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Show f AfJventurers' "27ie Burning Crypt" By FLOYD GIBBONS, Famous Headline Hunter IT'S always the little things that cause the most trouble. Jimmy Pezalano of Maspeth, L. I., can tell you that. It was a pencil that brought him the big adventure of his life. And while plenty of people have got into trouble for being too handy with their pens, I don't think they went through half as much grief as that little stick of wood and graphite brought to Jimmy. It all happened on December 17, 1931, when Jimmy was working for a drug manufacturing concern in Long Island City. Jimmy was a stock tlerk and one of his duties was to check over the shipments of whisky and alcohol as they came in, and store the stuff in a big, 200-oot square, steel-lined, burglar proof vault. That vault was the danger spot of the whole plant. In it were stored all the explosive and inflammable chemicals in the place. There were tons of such stuff as chlorate of potash, and gallons of collodion, naphtha, ether and the like, in addition to hundreds of steel drums full of alcohol. "And I was responsible for this stock," says Jimmy. "Besides myself, only the boss had the combination com-bination that would open the massive door." Just a Pencil Started the Trouble On that fateful December :7 that we're going to hear about, Jimmy was finding that responsibility pretty heavy. A shipment of foreign whisky had arrived just an hour before quitting time, and Jimmy couldn't go home until it was all stowed away. He and his helper hurriedly wheeled the cases into the rear of the vault and started to open them and unwrap the bottles from the straw in which they were packed. They worked rapidly for half an hour, but "Doesn't something always happen when you're in a hurry?" Jimmy wants to know. And I've got to agree with Jimmy. Something always does. This time it was a pencil the only one they had. It dropped to the floor and rolled into a dark corner between two stacks of cases. They didn't want to go back to the office to get another one, so they did something that was strictly againsi. the rules.. Jimmy's helper lit a match to look for it. That match was hardly lit when footsteps sounded outside the door. Could it be the boss? If he ever saw that lighted match in that vault full of explosives well somebody would get fired. Quickly, Jimmy's helper threw the lighted match into what looked like a puddle of water. Then, in an instant, that "water" had Lurst into Same. The "water" was a puddle of highly inflammable inflam-mable collodion that had leaked out of a faulty drum. Flames Crept Toward the Explosives " "Instantly," says Jimmy, "the flames caught in some of the loose straw we had taken from the whisky cases. Tongues of fire began to lick out toward the leaky drum the collodion had come from. For a second I was scared stiff. There was enough explosives in the vault to blow the place to bits, and on the upper floors there were more than 300 people getting ready to go home. "I leaped for a rack of sand pails, grabbed two of them and yelled to my helper to get the others. The flame was creeping up the side of the drum less than an inch from the plug hole when I threw the sand over it. Grabbing the other two pails from my helper I yelled to him to run outside, ring the alarm and hurry back with an extinguisher. Then I threw the rest of the sand. It barely sufficed to put out the collodion still burning at the base of the drum, but now the straw was burning furiously, setting fire to the wooden whisky cases." It looked bad for Jimmy, but in another moment it was worse. He heard a loud slam glanced at the door and his heart almost stopped. In running out, his helper had kicked away the stick used to keep the heavy door open. It had banged shut. Jimmy was TRAPPED IN A BURNING VAULT full of explosives and the only other person who had the combination was the boss, WHO USUALLY LEFT THE FACTORY EARLY! Jimmy Made a Gallant Fight "I was stunned," says Jimmy. "For a moment I stared blankly at that locked door, but the acrid smoke brought my attention back to the rapidly spreading fire. There was a bare chance and I jumped for it. Like a maniac, I rolled the steel drums away from the flames. With blistered hands I pushed and jerked away heavy cases of potash until I managed to clear a small space around the flames. Every few seconds I had to stop to stamp out flying sparks that threatened to set off some stored explosive, but in the end I had cleared the space and pushed all the burning straw and wood to the center of the fire. Then, with fear inspired strength, I dragged up heavy steel plates, used as a runway for hand trucks, and set them like partitions around the blaze. "None too soon. In another minute hell popped. Cases of whisky in the center of the blaze began falling apart. Bottles went off in a series of shattering explosions. Thanks to the steel plates, none of the scattering glass and flame struck me, but I had a busy time stamping out the flying sparks and burning splinters of wood." For a full 25 minutes, Jimmy fought that blaze. Then, overcome over-come by heat and smoke, he was beating a reluctant retreat when the door opened and men came running in with sand and fire extinguishers. "With my hair singed, hands scorched and my face as black as coal," says Jimmy, "I must have made a sorry figure. But boy, did that air feel good? And was I glad that my helper had enough presence of mind to run and catch the boss JUST AS HE WAS LEAVING THE BUILDING?" WNU Service. |
