American History Tellers - 1906 San Francisco Earthquake | The Sky Burned | 2

Episode Date: November 1, 2023

Less than 24 hours after a devastating earthquake struck San Francisco, fires were raging across the city. Firefighters watched helplessly as the flames devoured homes and businesses, unable to draw water from cracked cisterns and empty hydrants.Mayor Eugene Schmitz formed an emergency committee to orchestrate relief efforts and soon issued a shoot-to-kill order to prevent widespread looting. Meanwhile, U.S. Army General Frederick Funston ordered troops to create firebreaks by dynamiting buildings in the path of the fires, desperate to prevent the reminder of the city burning to the ground.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 past midnight on April 19, 1906. Less than 24 hours ago, Collier's Magazine contacted you by telegram, asking if you could rush to San Francisco, the city of your birth, and write a first-person story about the earthquake that just struck the region. Now you're walking through Union Square Park, taking notes and snapping photographs. The park is filled with dazed refugees. You walk up to a line of people getting soup and bread

and strike up a conversation with an old man on crutches who seems happy to have anyone to chat with. Today's my birthday, you know. Is that right? Well, happy birthday, sir. Not much of a celebration, I guess. No, sir, not the way I expected to ring in my 75th. Last night I was worth $30,000. I bought bottles of wine and some nice fish for my dinner party. But today, no wine, no dinner, unless you count that watery soup over there. And all I own now are these crutches. So you lost your house? Everything? I assume so. A group of soldiers chased me out. I think it's gone now. Just glad my wife, rest her soul, isn't here to see all this. She loved this city. Born and raised here. Keep thinking about her china collection. Oh, and her piano. I had to leave it all behind. Oh my goodness, what was that?

That's our fire department at work. They're using dynamite to stop the fires. Demolishing whole blocks before the fire spreads. That seems a bit drastic. Is it working? The old man waves his arm toward the smoke, billowing up from nearby Market Street. What's it look like? Seems to me they're doing more harm than good.

Blowing up perfectly good buildings. From what I've heard, starting more fires. Do you have a place to sleep tonight? Oh, I found a spot over there in the grass. You see a collection of bodies, curled up in bundles, a few tents, all surrounded by sacks and trunks of belongings. Beyond them, clouds of smoke and embers swirl in the air like huge fireflies. I don't know, those fires seem to be getting closer. Shouldn't you be moving on? The old man seems unworried, though.

Nah, shouldn't make it this far. They'll stop it before it gets to us. We're safe here. You nod and walk over to a nearby doorstep, where your wife Charmian is waiting for you. Together, you curl up and try to get some rest. But you barely close your eyes when you hear shouts. You jump up to see that the roof of the nearby St. Francis Hotel is in flames. You turn to your wife. Okay, come on, we gotta get out of here. Maybe Knob Hill will be safer. You look around for the old man on crutches, wondering if he needs help. But you can't find him in the churn of refugees. Fires are closing in on all sides. As you and your wife rush to flee the flames,

you wonder if anywhere in the city is safe. Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet. You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Need to launder some money?

Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers, our history, your story. In the early morning hours of Thursday, April 19th, 1906, fires spread across dozens of neighborhoods in San Francisco, devouring homes, businesses, and government offices.

A devastating earthquake the day before had cracked the city's water mains, and firefighters struggled to douse the flames as hydrants ran dry. With the help from Army soldiers, fire crews began using dynamite to blow up buildings in the fire's path, hoping to create firebreaks that would stall the inferno. But the soldiers and firefighters weren't trained to use explosives in this way, and many of their attempts only created more fires. Mayor Eugene Schmitz became increasingly concerned about public mayhem, ordering saloons to stay shut and banning liquor sales, and he would soon

issue a shoot-to-kill order for any looters. He also gathered a committee of more than 50 civic leaders to help guide the city as he struggled to respond to this horrifying disaster. Meanwhile, Army General Frederick Funston took drastic measures in order to assume control of the firefighting and rescue efforts, sparking conflict within his own ranks. This is Episode 2, The Sky Burned. On the afternoon of April 18, 1906, the San Francisco-born writer Jack London arrived in the city and watched panicked refugees fleeing their damaged homes as fires whipped down city streets. London was 29 years old. Three years earlier, he had published his acclaimed first novel, The Call of the Wild,

