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Buck Jones’ Last Stand: Part 2

Al Hunter — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 06:04:02 +0000

Last week I told you about Vincennes, Indiana native Buck Jones. One of the best known cowboy stars in Hollywood history, Buck died tragically in a nightclub fire during World War II. Not just any fire, but the Cocoanut Grove inferno in Boston, Massachusetts; the worst nightclub disaster in world history. Four hundred ninety two people perished while another 166 were injured. The recent fire at the Kiss nightclub in Santa Maria, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil claimed 237 lives and rightfully occupied the airwaves for several days last week. The Brazil tragedy brought to memory the much publicized fire at the Station Nightclub fire in West Warwick, Rhode Island that happened almost 10 years ago to the day, killing 100 including Ty Longley, the guitar player for the band Great White.
Sadly, Buck Jones and the story of the Cocoanut Grove are largely forgotten nowadays. Buck Jones was one of the greatest of the “B” western stars and “The Grove” was THE place to be in Boston in 1942. The Cocoanut Grove was designated as a “Restaurant/Supper Club” because nightclubs did not officially exist in Boston. It was built in 1927 and located at 17 Piedmont Street, a narrow cobblestoned street near the Park Square theater district in downtown Boston, Massachusetts.
Ironically, the history of The Grove eerily parallels the career of Buck Jones. Prohibition made the Cocoanut Grove very popular in the late 1920s, but it had fallen on hard times during the 1930s. Buck Jones was one of the greatest stars of the Silent film era in the 1920s but the coming of talking pictures in 1927 hurt his career and the Great Depression brought Buck’s career to a grinding halt. Boston was a major port of debarkation for troops shipping out for Europe in World War II and The Grove was riding a wave of resurgence in the early 1940s. Buck’s career took off again after signing a contract with Columbia Pictures in 1940. Soon the fates of Buck Jones and the Cocoanut Grove would be entwined once more. And this time it would be forever.
It was November 28, 1942, two days after Thanksgiving, Buck Jones was in Boston on a combination war bond selling tour and promotional junket for his latest movie, White Eagle Riders of Death Valley. The day before, Buck phoned his wife, Odille, to tell her he’d caught a cold on his cross-country tour. Although not feeling well, upon arriving in Boston, Buck refused to cancel his appearances for fear that he would disappoint the children who expected to see him that Saturday.
Buck visited a children’s hospital that morning and went from there to Boston Garden for a rally of about 12,000 children. In a drizzling rain that afternoon Buck and a his group watched the Boston College-Holy Cross football game from the Mayor’s box. The schedule called for Buck and his entourage to meet at the Buddies’ Club USO on Boston Common at 9:30 p.m. to mix and mingle with the servicemen for a couple of hours. Buck begged off due to his cold. An impromptu testimonial dinner had been arranged for Buck at the Cocoanut Grove by a local theatre. Although ill, Buck attended out of courtesy to the distributors honoring him.
The Cocoanut Grove was a squat one-and-a-half-story block long building with a basement. The basement contained a bar, called the Melody Lounge, along with the kitchen, freezers, and storage areas. The first floor contained a large dining room area and ballroom with a bandstand, along with several bar areas separate from the ballroom. The dining room also had a retractable roof for use during warm weather to allow a view of the moon and stars. The main entrance to the Cocoanut Grove was via a revolving door on the Piedmont Street side of the building. The club featured a Polynesian motif with fake palm trees. Its walls and ceiling were bedecked with colored cloth. In the main room, rope braiding ran up several poles, topped with artificial palm leaves and coconuts.
Buck Jones and his group entered the Cocoanut Grove amid applause and fanfare from the guests. After accommodating the many handshakes and autograph requests, the celebrity entourage finally settled at tables on the mezzanine overlooking the dance floor. It was 10 p.m., and a band was playing in the lounge downstairs. The lounge was unusually dark after a bulb had been pulled from its socket, allegedly by an amorous couple desiring privacy. A 16-year-old bar boy named Stanley Tomaszewski, was ordered by his bartender boss to replace the bulb. While awkwardly standing atop a chair in the darkness, Stanley lit a match to screw in the bulb.
Within seconds, the open flame jumped to a nearby palm tree and ignited the palm fronds above the tables. The bartenders tried in vain to extinguish the fire with water and seltzer bottles. The cloth ceiling quickly caught fire and flames exploded upstairs almost instantaneously, spreading choking smoke and heat everywhere. It was a textbook flash fire.
At first, no one panicked as the crowd made their way slowly up the wide stairs. That is, until they saw the main entrance, a single revolving door jammed shut by bodies pressed against it. Just then a girl, her hair ablaze, ran from the Melody Lounge in the basement where the fire had begun, screaming ‘Fire!’ Panic set in. Flames flashed with incredible swiftness and smoke was thick as fog in the hallways. Blazing draperies fell, setting clothes and hair on fire. Soldiers in uniform called on everyone to remain calm, but they were drowned out by the screams of the patrons. Flames moved upstairs to the main bar, dance floor and dining room within 5 minutes.
