American History Tellers - 1906 San Francisco Earthquake | The Earth Shook | 1

Episode Date: October 25, 2023

In the early morning hours of April 18th, 1906, residents of San Francisco were awakened by the violent shaking of a massive earthquake. People on the streets watched in horror as entire city blocks were reduced to rubble. Those who had survived the initial quake began rescue efforts, pulling people from destroyed buildings and rushing to aid the wounded and displaced.  The earthquake also sparked fires that quickly began to spread. But as firefighters rushed to put them out, they discovered that the city’s water mains had cracked, and hydrants had run dry.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's just past 5 a.m. on April 18, 1906. You're a sergeant with the San Francisco Police Department's Chinatown Squad, nearing the end of your overnight shift. It's a cool, clear morning, and a light breeze kicks up as you step up in front of Levy's Market on Washington Street, in the Wholesale Produce District. The proprietor's son, Sidney Levy, is out front arranging boxes of carrots and onions.

Then the street begins to fill with other workers stacking fruits and vegetables. You take off your hat and lead against a crate of asparagus. A horse hitched to a wagon out front begins neighing, stamping its hooves and shaking its head. Morning, Sidney. What's up with that horse? Why is he acting so nervous? Not sure, Sergeant. Something's got him spooked. Never seen him so worked up, though. And then suddenly, you feel the ground beneath you shift,

followed by a deep rumbling sound. Oh, you feel that? After ten years on the beat, you've felt earthquakes before. This isn't too unusual. But then the rumbling gets louder. Oh, this is going to be a dandy. For a moment, you try to just enjoy the ride. But then you look up Washington Street. You can't believe your eyes. The entire thoroughfare has turned into an undulating wave, and it's coming straight at you. All along Washington Street,

shops and houses rip apart and collapse. The pavement below you suddenly splits open. You point to the archway of a one-story building across the street and yell to Sidney to follow you. Once there, Sidney pans with fear. You try to reassure him. Now you stay here, okay? She's not done yet. Never felt a shake like this before. God, everything's just falling down. Sergeant, look over there. You see the brick front wall of the building above Bodwell Brothers' merchants start leaning in toward the street. Two men are standing out front, and you can tell they're about to run for it.

No, stay where you are. Don't run. It's not safe. But the men dash into the street just as the brick wall falls, burying them. The whole city feels like it's jumping and tilting. The tower bell at Old St. Mary's Church in nearby Chinatown begins to toll, and more church bells join in. Then you start to see smoke pouring from the windows of a grocery warehouse. You struggle to make your way toward the police station, lurching along the sidewalk as falling bricks bounce off the road around you.

It feels like the end of the world. The police station is just two blocks away, but it might as well be a million miles. As the shaking continues, you just pray that you can make it there alive. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From the team behind American History Tellers comes a new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the

fierce power struggles, intimate moments, and shocking scandals that shaped our nation. From the War of 1812 to Watergate, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. On our show, we take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans. Our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made, and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now. By the early 1900s, the formerly rough-and-tumble mining town of San Francisco had become a cosmopolitan city of nearly half a million, nicknamed the Paris of the West. But on the morning of April 18, 1906, the city by the bay

was hit by one of the most devastating natural disasters in U.S. history. A massive earthquake toppled buildings, downed electrical wires, cracked gas lines, and ignited scores of fires. The quake also cracked the city's water mains, and most fire hydrants went dry. Desperate city officials used dynamite to blow up buildings in an attempt to create firebreaks, but instead only ignited more fires. Amid the chaos, jittery Army soldiers and National Guard troops patrolled the streets, occasionally shooting people suspected of looting. The massive earthquake and the fires that followed claimed thousands of lives and left at least 200,000 people homeless. The city would quickly begin to recover and rebuild,

but after the deadliest earthquake in American history, San Francisco would never be the same. This is Episode 1 of our three-part series on the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, The Earth Shook. In 1848, gold was discovered 100 miles to the northeast of San Francisco at Sutter's Mill, triggering the California Gold Rush and luring thousands of prospectors west. The frenzy of speculation fueled the next 50 years of San Francisco's growth as California's largest city mushroomed at the northern tip of a thumb-shaped peninsula.

