Fire Articles

Casey Cavanaugh Grant, P.E.

Ships at sea have always been at risk from fire, but the blaze on the S.S. Noronic proved that fire can be just as deadly to a ship safely docked at the pier.

At approximately 6:00 p.m. on the evening of Friday, September 16, 1949, the S.S. -Noronic, a passenger ship on the Great Lakes, plied the waters of Lake Ontario into the

safe haven of Toronto Harbor. The Noronic was en route to the Thousand Islands and Prescott, Ontario, on a seven-day excursion that began and was supposed to end in Detroit.

For the 524 passengers and 171 crew members aboard, the overnight stop in Toronto offered a brief chance to go ashore and sample the nightlife. Most of the passengers would return to their shipboard accommodations, although a few passengers spent the night on shore.

For the most part, those who remained aboard the Noronic slept or waited for the first rays of morning sun to spill over the decks - a sunrise many of them would never live to see. Instead, their peaceful slumber would become a collective nightmare of panic, chaos and fire on the water.

Pride of the Line

The S.S. Noronic was first launched in 1913 at Port Arthur, Ontario, and although she'd passed her prime by 1949, she was still a resilient craft that served her owners faithfully. Commissioned by the Northern Navigation Company, the Noronic was later bought by the Canadian Steamship Lines to join its Great Lakes passenger fleet. Several years after her initial launch, three steel decks were added, and her top four decks were completely redesigned several years after that.

Overall, the modified Noronic had five primary decks, including the main, or freight, deck. The ship was 362 feet (110.3m.) long and 52 feet (15.8m.) at the beam, and pulled a draft of 28 feet, 9 inches (8.8m.). Her gross tonnage of 6,095 made her a vessel of appreciable size for duty on the lakes.

The Noronic's superstructure, which primarily contained the passenger accommodations, towered impressively above the dockside. In it were the four upper decks - A, B, C and D - where the staterooms and cabins were located. The design of the ship required that the gangway be mounted at E Deck while the ship was berthed, so that Decks A, B, C and D had no direct access to the dock. Access to E Deck and the docks was achieved by means of two narrow staircases located port and starboard.

The Canadian Department of Transport certified the Noronic as an Inland Steamship Class 1, with a maximum crew of 200 and a passenger limit of 600, on April 23, 1949. This certificate was to be in effect until April 1950. By international agreement, the United States recognized the provisions of the Canadian regulations as 'approximating those of the United States.' Consequently the U.S. Coastguard issued a U.S. Certificate of Examination on April 28, 1949, indicating that the vessel complied with Canadian requirements, thus allowing her to operate to and from U.S. ports.

The Noronic traversed the expanse of water between Canada and the United States for years, as did her sister ships, the S.S. Huronic and the S.S. Harmonic. As though providing an omen of things to come, the Harmonic succumbed to fire in 1945, when a burning dock set her ablaze while she was berthed at Point Edward, Ontario. Unlike her sister ship, the Harmonic made a relatively forgiving departure from the world: only 1 of the 360 passengers and crew was fatally injured. Those on the Noronic wouldn't fare as well.

From June 17 to September 2, 1949, the Noronic was used on passenger runs from Windsor, Ontario, to Detroit, Michigan, then to Duluth, Minnesota. This itinerary was revised in September, so that her seven-day journey began in Detroit and continued to Toronto, the Thousand Islands, and Prescott, Ontario, before returning to Detroit.

Asleep at the Pier

The Noronic set sail from Detroit on Wednesday, September 14, 1949, at approximately 11:00 a.m. local time, and arrived at Cleveland at 07:00 on Thursday morning. After picking up additional passengers, she embarked for Toronto at 10:00 p.m.

At approximately 6:00 p.m. on Friday, the Noronic slid gracefully into her berth at Toronto's Pier No. 9. This pier was operated by the Canadian Steamship Lines, and it offered the passengers relatively direct access to downtown Toronto. The Noronic was secured for the evening, with her bow facing north and her starboard side alongside the dock on the east.