and was near the height of his fame. In 1905, he and his second wife, Charmian Kittredge, had settled on a 1,000-acre ranch north of San Francisco. But the ranch had put a strain on London's finances, so he jumped at Collier's Magazine's offers of 25 cents a word to report on the earthquake. The city London saw when he stepped off the ferry was unrecognizable. London was an intrepid traveler and not afraid of danger, but the scenes he witnessed in San Francisco unnerved him. He thought the city

looked like the crater of a volcano. His long article for Collier's magazine, The Story of an Eyewitness, would be the first account of the disaster to reach readers around the country. In it, London described the carnage in stark terms. He wrote, Half the heart of the city was gone. Its industrial section is wiped out. Its business section is wiped out. Its social and residential section is wiped out. Its business section is wiped out. Its social and residential section is wiped out. The factories and warehouses, the great stores and newspaper buildings, the hotels and the palaces of the Nabobs are all gone. Also gone was London's birthplace, his family's former home south of Market Street, also consumed by fire.

Several hours after London arrived, after midnight, scores of smaller fires spread among the tightly packed streets of wood-framed row houses north and south of Market Street. These fires began to coalesce, leaping from block to block, sweeping through the wreckage and turning the ruined city into a raging inferno. Fires chased evacuees as they desperately lugged their possessions from their burning neighborhoods. London saw one man trying to save a cart piled with trunks, offering a thousand dollars for a team of horses to haul the luggage to safety, but it soon caught fire and burned. London and his wife left the city midday on Thursday, April 19th, just one day after the

earthquake. By then, a mile-long wall of flame was marching along Market Street, its billowing smoke visible for miles around. At Mission and 3rd Street, bystanders tried to free a man who was trapped below the waste beneath a collapsed building. He begged his rescuers, don't leave me here to die like this. The rescuers struggled to free the man, but with the fire, just yards away. One rescuer pulled a pistol from his coat and shot the man in the head. Eyewitnesses would later report similar instances of mercy killings across the city. But it wasn't all acts of desperation. There were crimes of opportunity, too. Mayor Eugene Schmitz had shut down saloons

and liquor stores in an attempt to prevent intoxicated citizens from adding to the chaos. But people broke down doors and looted bottles of booze. City streets were clogged and chaotic, and drunken crowds roamed among evacuees who lugged steamer trunks while others tried to return to their homes to salvage possessions. But many residents soon found their paths blocked by the bayonets and rifles of federal troops. Immediately following the earthquake, Brigadier General Frederick

Funston had ordered armed soldiers from the Presidio and Fort Mason to march into the city and assist police by cordoning off burning areas and guarding key buildings against looters. By the next day, Funston had deployed more than a thousand soldiers, sailors, and marines. Naval ships picked up men from various military posts along the coast and delivered them to the city. These troops continued to help police with crowd control, evacuations, and medical assistance. Meanwhile, some U.S. Navy ships realized that they could help the city's overworked fire department by providing hoses, water pumps, and manpower.

Naval fire tugs had large tanks of fresh water, and other ships had the ability to pump salt water from the bay. These men and their ships became much-needed partners in the fight to save the city's wooden piers. But by the afternoon, Funston felt he needed still more troops. So he diverted military vessels from fighting fires along the waterfront or evacuating refugees, and instead ordered them to pick up soldiers from far-off military bases. He also ordered many of these boats to deliver more gunpowder and dynamite to the city to assist in the explosive creation of firebreaks.

Some began to criticize Funston's aggressive tactics, even questioning their legality, but Funston would not relent, and soon his flurry of orders began to create dissent within his own ranks. Imagine it's midday on Thursday, April 19, 1906. You're a naval commander at the helm of the destroyer USS Preble. When the earthquake struck yesterday, you and your crew helped deliver troops and supplies to San Francisco. Then you ordered other nearby Navy ships to use their saltwater pumps to protect the wooden piers and warehouses along the waterfront. Today, after fighting fires throughout the night,

you and your crew have dragged hoses inland to protect the city's vital structures, such as the U.S. Custom House. You and two of your men are lugging sections of hose down Montgomery Street to water down a four-story building called the Monkey Block. But before you can reach it, one of your men, a midshipman named Pond, approaches. Orders from Brigadier General Funston, sir. He's telling us to take our ships and tugs up to Point Pinnall. You let the others take the hose, clapping them on the back as you step aside to speak with midshipman Pond. Funston again? I met with the general earlier today and he knew what we were up against here. He can't keep sending us off on these errands when there's work to be done here. What's he want now? Well, more dynamite, sir. He wants any army and navy ships in the area to

