The Letters of Franklin K. Lane, Personal and PoliticalLane, Franklin K.
History
The Letters of Franklin K. Lane, Personal and Political
Lane, Franklin K.
United States -- Politics and government -- 1913-1921; World War, 1914-1918 -- United States
"On the last day but one of this visitation the fire, smoldering
slowly in the redwood houses, had taken virtually all the district
east of Van Ness Avenue, a broad street which bisects the
residence quarter. ... By this time the authorities had given up
dynamiting. Chief Sullivan, the one man among them who understood
the use of explosives in fire fighting, was dead. The work had
been done by soldiers from the Presidio, who blew up buildings too
close to the flames and so only scattered them. Lane stood on the
slope of Russian Hill, watching the fire approach Van Ness Avenue,
when a contractor named Anderson came along. 'That fire always
catches at the eaves, not the foundations,' said Lane. 'It could
be stopped right here if some one would dynamite all the block
beyond Van Ness Avenue. It could never jump across a strip so
broad.' 'But they've forbidden any more dynamiting,' said
Anderson. 'Never mind; I'd take the chance myself if we could get
any explosive,' replied Lane. 'Well, there's a launch full of
dynamite from Contra Costa County lying right now at Meigs's
Wharf,' said Anderson. Just then Mr. and Mrs. Tom Magee arrived,
driving an automobile on the wheel rims. Lane despatched them to
Meigs's Wharf for the dynamite. He and Anderson found an electric
battery, and cut some dangling wires from a telephone pole. By
this time the Magees were back, the machine loaded with dynamite;
Mrs. Magee carrying a box of detonators on her lap. Lane,
Anderson, and a corps of volunteers laid the battery and strung
the wires. 'How do you want this house to fall?' asked Anderson,
who understands explosives. 'Send her straight up,' replied Lane.
"'And I've never forgotten the picture which followed,' Lane has
told me since. 'Anderson disappeared inside, came out, and said:
"All ready." I joined the two ends of wire which I held in my
hands. The house rose twenty feet in the air--intact, mind you! It
looked like a scene in a fairy book. At that point I rolled over
on my back, and when I got up the house was nothing but dust and
splinters.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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