Remembering the Eastland Disaster on its Anniversary

Today is the 108th anniversary of the Eastland Disaster, which was the historical event my novel Drawn by the Current revolves around. (For those unfamiliar: on July 24, 1915, the steamship SS Eastland tipped over in the Chicago River while still tied to the docks. It held 2500 passengers, most of them Western Electric employees on their way to a picnic across the southern tip of Lake Michigan, in Michigan City, Indiana. 844 of them lost their lives.)

Some of you may remember my visit to Michigan City in May, searching for the Eastland Disaster Memorial. Last week, I altered my route home from the Columbus Book Festival so I could spend more time in Michigan City. I was too early for their remembrance service by five days, but I held my own in my heart.

I knew the Old Lighthouse Museum Michigan City Historical Society had added a hard surface walkway beneath the complete length of the anchor chain memorial, so I went there to see it.

What I didn't expect was to see the benches behind the lighthouse. Look at the inscription on the one dedicated to the memory of Anna Kubiak. This young woman died on the Eastland, four days after her 17th birthday. Oh, my heart.

Hers is just one story, represented by just one link in that memorial anchor chain of 844 links. I look at that empty park bench engraved with Anna's name and imagine an empty bench for all 844 victims, and the magnitude of loss represented by all that emptiness staggers me. Just as it should.

After visiting the lighthouse, I walked to Washington Park and the beach, the intended destinations of the Eastland and other ships carrying Western Electric picnic-goers. They didn't make it here in 1915, but they had in years past. So I took off my shoes and walked where they had walked, and where they had intended to be. I plopped down in the sand and listened to the waves and seagulls. I watched the sun set over the lake and thought of Chicago on the other side of it. But mostly, I remembered the Eastland, the victims and survivors.

The temperature dropped quickly on the beach after sunset. I brushed off my feet, put my shoes back on and headed back to where my car was parked. By now, the lighthouse was illuminated, a beacon against the dark.

This, too, felt meaningful to me. There is a whole lot of dark and sorrow in this world, but there is also light and hope. And the Light shines brighter because of it.

I'm back home now, and thinking of my friends at the Eastland Disaster Historical Society. There are no Eastland Disaster memorials here in Cedar Falls, Iowa. But I still remember, and I am still drawn to, and so thankful for, the Light.