At the time of its arrival, the Noronic's passenger list indicated a total of 624 voyagers, mostly Americans and Canadians. Attending to the ship and passengers was a crew of 171, of whom 16 would remain on duty during the night.

As typically happens in port, many of the crew and passengers disembarked for the evening, although some remained aboard the vessel to dance and enjoy themselves. Included in the group that went ashore was the ship's Master, Captain William Taylor, who returned to the Noronic at approximately 02:00 a.m. By this time many of the passengers had also returned, although the precise number wasn't known. Further complicating the manifest were the number of guests who had apparently joined returning passengers.

The evening was relatively comfortable for this time of year, with the temperature near 600F (15.60F) and a steady wind from the southwest at 12 miles an hour (19.3 kph).

Fire Down Below

Sometime before 2:30 a.m., Mr. Church, a passenger travelling with his family, left the lounge at the stern and noticed what he later described as a haze in the aft part of the starboard corridor on C deck. He soon realized that the haze was smoke and traced it to a small room just forward of the women's washroom which opened into the port corridor of C Deck, just behind the aft stairway leading down to D Deck. Church saw smoke curling around the sides and top of the door to a closed walk-in locker that was used to store linen. When he tried to open the door, he found it locked, although he could hear "a rustle and small crackling" fire from within.

Church ran down the port corridor to the social hall amidships, hollering that the ship was on fire. The first person he encountered was had bellboy O'Neill, with whom he returned to the linen locker. When he discovered that it was locked, O'Neill ran back to the steward's office on D Deck to get the key. As he was returning to the locker, he ran past the fire area to the lounge at the rear of the ship for a fire extinguisher.

With the fire extinguisher ready, O'Neill opened the linen locker door and, on hands and knees, aimed the fire extinguisher into shadows punctured by random flickers of flame. Another bellboy joined O'Neill, as did a passenger named Gibson. Gibson's stateroom was directly across from the linen locker, and he'd smelled the smoke and heard the commotion in the corridor.

The flames appeared to be dropping to the floor from above, and it wasn't long before O'Neill and Church realized the futility of their efforts - especially when the flames began to fan out into the corridor. Undaunted, the group went aft in the port corridor and pulled a hose from the hose station. They dragged it to the locker, but when they opened the valve, nothing came out. By this time, the flames were lapping the corridor ceiling and had started spreading down the corridor in both directions.

Recognizing the seriousness of the situation, Church left the scene and climbed to D Deck, where he roused his family and safely embarked from the

ship. However, neither he nor the crew members aroused the other passengers.

O'Neill proceeded forward to the social hall amidships and broke the glass in the fire alarm box, providing the crew with its first indication of trouble. He continued to the gangway on E Deck, where he described what was happening to crew member Donaldson, the wheelman on duty.

Donaldson ran at once to the officers quarters on A Deck by way of D Deck. Because D Deck was filled with heavy smoke, he mistakenly thought the fire was on this deck. After reaching A Deck, Donaldson advised Captain Taylor and First Mate Gerry Wood of the situation. First Mate Wood, who'd been relieved at midnight by Second Officer Bowles, could see heavy smoke coming from the starboard side of the ship somewhere near B or C Decks. He realized that the fire was serious and ran to the wheelhouse above A Deck to sound the klaxon without further investigation. When he threw the switch and pulled the lever, however, the ship's whistle seized. Instead of sounding one long blast, three short blasts and another long blast, the horn emitted a bone-chilling shriek that pierced the air without a pause, as if setting the pace for the rest of the night.

Fire at Pier 9

On the west side of Pier 9 near the bow, a watchman for the Canadian Steamship lines by the name of Harper heard a commotion from the S.S Noronic. Upon closer inspection, he saw flames breaking through windows near the stern of the ship on the starboard side between B and C Decks and realized that a serious fire was in progress. By this time, the fire was so far advanced that, although the blaze had actually begun on the port side, Harper saw flames and smoke on the starboard side of the ship.

