PHILADELPHIA - On the evening of Aug. 8, 1903, a grocery store along
15th Street turned its display window into a lost-and-found, filled with
hundreds of hats - straw boaters, derbies, the soft caps worn by young boys.
A few hours earlier, the grocer had scooped them off the bloody street
separating his North Philadelphia store from the third-base wall of the
National League Park, the Phillies' ballpark that years later would be
renamed Baker Bowl after the man who bought the club in 1913.
The hats had fallen from the heads of the several hundred spectators who
dropped 30 feet into a deadly heap when a wooden balcony collapsed during
the second game of a doubleheader between the Phillies and the Boston
Braves.
"The balcony tore itself away from the wall and the crowd hurled headlong to
the pavement," read the following day's Inquirer. "In the twinkling of an eye
the street was piled four deep with bleeding, injured, shrieking humanity
struggling amid the piling debris."
What followed was chaos. Rescuers worked frantically to remove the dead
and injured, commandeering wagons and even some newfangled motorcars
to haul them to St. Luke's, Samaritan and Jewish hospitals. Neighbors
opened their homes. Pickpockets plucked wallets and watches from the
helpless victims.
The collapse killed 12 fans, ranging in age from 24 to 63, and injured 232.
Even today, 100 years later, it remains one of the greatest tragedies in the
history of American sports.
"I can't really even think of anything that comes close," said Bob Warrington,
a Philadelphia native and baseball historian who has researched the events of
that grisly afternoon.
In subsequent weeks, lawsuits were filed against the Phillies and their former
owners. Investigations were begun, and inquests held. Ultimately, the disaster
led to the end of wood as a major building material in ballparks.
In 1887, four years after the Phillies had arrived here from Worcester, Mass.,
owners Al Reach and John Rogers built them a new ballpark bounded by
Broad and 15th Streets, and Lehigh and Huntington Avenues.
The Philadelphia Base Ball Park held 12,500, was constructed primarily of
wood, and burned to the ground on the morning of Aug. 6, 1894.
A new stadium, constructed of brick, steel and wood and ballyhooed as the
greatest ever built, rose on the same site. Opened in 1895, the renamed
National League Park held 18,500.
The 1903 Phillies would finish with a 49-86-4 record. Even though they were
29 games below .500 on Aug. 8, a much-better-than-average crowd of
10,000 turned out for the doubleheader with Boston.
The Braves beat the Phillies, 5-4, in the opener.
"Then, in the fourth inning of the second game, the teams were tied at 5-5 and
Boston's Joe Stanley was at bat," said Warrington, who now lives in
Burtonsville, Md., and works for the Central Intelligence Agency.
Just then a large number of fans along the third-base line became interested in
something happening off the field.
Below them on 15th Street, several neighborhood children had been teasing
two drunks as they staggered from a neighborhood tavern toward Lehigh
Avenue. Suddenly, one of the men reacted angrily, turning and grabbing the
hair of a 13-year-old girl, later identified in newspaper accounts as Maggie
Barry.
Her high-pitched squeals drew the attention of fans. An estimated total of 300
of them rushed to a wooden balcony that jutted out several feet from the
grandstands above the corner of 15th and Lehigh.
The weight was too much for the makeshift structure. The wooden supports
gave way, and wave after wave of spectators plummeted to the street below.
"There must have been one hundred men and boys, and every one of them
was covered with blood," a police officer told The Inquirer. "Some of them
had their clothing almost torn from their bodies, while others were so
bespattered with blood and mud as to be almost unrecognizable."
The game was halted and eventually canceled. The remaining fans, fearful that
the rest of the ballpark might tumble down, rushed onto the field.
"Some players armed themselves with bats to keep from being overwhelmed
by the wild stampede," Warrington said.
The Phillies ordered the debris removed immediately. The following day, Phils
business manager Bill Shettsline attempted to absolve his club, which had
been sold to a group headed by James Potter in 1902. Shettsline blamed the
calamity on the "overanxiety" of the fans.
"The accident was in no way due to any lack of proper precautions or neglect
on the part of officials of the club," Shettsline said. "When the present
management assumed control of the grounds, the pavilion and stands were in
perfect condition, and, for the purposes intended, were safe and reliable, but
the simultaneous rush of several hundred persons to one concentrated point
weakened the structure and precipitated several hundred unfortunate persons
to the street below."
That began an orgy of finger-pointing.
The old owners blamed the new, and vice versa. Both parties said the fault
was in the original construction, a charge that the contractors, R.C. Ballinger
& Co., vehemently denied. Even Philadelphia's mayor, John Weaver, chimed
in.
"Rotten timbers!" he told The Philadelphia Inquirer. "I am not a builder, but it
looks to me as if the construction of the balcony was faulty."
More than 80 lawsuits were filed by the injured and the families of the dead.
All were eventually dismissed, even though a panel of six builders ruled after
several days of hearings that rotting hemlock timbers were to blame and that
the former owners, Reach and Rogers, were responsible. The courts
determined that it was the rush of spectators, and not the faulty timber, that
caused the collapse.
The Phillies wanted to rope off the affected area of the grandstands and
resume their season. The city said no, and the team was forced to share
Columbia Park, at 29th Street and Columbia Avenue, with the American
League Athletics until repairs were made.
Ominously, rain postponed the Phils' first nine games at Columbia Park,
which is still the longest such streak in team history. They would play 16
games there, going 6-9-1.
The ballpark was repaired, but in 1927 a section of the first-base stands
collapsed. This time, only one person died, but 50 were hurt. Eleven years
later, the Phillies finally abandoned their rickety ballpark for good. Once
again, they moved in with the A's, this time at Shibe Park, six blocks farther
up Lehigh Avenue.
"Maybe the most lasting impact of the disaster was pointed out in the official
program from the opening of Shibe Park in 1909," Warrington said. Shibe
Park was the first steel-and-concrete ballpark.
"In the construction of the seating provisions of previous ballparks, the use of
wood was general," the program said. "Several unfortunate accidents called
serious attention to the need of something more durable than wood for the
safety of the enormous crowds which thronged parks where winning baseball
was being played."
By nightfall of that fateful August day a century ago, a few of the hats were
claimed from the 15th Street grocer's window as the injured returned from
nearby hospitals.
"But," Warrington said, "many, many more never were."
A century ago, Philadelphia fans suffered a deadly day
Philadelphia Inquirer
by Frank Fitzpatrick
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