In another corner of the quadrangle ten convicts huddled in a circle around one of their buddies on the verge of death. They took turns working on him for two hours, one repeating over and over, “Come on Walter, don’t give in! We’re pulling for you!” As he succumbed to his injuries, one pal was crying into his ear, while another rubbed his arms and another pumped his lungs—all to no avail.74
One of the more embroidered accounts of the fire was published in the national edition of the Chicago Defender, among the country’s leading African American newspapers. It cited the death toll as “the heaviest in the history of disastrous fires in America,”75 noting the seventy-five “Race inmates,” as it referred to African Americans, among the dead. Actually, a perusal of the death certificates from the Ohio Penitentiary reveals that fewer than twenty prisoners of color perished in the fire. The Defender’s editors were obviously proud of the heroism displayed by many black convicts that evening, as illustrated by the following account: “Our prisoners were the outstanding heroes of the disaster. They made quick decisions at the critical time. They were the first to dash from the comparative safety of the prison yard into the fiery inferno of the doomed cell block to rescue their fellow prisoners, the majority of whom were white.”76
Other accounts offered by the Defender included the actions of a twenty-two-year-old inmate who carried a white inmate across his shoulders until he crumpled to the ground in front of the main gates. The white convict was already dead, and according to the paper’s account the young rescuer’s condition “was such as to give him slight chance to live. His clothing had been burned and his face was seared, but had a trace of a smile as a guard pumped air into his lungs.” Also mentioned were brave men such as George Alkens of Cleveland, who broke inmates out of the fiery cellblocks, and Roy Buttle, also from Cleveland, who went through a burning cellblock with a hammer “smashing locks to liberate half-crazed prisoners.” Another “unknown Race prisoner overpowered a guard who refused to open cells over which he had charge.” He allegedly secured the guard’s keys and saved men on the 5H tier.
Understandably, the African American paper tended to inflate some of the exploits of the black convicts, crediting them with herculean rescues that did not add up once the entire narrative of the disaster was in place. Their heroism was unquestionable, but the numbers saved by black prisoners do not jibe with the majority of the available accounts. For example, the claim that Howard Jones, who raced through the smoky tiers breaking locks with a sledgehammer, saved “the lives of 135 men” rests on shaky ground. Similar exploits were attributed to other convicts, such as Dan Evans, who rescued twenty-one men; Jack Wright, who carried seventeen prisoners to safety on his back; O. B. Hawkins, who saved seventy-five men “before he collapsed and was removed to the hospital”; and John Jackson of Columbus, who escaped the E Dormitory to help carry forty men from the top two tiers. This last claim is surely suspect, since all of the prisoners on the sixth tier perished, as did most of those on the fifth.
The Defender asserted that the “heroic trio” of Eddie Crawford, R. W. Mason, and George Thorpe were “the first men to gain entrance in the cell tier in which the flames were raging.” They very well might have been involved in cutting the screen with wire cutters and sledges and rescuing more than twenty inmates, but the Board of Inquiry left it beyond dispute that guards Baldwin and Little were the first to gain admittance to the smoke-filled G&H cellblocks. Rescued inmates, prison officials, and guards recounted their actions in separate testimony Other black convicts mentioned included one named Tucker, who carried the bodies of six men before he died, and Henry Caldwell, a lifer, who almost paid with his life saving inmates.
Among the most celebrated actors on Easter Monday was the warden’s daughter, Amanda, who has been credited in most contemporary accounts with giving the alarm that “brought every piece of fire apparatus in Columbus, every available policeman, a company of the National Guard and 600 soldiers, and every doctor and nurse from miles away.”77 One reporter described how she “worked frantically at a telephone hook and talked herself hoarse to a mechanic on the other end in an effort to get power turned on” from a different power station.78 Some accounts had Amanda Thomas ordering guards to their posts while she “issued guns and ammunition, called doctors and nurses, summoned troops and performed many other duties.”79 Another described her as “one of the outstanding figures in maintaining peace and order among the convicts during the disaster.” The account boasted that “throughout the fire and panic” she worked “untiring, helping her father place guards, directing the activities of physicians and nurses and broadcasting appeals for assistance.”80 The warden’s daughter, for all of her spunk and courage, relinquished much of her gravitas when it was revealed that as the fire approached her family’s residence in the penitentiary main building, she turned her attention from the unfolding prison holocaust to “ordering her valuables removed” from the house.81
In reality, Amanda Thomas was one of many women who pitched in Easter Monday. Elizabeth Sampson, director of the Physicians and Surgeons Bureau, “played an important part in the rescue work,” calling all the area physicians to the prison after she was contacted to do so by Warden Thomas. For the time, the exchange represented a big stride toward more effective emergency response communications. Each doctor in the area called the exchange hourly and it was only through Sampson that the doctors could be quickly contacted. She was assisted by several young women in contacting doctors at their last reported locations.82
Caught up in the excitement of the moment, newspaper reporters went out of their way to create heroes in order to capture the fancy of readers in a newspaper-saturated era. Like those of the African American inmates chronicled in the Defender, Ms. Thomas’s contributions were likely embroidered for public consumption. While initial reports cast her as a central figure, she was barely mentioned in the 722-page Board of Inquiry report. Indeed, early reports suggested that the “women members of the Thomas family [were] all panic stricken standing near the door to their home to watch guards and volunteers remove valuables from the warden’s residence,” fearing it was in the path of the fire.83
Monday night the warden’s wife collapsed, but she was revived and placed under the care of a physician at 7:15. An African American newspaper correctly reported that a “Race” convict had come to her aid, supporting her on his arm and giving her a drink of water to revive her. However, his “race” was not reported in the local newspapers at the time. After some rest and the application of restoratives she declared herself fit to render aid.84
With darkness approaching on Easter Monday, it was obvious that more lighting would be required inside the prison walls. Floodlights were set up above the prison by the Superior Electric Company, allowing workers to more effectively administer first aid. Soon a large number of smaller lights, removed from the swimming pool at Olentangy Park, were brought to the pen.85 By sundown soldiers had delivered a boxload of new flashlights as well. Meanwhile, electricians were feverishly attempting to hook up a power line so that wall lights and inside lights could be used.86
One story that continued to gain traction as it was passed around through the prison grapevine was that a guard had refused to let a convict out of his cell and a black inmate had tried to liberate him with the help of a chisel. In one version of the events, the guard supposedly shot both prisoners and ran away. Another account had a Cincinnati convict named Albert Johnson crying as he showed a reporter his hand, saying, “Mister, we pleaded and pleaded with that guard to let us out but he wouldn’t…. He only said get
