“Into the big drill shed, hastily established as a morgue for persons who died in the fire, filed a long line of silent men and women.”
The line of people outside the State Armory snaked around the side of the huge stone edifice. The building included a cavernous drill shed—a giant room with three-story-high ceilings—where members of the National Guard practiced for combat. This room is where the makeshift morgue was set up for 145 bodies waiting to be identified after the fire.
The faces of those in line were anxious. Some people cried quietly. Others stood in a kind of stupor. The Boston Globe reported that “some were so stricken by the sudden disaster they did not even turn their heads when asked questions. Some looked blankly at persons who addressed them as if they could not summon their senses to answer.” It was eerily quiet. But the Hartford Courant reported that there was also an air of hope. Though strangers, the people standing in line helped each other to stay positive. They reminded each other that there was still a chance that a wife, husband, or child was merely lost and not lying among the bodies inside. For many, it was a long night. Women from the War Council’s Rolling Kitchen brought sandwiches and coffee to the people in line. They offered consoling words to soothe aching hearts.
Between late afternoon and midnight on the day of the fire, 2,500 people came to view the bodies at the armory. On the radio, announcers spoke calmly and clearly, instructing people to “please stay away from the armory and scene of the accident if no one is missing from your home.” Curiosity seekers could get in the way, and families needed space to grieve. Military troops and police patrolled the area. Only people looking to find their relatives were allowed near.
Inside the armory, volunteers did all they could to help families identify their loved ones as quickly as possible, sparing them from looking at more bodies than absolutely necessary. They organized the bodies on cots in rows by age and sex as best they could and covered them with blankets. Men, women, and children were placed in separate sections, with the most recognizable bodies lined up in front.
Medical personnel inspected each body and wrote down any identifying marks. They noted hair color, eye color, and any clothing or jewelry the victim was wearing. Even the smallest detail could help identify a body. E. J. O’Connell was able to pick out his five-year-old daughter, Doris Jean, by a bandage tucked in her curled fist. He had wrapped it around her finger when she had hurt it just that morning. Another family identified their daughter by a scrap of cloth from her bright sundress that still clung to her body. Sometimes there were few clues to go by. Many bodies were burned beyond recognition.
Outside the Connecticut State Armory.
A nurse and a police officer accompanied each person who walked up and down the aisles of cots. The nurse compared notes taken on the body with the description given by the family member. If the details matched, the police officer lifted the blanket. While many people amazingly kept their composure, others were overwhelmed with emotion when they saw the body and then had to say whether or not it was the person they were seeking.
After E. J. O’Connell had identified both his wife and daughter, one of the rescue workers approached him. “I was the one who found this child. If it can be of any comfort to you, there was an adult lying on top with arms around her.” Doris Jean’s mother had protected her as best she could. Another woman searching for her daughter approached the line of cots with reddened eyes. She found her daughter’s body in a far corner of the giant room. With no tears left to weep, she took one last look at her little girl and said, simply, “So long as I know.”
Even those who had experience dealing with disasters found the scene hard to take in. A policeman stationed at the armory told a Boston Globe reporter, “I’ve been a cop for 25 years, but I never saw anything like this. I won’t sleep for weeks. And I was gonna take my kid to the circus today. But I had to work. Thank God. I had to work.”
Outside the armory, a radio car announced over its loudspeaker the names of missing persons who had been found at one of the hospitals and the children who remained unclaimed at the Brown School. Some people burst into tears when they heard their relative had been found alive. These small miracles gave hope to those left standing anxiously in line.
One of the unidentified bodies inside the armory was that of a little girl whose light-brown curly hair framed her face. Her injuries showed that she’d probably been trampled in the rush to get out of the tent. She had a burn mark on one cheek, her forehead was swollen, and her mouth had been damaged, but unlike many of the bodies that surrounded her, her face was recognizable. She still looked like someone’s little girl.
Medical examiner Dr. Walter Weissenborn took down her information: a white female, about six years of age; blue eyes; shoulder-length, light-brown curly hair; 3 feet 10 inches tall; approximate weight, 40 pounds. He noted on a dental chart that the child had two permanent teeth, incisors, on the bottom of her mouth. The rest were baby teeth (dentists call them deciduous teeth). She wore a flowered dress and brown shoes. Dr. Weissenborn gave the unidentified girl a number—1565. The volunteers at the armory thought surely this little girl would be one of the first to be claimed.