proceed to Pinol Point immediately to get more troops and more crates of dynamite. He also wants a couple of our fire tugs to move north and stand by to protect Fort Mason. He says it's urgent. Everything's urgent right now, but Point Pinol? That's two hours away. If we turn away from these flames now, they'll swallow the block whole. I agree with you, sir, but are you going to ignore an order? That's exactly what I'm going to do. Can't let this waterfront go up in flames. I hear he's been telling the fire department what to do, too,

moving their fireboats around and blowing up the wrong damn buildings. They're getting a little tired of his meddling. And so am I. But, sir, you could be court-martialed. You pause to take a breath. Even in the heat of battle, you can't let your emotions lead you to insubordination. Your job is to follow orders, even when you disagree. But then you have an idea. All right, tell you what. Send the USS Priscilla to go get Funston's dynamite. That tug is big enough for the job, but you and I and the other ships are going to stay put. There's more than 60 of us and we're more useful here than sailing up north.

That should satisfy Funston. Yes, sir. Pond hurries off to relay your orders, and you rejoin your men as they drag hoses through the street. Hot embers rain down all around. The men are exhausted, and so are you. You hope you're not making a mistake by staying here to assist city firefighters, but you know the waterfront is still at risk. If it was up to you, you'd order 200 men to come down here to stop looters and evacuate women and children. But you're not in charge. The general is, though you doubt he knows what he's doing. General Funston's aggressive decisions pushed some of his men to the brink of insubordination. One Navy lieutenant named Frederick Freeman complained about Funston's commandeering of 14 Navy ships and many private boats in order to deliver troops and dynamite to the city.

Freeman felt this prevented those vessels from focusing on firefighting and evacuations. With the city's water mains in ruins, Freeman felt obliged to offer Navy ships and hoses. His men ran hose lines many blocks in from the waterfront, giving firefighters much-needed streams of high-pressure water. These efforts helped save numerous buildings, including the Custom House, the Appraisers Building, the historic Monkey Block Building, and others up Telegraph Hill. But Freeman's actions were also a challenge to General Funston, who assumed temporary command of the U.S. Army's Pacific Division just days before the earthquake and already seemed to many other military officials to be overstepping his authority. When Funston initially sent soldiers into the city to help

police maintain law and order, he immediately entered murky legal territory. By law, only the President of the United States could order federal troops into a U.S. city. But based on the number of troops they saw on the streets, most San Franciscans assumed that martial law had been declared. Rumors in a badly damaged press corps contributed to that assumption. Three of San Francisco's largest newspapers had lost their buildings to the fire. The Call, The Chronicle, and The Examiner. Reporters and editors from those papers joined forces to publish a free emergency edition that hit the streets Thursday afternoon.

But that newspaper did little to stop the wild rumors circulating among frightened San Franciscans. Stories had spread about roving gangs of vandals and looters, thieves mutilating bodies to steal jewelry, vigilantes, executions, and lynchings. There were even rumors that earthquakes had leveled New York, Los Angeles, and Hawaii. It didn't help that the Joint Edition inaccurately reported that martial law had been declared. One story said that President Theodore Roosevelt issued the declaration, while another credited Mayor Schmitz and the police chief.

National newspapers repeated these errors. California Governor George Pardee did order National Guard troops to report for duty to help patrol the streets of major cities affected by the quake, including San Francisco, Santa the quake, including San Francisco, Santa Rosa, Oakland, and San Jose, but martial law was never declared. Amid such confusion, it fell to Funston's officers on the ground to make life-and-death decisions on the spot. Sometimes those hasty decisions only contributed to the chaos that had engulfed the city. At the waterfront, Lieutenant Freeman's men and city

firefighters' efforts were hampered when people trying to escape in horse-drawn carts drove over their hoses, sometimes splitting them open and necessitating frantic repairs. So Freeman ordered his men to shoot at horses speeding too quickly through the area. As Freeman helped battle fires, he also watched in horror as some residents were overrun by fast-moving flames. In the Rincon Hill area south of Market Street, Freeman saw residents who were too tired, confused, or drunk to get away from the fires in time. He'd later describe the screams and deaths he witnessed at Rincon Hill as the most heart-rending sights. Yet Freeman and other rescuers continued working day and night, with little food or sleep. Danger loomed all around, as flash fires and collapsed buildings

continued to send panicked residents rushing into the streets. Terrified evacuees raced toward the waterfront, hoping to find a boat or ferry to deliver them to safety. But many thousands reached the water only to find that the piers were ablaze as well. Some were trapped by encroaching flames with no way to escape. The race to survive the deadly fires was not yet over. 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.