The city's unique geography meant that the densest neighborhoods were cled at the northern tip of a thumb-shaped peninsula. The city's unique geography meant that the densest neighborhoods were clustered at the peninsula's northeastern edges, closest to the city's wharves and ferry terminals. One of the most dense areas was a cluttered district of wood-framed homes, shops, and brothels that made up the 12 square blocks of Chinatown, home to as many as 30,000 people. In the latter part of the 19th century, San Francisco was still a rough western city, with saloons far outnumbering churches. Buffeted by ocean winds and often blinded by cool fogs, residents considered themselves distinct from the rest of Sun Bay, California. They were independent, hardy, insular, and proud. But the city grew

rapidly, and by the first years of the 20th century, San Francisco had become the West Coast's hub of finance, manufacturing, shipping, railroads, and culture. By 1906, it was America's biggest city in the West, with a population of 460,000. The city boasted fancy hotels and fine dining, several newspapers, a sophisticated trolley system, and three elegant opera houses. One of these cultural jewels was the Grand Opera House, and on the night of April 17, 1906, it rang with the voice of the world's most famous tenor, Enrico Caruso. A rapturous crowd of 3,000 turned out to hear the Italian star

perform the role of Don Jose in Carmen. But for all its sophistication, San Francisco was built on a vulnerable foundation. The city sat directly atop the massive San Andreas Fault. This intersection of tectonic plates had buckled many times, including 40 years earlier in 1868, when an earthquake rattled the city and killed dozens. Additionally, many of the homes, boarding houses, and hotels of the tightly packed, wind-whipped city were made of wood and often hastily constructed. This left the city susceptible to fire, and it was hit by hundreds of blazes every year. In fact, soon after the curtain fell

on Caruso's performance on the night of April 17th, scores of city firefighters raced to a three-alarm blaze at the California Cannery just north of the Opera House. Leading them that night was Fire Chief Dennis Sullivan, a muscular Irishman from New Jersey who had run San Francisco's fire department for the past 13 years. Sullivan had overseen the installation of a new telegraph alarm system and more than 400 street alarm boxes. Alarm bells had also been installed at firefighters' homes and at major businesses. Sullivan's department employed nearly 600 firefighters who worked out of 44 firehouses. They had 100 modern firefighting vehicles, powerful engines that had replaced the old hand pump machines. There were steamed power engines that had replaced the old hand-pumped machines. There were steamed power engines that pumped water from cisterns and hydrants,

plus chemical engines carrying tanks full of bicarbonate of soda that was mixed with sulfuric acid to extinguish small blazes. While the department had recently purchased a few gasoline engine trucks, most of its engines, wagons, and buggies were still pulled by the department's 320 very well-trained horses. But for Sullivan, these improvements were not enough. He'd been arguing for years that the city was a tinderbox in need of even more sophisticated firefighting systems. Each year, he lobbied city officials to invest more in equipment, training, and manpower. And his concerns were highlighted by a scathing report by the National Board of Fire Underwriters. In October of 1905, that board said that due to the highly combustible

nature of the city's buildings, the probability of a major fire in San Francisco was alarmingly severe. Yet the water mains that supplied the city's hydrants were incapable of delivering high-pressure streams, and many of the dozens of wooden cisterns around the city had been neglected. Chief Sullivan knew that even with his modernized equipment, San Francisco's water supply was compromised, and firefighters were therefore ill-prepared for a major blaze. It left him desperate to improve the city's defenses. Imagine it's November 20th, 1905. You're San Francisco's longtime fire chief,

and today you're about to testify before the Board of Supervisors on the third floor of City Hall. You're here to once again ask the Board and Mayor Eugene Schmitz to fund your request for upgrades to the city's firefighting systems. With the wrap of the gavel, it's your turn to speak. Clutching your notes, you approach the podium. You nod at the mayor, who sits stone-faced before you at the head table. Afternoon, gentlemen. Mr. Mayor. Thank you for giving me some of your time today.