In a strange twist of fate, at 10:15 p.m., the Boston Fire Department received a call about a car fire at Stuart and Carver Streets, about three blocks from the Cocoanut Grove. The firefighters responded and quickly extinguished the automobile fire. One of the firefighters saw smoke coming from the direction of the Cocoanut Grove. As they walked towards the club to investigate, panicked bystanders ran towards them screaming “Fire, Fire.” The firefighters saw fire and heavy smoke pouring from the building and patrons and employees fleeing from the building. By 10:25 p.m., the entire Boston Fire department was on the way to the scene.
Fire Department officials told of body-clogged doorways when they arrived on the scene. The dead and injured were piled in heaps. Nearly 200 people died in one ghastly mound behind the revolving door. The Grove had other exits, but most were locked to prevent patrons from leaving without paying while others, which only opened inward, were blocked by the panicked crowd. Reports persisted that some doors were locked to prevent entry/exit by non-paying customers. Sadly, the locked door element has been repeated in succeeding nightclub fires, including the most recent fire in Brazil.
Some escaped through the kitchen, but the toxic smoke became so thick that patrons couldn’t breathe, let alone see, and most simply died where they fell. Many patrons huddled under tables and dozens were trampled to death. Their bodies blocked the six-foot-wide stairway up from the lounge. A plate-glass window that might have provided egress was found to be boarded up. There were an estimated 800 to 1,000 people in the Grove that night (25 percent beyond capacity), all of whom were thrown into a hellish bedlam attempting to get out of the flaming, choking inferno.
The first firemen on scene were forced to crawl over the bodies of trapped victims before they could get inside. Police investigators found evidence that a terrific fight had taken place in the panicking darkness; the police chief stating, “Many of the bodies were actually torn apart.” Outside there were bodies piled everywhere, living and dead. The firemen doused them with freezing water to quench the flames.
When the magnitude of the disaster was realized, an urgent call for help was issued. Navy, Army, Coast Guard and National Guard personnel were called in to assist in the evacuation and removal of the injured. Newspaper delivery trucks, taxis, and city buses were used to transport the injured. In an interesting twist of fate, area hospitals had practiced a disaster drill the week before the fire. Although this practice is common today, it was quite innovative for 1942. A temporary morgue was established in a film distribution garage near the Grove. Several of those presumed dead were sent directly to the local morgue only to spring up from the table very much alive. They were moved to the hospital and survived with a whopper of a story to tell for the rest of their charmed lives.
Ironically, some good did come out of the tragedy. The survivors, most of whom suffered every type and size of burns on their bodies, offered doctors the opportunity to treat and study their burns. The techniques learned from treating the victims of the Cocoanut Grove fire were adapted by troops overseas and are still used in triage hospitals to this day. Perhaps the single most important result of the tragedy was that, thereafter, revolving doors had to be flanked by side doors that opened outward — an architectural element that can be found in buildings to this very day. The fire also led to the enactment of requirements for sprinkler systems and accessible exits with emergency lights not linked to the regular lighting system.
Where was Buck Jones in this fiery melee? What is known is that Buck’s badly burned body was found by a Coast Guardsman and a taxi driver on the floor inside the club. The rescuers had no idea who they had found, though. Survivors lost their identities while recuperating in Mass General hospital, and doctors took to referring to them instead as “Patient 28” or “Case 36.” Most of them would not have been recognizable, even by their closest friends and family members, because their head, hands and eyes were covered in bandages. What is unknown are Buck’s actions during the fire. In Buck’s case, his body had been so badly burned in the fire that skin from his fingers had been pulled off and fused onto the fingerprint card sent to the FBI for positive Identification. It took nearly 48 hours to identify the prints.
Almost immediately, rumors began to circulate that Buck Jones, the battle-scarred Army veteran, 101 Ranch Cowboy, Indianapolis Motor Speedway riding mechanic, Hollywood stuntman and cowboy hero of the silver screen, received his grievous burns while repeatedly returning into the burning building to save lives. No one can say for certain exactly what transpired in the bedlam of the 12-15 minute disaster. Although we’ll probably never know the truth, in the ensuing years many reports and stories have survived testifying to Buck’s heroism while leading trapped victims to safety and returning at least twice to the raging inferno to help others.
Buck was horribly burned and transferred to Mass General hospital where he died a few days later on Monday November 30th, the 481st person of 492 victims of that inferno. The autopsy noted that Buck Jones died of critical second and third degree burns to the face, mouth, neck and throat and smoke inhalation. He would have been 51 years old 2 weeks later on December 12th. Jones had more than 160 film credits to his name, but was a hero in real life as well as on screen. As long as the public still appreciates a rugged, principled, and noble cowboy, Buck Jones will never be forgotten. Buck Jones, idol of millions of movie fans, Patient 224 died alone in an upstairs room at Massachusetts General Hospital while his wife Dell rushed to his bedside. She did not arrive in time to say goodbye. Buck Jones remains were cremated and his ashes were scattered in the Pacific Ocean, near Catalina Island. Another lost legend in the pantheon of Hoosier heroes.