When Emily Gill did not find Eleanor Cook at the Brown School or the hospital, she decided to go to the armory. She had to face the very real possibility that her missing niece was dead. Emily gave the attendants a description of Eleanor, and the nurses on duty felt a surge of hope. Light-brown hair, blue eyes—the description seemed to match the little girl tagged 1565. A nurse and a police escort led Emily slowly through the rows of cots. The responsibility of identifying her niece weighed heavily on her shoulders.
The escort pulled back the army blanket to reveal the young face of 1565. Emily took a long look at the little girl. She thought it might be Eleanor, but she wasn’t sure. The examination chart said that this little girl had two permanent teeth and was 3 feet 10 inches tall. Emily was sure that Eleanor had eight permanent upper teeth. The height didn’t seem to match either. Eleanor was eight years old, and everyone in the family agreed that she was tall for her age. At 3 feet 10 inches, this little girl’s height was closer to that of a six-year-old. Emily told the attendants that this little girl was not Eleanor.
Eleanor Cook.
Later, Marion and Ted Parsons and Reverend James Yee visited the armory to look for Eleanor. The attendants took the anxious group straight to the little girl tagged 1565. But Marion knew right away that it wasn’t Eleanor, whom she had raised and loved as a daughter.
This little girl had shoulder-length hair. Eleanor’s hair was cut short.
This little girl was wearing a white flowered dress and brown shoes. Marion had packed a red playsuit for Eleanor to wear to the circus. Furthermore, Eleanor did not own a dress or shoes like the ones on this little girl.
This little girl had only two permanent teeth. Eleanor had eight permanent teeth: four on the top and four on the bottom. (Not eight on the top, as Emily had said earlier.)
Marion Parsons, so close to her niece that Eleanor had called her Mom, said no, she was certain it was not Eleanor. Ted and James Yee agreed.
Eleanor’s family looked at all the girls who remained unidentified, including a girl with the morgue number 1503. According to an examination by Dr. Weissenborn, she was approximately nine years old, and she had eight permanent teeth. However, the body had been so badly burned it would be impossible for anyone to recognize her. None of the other girls remaining at the armory matched Eleanor’s description.
Back at Mildred’s apartment, the family was devastated. They were exhausted from anxiety and sorrow. Somehow, they had to pull themselves together and figure out what to do next. Ted and Marion decided to drive Donald back to Southampton to take care of him and to plan his brother Edward’s funeral. Emily volunteered to stay in Hartford. She’d keep an eye on Mildred and continue to look for Eleanor. Ted and Marion scooped up their nephew and, with James Yee, got into the car and drove away, leaving Hartford behind.
As the hours passed, it seemed more and more unlikely that Eleanor was simply missing. Emily inquired back at the armory a second time. There were no new bodies, the attendants told her. The only little girl matching Eleanor’s description was the one she’d seen before, the one tagged 1565.
Emily agreed to look at the body again. She felt conflicted. True, this girl had light-brown hair and blue eyes, but Emily could not get past the teeth. They looked wrong, and there were only two permanent ones according to the dental chart that accompanied the body. The attendants asked Emily to have Eleanor’s dentist send an X-ray for comparison, but it was not to be. Sadly, the Cook family dentist was on vacation out of the country and could not be reached. Without the dental records, there was no clear proof, and Emily again told the nurses that this little girl was not Eleanor. This bit of unlucky timing would shadow the identification of 1565 for some time to come. The issue of her teeth would become one of the most contentious in the identification of the little girl.
On the evening of July 7, police commissioner Edward Hickey assigned state trooper Sam Freeman to help Emily in her search. Together they visited all the funeral homes in the area that had bodies of little girls about Eleanor’s age who had died in the fire. Maybe someone had taken Eleanor’s body by mistake? By the end of the night, they’d gone to six funeral homes and still had not found Eleanor.
Emily returned to Mildred’s apartment to rest, while Officer Freeman, armed with a photograph of Eleanor, worked through the night to find the missing girl. The next day, he showed the photo to a nurse’s aide and a social worker at Municipal Hospital who had cared for 1565 before she had died. He also showed Eleanor’s photo to some policemen at the armory and to Dr. Weissenborn. They all believed that Eleanor resembled the little girl numbered 1565.
