In Beirut, echoes of Texas City
Separated by culture, size and 7,000 miles, Lebanon’s capital and the Houston-area Gulf Coast city are now linked through tragedy
Amanda Vance, curator of the Texas City Museum, was curious last week when she noticed an uptick in online chatter about the 1947 Texas City Disaster.
Usually, talk of the disaster tends to occur around its anniversary in April.
It quickly became clear why that incident — the deadliest industrial accident in U.S. history — suddenly became a topic of discussion: 2,700 tons of ammonium nitrate had exploded in the Port of Beirut, killing more than 150.
Seventy-three years earlier, at the Port of Texas City, a fire broke out in the cargo hold of the French-owned S.S. Grandcamp, which was loaded with about 2,300 tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer. As firefighters and the curious converged dockside the morning of April 16, the ship exploded, sending molten chunks of it into the city’s petrochemical complex. Buildings were flattened, planes were knocked out of the sky, the nearby Monsanto Chemical Company plant was destroyed and oil storage facilities went up in flames. Hours later, the nearby High Flyer, also loaded with ammonium nitrate, exploded. In all, nearly 600 were killed.
For those looking to learn more about what happened in 1947, the Texas City Museum (409 6th St. North, open 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Tuesdays through Saturdays) is home to nearly 900 first-person accounts from survivors of the blast. Its permanent exhibit contains footage and artifacts from the explosion as well.
Texas City Memorial Park, near the corner of 29th Street North and 25th Avenue North, has numerous memorials onsite, an anchor from the Grandcamp on display and is the final resting spot for the unidentified victims of the blast. Other memorials can be found on the north side of Dike Road just east of Bay Street.
In Beirut, there was a distinctive reddish-orange color to the plume of smoke that arose from the blast, indicative of a nitrate-based explosion. Many in Texas City watching the burning Grandcamp had a similar observation.
“A lot of the survivors recall the orange smoke,” Vance said. “And that’s what drew a lot of people down to the docks.”
In Beirut, curious residents also wondered about the grayish smoke that initially emanated from the port. But rather than head out that way for a better look, many took out their cell phones and recorded what they saw.
As a result, more so than in any of the other explosions involving ammonium nitrate, we can see the blast itself.
That's wasn't the case in Texas City, of course. The visual record of what happened there exists in mostly black-andwhite photos and film footage showing the aftermath of the explosion.
Additionally, there's also the memories of survivors like Vera Bell Gary, now 94, who was working as a teacher at Lincoln High School on the west side of Texas City.
She recalled multiple explosions that morning, the second of which shook the school building.
“It looked like the world was on fire,” she said.
Like Gary, the survivors in Beirut will have a story to tell for the rest of their lives. And like Texas City, memorials will eventually go up to honor those lost.
Two cities, separated by culture, size and 7,000 miles, are forever linked through tragedy.