The Morning Journal (Lorain, OH)

Families seeking answers 50 years after fire destroyed records

- By Allen G. Breed and Randy Herschaft

The apocalypti­c scene is still burned into Mike Buttery’s memory 50 years later:

• black smoke billowing from the top floor of the Military Personnel Records Center,

• bits of paper wafting through the air as dozens of firefighte­rs tried desperatel­y to stem the inferno.

“They’d hit it (the paper) with the water, and the water would knock it back up in the air, and then it would float around some more out there,” Buttery, then a janitor at the center, recalls of the wind-whipped paper swirling around the massive six-story building outside St. Louis.

As he watched from a safe spot, Buttery could only think of the millions of veterans — like himself — whose records were being consumed and “how in the world would they get their benefits.”

“It immediatel­y went through my mind that those people were losing whatever history there was of their of their service,” Buttery, who served with the Army in northern Vietnam, said during a recent interview from his suburban St. Louis home.

The July 12, 1973, fire in Overland, Mo., consumed an estimated 16 to 18 million personnel files, the vast majority covering the period just before World War I through 1963. It’s believed to be the largest loss of records in one catastroph­e in U.S. history.

It is an event that dogged untold veterans, forcing them to fight once more — this time for benefits, medals and recognitio­n they’d earned. It echoes to this day:

• in the struggles of families seeking to document the achievemen­ts and sacrifices of loved ones,

• to bury them with full military honors, and

• in the efforts of conspiracy theorists, still searching for proof of a nefarious plot behind what government investigat­ors long ago wrote off as most likely the careless act of a single man.

More than anything, it highlights the monumental, ongoing effort to reclaim the history that, at the time, seemed irretrieva­bly lost.

‘Difficult to comprehend’

If the records center was meant to inspire awe, mission accomplish­ed.

“Its size is difficult to comprehend, even when one is inside,” Walter W. Stender and Evans Walker wrote in a 1974 article in The American Archivist titled, “The National Personnel Records Center: A Study in Disaster.”

“The sheer bulk alone makes a strong impression on the viewer, and the vast scale tends to overwhelm the quiet St. Louis suburban community of Overland where the building rises on a seventy-acre site,” they wrote. “The building, 728 feet long, 282 feet wide, six stories high, presents an impassive façade to the world with its rather bland curtain wall of glass and aluminum.”

Built for the Department of Defense in 1956, the facility was later turned over to the National Archives and Records Service, then part of the General Services Administra­tion. By the time of the fire, the military records center and a nearby one for civilian records had been merged into the National Personnel Records Center.

Walker and Stender, a future acting Archivist of the United States, said the 1.6 million-square-foot building “reflected careful planning.” But “in actual function,” they concluded, “it was not a successful records center.”

There were some sprinklers on the first and second floors, but none in the stacks, and no firewalls between records storage areas.

A rash of fires in the previous year prompted the government to conduct a study of the facility, which was released in fall 1972.

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