The Longest Engagement

Delightful Autumn Day Frank Zigman went to work the morning of Friday, October 20, 1944, just as he had done countless times before. It was another beautiful autumn day in Cleveland, Ohio, that his wife Mary and daughter, Patty, would be enjoying along with his mother, Hattie, who lived nearby and visited often. A neighbor was already out in the cool morning air burning leaves by the curbside and the incense-like fragrance of the leaves filled Frank’s nostrils, energizing him with a joyful feeling of being alive. Young Patty had recently turned three, and that day she filled the house with her cheerful exuberance. Earlier she had stood in the window and waved goodbye to her eight-year-old sister, Mary Ann, as she left for class at St. Vitus School. It was a great day to be alive. There was a feeling of hope among family and friends that World War II would be over by this time next year. Industry could revert from tanks and planes to making cars and building homes. They longed for the end of rationing of food, coffee, flour, and sugar. Plentiful gasoline was every man’s dream, while the women prayed for nylon stockings and makeup. News reports had the Germans being driven back towards the Fatherland, and the Japanese losing ground in the Pacific. The month before a young naval flyer was shot down near the island of Chichi Jima which was to the north of Iwo Jima. He was rescued by the crew of the submarine Finback, at the time a seemingly unremarkable event to anyone but the family and friends of the aviator, George H. W. Bush. Coincidence? Fate? Divine plan? Frank worked as a time study man at Lamson and Sessions, a manufacturer of metal fasteners. He boarded the streetcar for the ride to the factory. The rhythmic humming, clacking and swaying of the ride always comforted him. Alighting from the streetcar, he had to navigate his way through the parking lot to the factory entrance, which was towards the rear of the plant. The lot was small, since most of the workers could not afford a car. However, the vehicles of the executives were quite impressive. The vice president drove a 1941 Packard 110 station wagon sporting its wooden sides and dark brown finish. The president’s son heralded his presence with his 1941, red, Willy’s hotrod with its shark-like hood and silver grill, but the showpiece was his father, the president’s, 1940 black Cadillac convertible with its powerful, squared roof lines, oval rear window, and rolled up front fenders in the shape of half tires. Frank entered the building, walked the stairs to his second floor office, and hung up his coat, fully exposing his white shirt, bow tie and suspenders which were the businessman’s attire of the era. While sitting at his desk that afternoon, Frank heard his name called several times in rapid succession. He looked over at his assistant bent over her desk a few feet away and asked “Yes, what do you want?” She looked up at him puzzled and replied “I didn’t say anything.” Afterwards, Frank surmised he had heard the voice of his dying Mary calling to him. Just then Frank heard the faint peeling of bells from St. Vitus Church off in the distance. Glancing up at the bold black hands and numbers on the white face of the large wall clock, he observed it was two forty. He thought it strange that the bells were ringing at such an odd time. The cacophony of tones rang quickly and out of order as if excitedly shouting each to the other. Father must be repairing the bells, he mused. Who would have thought the vibrant sounds were announcing the departure of one hundred thirty souls? The Great Disaster Explosions ripped the air and the house shuddered repeatedly like a shivering giant. “Quick, Mary, we have to get out of the house” yelled Hattie, “the Germans are attacking.” “No, Frank said if the Germans attacked we were to go to the basement.” “But the house is rumbling like it’s about to collapse and there are fires outside,” pleaded Hattie. “Frank is a civil defense volunteer, Hattie, and he told me to take Patty and run to the basement and that is what I am going to do.” Mary swooped up little Patty in her arms and rushed down into the basement. Hattie ran outside into a blazing inferno as the whole neighborhood was exploding into fireballs and collapsing buildings. She jumped a fence and ran to the nearby pond to escape the blistering heat and raining firestorm. As she looked back, the home she had just rushed out of exploded and collapsed upon itself and roared with the flames and intensity of a steel mill blast furnace. At 2:40 P.M. on that peaceful autumn day, the great East Ohio Gas Company explosions and fires devastated city blocks and hundreds of homes. The East Ohio Gas Company had constructed four huge holding tanks at their plant in the neighborhood. The tanks held liquified natural gas which greatly increased East Ohio’s storage capacity. On that beautiful autumn day, a seam had split on tank number four, which allowed the dangerous vapors to pour out, enter the sewer system and come up through the drains in the neighborhood houses. When tank number four finally ignited, the flames raced through the surrounding area and incinerated the homes it entered. It wasn’t long before tank number three exploded and continued the devastation and carnage. Hattie stared vacantly at the house she had fled from moments before. She was frozen with shock while all around her flames engulfed cars, homes, people. The explosions continued for forty minutes and the fires smoldered for days. Where moments before the perfume of burning leaves had filled the air, there now was only the acrid smell of charred wood, shingles and burned flesh. "Oh my God, what do I tell Frank?" cried Hattie.