Syracuse has had a career fire company since 1877, with a history of volunteer fire fighting that goes back to at least 1825. Today, the Syracuse Fire Department operates from 11 stations, covering a 25-square mile area and a population that balloons to more than 145,000 during workdays. With no house in the city limits more […]
Syracuse has had a career fire company since 1877, with a history of volunteer fire fighting that goes back to at least 1825. Today, the Syracuse Fire Department operates from 11 stations, covering a 25-square mile area and a population that balloons to more than 145,000 during workdays. With no house in the city limits more than two miles from a station, the Syracuse Fire Department boasts a response time of four minutes or less anywhere in the city. It was not always this way, however, and to see how Syracuse developed a top-class fire department we can examine how its limits were regularly tested by fire and natural disasters in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, as well as the actions of a few heroic Syracusans.
The period between 1841 and 1918 in Syracuse can be seen as a time of growth and innovation bookended by the two worst disasters the region has ever seen. An explosion of gun powder in a carpentry shop on the Oswego Canal near present day South Warren and East Willow Streets was, at the time, the cause of the greatest loss of life in county history. On Aug. 20, 1841, the wooden structure caught fire and bystanders quickly gathered to witness the destruction. Unknown to them, as well as to the volunteer fire companies from the village, the shop owned by Charles Goings secretly housed 625 pounds of gun powder. The kegs caught fire as the firemen began their attempts at quelling the fire. Pieces of the building exploded outward as incendiary missiles, killing 25 instantly.
The explosion was said to be heard more than 25 miles away. Many of those who were drawn in by the initial fire were blown into the canal or buried by debris, as more than 50 people were wounded. Physicians were quickly brought in from Auburn and housed for free in the village’s hotels. Reports by the New York Herald and other newspapers reported the disaster in gruesome detail, telling of survivors with badly damaged limbs and faces, and deceased who were mangled beyond recognition. It would be 77 years before Syracuse would see another disaster like that, but the city was not without fire and fatalities in the interim.
Wieting Hall, bordering Clinton Square, caught fire three separate times between 1856 and 1896. The structure was built in 1852 on Water Street, at the corner of South Salina Street. Its first iteration functioned as a lecture hall and stood until the first fire in 1856. It was rebuilt in the same year, before being rebranded in 1870 as the Wieting Opera House, which could seat more than 1,000 people and served as a multipurpose venue. When operas were performed, the Syracuse Telephone Exchange offered its subscribers the chance to listen in by telephone. Perhaps the most significant use of the space came Nov. 14-15, 1861, when Frederick Douglas presented a lecture titled: “The Rebellion - It’s Cause and Remedy” to 800 people. Some Syracusans protested the lecture, prompting Mayor Charles Andrews to station upwards of 100 policemen at Wieting Hall, where Andrews, himself, greeted Douglas.
The building, which was built by physician and medical lecturer John Wieting, became home to the Onondaga Historical Association’s (OHA) archives in 1871, as the association was mostly dormant at that time. Thankfully, before the second fire in 1881, most of OHA’s collection had been moved to the Onondaga County Savings Bank and eventually the Syracuse Savings Bank. This second fire completely destroyed the building in two hours, leaving six people injured and racking up about $400,000 in damages. Undeterred by past catastrophes, Wieting rebuilt what would be much more of a theater than its past iterations. The final fire would come in 1896, prompting Wieting’s widow, Mary Elizabeth, to build what she called an “absolutely fire-proof” theater. The Shubert Brothers would eventually manage the theater until it was sold in 1930. Perhaps an omen of what Syracuse’s growing suburbs would mean for the city itself, the theater was torn down to allow for construction of a parking garage when the Shubert’s lease ended in 1930. Today, it is the site of the Atrium at Clinton Square.
In the years between the first Wieting fire and the last, area newspapers reported dozens of serious fires, many of which razed entire blocks. Both the courthouse and jail on North Salina Street were destroyed in 1856. Two years later, more than 70 dwellings were lost as the 1st Ward burned, leading to $200,000 in damages. A single December day in 1893 saw the loss of the Hoyt Block, Single Paper Company, McCarthy Hardware, and the oldest stone building in Syracuse, the Smith Dye House on West Water Street. It was the destruction of the Leland Hotel three years prior, however, that presents the richest picture of Syracuse at the time.
The Leland Hotel stood at South Franklin and Fayette Streets. Its six stories were completed in 1888 and boasted more than 100 rooms. Staying at the hotel in October 1890 was Cora Tanner, an actress performing in Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Princess Ida” at the Grand Opera House. Cora later recounted her story to a New York City reporter when asked how she liked her stay in Syracuse. The actress spoke of the heroic bravery of an elevator attendant named Henry Rucker, who, upon noticing a fire had broken out on the upper floors of the hotel, piloted his elevator up and down five times, saving dozens of lives in the process. Rucker was a 21-year-old African American born in Cincinnati who had been working at the Leland Hotel since it opened. Newspapers at the time reported the story in grim detail, writing that residents could be seen throwing themselves from the upper floors before being rescued, as reporters did not shy away from describing burns and other wounds. Less-dour reactions to the fire included a poem published in the Post-Standard, simply titled “Hotel Leland”, as well as a song called “Farewell, the Leland”. F. A. Mills, the song’s composer, lauds Leland’s heroism with the stanza “A word for brave young Rucker, We would not forget to say, While the Leland was on fire, He at his post did stay. His elevator he did run Till the smoke filled every hall, Saving the lives of many a one Who heard his gentle call”.
