On January 15, 1919, shortly after eating his lunch, Walter Merrithew decided to go for a walk. The temperature in Boston that day was 40 degrees warmer than the day before. Walter was a railroad clerk on the Commercial Street wharf and, though his job paid well and offered him more opportunities than say a signalmen or porter, he rarely got the chance to stretch his legs. Outdoor activities of any kind were especially impossible during a typical New England winter.

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With his belly full and his spirits warmed by the bright, midday sun, Walter could not possibly have known what fate was about to inflict upon him.

 

The rising temperatures he was enjoying were not only warming the busy streets of North End, they were also rapidly heating a recently filled storage tank at 529 Commercial Street. The pressure inside the tank, which now contained 2,300,000 gallons of freshly stored molasses, was building. As Walter passed by, a fatigue crack in the bottom of the tank expanded, and the entire structure gave way. Within seconds, a 15 foot high, 160 foot wide, wall of sticky goo came barreling down on him.

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He watched in horror as the great brown wave raced towards him, picking up a railway car and smashing it into 10 year old Pasquale Lantosca, killing her. The wave enveloped her lifeless body and progressed towards Walter. He was lifted off the ground and pushed into the side of a freight shed. There, the rail car pinned him in his elevated position and his only recourse was to helplessly look on as the devastation continued.

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He watched as electrical poles were toppled. He gasped as the foundations of buildings gave way. He winced as billows of molasses engulfed the people around him; drowning them, and sticking them in their last repose, likening them to the ghostly figures found in Pompeii.

 

His terrified gaze then fell upon a struggling horse and, as the minutes passed, Walter could do nothing to help the poor, doomed beast. He watched solemnly as it struggled to free itself from the growing pool of gunk. When it could no longer move its legs, it swayed its shoulders and rocked its neck. Then it eyes grew whiter as molasses rose over its crest. Sticky syrup began pouring into its throat. The horse fought for breath and Walter fought to hold back his tears.

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Within hours, Walter was rescued.  Chance had granted him a front row seat to see, in addition to several animals, 21 people die that afternoon. The terror lasted for hours; the nightmares, for the rest of his life.