Well, what's on your mind, Chief? Mayor Schmitz, it's all in my annual report. It includes the same list of requests I've made each of the past six years. More than anything, we need a better water supply system. We need a reservoir up on Twin Peaks and an auxiliary saltwater pumping system. The mayor leans back in his chair and strokes his neatly trimmed goatee. Chief Sullivan, in recent years, the city has given your department funds for a new alarm system, new fire trucks, alarm bells in firefighters' homes, and much more.

Isn't that correct? Yes, Mr. Mayor. But, and didn't the chief of the New York City Fire Department praise your department as one of the most efficient and fully equipped departments in the world? Yes, sir. That's true. And we're damn proud of it. But if you recall, the National Board of Fire Underwriters also said last month that my department cannot be relied upon to indefinitely stave off the inevitable. The inevitable? Well, with respect,

sir, since the Gold Rush, fire has decimated the city six times. My men fight more than 600 blazes a year, and don't forget, this town sits on an earthquake belt. The Haywood quake of 68 happened before my time, but we had one up north in 92, another in 98 that I remember well. Any day now, we'll get another big shake, and then a fire. Mayer's eyes flash with anger. Oh, so you're a scientist now, Chief? You can predict the future, huh? I'm just trying to prepare for the worst, sir.

And that's what you pay me for, isn't it? If we were faced with a really big one, it would overwhelm our old gravity-fed water system. There's simply not enough water pressure to reach these new tall buildings, like the 16-story call building down the street, you know? Or even the top floors here at City Hall. But Chief, everything you're asking for costs money, and lots of it. We've got other priorities that need to be addressed, that our citizens are actually asking for. Sir, it's a small price to pay for improvements that could save this city. Ah, thank you, Chief. I think we've heard enough for today. But we'll let you know our decision.

You turn to leave the boardroom, dejected. You expect your requests will be denied, just as they have been for each of the past six years. You just hope 1906 doesn't bring any big surprises. In October of 1905, the National Board of Fire Underwriters had issued a report that praised Sullivan's department while highlighting San Francisco's vulnerability to a major fire. The report warned that the hazard is very severe. The following month, Fire Chief Dennis Sullivan publicly repeated his request to city officials for a new water reservoir atop the 900-foot hills known as Twin Peaks. This could deliver high-pressure water to the city's 4,000 hydrants.

Sullivan also wanted upgraded water mains and cisterns, two new saltwater pumping stations, a new fireboat, and more training for his men. He warned that without an improved firefighting system, San Francisco was at risk. The city denied Sullivan's requests. But Mayor Eugene Schmitz did agree to create a committee of civic leaders to review the underwriter's report and revisit Sullivan's recommendations. The review committee's first meeting was held on April 17, 1906. Chief Sullivan was scheduled to address them the next day, April 18, but he would not get the chance. The first months of 1906 were a time of widespread natural disasters.

Chief Sullivan and Mayor Schmitz had undoubtedly read newspaper reports of a massive earthquake that had hit off the coast of Ecuador on January 31st, and of another that struck the Caribbean island of St. Lucia two weeks later. These were followed five days later by a quake in the Caucasus Mountains of Eastern Europe. In March, an earthquake hit the island of Taiwan, then known as Formosa, killing 1,200 people. And on April 6, Mount Vesuvius, the volcano near the Italian city of Naples that once buried Pompeii in ash, erupted again for 10 days. To anyone following these global events, it would seem that something strange and violent was happening deep below the Earth's surface. And then, early on the morning of April 18th,

the ground below San Francisco started to rumble. At 5.12 a.m., the Earth suddenly shook as tectonic plates grinded and shifted. The initial temblor lasted 28 seconds. Half a minute later, a second, stronger shock rippled for 42 more seconds. Most San Franciscans were still asleep. Among the few on the streets to witness the quake's first effects were those who worked early morning hours.