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and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. As San Francisco continued to burn, it was often pure luck that determined who escaped and who was overtaken by fires. Italian opera singer Enrico Caruso was among the lucky ones. The night before the earthquake, Caruso had performed at the Grand Opera House. After the shaking awoke him early Wednesday morning,

he had ordered an assistant to pack his numerous trunks of clothes, then walked to the St. Francis Hotel, where he calmly ate a breakfast of bacon and eggs, leaving a generous tip. But as he walked back through Union Square, he saw that the streets were packed with crowds of people trying to evacuate. Suddenly, Caruso felt the urge to leave town as well. He rushed back to the Palace Hotel, where he saw four Chinese men carrying his trunks. Thinking the men were thieves, Caruso pulled a pistol from his coat and threatened to shoot them. Quickly, an aide explained that these men were valets and just helping to load the singer's luggage in order for him to leave as he requested.

But Caruso was unable to evacuate that Wednesday, with many streets blocked and too few ferries available. He spent a restless night at time near tears roaming up and over Knob Hill, sketching in a pad and chatting with residents. Finally, at Golden Gate Park, he and one of his assistants found a wagon driver willing to take them to a ferry terminal for $300. When they reached the ferry, Caruso demanded that officials take him to the front of the line.

He pulled out his prize photograph of the president, signed by Teddy Roosevelt himself, and then lied, claiming, The president is expecting me in Washington. When an officer insisted that Caruso prove he was the famous tenor, Caruso sang a few bars from Carmen. Then he was allowed to jump the line and boarded a crowded ferry bound for Oakland.

Once safe there, Caruso vowed never to return to San Francisco again. But most residents did not have a photograph of the president or $300 for transportation, more than $10,000 in today's money. For them, escape from the burning and smoke-filled city seemed almost impossible. The San Francisco Peninsula is surrounded by water on three sides, and in 1906 the city had no bridges or tunnels. The only way off the peninsula was by road or rail to the south, or by boat to the north and east. With most trains idled due to twisted or broken tracks, the streets blocked by debris or fire, many evacuees headed toward the wharves

near the ferry building. But the ferries were overwhelmed with people and fires continued to threaten the wharves. The Navy and the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service sent ships, fireboats, and tugs to help evacuate refugees at the ferry building and other piers. Private shippers made their boats available too, but evacuees first had to get to the docks. Many were stopped at seemingly random roadblocks. One street would be blockaded by soldiers or police, but another just blocks away was open. Adding to the chaos, some ferries kept delivering people into the city. Navy Lieutenant Frederick Freeman ordered the Southern Pacific Company to stop bringing sightseers on its ferries across from Oakland to Gawk, but not before thousands had already

landed and scattered throughout the city. The lack of escape route had many refugees fleeing on foot, trudging west toward Golden Gate Park, which provided an oasis from the fires. Along the way, they camped in parks, railroad yards, even graveyards. Often, they were driven along by Army and National Guard troops who were resorting to more aggressive measures to evacuate people from certain areas. Sometimes, the troops also prevented residents from attempting to fight the fires themselves in order to protect their homes or salvage possessions. So, as the day wore on, many San Franciscans felt that despite the heavy military presence throughout the city, they were being left to fend for themselves.

Imagine it's the afternoon of Thursday, April 19th, 1906. The streets are filled with thousands of other refugees as you and your family head east on Broadway toward the Ferry Building. You hated to abandon your home and your business, a small noodle shop in Chinatown. But army men forced you to leave, telling you it wasn't safe with fires flaring up all over. After sleeping last night on Russian Hill, you're now desperate to make it to the waterfront and out of the city. You, your wife, and your two children lug suitcases and a steamer trunk over the cobblestones until you reach a crowded roadblock. You force your way to the front and get the attention of an armed soldier standing behind the barricade.

