January 27 a Traditional Day for Snow in D.C.
Today's first real winter storm of the season landed this morning, and we're staring down some serious ice tonight. But we can be pretty sure of one thing: it's not the worst storm D.C.'s succumbed to on January 27. Today marks the 87th* anniversary of the great Knickerbocker Storm of 1922. The two-day blizzard got its name when D.C.'s Knickerbocker Theater collapsed on the night of the January 28, killing 98 people and injuring 133. It is still the single largest snow storm D.C. has ever had (with an official total of 25 inches and drifts considerably larger than that), and the disaster at the Knickerbocker still ranks among our city's most tragic.
The storm did a thorough demolition job on the entire eastern seaboard. With temperatures below freezing since January 23, the coast was perfectly positioned for brutal results from any passing storm. The cyclone formed off the coast of Florida, and made its way over land starting in Georgia, moving over Cape Hatteras, and up several east coast cities. Richmond, D.C. and Baltimore were among the hardest hit, where temperatures were in the 20s for the duration of the storm. The Knickerbocker (quite literally) covered 22,400 square miles of northeastern United States. It fell in line with our coast's tendency for the worst blizzards to come on weekends (since 1909, only two major snowstorms have fallen outside of a weekend on the east coast).
The Knickerbocker was a new (built in 1917) movie theater, with a big flat roof. The theater was located near 18th Street and Columbia Road, the current location of the Sun Trust bank. Three hundred people, including a congressman, watched the movie Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford while the wet weight on the roof grew and grew. It split down the middle, pouring feet of snow into the theater, burying many and collapsing the balcony. Weatherbook.com has an account of the disaster, including this description of the actual collapse:
Shortly before 9 p.m., the Knickerbocker Theatre’s orchestra was playing for intermission. The lights had dimmed and the people were returning to their seats. Suddenly, a loud hissing noise filled the room. The ceiling, weighed down from the snow, had begun to split apart down the middle. The few people who had noticed the splitting ceiling dove under their seats or ran for the door. Within seconds, the entire roof started to fall towards the crowd. As the roof came down, it collapsed the theater’s cement balcony and pulled down portions of the theater’s brick wall. Concrete, bricks and metal crashed to the ground, burying dozens of people.George Brodie had entered the theater moments before the roof collapsed and gave the following account: “I grabbed for my hat and coat, and the next minute found myself flat on my face with something weighty on top. I lay still for about five minutes when I noticed at the side of me a girl with an arch or pillar resting upon her. I tried to pull it off but couldn’t move it. Then I started working my way slowly in some direction - I think the middle - and with four other fellows we saw a hole with a light shining through. The next thing I know I was on the street, but I don’t know how I got there. I stayed around for a while and helped several others, who were apparently uninjured, out of the place. It was a frightful sight within, nothing but moans, cries and darkness.”
Over 600 rescue workers and countless residents (including former DCist editor Michael Grass' great uncle) flocked to help at the scene that was described as something out of World War I. The theater's architect and owner each later committed suicide in subsequent years.
One particularly grizzly report about the rescue efforts came from The Bridgeport Telegram, in Bridgeport Connecticut. A rescue volunteer found a man, "who sat bolt upright in his seat. The debris had formed an arch over him. There were no marks on this man to indicate injury. He was dead. His eyes were open. His whole appearance was indicative of the fact that he had been gazing at the picture that began the performance and that the shock had killed him." [via]
The storm is one you may have heard from an older relative or neighbor. It even inspired one of the Capitol Weather Gang's interest in weather. For more photos, visit Weatherbook.com's page on the Knickerbocker, and be sure to check out Flickr user Piedmont Fossil's family photo of a city street during the storm.
This has long been an historically bad day for snow in the District; in 1772, another great storm, known as the Washington and Jefferson Snowstorm, covered the city. It's said to be named that way because the two founding fathers were both stuck in their homes for weeks; even postal delivery stopped.
*The earlier typo marking this as the 27th anniversary, not the 87th, was just that. Fast typing gets us again.
Editor's note: an earlier error had the location of the theater mixed up. We've corrected the post to avoid any confusion.