Beat cops, night shift reporters, bakers, fishmongers, grocers, and laundry workers. One swimmer, taking a morning dip at Ocean Beach before starting his workday, was slammed by a freak wave. A fishing captain felt his vessel thumped by some hidden force like a depth charge and feared his boat might split in half. At dairy farms north of the city, the earth cracked right open, swallowing cows whole. The two shocks combined only lasted a minute, but the horrors were just beginning. Cities, towns, forests, and farms along a 300-mile stretch of California coast had been heaved and shifted. Telephone poles snapped and trees whipsawed. Railroad tracks buckled. Houses splintered, cracked, and fell apart as people raced into the streets. But the

city of San Francisco was the hardest hit. Opera singer Enrico Caruso, who had performed the previous night, hadn't wanted to come to San Francisco at all. He was worried about his family back home in Naples, still at risk due to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. After dining late while waiting for the early editions of the papers, Caruso had retired to his room on the fifth floor of the Palace Hotel on Market Street at around 3 a.m. Caruso was shaken awake two hours later when the walls of his room began to shudder. Seven blocks north of Market Street in Chinatown, Police Sergeant Jesse Cook watched Washington Street turn into a river of dirt and shattered

pavement. Buildings danced and trolley tracks twisted. Cook watched in horror as a brick building collapsed and crushed two produce merchants trying to flee. James Hopper, a reporter for the San Francisco Call, rushed to his bedroom window as the fire escape peeled away from his building, and the nearby St. Francis Hotel wobbled and waved. He heard the hiss of gas leaking from broken pipes and was sure he was about to die, but managed to escape his home and was soon pulling victims from a nearby apartment building, some already dead and others just barely alive. Another reporter, Fred Hewitt of the Examiner, was walking home with

friends from the graveyard shift. After the first shock, there was an eerie lull and then a second, more terrific crash. Hewitt watched as two cops were buried under the brick and stone of a toppled building. A fireworks factory exploded. Trolley and electrical wires fell in tangles, igniting the first of dozens of small fires. But none of the city's new fire alarms sounded. The first shock broke the batteries powering the alarm system, housed in a building in Chinatown. Chief Sullivan and his firefighters awoke to the biggest crisis of their lives,

but with their sophisticated alarm system disabled, they were already at a disadvantage. Sullivan was jolted from his sleep in the third-floor apartment above the No. 3 fire station on Bush Street. He rushed to check on his wife, Margaret, who was sleeping in an adjacent room. Sullivan managed to throw a mattress over her just as the brick chimneys above the California hotel next door toppled, punching a hole in the firehouse clear down to the basement. Sullivan and his wife fell three stories and were buried under piles of bricks. It took firefighters and others 20 minutes to pull them free.

They were both rushed to the Southern Pacific Hospital with serious injuries. It was the start of the fire chief's worst nightmare. Just as he had feared, a massive earthquake was tearing his city apart shattered by the death of a beloved wife and mother. But this tragic loss of life quickly turns into something even darker. Her husband had tried to hire a hitman on the dark web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target. Because buried in the depths of the internet is The Kill List, a cache of chilling documents containing names, photos, addresses,

and specific instructions for people's murders. This podcast is the true story of how I ended up in a race against time to warn those whose lives were in danger. And it turns out convincing a total stranger someone wants them dead is not easy. Follow Kill List on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid early and ad free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. This is the emergency broadcast system.

A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert. What do you do next? Maybe you're at the grocery store. Or maybe you're with your secret lover. Or maybe you're robbing a bank. Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand-new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus,

follows the journey of a variety of characters as they confront the unimaginable. The missiles are coming. What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Lou Henner, Mary Elizabeth Ellis, Paul Edelstein, and many, many more, Incoming is a hilariously thrilling podcast

that will leave you wondering, how would you spend your last few minutes on Earth? You can binge Incoming exclusively and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. On April 18, 1906, San Francisco exploded into pandemonium.

In the first hours after the quake struck, streets filled with terrified refugees and wounded survivors. Thousands rushed north to the ferry terminal, fighting to board the few boats available so they could flee to safety across the bay. Hundreds of destabilized buildings continued to quiver and then collapse, killing dozens and trapping many in tangles of splintered timber. Loose bricks, cornices, parapets, and wooden beams fell on fleeing pedestrians. Water gushed from broken pipes and flooded the streets.