Al Hunter is the author of the “Haunted Indianapolis” and co-author of the “Haunted Irvington” and “Indiana National Road” book series. Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.

The Buck Jones Ranger Club: Part 1

Al Hunter — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 06:03:17 +0000

Happy accidents of fate make my world go round. Last Monday I was puttering around playing with old stuff when I ran across an old wallet sized picture of cowboy star Buck Jones. As I turned it over in my hands I was surprised to find that it was actually a membership card to the “Buck Jones Ranger Club” from the 1930s. Apparently, Mr. Earl Miles of 426 E. Main Street was an “Official” Chief Ranger in the club.
Then, just as I was examining the little card and wondering which “Main Street” Earl lived on, a news flash came across the screen about the sad nightclub fire in Brazil that killed at least 235 people the night before. Another sad spectacle with charges of greedy promoters, blocked exits and pyrotechnics gone terribly wrong. Seems like we’ve heard this story before. Strangely, we had. For it was almost exactly ten years ago to the day that we heard the terrible details of a tragic nightclub fire in Rhode Island that killed 100 people.
The Station nightclub fire began at 11:07 p.m. ET, on Thursday, February 20, 2003, at the glam-metal and rock-n-roll themed nightclub located in West Warwick, Rhode Island. The fire was caused by pyrotechnics set off by the tour manager during the performance of the band Great White. The indoor fireworks ignited flammable sound insulation foam in the walls and ceilings surrounding the stage. It took only 5 1/2 minutes for the fire to engulf the club.
At first, fans thought that the flames were a part of the act but as the fire reached the ceiling and the smoke began to roll, people realized it was out of control. Less than a minute after the pyrotechnics ended, the entire stage was engulfed in flames and most of the band members, their entourage and fans were fleeing in panic. In addition to the 100 fatalities, some 230 people were injured while another 132 escaped unharmed. Among the dead was guitarist Ty Longley, who had joined the band in 2000.
The fire was the fourth deadliest nightclub fire in United States history and the tenth largest in world history. Starting at the bottom and going up; On November 1, 1970, 146 people died in a fire at the Club Cinq-Sept in Saint-Laurent-du-Pont, France. On December 5, 2009, 156 people died in the Lame Horse Club fire in Perm, Russia. On March 18, 1996, 162 people died in the Ozone Disco Club fire in Quezon City, Philippines. On May 28, 1977, 165 people perished in the fire at the Beverly Hills Supper Club in Southgate, Kentucky (near Cincinnati). On December 20, 2004, 194 people died in the República Cromañón nightclub fire in Buenos Aires, Argentina. On April 23, 1940, 209 people died in the Rhythm Club fire in Natchez, Mississippi. The recent nightclub tragedy on January 27, 2013 at the Kiss nightclub in Santa Maria, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil ranks third all-time with 235 deaths. Number two on the list is the December 25th, 2000 fire known as the “Luoyang Christmas fire” in Luoyang, Henan, China claiming 309 lives.
But what about number one? Here’s where that serendipity thing I was talking about in paragraph one comes in to play. The worst nightclub fire in world history, to say nothing about American history, occurred on November 28, 1942 at the Cocoanut Grove in Boston, Massachusetts. 492 people perished in that fire just two days after Thanksgiving. Aside from the December 30, 1903 fire at the Iroquois Theatre in Chicago, Illinois (where 605 people died) the Cocoanut Grove was the deadliest single-building fire in American history.
The most famous victim in that World War II fire at the Cocoanut Grove nightclub? None other than Buck Jones himself. Did I mention that Buck was a Hoosier? Kismet? Fate? I don’t know but I can say that the only thing that would have made the moment eerier would have been if the Great White song “Once Bitten Twice Shy” would have been playing in the background.