Not hearing any alarm from the ship, Harper ran to his office nearby and telephoned the operator, who connected him to the Toronto Fire Department. As a result, Box 6 was struck and the first alarm assignment of a pumper, a hose wagon, a high-pressure unit, an aerial truck, a rescue squad and the deputy chief was dispatched at 2:38 a.m. One minute later, the Toronto Fire Alarm alerted the department's fire boat which was soon churning towards the scene at full throttle.

Harper then called the police department. As he hung up, a Mr. Pearce, another of the ship's passengers, rushed into his office, saying that an ambulance was needed. Harper immediately phoned the police department again and asked the officer who answered to send all available ambulances and doctors, apparently appreciating the full import of the situation.

Returning dockside, Harper saw that the fire department was approaching and noted that half the Noronic's upper decks were aflame.

Shores to Far

As the fire department units responding from the Adelaide Street fire hall - - it was the closest station to Pier 9 - turned down Yonge Street, District Chief Jim Stevens saw the glow in the sky and the frightening sight of a ship enveloped in sheets of flame. Steven's driver, Thomas "Tim" Benson, recalls that, "as we went down York Street and coming up Queens Quay, we could see the boat was a mass of flames. Chief Stevens radioed in the second alarm while were still driving." Steven's order for the second alarm was registered in the Toronto Fire Alarm at 2:41 a.m.

The first units of the Toronto Fire Department pulled up to Pier 9 to confront every fire fighter's worst nightmare. The top three-decks of the ship were ablaze, and the only signs of life on B Deck at the bow and the stern were people silhouetted against the flames. Elsewhere people were jumping into the chilly dark waters -screaming for help.

As District Chief Stevens was ordering a third alarm, the firefighters went to work securing water from the two hydrants on the pier and drafting it from the slip through suction lines. But their most pressing task was getting as many people as possible off the ship and out of the water.

Toronto Fire Department Aerial No. 5, an 85-foot wooden aerial ladder built in 1931, arrived at the base of the pier near the Noronic's bow and was immediately extended to B Deck at an angle of about 26 degrees. It had barely reached the superstructure when a woman passenger clambered onto it, followed immediately by half a dozen men. The weight of the panicked passengers, added to the whip of the ladder and the normal heaving of the ship, made it impossible for the fire fighter operating it to set its tip on the bow of the ship. Part of the way down, the woman stumbled and the men behind her bunched up. With a frightening crunch, Ladder No. 5's main aerial snapped, hurling its load of would be escapees into the harbour.

Aerial No. 1 had arrived just after Aerial No. 5, but cars parked at the pier made difficult to reach the northern approach to the ship. After clearing these obstructions, Aerial No. 1 finally pulled within 90 feet (24.7 m) of the Noronic's superstructure and extended its 100 foot (30.5 m) ladder to C Deck. Learning from the failure of Aerial No. 5, fire fighters braced Aerial No. 1's fully extended aerial with hand ladders approximately 15 feet (4.6 m) from its base. This tactic effectively stretched the equipment beyond its limits, allowing a number of trapped individuals to scurry safely down its rungs.

Many of those still on the ship awakened to find themselves trapped in their rooms, where they perished. Of those who managed to flee their cabins, many discovered that their paths of escape ended abruptly at a railing, from which they couldn't reach the gangway. They faced an unenviable choice: stay aboard and face the flames or jump. If they remained on board, the clouds of smoke and flames promised certain death. If they chose to jump into the murky, chilly waters that surrounded the vessel, they might drown - but they might not. That glimmer of hope gave many the courage to leap, and a number of desperate souls were soon bobbing around the S.S. Noronic in the waters of Lake Ontario.

The Darker Side of Midnight

From the shore the-scene was bedlam. A passing newspaper reporter captured the early moments on film as the inferno chased passengers and crew alike. Fire fighters scrambled frantically to get water on the fire and to save as many people as possible. Fire fighter Gordon McElroy, who responded on the second alarm as driver for Chief of Department Peter Herd, recalls that "when we arrived at the scene, the ship), was burning from one end to the other. Most were off or already lost in the fire, but some were still in the water."