Clouds of dust and smoke filled the air, along with the shrieks and wails of the trapped and wounded. The worst-hit areas were the working-class neighborhoods along Market Street. The area south of Market had been developed atop reclaimed swampland, backfilled with soil. The structures built on top of that soft ground shifted and sank during the initial shaking. North of Market Street, Chinatown was also hit hard, but at least many of its single-story wood-framed houses survived the first shocks. Across the city, brick chimneys wreaked havoc. Nearly all of them

collapsed, toppling down onto homes and their residents. Buildings made of concrete fared a little better, but the Grand City Hall building was not among them. The hall had recently been completed after 26 years of on-and-off construction at a cost of $6 million, more than $200 million today. The earthquake tore the building's ornate exterior right off, revealing shoddy workmanship beneath, the result of graft and bribery. And then, as aftershocks continued to rattle the city throughout the morning and into the afternoon, weakened buildings shed their brick walls and facades, which fell onto people, horses, and cattle below. A herd of longhorn cattle being driven to the stockyards stampeded down Mission Street. A police officer and a man from Texas

fired on the cows, killing 50 of them, but not before one of them gored a saloon keeper to death. People also died of asphyxiation as gas seeped into their homes. And all the while, the wounded poured into the city's hospitals as rescuers frantically dug into the rubble for survivors. Farther out from downtown, though, some residents didn't realize the extent of the quake's damage. Among them was the city's popular mayor, 41-year-old Eugene Schmitz, now in his third term.

The former violin player and president of the Musicians' Union had been lured into public service by Abe Roof, an attorney, labor leader, and political boss who had founded the Union Labor Party. Roof considered Schmitz a malleable candidate, someone he could control from behind the scenes. And together, the two had formed an alliance that catered to working-class voters, but they also accepted bribes and extorted payoffs from businesses. After the quake first hit, Mayor Schmitz initially went back to sleep. No fire alarms had gone off, so he assumed the worst was over. But his deputies roused him 45 minutes later, informing him of the devastation.

He rushed toward a ruined city hall to face the most dramatic crisis of his career. Meanwhile, Schmitz's predecessor had already joined the rescue efforts, efforts that were complicated by a dire and expanding new threat, fast-moving fires. Imagine it's 10 o'clock on the morning of April 18th, 1906. You're the former mayor of San Francisco, and it's been nearly five hours since the earthquake shook you from your bed in the Mission District. Now you're standing outside the Valencia Street Hotel, a boarding house two blocks from your home.

The building has collapsed, trapping scores of residents inside. You've come to help police and firefighters dig through the wreckage for survivors. When the quake hit, the entire building shifted right off its foundation. Floors collapsed onto one another, and the building sank into the ground. The ruins topped floors, now just a few feet above the street. You roll up your sleeves, grab a handsaw, and climb a tangle of splintered wooden beams. You nod to a man you recognize, then grimace as you realize he's from the coroner's office. How many people are buried in there?

We think at least a hundred. A hundred? We need to hurry. You see an arm sticking out from a pile of splintered wood, its fingers waving. Oh, hey, hey, over here. I found one. He's alive. I'm right behind you. Let's go. You begin sawing a wooden beam while others pull shingles and plaster off

the trapped man. Hold on, pal. We're going to get you out of there. Here, help me lift this beam on three, okay? One, two, three. Hey, pal, grab my arm. Grab my arm. The survivor grasps frantically, finally managing to grip your forearm. You pull him from the debris and then carry him to the street. Looking around, you realize there are no vehicles, so you put him in your own carriage and turn to a firefighter nearby. Take this guy to Southern Pacific Hospital and hurry. He is hurt bad. As the firefighter pulls away, you rush back to the collapsed building. You help the coroner carry one dead woman to the street and line her up beside the other bodies, some of them children.

