a toy to five-year-old Robert Hopkins Jr., who had been burned in the fire. Beside him is Donald MacRae, age 12, who had escaped unhurt.
Just a comforting word was enough to keep some patients going. Some of the children had lost siblings and parents, so nurses often played the roles of both caregiver and mother. It must have been incredibly frightening for the many small children being treated at the hospitals, including those who were unaware of the circus fire.
Five-year-old Kenneth Sinkwitz hadn’t been to the circus, but he arrived at St. Francis Hospital in Hartford just a few days after the fire to have his tonsils removed. “I’ll never forget the children screaming,” he said. “I didn’t know what was going on until I asked the nurse.” The hospital was crowded and noisy. Nurses and doctors hurried up and down the halls checking on their patients.
After the fire had been put out, a rescue worker had found eight-year-old Jerry LeVasseur by one of the animal chutes. Jerry had suffered many injuries, and he needed help immediately. Unconscious when he arrived at the hospital, Jerry woke up to find himself enclosed in a kind of tent where machines pumped oxygen all around him. This made his blood carry more oxygen to his cells, helping him to recover. The doctors and nurses watched over him carefully, and eventually his body healed. In June 1945, after 11 months at Municipal Hospital, Jerry finally went home.
Elliot Smith, who had also been found by one of the animal chutes, was with Jerry at Municipal Hospital. While he was recovering from his burns, Elliot developed pneumonia, a common complication for burn patients. Elliot never forgot undergoing skin grafts to cover the areas where he was most badly burned. “Those were the worst times,” he said in a Connecticut Public Television documentary. But he also has some happy memories, including the times when the kids at the hospital ran through the corridors playing hide-and-seek. The nurses had to chase them back into bed.
Nurse Phyllis Willet takes care of Marie Ann Connors.
While he was at the hospital, Elliot kept an autograph book where his friends and nurses signed their names and wrote messages. It’s easy to see from their cheerful notes that the kids still knew how to have a little fun.
Barbara Smith wrote:
Remember the girl from the city.
Remember the girl from the town.
Remember the Girl that spoiled this book by writing upside down.
And Jimmie Sullivan wrote:
Roses are red and
violets are blue
God made me beautiful
but wha’ happen to you?
Elliot spent his eighth birthday at the hospital and went home in late November.
Donald Gale was admitted to Municipal Hospital with severe burns and, like Jerry LeVasseur, was immediately put into an oxygen tent. Like Elliot, he also developed pneumonia. Donald recovered from his injuries, but it took a long time for his body to heal. Almost a year after the fire Donald, Jerry, and six-year-old Patty Murphy were the last children to leave the hospital.
Mildred and Edward Cook were carried from the scene of the fire and brought to Municipal Hospital. Both were severely burned. Doctors treated Mildred’s burns and wrapped her body in gauze. They wanted to move her to the less crowded Hartford Hospital; however, they didn’t want to separate her from her son. Edward was still breathing, but just barely.
Hearing news of the fire, Mildred’s family in Southampton was worried. They hadn’t heard from Mildred, and they knew she had planned to take the children to the circus. Mildred’s brother, Ted Parsons, and her sister, Emily (Parsons) Gill, rushed to Hartford, fearing the worst.
Of course no one was home when they arrived at Mildred’s apartment. Ted stayed behind in case the telephone rang, and Emily set off to find Mildred and her children. First, she went to the Brown School, where she learned that Mildred had been taken to Municipal Hospital. Emily raced to her sister’s side and discovered her nephew Edward was also there.
Patty Murphy celebrates Christmas in the hospital.
Meanwhile, Ted’s wife, Marion, arrived in Hartford accompanied by a family friend, the Reverend James Yee. They met Ted at the apartment and waited for news from Emily. Not long after, there was a knock on the door. It was Donald. The kind couple that had taken care of him after the tragedy had fed him dinner and brought him home. Ted and Marion must have felt tremendous relief when they hugged their nephew close and saw that he was unharmed.
Later that evening, they all went to meet Emily at the hospital. Their visit with Mildred was short. She was groggy from medications, and her face was wrapped in gauze. In another room, they visited Edward. He was very weak, but he asked about his mother and sister. After a few minutes, it was time to go, and Donald said good-bye to his brother. They never saw each other again. Edward died the next night.
Donald was safe in the comforting arms of his aunts and uncle. Doctors and nurses cared for Mildred at Municipal Hospital, and Edward had gone to a place where pain could no longer touch him. But where was Donald’s sister, Eleanor? This question would haunt the people of Hartford for nearly 50 years.