Hindenburg’s memory still alive
ON a thundery night on May 6, 1937, the era of commercial airship travel came to a fiery end when the hydrogen-filled Hindenburg burst into flames, killing 36 and shocking the world with images of the blazing dirigible.
In just over 30 seconds, the largest object ever to roam the skies turned into a plummeting fireball, crashing onto the airfield at Lakehurst, New Jersey.
The explosion of the Hindenburg was not the deadliest airship accident in history and its death toll appears relatively modest compared to many plane crashes today, yet 75 years later the demise of the German zeppelin is still remembered as one of the 20th century’s most spectacular catastrophes.
“It was one of the first disasters to be documented as it happened,” Carl Jablonski, president of the Navy Lakehurst Historical Society, told AFP.
“We all heard of the Titanic, but we only have the accounts of the people who were rescued,” he said. “For the Hindenburg, we have newsreel footage, the recording of radio transmissions and pictures.”
At the time, newsreels shown before feature films at movie theaters brought the horrifying images to every corner of the US and countries abroad.
“It was right there, you couldn’t miss it,” Jablonski said.
On the scene was 31-year-old radio reporter Herbert Morrison from Chicago, whose compelling narration was broadcast nationwide a day after the Hindenburg crash, sending chills down the spines of the audience. “It’s burst into flames and it’s falling, it’s crashing,” he wailed, crying out his now famous words “Oh, the humanity.”
Even though the majority of the passengers and crew on board survived, Morrison deplored “one of the worst catastrophes in the world.”
The 1920s and 1930s were the golden age of airship travel. The Germans in particular fell in love with the technology invented by their aviation pioneer Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin and affectionately called the silvery behemoths “flying cigars.”
The zeppelins became the epitome of luxury travel, shuttling the rich and powerful between Europe, South and North America.
After the Nazis rose to power in Germany, the floating giants had swastikas emblazoned on their tail fins, turning their trips into propaganda missions.
The 800-foot-long Hindenburg, which went into service in 1936, was the pride of the Third Reich’s zeppelin fleet.
The airborne luxury liner featured a promenade with a breathtaking view of the earth and the oceans below, a lavish dining room, a specially designed lightweight piano — and even a smokers’ lounge. The voyage across the Atlantic took about two and a half days, much faster than a steamboat at the time.
On May 3, 1937, the Hindenburg left Frankfurt for its first transatlantic flight of the season. When the airship reached the US East Coast three days later, it ran into bad weather.
Thunderstorms over Lakehurst delayed the landing for several hours. As the Hindenburg finally attempted to dock with the mooring mast, it suddenly burst into flames.
“The actual cause is not really known,” said Jablonski. American and German investigators concluded at the time that a discharge of static electricity set fire to highly- flammable hydrogen which was escaping through a small gas leak, ultimately blowing up the entire airship.
Other theories blame the flammable outer skin of the Hindenburg in combination with a static spark, an engine failure or even a lightning as causes for the disaster.
The uncertainty surrounding the catastrophe has also nourished conspiracy theories, with some believing in sabotage committed by an opponent of the Nazis traveling aboard the Hindenburg.
Jablobski rejects such speculations. “Sabotage was ruled out by the investigation,” he said. “We stick to the mainstream explanation.”
The Hindenburg disaster and the images of the inferno effectively ended the age of airship travel, shattering the public’s confidence in the zeppelins forever.
The remaining airships of the German fleet were sent for salvage. The Hindenburg’s equally mighty sister ship, the Graf Zeppelin II, never went into service.