Hey, what's going on here? My family and I, we need to get to the ferry. The man stares at you blankly, clearly hoping you'll just go away. You begin waving your arms at him until finally he takes a step in direction. Look, just keep moving. This street's closed. There's fires up ahead. No one's getting through. No, please, it's just a few more blocks. We have to get to the ferry. I can pay. The man shakes his head, but then moves closer so he can hear you better. You speak English? Yes, I was born and raised here. What's that got to do with anything? No, sorry, I can't let you through, pal. Try Telegraph Hill. The man points vaguely toward the west, nowhere near

Telegraph Hill. That's no use. We need to get out of the city, not climb uphill and get trapped there. Look, I've got two young children. They're hungry and they're scared. Please, I have money. I can pay you. That's not my problem, buddy. Just move along before anything happens here. He raises his rifle, trying to appear menacing. You lower your voice, trying to calm him down. Look, the way you're pointing is wrong. Telegraph Hill is that way. North, it's not west. And I'm not walking in that direction. It's too far. And everyone I've talked to says it's too dangerous. The soldier glares at you, his rifle still raised, but then he relents and lowers it. Look, whatever, pal. I'm not from around here. Just get out of here. Keep moving. None of this makes sense. It doesn't seem as if anyone knows what's going on.

So you, your wife, and kids start walking west toward Golden Gate Park in the Presidio. At least there, you'll be far enough from the fire and choking smoke, as long as the rumors about soldiers turning Chinese people away from certain camps aren't true. But you've got to take that risk. By late Thursday, April 19th, the streets of San Francisco had become a maelstrom of panic and pandemonium. People dragged steamer trunks set on top of roller skates, pushed wheelbarrows full of china and crockery, and lugged mattresses, sewing machines, and furniture. Mothers pushed strollers, and nuns led queues of young children from orphanages and mission houses. One man was seen rolling a barrel of whiskey down the street, and more than a few tried to save prized pianos, attempting to navigate them down cluttered sidewalks.

Rats the size of tomcats poured out of burning buildings, and in the intense heat, the cobblestones in the street sometimes popped like popcorn, while flying embers the size of golf balls swirled through the wind-whipped air. Some of the soldiers who had been enlisted to help had little familiarity with the geography of the city or any clear directives on how best to help refugees. Many panicked families were left to navigate their own path to safety, past burning buildings and haphazardly erected roadblocks. On some streets, they passed rows of corpses, the bodies covered hastily with newspapers, held down with bricks. Meanwhile, city officials faced another dilemma. What to do with

prisoners in the city's two jails? Police Chief Jeremiah Dinan had decided to evacuate the more than 170 inmates from the basement at the Hall of Justice and another jail on Broadway. Most petty criminals were simply set free. Police and soldiers marched the harder criminals to the waterfront and loaded them onto a steamer that took them 10 miles north to the prison at San Quentin. But the warden there refused to accept the city's prisoners, and the steamer was forced to return to San Francisco. Later that day, the prisoners were finally delivered to the prison on Alcatraz Island. Meanwhile, Police Chief Dinan and Mayor Schmitz faced a chaotic and unruly city

as reports of lawlessness spread. To maintain order, the city leaders would make a drastic and fatal decision. Eugene Schmitz had been an unassuming leader during his first two terms as mayor. Voters liked him, but by his third term, Schmitz had become more of a socialite than a man of the people. But the emergency he now faced awakened his leadership instincts. In the first two days after the quake, Schmitz formed an emergency headquarters set up in the basement of the damaged Hall of Justice. He contacted the governor and the mayors of other towns, asking for assistance.

His police chief was surprised at what he called Schmitz's calmness and authority. The mayor would later state that he could not let the city of his birth burn while he stood idly by. To manage the crisis, Schmitz wanted to bring together a group of civic leaders that would meet twice a day. By Wednesday afternoon, the same day the quake struck, Schmitz had already compiled a long list of names for the committee, consisting of friends, business leaders, and political cronies. It would become known as the Committee of Fifty. But unfortunately, each time the group tried to meet, they were chased to a new location by fires.