"It was chaotic, everything was happening all at once," said Benson. "I saw Aerial No. 5 fail and people fall in the water." Fortunately, those who tumbled from Aerial No, 5 were, quickly pulled from the water and survived.

Benson's regular assignment was-with the No. I Rescue, and shortly after he arrived, he went to work with the other four members of his rescue squad. For Benson, as for many fire fighters at the scene, rescuing survivors from the waters of the slip, which were 10 feet (3 m) below the edge of the pier, was of paramount importance. However, it proved challenging.

"It was tough getting them out. Hand ladders were pulled down by the weight of the people trying to climb up, but ropes were very effective," said Benson. "The fireboat was able to pull a few out, but some were floating face down with their life preservers on and were obviously dead. In one instance, we tried pulling a guy out on a ladder, but he fell back in with the ladder. Another fire fighter went and got a rope, and this worked well."

After pulling all of the people they could find from the chilly waters, Benson and the other fire fighters involved in rescue operations reinforced their colleagues controlling the fire. The fireboat, which arrived at the scene at 2:46 a.m., tied up to the Noronic's port bow and began to pour water into the ship at close range from a turret nozzle and two single lines.

After about an hour of fireboat operations, the large amounts of water being lobbed onto the ship started to swamp it. Sometime between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m., the Noronic began to list so severely against the pier and the overhead landing that Herd ordered the fire fighters on the pier back from the affected areas and the fireboat to remain at a safe distance. Eventually, the ship began to right herself and soon settled upright on the bottom of the slip, with the large portion that remained above the waterline still blazing. The hoselines returned to their original positions and the fire boat started working up and down the port side dumping water through the portholes.

Before the night was over, the Toronto Fire Department would lay 37 lines using suction from the slip and six hydrants and would dump more than 1.7 million gallons of water onto the blazing hulk.

McElroy recalls that the fire finally started to subside before daylight, and preparations were made to handle the bodies firefighters expected to find when the ship was reboarded.

"I left the scene to get the other driver early in the morning," he said. 'This was before they started taking the bodies off. I have no regrets at having missed that duty."

In the Aftermath of the Inferno

The fire was under control by 5:00 a.m. but much of the metal structure of the Noronic was white hot and had to cool down before anyone could enter. It wasn't until daylight edged its way over the horizon that fire fighters finally boarded her.

The shipboard community that existed on the previous evening when the S.S. Noronic slid into its berth was gone, all normal signs of life completely incinerated. The scene that greeted members of the Toronto Fire Department who stepped onto the ship was horrific.

"We got aboard at daylight," Tim Benson recalls, " and there were bodies everywhere. Some, but not all, were cremated, with just a skull or backbone remaining."

Even when the fire department shift changed at 8:00 a.m., many of the original crews stayed to continue dealing with the human wreckage. The work went on all day and into the evening, with firefighters loading bodies into tarps and carrying them in a somber procession, one by one, down a wooden ramp constructed from the ship to Pier 9. From a temporary morgue on the pier, the bodies were transported to the Horticultural Building at the Toronto Exhibition.

The Toronto Fire Department, in conjunction with the police and other authorities, kept personnel at the site for several days, but the fire, department struck the all-out on the original alarm at 4:61 p.m. on the on the day of the fire.

Dealing with the charred and fragmented remains proved to be a significant challenge. Locating and identifying the dead in any disaster of this magnitude is always difficult, but in this case, it was magnified by the complete destruction and by the uncertainty who was actually aboard the ship at the time of the fire. By the time the Toronto Fire Department developed its preliminary report of the incident six days later, the number of lost and missing had climbed to 122. Sixty-nine of the 697 passengers and 173 crew members aboard the Noronic at the time of the fire were known to be dead, and 53 were missing. When the official court inquiry released its findings approximately a month after the fire, the death toll would be 118, with 104 dead and 14 missing.

Of the dead and missing individuals, all were passengers, a fact that didn't escape official notice. Post-disaster inquires would want to know how more than 100 passengers had succumbed, while the entire crew had managed to escape.