Born Charles Frederick Gebhard on December 12, 1891 just outside Vincennes, Buck Jones was a real cowboy whose first full-time job after leaving the U.S. Cavalry (he joined a month after his 16th birthday after his mother signed a form saying he was 18) was working as a cowboy on the famed 101 Ranch near Bliss, Oklahoma. He had been wounded during the Moro Rebellion while serving in the Philippine Islands and was honorably discharged in December of 1909. He was shot from the back and the bullet nearly tore his leg off above the knee. He carried a scar an inch wide and about five inches long for the rest of his life. Yes, Buck Jones was tough.
Buck worked briefly as a mechanic at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for his friend, driver Harry Stillman. He married Odille (Dell) Osborne, a horsewoman with the 101 Ranch show, while working in the traveling 101 Ranch Wild West Shows. During World War I he worked in Chicago’s stockyards, breaking horses for the British and French armies. At the end of the war he joined the Ringling Brothers Circus, earning $50 a week but soon left big top for the gates of Hollywood. Buck was quickly hired by Universal Pictures for $5 per day as a bit player and stunt man. From there he bounced to Canyon Pictures, then to Fox Film Corporation which paid Buck $40 per week as a stunt man. Eventually, Fox increased his salary to $150 per week, and soon, he was a backup to Tom Mix. This led to his first starring role, The Last Straw, released in 1920. Buck Jones was on his way.
In 1925 Jones made three films with teen-aged fellow Hoosier actress Carole Lombard, an up-and-coming star herself. Jones had more than 160 film credits to his name, and by the 1920s, Buck joined Hoot Gibson, Tom Mix, and Ken Maynard as the top cowboy actors of the day. Buck was earning $2,500 a week in 1927 when Fox let him go, fearing that the coming of sound would make outdoor pictures impossible. The next year, he started his own company, but his only film The Big Hop (a non-Western) failed. He then organized a touring Wild West show, with himself as a featured attraction. It was a risky, expensive venture that at first seemed destined to succeed. But then came the stock market crash of October 1929. The show folded in Danville, Illinois, not far from his birthplace. Buck was out of work for the first time in his life.
Dell sold her jewelry to pay their way back to California but the major studios weren’t interested in hiring Buck. He signed with the upstart Columbia Pictures, starring in B-westerns for $300 a week, a fraction of his top salary in the silent-film days. His voice, a rugged baritone, recorded well and the camera still loved him. His films of the 1930s, mostly westerns for Columbia and Universal Pictures, were very successful and helped re-establish him as a major box office draw. His star began to fade again in the late 1930s when singing cowboys became the rage. Jones, then in his late forties, was uncomfortably cast in conventional leading-man roles. In late 1940, he rejoined Columbia, starring in the serial White Eagle. The new serial was a hit, and Jones was again re-established as a first tier star.
His final series of Western features, co-produced by Buck and his old friend Scott R. Dunlap of Monogram Pictures, featured “The Rough Riders” trio: Buck Jones, Tim McCoy, and Raymond Hatton. While the series was in production, Pearl Harbor plunged the U.S. into World War II. McCoy, a long-time Army reservist, was called to active duty and left the series. After appearing with Hatton in the mediocre Dawn on the Great Divide (1942), Buck went on an East Coast war bond selling tour. The war bonds tour was exhilarating, but also exhausting. Scott Dunlap told Buck he knew a place where they could relax, unwind and have a little fun. It was November 30, 1942 and Dunlap took his friend Buck Jones to a trendy nightclub in Boston called the “Cocoanut Grove.”

Next week-Part II: Buck Jones’s last stand.