A planned meeting at the Hall of Justice was canceled, as were meetings at the Plaza Hotel and a North Beach police station. Some members of the committee met briefly for the first time around 8 o'clock Wednesday night at the Fairmont Hotel, but that hotel burned to the ground later that night. So on Thursday, they began meeting at Franklin Hall, an auditorium and dance hall west of the fires on Fillmore Street. It would serve as temporary city hall in the days ahead. Schmitz tried to project an air of authority and leadership, to be a man of the moment. But often he ended up delegating to others, including members of the Committee of Fifty, though they lacked any real legal authority. He also enlisted private citizens to help maintain order as members of a citizen's special police force. Nearly 2,000 men

volunteered for the force, most of them assigned to assist the overworked city police. Police Chief Dinan had received reports of people stealing bottles of booze from saloons and liquor stores, which Schmitz had ordered closed. In an effort to prevent further crimes, Schmitz issued a controversial proclamation, one that allowed soldiers and police, as well as the newly appointed citizens' force, to shoot suspected looters, no questions asked. Schmitz had his proclamation printed on 5,000 handbills that were distributed through the city. The most chilling portion of the handbills stated that all peace officers, including federal troops, city police, and other specially appointed officers,

were authorized by the mayor to kill any and all persons engaged in looting or in the commission of any other crime. In effect, the mayor was declaring that anyone even suspected of breaking the law could be executed on the spot without arrest or the promise of trial. It didn't take long for the first shots to be fired. And it wasn't just police officers and soldiers doing the shooting. Soon, armed vigilantes were taking the law into their own hands and hunting down looters. The streets of San Francisco were turning into a war zone. Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London.

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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. We recently dove into the story of the godfather of modern mental manipulation, Richard Bandler, whose methods inspired some of the most toxic and criminal self-help movements of the last two decades. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid and Kill List early and ad-free

right now by joining Wondery+. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. With San Francisco's fire chief Dennis Sullivan hospitalized and seriously injured, oversight of the department fell to his deputy, John Doherty, who became acting chief. Doherty was a veteran firefighter in his mid-60s and had hoped to retire that summer. His leadership across the first two days of fires was criticized by Navy Lieutenant Frederick Freeman as disorganized. But since his men had no access to fresh water, Doherty had little choice but to rely on Army

General Frederick Funston and his troops and Navy officials like Freeman to fight the widespread fires. And Funston's methods continued to draw criticism. Fire officials questioned the general strategy of relying so heavily on dynamite to create firebreaks since those efforts continued to ignite new fires. Other city officials began to raise the alarm as well. One department store owner who had been appointed to Mayor Schmitz's committee of 50 complained, there's no set pattern, just blast, blast, blast. In fact, the day after the quake, Doherty was shocked as he walked up Van Ness Avenue at the western edge of downtown and saw soldiers moving artillery guns into place, their muzzles aimed at the elegant homes on the east side of the avenue, ready to blast them to rubble.

While his troops leveled more houses to create firebreaks, Funston continued to order private and military ships away from fighting fires, insisting that they travel up and down the bay to pick up more armed troops and more dynamite. Meanwhile, for his own use, he rented a wealthy citizen's fancy car for $100 a day in order to quickly tour the city. While Funston and Doherty fought the fires, Mayor Schmitz tried to direct relief efforts. He stayed in regular contact with Governor George Pardee in Oakland, who became Schmitz's conduit to the outside world. Pardee issued pleas to the rest of the country to send food, supplies, and relief funds to the stricken city. Schmitz had created his Committee of 50 in hopes of streamlining the city's response to the disaster. But from the start, the committee's actions were sluggish and inefficient. The group included 19 subcommittees on topics such as water, housing, communications, transportation, sanitation, and other functions.

Some committees spent more time in meetings than putting their solutions into action. Schmitz also chose not to appoint any city fire department officials to the committee of 50, and none were invited to attend meetings, causing a lack of coordination between the committee and the fire department. General Funston, meanwhile, began making his own decisions, undercutting the mayor's authority. At times, it was becoming hard to tell who was really in charge. Imagine it's midday on Thursday, April 19, 1906. You're the deputy commander of the U.S. Army's Pacific Division, headquartered at the Presidio. Yesterday, after the earthquake, you mustered your troops and marched them into the city to help with the unfolding crisis. Today, you've come to Franklin Hall on Fillmore Street, where the mayor has called together a group of men to help guide the city through the emergency.