You realize with some horror that there are more victims than survivors. You turn to the coroner. Is it just the mission district that's been hit? Oh, are you kidding? No, the whole city's wrecked. The Nevada house and a bunch of the crowded boarding houses south of Market just fell into each other. There's more people trapped over there. You follow the coroner's gaze and see smoke billowing into the sky. Oh, God, now what, fire too? I hear fires are breaking out all over. There's one a few blocks over on Dolores Street. God help us

if it heads this direction. You realize that though the earthquake was bad enough, fires will make everything worse. So you decide it's time to make your way downtown and check in with the mayor's office. As you leave, you count 10 bodies laid in the street. You're afraid of what will happen if this fire spreads and rescuers can't reach trapped survivors in time. One of the larger buildings to suffer a catastrophic collapse was the four-story Valencia Street Hotel, a boarding house which pancaked to the ground, trapping at least 100 guests inside. It had been built atop loosely packed soil, which practically liquefied during the quake. Former Mayor James Phelan joined firefighters

and others trying to rescue buried guests, many of whom remained entangled in the wreckage, as fires approached. And the Valencia Hotel was not the only building under threat from fire. Within hours of the earthquake, dozens of blazes had erupted all over the city. From one corner of San Francisco to the other, gas mains had split, fuel tanks cracked, and chimneys toppled. Their flammable contents were ignited by the sparks of fallen power lines. Firefighters were slow to respond, and not just because a loss of electricity prevented alarm bells from ringing. The first tremors had knocked out the city's telegraph fire alarm system, too, along with its 400-street-level

alarm box. The quake also took down the control center in Chinatown, and several brick firehouses had collapsed. Chief Sullivan was proud of the modern fire alarm system he had installed across the city, but that system had failed, and the city's water system was also at risk of failure. One of the first large fires began when the floor of a Chinatown laundry collapsed. Inside, fires used to heat the laundry's irons quickly caught and spread. The laundry sat across the street from a firehouse, but that building had been crushed by the collapse of a hotel next door, killing a firefighter. Another fire started south of Market when several boarding houses collapsed, toppling into each other like dominoes. Firefighters had already sped off to the Chinese Laundry Fire,

allowing the boarding house fire to spread uncontrolled, even as scores of residents remained trapped. A few blocks further west, a woman on Hayes Street lit her stove to cook breakfast, igniting a fire in her cracked chimney. It would become known as the Ham and Eggs Fire and would eventually torch 30 blocks north of Market, including the damaged City Hall and Hall of Records. As these and even more fires were reported along the Market Street corridor, the city's 600 firefighters spread out to attack them. But time after time, they made a horrifying discovery. When they connected their hoses to hydrants,

they found most of them produced nothing more than a trickle of water. During the quake, the city's water mains had ruptured, leaving firefighters with nothing to fight the blazes. As a backup, fire crews tried some of the neglected older fire cisterns, but most of those were empty, and attempts to pump water from sewer lines also failed. The nightmare scenario that Fire Chief Dennis Sullivan had warned about was coming true. But at that moment, Chief Sullivan was clinging to life at the Southern Pacific Hospital. When the next-door building's chimneys collapsed onto his firehouse,

he had suffered a skull fracture, broken ribs, and a punctured lung. His body was covered with cuts and bruises, and he was severely burned by steam from the radiator on which he landed. So as he lay unconscious, fires marched unchallenged across the city. Crowds begged firefighters to do more, sometimes jeering and heckling them. But Sullivan's men couldn't fight back. Their hydrants were dry. Desperate and running out of options, these firefighters would soon turn to a destructive, last-ditch measure to try to stop the city from burning. And it wouldn't work. How did Birkenstocks go from a German cobbler's passion project 250 years ago to the Barbie movie today?

Who created that bottle of red Sriracha with a green top that's permanently living in your fridge? Did you know that the Air Jordans were initially banned by the NBA? We'll explore all that and more in The Best Idea Yet, a brand new podcast from Wondery and T-Boys. This is Nick. This is Jack. And we've covered over a thousand episodes of pop business news stories on our daily podcast. We've identified the most viral products of all time. And they're wild origin stories that you had no idea about. From the Levi's 501 jeans to Legos. Come for the products you're obsessed with. Stay for the business insights that are going to blow up your group chat.

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Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show Business Movers. We tell the true stories of business leaders who risked it all, the critical moments that define their journey, and the ideas that transform the way we live our lives. In our latest series, a young refugee fleeing the Nazis arrives in Britain determined to make something of his life. Taking the name Robert Maxwell, he builds a publishing and newspaper empire that spans the globe. But ambition eventually curdles into desperation.

