Train Accidents at North Olean

This is the earliest accident that I found titled—
A WHISKEY MURDERJune 21, 1877—Another whiskey murder at Olean, a man named Hicks, while drunk wandered onto the Erie track and was run over by train #1. Hicks leaves a wife and a family of children. They will probably bring a suit under the civil damage act against the man who sold him the liquor.

A ROBBERY AND ATTEMPTED MURDERA robbery and attempted murder was reported on Saturday, August 15, 1878. A tramp by the name of James Forrest jumped from the B.N.Y.& P. train while it was passing the Junction at a high rate of speed. When he struck the ground, his arm was driven into the earth, and sustained such severe injuries that it was necessary to amputate it near the elbow. Some people in this village (North Olean) very kindly sheltered the poor man and attended to his injuries. Besides having his arm cut off, the man received internal injuries and suffered excruciating pain until Sunday morning when he died. Certain India ink marks on his body revealed his name and former residence, James Forrest of Harrisburg, Pa.

A TERRIBLE WARNINGOn September 24, 1886 at 4:30 in the afternoon, little Joe Sirdevan, age 9, son of Patrick Sirdevan, who lived at North Olean, was playful and happy. A half an hour later he was lying in an unconscious condition in the office of Drs. Morris and Bartlett, with several terrible wounds in his head, which the doctors said would probably cause his death.

When the south-bound train, No. 4, from Buffalo made the usual stop before crossing the Erie track at the Junction, the boy climbed on as he had doubtless done dozens of times before, for a ride of a mile or so to the Union Station. When the train had reached a point opposite Gillingham & Co. sash factory, the little fellow jumped or fell to the ground striking his head with great force against some portion of a switch stand. He was picked up and taken to the doctor’s office when it was discovered that there was a large hole in the upper right front portion of the skull, on the right side of his head. There were also other severe cuts about his head. The doctors dressed the wounds, and he was not given much chance to survive. The grief stricken father watched the boy throughout the night. To add to the family’s grief, the mother was sick and there were five or six other children in the family. The injured boy was moved to his home the next afternoon, after he became conscious and could talk to those present. On October 6, 1886, Joseph Sirdevan died of his injuries. His funeral was held at St. Mary of the Angels Church and he was buried at St. Bonaventure Cemetery.

Little Joe’s death was a cause to issue a warning to the boys of Olean. It seemed that many of the little boys had been in the habit of catching a ride on passenger trains between the Union Depot and the Junction, and on freight cars that were switched in the yard. (The Union Depot was the depot uptown and the junction where the Erie and Pennsylvania trains crossed in North Olean.)

DEATH AT THE ERIE BRIDGE
NORTH OLEAN, MARCH 9, 1903This is the story of one of the worst catastrophes that ever occurred in North Olean. It began about 8:30 on the evening of March 9, 1903, when suddenly the heavens lit up with a brilliant flash and the people of Olean felt a slight shock from an explosion. Someone rang the fire alarm from box 8, located near the Grand Central Hotel. The blaze was far down the Erie tracks, just beyond the Erie Bridge, east of the Empire Mills. Anyone familiar with oil fires knew that this was one because of the black smoke.

An extra westbound freight, in charge of Conductor Fox, broke in two between Hinsdale and Olean. The crew was unaware of this fact, which was first discovered by the operator at “H.R.” tower just east of Olean. He sent word to the operator at the Erie station, who endeavored to have the engineer keep on down the main track instead of stopping at the bridge to take the switch according to his orders. Before the engineer could get the twenty-six cars attached to his engine in motion again, the fourteen cars, which were following with the caboose, crashed into those ahead of it just east of the Erie Bridge across the Olean Creek. Of the fourteen cars, eight were loaded with refined oil or naphtha and the other six with sugar.

The collision caused an explosion of some of the oil cars; three of them were thrown down the north side of the embankment, carrying with them all the telegraph wire. Another toppled part way down the south bank and others were piles sidewise across the tracks. Portions of the iron domes of cars were hurled a distance of several hundred feet. In a short time five tank cars and a boxcar were in flames that shot high up into the sky, presenting a brilliant spectacle.

Soon several men and boys arrived on the scene and assisted the train crew in pushing some of the cars away from the burning wreck. A large crowd quickly gathered and hundreds of people stood as near to the burning cars as the heat would permit, watching the white flames leap upwards. No one stopped to think about the fact that they might all be in jeopardy from the burning oil, or did they perceive the impending danger of the fiercely burning fire?