The Quest for Justice

The investigation immediately following the fire was intense. The Toronto Fire Department Arson Squad, in cooperation with Ontario Provincial Police officials, interviewed and took statements from every survivor, and accumulated detailed evidence on all important aspects of the incident. Divers searching the submerged hull for human remains also collected physical evidence, which they contributed to the investigation.

Though the fire itself had been extinguished, it was clear that a different type of fire, fueled by the emotions of the families and friends of the victims, now burned. The public wanted to know how such a thing could have happened and who was responsible.

On the evening of the day the fire was extinguished, Lionel Chevrier, the Minister of Transport, informed the House of Commons that a federal inquiry into the circumstances surrounding the loss of the S.S. Noronic would be convened as soon as possible. The Honorable justice R. L Kellock of the Supreme Court of Canada would preside over the investigation. Sitting with Justice Kellock would be assessors Neil Gebbie, Captain H.S. Kane, and Captain Robert Mitchell.

The Court of Inquiry, convened for the first time on September 28, 11 days after the fire. The atmosphere in the courtroom was tense and emotional, as crew members, survivors, authorities and expert witnesses were called to testify.

One of the most dramatic moments came when Captain William Taylor, who had returned to the vessel from shore shortly before he was informed of the fire, was summoned to take the stand. The Noronic's Master was ultimately responsible for the crew, and the public suspected that the crew's actions during the incident had been less than superlative.

The Court concluded its hearings on November 7, and Justice Kellock submitted a five-page report addressing the major issues of the tragedy two weeks later, on November 21. The report failed to identify the exact cause of the blaze, but it traced the point of origin to the linen closet. The report also discounted excessive drinking by the passengers as a significant factor in the high loss of life.

As for the question in everyone's mind - why had no crew members lost their lives? - the report noted that the crew seemed to have become aware of the event early enough to escape, that crew members were familiar with the interior of the ship, and that they could more easily find their way out. That the crew didn't immediately report the incident was critical, and their actions throughout the incident were disorganized and ineffectual.

With respect to the fundamental question of responsibility, the Court of Inquiry indicated that " … no one in a responsible position in connection with the ship, either on the ship, or ashore, had applied his mind in any serious way to the handling of a situation such as arose on the outbreak of fire on the night in question, although such an eventuality cannot be considered otherwise than one which might occur at any time. Moreover, complete complacency had descended upon both the ship's officers and the management." The report concluded that the 'loss of the S.S. Noronic and the loss of life was caused by wrongful default of the owners and the master.'

As a result of the report, Captain Taylor's certificate was suspended for one year, and the Canadian Steamship Lines were ordered to pay all court costs. After a long series of litigation in a variety of jurisdictions, the Canadian Steamship Lines paid out close to $3 million to the next of kin of those who'd perished. Captain Taylor retired from the maritime industry, working as a hotel night clerk until he passed away in 1965.

For a Safer Tomorrow

Fire has always been a menace to ships on the water - the restrictions in escape and fire fighting are significant handicaps. Yet the devastating fire on the S.S. Noronic occurred while the ship was tied to a pier in the port of a large city. For those victims trapped in this inferno, the distance to shore and safety might just as well have been the width of the widest ocean.

The requirements of maritime fire protection were well-established in 1949, and the S.S. Noronic was, like other vessels, required to comply with them. Indeed, the Noronic's certificate, granted by the Canadian Department of Transportation, included a review of safety features related to fire protection.

Canadian fire protection regulations that would have helped avert this disaster can be traced to the Canada Shipping Act of 1934 and subsequent regulations. Unfortunately, some of the most critical requirements were not retroactive and thus didn't apply to the Noronic, which was originally launched in 1913.