And Robert's determination to succeed turns into a willingness to do anything to get ahead. Follow Business Movers wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. On the morning of April 18, 1906, San Francisco was hardly alone in its suffering. The earthquake inflicted widespread damage up and down a 300-mile stretch of California's coast. It toppled lighthouses, schools, jailhouses, libraries, brothels, temples, and churches. By midday Wednesday, eight hours after the quake, scores of cities and towns were counting their losses and mourning their dead.

Across the bay from San Francisco in Oakland, five people died when a rooming house above the Empire Theater was crushed by a falling wall. To the south in Palo Alto, most of the new Stanford University campus had been turned to rubble. North of San Francisco, the famous vineyards of Napa and Sonoma were churned to mud, and the entire downtown of Santa Rosa in Sonoma County was leveled and disappeared quickly in flames. At least 50 people there were killed, a number that would eventually double. South of San Francisco, the town of Santa Clara experienced an apocalyptic scenario when the clock tower at Agnew State Hospital for the Insane collapsed,

killing more than 100 and trapping dozens more. Scores of wounded inmates escaped the hospital and roamed the streets in a panic. Doctors and nurses used ropes and bed sheets to tie some of the terrified patients to trees and keep them from fleeing. This hospital would account for the largest numbers of deaths at one location. Back in San Francisco, evacuees desperately lugged trunks, suitcases, children, and the elderly from damaged buildings, only to be chased through the streets by the raging fires.

In the afternoon of Wednesday, April 18th, hours after the quake, multiple blazes spread among the tightly packed streets of wood-framed row houses north and south of Market Street. Firemen used what little water they could find to drape wet canvas sacks over their heads and shoulders to protect themselves against swirling embers. Some rolled in puddles to soak their uniforms. Many of them felt desperate and demoralized. Then, hopeless firefighters and frightened residents began to hear a terrifying new sound. Explosions rumbling across their ruined city. They were shocked to learn that these explosions were being deliberately set.

Imagine it's early afternoon on Wednesday, April 18th. You're a captain with the U.S. Army, serving as the ordnance officer at nearby Fort Mason. You've been ordered to deliver a wagon full of gunpowder and dynamite to the mayor of San Francisco and his fire chiefs. After making your way through chaotic, smoke-filled streets, you arrive outside the Hall of Justice. You halt your wagon and climb down to join the mayor, the deputy fire chief, and the superintendent of the California Powder Works. Standing there with them, arms crossed, is your superior, General Frederick Funston. After quick instructions, Funston gives you orders. All right, here's what I need you to do.

I want you and a few of these fire department boys to take these barrels of gunpowder down to Clay and Kearney streets and use controlled explosions to create firebreaks. We need to stop these fires. Yes, sir, but with respect, I don't have proper training for this. You're the ordinance officer at Fort Mason, are you not? Aren't explosives your job? Yes, sir, but my expertise is military weapons, not fire breaks. And I understand from the deputy fire chief that his men aren't trained for this kind of thing either. Funston puffs out his chest. He's a short man, but stocky and full of bluster. Oh, how hard can it be, son? Just pick a few buildings that have already caught fire and blow the hell out of them.

Once those buildings are leveled, the fire will have nothing to burn and it will stop spreading. Despite the general's confidence, that doesn't sound right to you. You know he's your superior and you've been trained to follow orders, but you feel the need now to speak up. Sir, shouldn't we blow up structures that have not yet burned, further back from the fire? I thought you said you had no training, Captain. I don't, but I've read about this process some, and I think fire breaks work best when they're further back from the advancing flames. You look to the head of the California Powder Works, hoping that man might chime in and

provide some guidance. But he's no help. In fact, you can see he's falling down drunk. General Funston is insistent. Now you just get out there and take down anything that's already caught fire. No need to destroy undamaged buildings, son. Mayor has insisted on this. We don't want to be blamed for unnecessary destruction. Yes, sir. Understood. But just one more question. What? Should we use gunpowder or dynamite? Take the gunpowder first. We'll save the dynamite for later. And Captain. Yes, sir.