Freeman thought he had solved the mystery. He asked Emily to come to Hartford Hospital, where the body of 1565 was now being held, to make an identification. Emily saw the body yet again and, according to Freeman’s report, claimed, “This was the one that she had looked at at the Hartford Armory with her brother. The only thing that made her say that this was not Eleanor, was the fact that she thought Eleanor had 8 second upper teeth, whereas this body had four second upper teeth and four second lower teeth. She said that if it hadn’t been for that, she would say that the child was her niece, Eleanor Cook.”
Again, there was confusion about the teeth. Freeman’s report states 1565 had four upper and four lower permanent teeth; however, the dental chart prepared by one of the medical examiners listed 1565 as having only two permanent teeth. Was the dental chart wrong? Or was Freeman? Could Freeman have been accidentally referring to the other unidentified girl, 1503, a child with eight permanent teeth? There is a curious note written on the dental chart for 1503, made on July 9, after Freeman’s inquiry. It says, “Neighborhood dentist in Southampton, Mass. gone.” The medical examiner who had X-rayed the teeth of 1503 and created the chart had made a note about Eleanor, despite the fact that no one had connected 1503 with her. Could the examiners have accidentally switched the morgue numbers when they filled out the charts? In any case, Emily still would not confirm that 1565 was her niece. The search was officially ended when she wrote the following letter to the police commissioner.
Dear Mr. Hickey: I wish to thank you for my family and me for your help and cooperation in our search for my niece, Eleanor Cook. I would like to thank you also for letting us have Trooper Freeman of Colchester Barracks to help us. He was very kind and very efficient in checking and re-checking all the clues we could get. We took the names of the little girls her age who had been identified and checked at the funeral homes in case of misidentity. We checked the little girl at Municipal Hospital who answered to Eleanor’s description and found her to be the “mystery” girl, whom we know definitely is not she. Because the figures are 6 unidentified and 6 missing we felt she must be misidentified. However, she might never have left the tent. God alone knows. Again I thank you for your help in our sorrow.
Sincerely, (Mrs.) Emily Parsons Gill
Those close to Eleanor—Emily Gill, Ted and Marion Parsons, and James Yee—all saw the body of 1565. None of them thought the little girl was their Eleanor. But what about Mildred Cook? Wouldn’t she know for certain if this unidentified little girl was her daughter? Unfortunately, Mildred never saw the body of 1565. She was in a coma for several weeks after the disaster, long past the time all the funerals had been held. In the months and years after the fire, Mildred’s family shielded her from any news of the tragedy. Mildred and Donald eventually moved to Southampton with Ted and Marion. No one ever showed Mildred the pictures of the unidentified little girl that had appeared in newspapers across the country for many years after the fire. Mildred grieved the loss of her dearly loved children Eleanor and Edward and accepted the fact that her daughter’s body would never be found.
If 1565 was not Eleanor Cook, who was she? Why had no one claimed the little girl with the curly light-brown hair? Had everyone else in her family died in the fire? Was she a runaway? The rumors flew. But there was another possibility that could very well be true.
In the days after the fire, parents coming to the armory to claim the bodies of their children were understandably distraught. Was it possible that a parent had claimed the wrong child?
Many people were in a hurry to find their relatives. At the time, Hartford had a large Jewish population. Those who were strict observers of the faith needed to bury their dead by sundown according to Jewish law. Was it possible that in the urgency to find their children, people could have taken the wrong bodies?
In the end, 1565 wasn’t the only body that was never claimed. The stack of coroner’s reports was thick. These single sheets of paper captured the last details of the lives of 167 people. Six of those pages began with the words “An Unknown.” Three adults, one boy, the girl 1503, and the girl 1565 remained unidentified. All except 1565 had been so severely burned that they were impossible to identify.
On July 12, 1944, the Hartford Times ran 1565’s morgue photo in the paper. The headline asked local readers, WHO KNOWS THIS CHILD? It seems no one did.
The people of Hartford were so heartbroken over the sad story of the little girl that the city adopted her as one of their own. She was laid to rest in Northwood Cemetery on July 10, 1944, along with the bodies of the other unidentified victims. A stone slab was set in place to remind visitors of the tragedy and its unknown victims. The inscription reads,
This plot of ground consecrated by the city of Hartford as a resting place for three adults and three children who lost their lives in the circus fire July 6, 1944. Their identity known but to God.
Behind the stone, six small white markers list morgue numbers 1503, 1510, 2019, 2200, and 4512. The sixth marker is specially inscribed, “Little Miss 1565.”