Celluloid Factory

One sweltering night in North Arlington, N. J. last week the residents of River Road sat in the street and on the banks of the dirty Passaic River to watch their children play. Some of the youngsters scampered half-naked about the street, others were swimming in the river or lolling on the shore in front of a grimy brick factory where Atlantic Pyroxylin Waste Co. sorted celluloid. Along River Road. Mrs. Josephine Latone pushed her way through the throng of noisy youngsters, nodding to her neighbors, jabbering at her husband, James. She turned toward him to gesticulate.

At that instant there was a deafening explosion. The roof and walls of the celluloid factory burst open in a cloud of fire. A hail of bricks pelted the street. Long streamers of flame whipped out of the shattered roof and flapped at the sky. A shower of burning celluloid, floating down in blazing strips and flakes, fell on the screaming mob of men, women and children for a quarter of a mile around. Those who had not been knocked senseless by the impact of the explosion, surged in terror to the river bank, plunged into the water to quench their burning hair and clothes. Mrs. Latone, aflame from head to foot, leaped into the river, sank and was drowned. Then came a second blast. The shower of burning celluloid thickened into a roll of flame, set nine buildings alight. Perilous live electric wires fell from their poles into the confusion. Squads of firemen had first to clear the streets of scorched and unconscious victims. In one house they found the charred bodies of Mr. & Mrs. George Dale side by side in bed. Neighbors said afterwards that Dale was bedridden with cancer and that his wife, knowing he could not escape, must have stayed by him until both were burned.

On the river, two boys in a boat heroically rescued a score of drowning persons. One of the boys, Rosario Macaluso, 15, plunged into the water, grasped a girl and an old man by the hair, pulled them to safety. Then he towed a woman to shore, and while she screamed hysterically for her baby girl, dived after the drowning child and saved it.

By 11 o'clock the factory was a smouldering ruin, but four of the nearby houses were still aflame. As they burned themselves out, the total casualties mounted to nine dead, 180 injured. Next day Bergen County officials rejected the theory that the explosion was caused by the heat of the sun, set to work on clues of incendiarism. They questioned Alexander Schein-zeit, owner of the celluloid plant, who said he had had labor troubles and had also been warned by business rivals that he was in for a "bitter fight." Another possible cause for the explosion was a knife-type electric pull-switch which Labor Inspector John Roach found in the ruins of the plant. New Jersey's labor laws forbid such switches near inflammable materials.

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