Your face and uniform are covered in soot from driving around to tour the city through the emergency. Your face and uniform are covered in soot from driving around to tour the ruins and the fires. You notice that most of the men here are somehow well-dressed and clean-shaven. After brief introductions, you get down to business. As you gentlemen know, U.S. troops have been helping your police maintain law and order out there, and my men are ready to uphold the mayor's directive to stop looters by force if necessary. You nod to the mayor, who nods back. But we can't keep the peace if people are hungry and thirsty. These refugees will need shelter, medical care, and water. I've asked the War Department to send every last tent they've got, and I've taken the liberty of ordering food and medical supplies. We'll establish a camp for the homeless at the Presidio. My wife is helping to set up a field hospital there. And the committee interrupts you with

applause. You raise your arms to quiet them, then call on the mayor, who stands to address you. General, if I may, my city and my staff thank you for all you've done. But I have to ask, if we turn the Presidio into a refugee camp, what happens if the fires continue to spread west? Those people will be trapped with no place to escape. They'd have to jump into the Pacific. There's already a group trapped at the north end of Van Ness. Well, we're not going to let the fires get that far west. And here's why.

You pull a map from under your arm and unfurl it on the table as the men gather around. Dynamite, gentlemen. Dynamite is the only answer. From here, straight up Van Ness, and over to here. We'll contain this thing in the northeast corner and cut our losses. You trace a line from Market Street, north along Van Ness, and east along Bay Street, and arc around areas that have already burned. Your plan includes fire breaks to protect your own turf, the army base at Fort Mason. I believe this is what your fire chief Sullivan would have wanted. He and I discussed this last year when we were evaluating

his request for dynamite. How is he, by the way? Not well, I'm afraid. He's still in a coma up at Letterman Hospital. I'm sorry to hear that. He's a good man. But I can guarantee he would have approved of this plan. It's the best chance we've got. Maybe our only hope. But looking at this map, that's at least 20 blocks of dynamited buildings. Do we have to destroy so much property? I've been getting reports that it's the dynamite that's starting new fires. Well, that's because our ordinance team tried to use gunpowder at first. But they've learned from their mistakes, and from now on, we will only use dynamite. And lots of it. Where are we going to get that much? You leave that part to me. You roll up your map and prepare to leave, waiting for the mayor's approval. Well,

very well, General, but we are to be kept informed of every building to be demolished. You nod and then turn to leave, relieved that no one questioned your plans. You don't trust the mayor and his hand-picked cronies to guide the city through this disaster. Someone has to take charge, and you're confident that someone should be you. By the time General Frederick Funston first met with Mayor Schmitz's Committee of 50, Funston had already telegrammed the Secretary of War, future President William Howard Taft, to outline his plans for taking a lead role in the response to the unfolding crisis in San Francisco. He also made a bold play for power by requesting the War Department's permission to, as he put it, authorize any action I have to take. Taft didn't respond

directly to that request. Instead, he offered to send relief assistance and ask Funston to keep him informed. Still, as Thursday came to a close, Funston felt he had the support he needed from Washington to firmly establish his authority. Funston requested a massive delivery of humanitarian supplies and equipment, mainly food and tents. He ordered staff at the Presidio to set up medical facilities and provide free shelter for displaced citizens. The Presidio would soon house 16,000 refugees in military-style tent camps. Funston's wife, Eda, was a nurse. She also jumped into action, helping doctors and other nurses care for the injured at the Army's Letterman Hospital. Among the injured at that hospital was

Fire Chief Dennis Sullivan. While he lay in a coma, his men continued to work themselves to the brink of exhaustion, fighting blazes that seemed uncontainable. More fires raged from Thursday night into Friday. With help from the U.S. Navy and some brave citizens, firefighters managed to save a few key buildings, including the U.S. Post Office, the U.S. Mint, and the Custom House. Still, the fires refused to die. Swirling winds pushed blazes north over Telegraph Hill,

northwest to Russian Hill, and west toward Van Ness Avenue. There, General Funston had positioned a row of artillery guns as firefighters packed thousands of pounds of dynamite into homes alongside the wide boulevard. Funston and his men had chosen this as the site for their last, desperate stand against the raging inferno. If the fire spread west beyond Van Ness Avenue, officials feared that the entire western half of San Francisco could go up in flames, too. From Wondery, this is Episode 2 of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake from American History Tellers. On the next episode, lawlessness grips the city as citizens try to

protect their homes and salvage belongings. Police and National Guardsmen struggle to keep the peace, and armed vigilantes roam the streets, looting homes and killing innocent people. 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 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. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Now streaming. and Marshall Louis for Wondering. So the entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers. This is match point, baby. If the audience like the product,

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