While this oil fire was in progress, thousands of Monday night shoppers and others went to North Olean or through Boardmanville to the fields beyond to witness the fire. The largest crowd was on the Erie tracks just west of where the accident had taken place and had the explosion happened at 9 o’clock, the result would have seen many more casualties. Most of the spectators had wearied of watching the blaze and went home, little dreaming of the sudden and untimely death that was about to occur. The remaining crowd, made up of mostly boys who had stood massed together for about three hours, fascinated by the spectacle before them, were among the victims, when without a moment’s notice a terrific second explosion occurred at about eleven o’clock. There was one last tank car that remained, which did not seem to burn, and many waited to see it explode. The end of the tank to the west, without warning blew out and the burning liquid was blown out from it westward, much as would the charge be blown out from a massive cannon. The burning fluid was scattered broadcast, and came down like a veritable rain of fire upon those unfortunates, who were nearest the cars. The scene of agony and horror at that moment was beyond description. The dead and the injured, blinded and burned were crushed in a heap or else buried beneath the falling debris and were covered with boiling, burning oil. Those who were able, groped their way in the dazzling light that was too blinding to light their way; some rolled in their agony down the banks of the railway into the flooded fields below, others rushed down into the water to quench their burning clothes and still other laid still and helpless, groaning and begging death to end their suffering. As soon as was possible, those who were fortunate enough to escape, and those who were out of reach of the death explosion, sent calls to the city for help.

The scenes at the rescue were heart rending. As soon as the news of the catastrophe spread through North Olean and the northern part of the city, frantic mothers and fathers went hither and thither looking for their sons, all the time praying that they wouldn’t be found among the dead. Near the Empire Mills, vehicles of all descriptions were gathered to transport the dead. A short distance west of the bridge a “deadline” was set up, beyond which no one was allowed to pass. Weeping women and fear stricken men were huddled in a mass, many unable to find missing sons, brothers or husbands, and didn’t know if they were among the dead that lay strewn along the track or among the crowd of onlookers.

About 1 a.m. Deputy Sheriff Oosterhoudt came from the burning cars and called for about twenty volunteers to carry the stretchers on which the dead were to be borne to the wagons. Three times as many as were called for stepped forward. It was a gruesome trip. A strong light shone down the track, which instead of illuminating the scene only seemed to blind their eyes. They came across two corpses burned to a crisp lying in the middle of the track. There were fifteen dead persons, but they were blackened and charred beyond recognition. The body nearest the burning car appeared to be that of a boy lying on his back with outstretched arms and with every stitch of clothing burned off, only his shoes remained. There were two other bodies, one lying across the other, the clothing still a red glow of fire and the faces and limbs were blackened and distorted. Then for a distance of several rods, in the middle and along the sides of the track in attitudes of agony, lay eight corpses, on all of which the clothing was burning. While these were being noted and counted, a force of men under Coroner Cassar Smith, were dragging up the steep bank, out of the water, four other bodies. The men made a “chain” by taking hold of each other’s hands, and thus brought the bodies, which were not so badly burned, up onto the track. When these four were hauled up the bank, there were now fifteen dead bodies so close together as to almost touch each other. With the flames throwing a fitful glare, and with the stench of burning flesh, the whole scene was a sickening one to behold.

Then the volunteer bearers lined up and the wire cots that were used as stretchers were loaded with their awful burdens and carried to the waiting ambulances. When the bearers reached the outskirts of the crowd the people opened up a way for them on either side. As the bodies were brought out one by one to the wagons near the Empire Mill, careworn and haggard faces on either side of the line tried to catch a glimpse of them and as one of them thought they recognized a face of part of the clothing, wails went up, which would never be forgotten by those who heard them. The bodies were then loaded into the conveyances and were taken to the undertaking establishments of C. P. Woodard and W. J. Quigley. Side by side at Woodard’s were five bodies charred almost beyond recognition, while at Quigley’s there were nine, some with every resemblance of a human face removed.

As soon as the terrible situation was made known, the Olean General Hospital was notified and cots were prepared, the preparatory and operating room were gotten ready. The day nurses were called to duty and the doctors hastened to the hospital.

Among the injured were: Frank Dempsey, James McCready, Gordon H. Deible, a little Godfrey boy, Clarence Reeves, Warren Thorton, Edward Hartwig, Edward Brown, Earl and George Blackwell, Thomas Olson, George Sirdevan, Ray Sullivan and George Smith.

Those who died were: Harry Gooden, Norman Brown, Raphelo Quarinto, Michael V. Driscoll, Richard Connell, John Tobin, Herman H. Vollman, John McCready, John Stimlinger, Willie Ross, Willie Hubbard, Walter Swift, John McMahon, Carmen Sicelaino, Walter Jackson, Richard McDonald, and Martin Gallagher.
This indeed was the worst railroad disaster at North Olean, although each accident and loss of life is a tragedy.

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