For example, the Noronic was exempt from the 1939 requirement that provided for fire-resistant bulkheads at intervals of no less than every 131 feet (40 m). Nor did the Noronic meet existing model recommendations for the NFPA Marine Section, first adopted by the Association in 1926. These regulations were the Basis for U.S. Coast Guard requirements, as printed in the Federal Register, entitled "Construction or Material Alteration of Passenger Vessels of the United States of 100 Gross Tons or Over Propelled by Machinery," which appeared in February 1947, and "General Rules and Regulations for Vessel Inspection- Great Lakes," which appeared in August 1944. In spite of the reciprocity arrangement with Canada, the Noronic would not have met these requirements, either.

The Noronic was also exempt from the applicable international standards set up in 1948 by the International Conference on Safety to Life at Sea. As a ship solely navigating the Great Lakes of North America, the Noronic, along with ships of war, wooden ships of primitive build, pleasure yachts, and fishing vessels-was not required to comply with regulations that clearly would have helped mitigate this tragedy. The reasons for this exemption weren't clearly documented.

In hindsight, the S.S. Noronic burned as it did for a multitude of reasons, although the following five appear to dominate: lack of cornpartmentation, a large fuel load and combustible interior finishes, insufficient means of egress, inadequate crew operations, and a lack of automatic fire protection systems.

There were no vertical fire bulkheads throughout the 360-foot-long (110.3 m) vessel, nor did it have any noncombustible enclosures around the stairwells between decks. Combustible wooden partitions were used to subdivide most of the ship, including passenger cabins and corridors, thus providing a veritable "forest" of timber between the decks. Large areas of the steel decks were covered by wood planks, ceilings in many areas, were layered with canvas or masonite materials, light wood was used extensively for interior finish and decorations, and combustible furniture and fixtures were used widely throughout the vessel.

Adding to the problem was a lack of any means for notifying and directing passengers, who were apparently expected to escape through unenclosed and unprotected stairwells to a single path that would lead to the pier. Plans for an efficient exit drill and crew emergency muster were also lacking, and this resulted in serious delays and confusion in notifying and evacuating the passengers, and in fighting the fire.

Finally, the ship had no automatic fire protection systems. An automatic fire detection system or an automatic sprinkler system would have dramatically affected the event. Automatic detection equipment would have detected the fire in its early stages.

A shipwide public address system would have allowed the crew to coordinate evacuation activities. And an established method for notifying and functioning with shore-based fire fighting resources might have altered the outcome of the fire. Automatic sprinklers would have effectively relegated this incident to history as a negligible event.

Footnotes to History

After more than a month of work, the S.S. Noronic's top decks were cut away, she was refloated alongside Pier 9, and, at 8:20 a.m. on the morning of October 29, 1949, she began her final journey to the cutting torches of a Hamilton scrapyard.

A small group of people stood quietly on the pier as she slid forlornly from her deathbed, the tug Rival straining at her blistered bow and the freighter F. V. Massey guiding her stern. Once she was on her way, two men in a small boat set about dragging the muddy bottom where she'd lain, searching for human remains deserving a better grave.

It wouldn't be a long journey, but it would proceed at a funeral pace. On this final voyage, the Noronic moved with a helpless yaw at the end of her tether. On her bow, seven men, headed by her First Mate Gerry Wood, stood quietly. No commands were given--none are needed on a ghost ship.

Decades have passed since this terrible tragedy, which remains one of the largest losses of life by fire in Toronto and the Great Lakes region. Of course, the fire could have happened in any of the Noronic's ports of call; that it occurred in Toronto was merely a twist of fate. From a rescue standpoint, however, it was a fortunate twist of fate. Toronto was a big, modern city with an established fire department. One wonders how many more lives would have been sacrificed had the fire erupted in a less up-to-date berth.

It's not easy to find Pier 9 today, since the area has been extensively developed to keep up with the city's bustling growth. The slip near the end of Yonge Street has been filled in and is now the site of the Waterfront Marina property. Located almost where the Noronic's stem lay is the mar unit of the Toronto Fire Department, known as the William Lyon MacKenzie Unit, officially designated Pumper 35.

As a visitor to Toronto, the S.S. Noronic left an indelible mark on the city's history. Hopefully, we've learned enough from this tragedy to ensure that no community need ever again play host to such a catastrophe.