Henry Rucker certainly was not Syracuse’s only citizen with a penchant for fire rescues. The Utica Globe reported that Hamilton Salisbury White, “millionaire Syracusan,” rescued six people from the Leland blaze. Though this report is difficult to corroborate, White was already a local hero responsible for innovations in fire safety and efficiency. Hamilton S. White was born in 1853 into a wealthy Syracuse family in their home facing Fayette Park. He showed an early interest in fires and the city’s volunteer firefighting force, and was often seen at fires within the city, where volunteer firefighters affectionally called him “little Hammy White”. When he was able to ride, he was given a pony, which he would attach to a two-wheeled open carriage — allowing him to arrive at fires even faster, carrying a chemical fire extinguisher. When White went away for college it is rumored he had Western Union install wires in his room so he could be kept apprised of the fire situation back in Syracuse. When he returned to Syracuse in 1877, he was determined to give Syracuse the most-efficient fire force in the nation.
Upon his return, White converted his family’s barn into a firehouse, complete with a 35-gallon chemical extinguisher, paid firemen, and wagon that allowed him to beat the volunteer force to most fires. He eventually built a firehouse on East Genesee Street, across from the family residence, using $30,000 of his own money. He also paid to lay 12 miles of wire in the city, building on the alarm system started in 1870. The new firehouse was outfitted with electrical devices that would still impress today. As soon as an alarm went off, White’s firehouse came to life. Gas lights burned brighter, clocks were stopped so timing could be recorded, the station doors were thrown open, horses were released from their stalls, harnesses would drop from the ceilings, and the covers from beds in the dormitory would even automatically be raised. White, of course, had an alarm in his bedroom.
White’s timeline matched up perfectly with the city’s plans, as the fire department was officially organized in 1877 with the creation of 34 paid positions within the force. The chief made $1,200 annually, while company members earned $480. White would donate his firehouse, along with all of his equipment, to the city in 1883, asking only to be a houseman without pay. The “citizen fire chief” became Syracuse’s assistant fire chief shortly after, also serving as president of the Board of Fire Commissioners for over 10 terms. White’s reputation, as well as that of Syracuse’s entire force, was steadily strengthening around the nation. He was given a New York City fire badge when he traveled south, and was even brought into firehouses in London, Berlin, Paris, and Florence while vacationing with his wife, Adelaide Whitbread. White’s sense of civic duty and intense focus on making the city safe for his neighbors is best exemplified by a quote given to Syracuse fire chief John Quigley where White stated, “I’ll go with my boots on”.
To the dismay of an entire city, Hamilton S. White got his wish on March 13, 1899. Fire alarms rang out at 7:30 pm as White and his wife prepared for a concert at Syracuse University. Adelaide went onto the concert as White assured her that they would meet up as soon as the situation was under control. When White arrived at the Syracuse Optical Company on Salina Street, he was charged with locating missing firefighters who had already run into the blaze. After an hour inside the building, White emerged holding his chest suffering from a sharp pain. White walked to a drug store down the street, exclaimed “I cannot bear it,” and collapsed. Hamilton White passed away at the age of 45. His death was solemnly mourned across the country and intensely grieved at home. Most businesses, as well as City Hall, the courts, and post office closed on March 16, 1899, during his funeral. A memorial was built across from his family home in Fayette Park in 1905, with the inscription “The citizens of Syracuse, without distinction of race, creed or party, have erected this memorial. Greater love hath no man than this — that a man laid down his life for his friends.”
The highly capable and efficient Syracuse Fire Department, unfortunately, was no match for what faced them in July 1918. The Semer-Solvay factory, built on the abandoned Split Rock limestone quarry about four miles outside of Syracuse was, at the time, one of the most-efficient munitions factories in the country, with nearly a quarter of the TNT used by the American military made there. An overheated piece of machinery led to a fire that quickly engulfed the wooden building it was housed in, as the fire was fanned by a strong wind. Firefighters, armed with hoses and extinguishers, battled the blaze, somewhat containing it for the first 10 minutes. As electricity was lost, the factory was blanketed in darkness just before workers and firefighters were blinded by a flash of light and deafened by the roar of the explosion.
The blast was heard and felt in the city, as Dr. Mellor, living in present day Strathmore, immediately drove to Split Rock upon seeing the black smoke rising from the west. Dr. Mellor personally drove three injured men to the Good Shepard Hospital, while another 47 critically injured were taken to area hospitals. In total, 50 were killed that day, with many individuals never being identified. Firefighters controlled the fire the next day, and the Syracuse Herald honored those that battled the blaze 12 days later: “They accepted the challenge. They were heroes in that they died courageously, fighting to protect their city from disaster”. For a city proud of not only its high-performing fire department, but also its industrial output, the Split Rock explosion was heartbreaking, especially as local sons were fighting in the war abroad.
Today, The Syracuse Fire Department bestows the Hamilton S. White Brotherhood Award to a “citizen that advances the brotherhood of firefighters by his or her unselfish devotion to the cause” — an award Henry Rucker surely deserves for his actions during the Leland Hotel fire. It would seem Hamilton White’s vision for a highly efficient and well-outfitted fire department came true, as the Syracuse Fire Department currently holds an ISO class 1 rating, making the department one of only five in New York State with this rating. In 2021, the Syracuse Fire Department became just the 22nd recipient of the Seal of Excellence award from the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation. The commitment of city officials and citizens, alike, as well as the bitter feeling of loss that was ever present between the 1841 and 1918 explosions, is summed up by another stanza from “Farewell, The Leland.” It read, “The Noble Firemen done their best, and sealed the walls so high, and rescued many a helpless one that sent forth their piteous cry. But still they could not save them all, the flames drove them back again, and the once grand Hotel Leland, fell ne’er to rise again.” An important distinction, however, is that Syracuse has, without fail, always risen.
Chris Melfi is support services administrator at the Onondaga Historical Association (OHA) (www.cnyhistory.org), located at 321 Montgomery St. in Syracuse.