The Thanksgiving Disaster That Most People Haven't Heard About

In 1892, the University of California, Berkeley, and the Stanford University football teams began a tradition that soon became known as The Big Game. While the University of California had been playing football since 1886, notes UC Davis Magazine, at the time, Stanford University's team was as new as the university. The tradition didn't start on Thanksgiving, however. UC Berkeley initially proposed a Thanksgiving match, but Stanford captain John Whittemore delayed the game till spring in order to give his team some time to practice. Stanford Magazine reports that he was the only football player on Stanford's team who had even played football before. He was quickly made captain, but the team didn't still didn't have a coach or a football to practice with when they first got together. 

Nevertheless, Stanford won their first game against UC Berkeley 14-10 on March 19, 1892, effectively beginning one of the oldest sports rivalries in the United States, writes Stanford. The games were held annually, and traditions started developing around the sporting event, which was often played around Thanksgiving. And before long, it became the top sporting event in San Francisco of its time.

In "Herbert Hoover and Stanford University," George H. Nash writes that even future president Herbert Hoover was involved in the planning of the very first Big Game of 1892 as part of the team that rented the football fields, printed tickets, and collected cash admissions.

According to Bottles and Extras, during the turn of the 20th century, many American sporting games took place in industrial areas because large land plots were available and affordable. The constructed stands were also never made to last, and sporting events hopped around the town like a traveling circus. Many of the sporting arenas were often constructed very quickly in between the active factories and warehouses.

The 1900 Big Game was going to take place just across from the San Francisco and Pacific Glass Works. The Glass Works was just about to open for business on Monday, December 3, and in preparation, the east furnace had been burning for over a week to reach 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit.

The San Francisco Chronicle reports that as a result of the 1897 accident, those in charge of constructing the grandstand became wary of similar incidents. Knowing that the four-story factory rooftop would be prime seating — especially for those unable to get a ticket — the factory was ordered to make every accommodation to ensure the prevention of a potential accident before the game. To get Glass Works superintendent James Davis on board with taking measures to keep the roof clear of spectators, he was given six tickets to the game.

As SFWeekly details, by 2:30 p.m., the time of the scheduled kickoff, the Glass Works factory roof was densely covered with between 500 to 1,000 people. Although superintendent James Davis had been informed of the risk with the roof, the group of people soon got too large to control for even Davis and his workers to try to control. And there are conflicting reports as to whether or not the watchmen he hired took payment for allowing people onto the roof. Although factory workers were soon running through the streets looking for a police officer to assist them, they were unable to find anyone to help dispel the crowd on the roof, which was built to withstand only 40 pounds per square inch.

Spectator Herman Guehring later recounted that "it was like trying to turn back the waves at the beach. The kids kept pouring through the fence anxious to see the kickoff," per Stanford Magazine. But while trying to get a view, some of the crowd ended up standing on top of the ventilator directly above the 30-by-60 foot 3,000-degree-Fahrenheit furnace in the factory underneath.

Although some realized that it was a precarious situation, the throngs of people caged the unwilling victims in, preventing any sort of escape. One man recalled how "all of us were laughing and jesting and some of the fellows said if this thing breaks, we'll all go down together."

While some managed to hang on, those who fell onto the furnace ended up suffering some of the worst agony imaginable. SFWeekly reports that if the people falling from the roof had fallen directly into an open furnace, they would have died instantly. But instead, the falling spectators found themselves cooking alive on the 500°F furnace top as broken fuel pipes sprayed boiling oil onto them. Some were also unable to move independently due to their broken bones. While many who landed on the furnace were ultimately rescued, tragically, a 10-year-old boy who landed on the furnace was unable to be saved.

Yotz and Jeter managed to save dozens of people, although due to the frantic nature of the situation, they ended up tossing people off the furnace as quickly as they could, which meant paying little attention to the myriad of broken bones and wounds that people already bore. And for those out of arm's reach, metal poles were used to drag people off, sometimes even by hooking into people's flesh.

Stanford Magazine writes that when rescuers arrived, they were taken aback by the mass calamity. "The sight was awful. We knew not which way to turn or what to do."

While part of the city of San Francisco was celebrating a Thanksgiving Day football victory, another part of the city was in the midst of a medical emergency. San Francisco Chronicle reports that dozens of people were taken to hospitals and thousands more followed them there, hoping for news of their loved ones. Because of the mass of people that started gathering at the Southern Pacific Hospital, police ended up barricading the doors to keep the crowd outside. The San Francisco Call reported that "Little boys in knee breeches were laid on the floor all along the length of the hall, some writhing with pains and calling for father and mother," per Stanford Magazine.

Meanwhile, bodies were delivered to the morgue on fragments of the destroyed roof as the supply of stretchers ran thin. And some of the bodies were so disfigured that their families were only able to identify them through their socks. Victims of the catastrophe were between the ages of nine and 46, but many of them were boys and young men. 13 people died the same day, but within four days, the death toll had risen to 22, with over 100 others being injured.

Many ended up with injuries that affected them for the rest of their lives. One of the final victims, Thomas Pedler, lived for three more years and endured spinal surgery, paralysis, and amputation before bringing the death toll to 23 in 1903.

Despite the fact that the Glass Works roof collapse during the 1900 Big Game became "the worst accident ever at a U.S. sporting event," and to date, this title has yet to be usurped, the accident seemed to immediately fade from the city's memory. A grand jury was convened, but according to Stanford Magazine, it bore the qualities of a show trial. And ultimately, the grand jury placed all of the blame on the people who had climbed onto the Glass Works roof to watch The Big Game. "[T]he deceased had no business being there. No one can be held responsible for their deaths other than themselves."

Mercury News writes that only a single physical memorial of the tragedy exists in the form of a small stone cross in Holy Cross Cemetery that marks the grave of a 12-year-old boy who died during the catastrophe. Neither the stadium nor the Glass Work factory remains, but "ironically, a UCSF facility now stands on the glassworks site."

And it's not only just the tragedy that was forgotten. Even the associated game is barely remarked upon in public memory. And while other 19th-century Big Games have commemorative statues, there's nothing dedicated to the 1900 Big Game. When researching the disaster for Stanford Magazine, Sam Scott found that even in local history books, there's barely a footnote to the 1900 tragedy.