Don't be timid, son. Blow the hell out of it. You salute the general, then begin to gather your men. You'll take the barrels of gunpowder to Clay Street first and start destroying structures in the immediate path of the advancing fire. This seems like a risky idea that'll do more harm than good, but you've got your orders. And Funston's plan, however dangerous,

is still better than doing nothing. For Mayor Eugene Schmitz, the earthquake and fire had quickly become the biggest test of his leadership. Voters liked Schmitz. He was tall and handsome, a talented musician who portrayed himself as a man of the people. But now he faced a deadly crisis that threatened to get worse. Throughout the morning, Schmitz met with his police chief, the acting fire

chief, and other advisors. Then, at the Hall of Justice, he met with Brigadier General Frederick Funston. The pugnacious general had gained fame fighting alongside Cuban rebels in the Spanish-American War. His reputation soared after he captured rebel leader Emilio Aguinaldo during the Philippine-American War. For that, he earned a Medal of Honor, but he was also known for his arrogant and combative style. Funston had recently taken temporary command of the Army's Pacific Division when his boss, Major General Adolphus Greeley, left town on family business. As Greeley's number two, Funston became the ranking military official for the entire West Coast. Earlier that morning, after surveying the

initial damage, Funston had ordered armed troops to deploy from the Army's two bases on the peninsula, at the Presidio and Fort Mason. He sent the soldiers into the city to assist with law enforcement and firefighting. Now he and Mayor Schmitz discussed using explosives to try to stop the fires. Months earlier, Funston had met with Fire Chief Sullivan. He had approved of Sullivan's proposal to create a stockpile of dynamite to create firebreaks in the event of a major fire. Funston even offered to have the Army build a brick warehouse to store the dynamite, but back then, Mayor Schmitz denied the request.

Now, Schmitz needed Funston's help and the Army's dynamite. Funston disliked and distrusted Schmitz. Later, he would say that the mayor was too sure of himself. He smiles too quickly, then turns away. But Funston agreed to find dynamite and gunpowder to allow the fire department to start blowing up buildings in the path of fires. He even ordered one of his men, Ordnance Officer Levert Coleman, to assist firefighters, since no one in the fire department had any training in the use of explosives.

Unfortunately, Coleman and his men had no training in creating firebreaks, so the two groups were ill-prepared to implement Funston's violent plan to save the city. In one early attempt, soldiers and firefighters used barrels of gunpowder and dynamite to blow up homes and businesses at Kearney and Clay Streets, not far from Chinatown. But they used the wrong kind of dynamite, and the explosions weren't powerful enough to implode the structures. Instead, they sent burning shards of wood flying into nearby buildings, setting more fires and spreading the blazes even further. By nightfall on Wednesday, April 18th, the aftershocks and tremors had finally eased, the explosions had temporarily ceased,

and the city had grown eerily quiet. Author Jack London, covering the disaster for Collier's magazine, observed, all was in perfect order. That night, London mingled with refugees camped at Union Square, taking notes for his assignment. But as displaced city residents settled in for an uneasy night, the fires were spreading, searching for more fuel. Fire would soon approach the crowded encampment at Union Square, forcing the homeless to flee once again. It was dead calm, London would later write, and yet it was doomed. The earthquake was over, but the next day San Francisco's weary survivors would awake to fresh chaos and new horrors, as their ruined city continued to go up in flames.

From Wondery, this is Episode 1 of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake from American History Tellers. On the next episode, scores of smaller fires begin to coalesce and sweep through the wreckage of the earthquake, transforming San Francisco's ruined streets into a raging inferno. of smaller fires begin to coalesce and sweep through the wreckage of the earthquake, transforming San Francisco's ruined streets into a raging inferno. Police and soldiers roam the city with orders to shoot and kill looters, and terrified refugees surge west, trying to escape the city as firefighters plan a final stand against the deadly fires. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free

on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. If you'd like to learn more about the San Francisco earthquake, we recommend San Francisco is Burning by Dennis Smith and the Great Earthquake and Firestorms of 1906 by Philip L. Fradkin. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Neil Thompson. Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rosansky. Coordinating producer, Desi Blaylock. Managing producer, Matt Gant. Senior managing producer, Ryan Lohr. Senior producer, Andy Herman. And executive producers, Jenny-Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery.

I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambees and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Amby's and is a Best True Crime Nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast

Series Essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself.