Listen to thisWe can never know the full reasons behind the dramatic school killings at Colorado’s Columbine High School in 1999 or at Minnesota’s Red Lake Reservation in 2005. In both cases, the young perpetrators killed themselves. But, measured by loss of life, the most horrific school violence in history occurred nearly a half century ago at a Chicago elementary school.
Ninety-two students and three teachers burned to death in a fire believed to have been set by a student. This account examines that troubled boy’s pathway to violence and, in time, to reconnection and restoration. This research was sponsored by Starr Commonwealth in preparation for the book No Disposable Kids.1
Our Lady of Angels elementary school was located in a tree-lined
neighborhood five miles west of
the downtown Chicago Loop. The
residents of this primarily Italian Catholic community took great pride
in their parochial school. On December 1,1958, it was the site of the
worst incident of school violence in U.S. history.
The Incident
A fire began in a barrel of trash in the school’s basement. The stairwell soon became a chimney, shooting flames through the building. Teachers led younger children from the lower floors to safety.
But
many older students were trapped on the upper levels by intense heat and
smoke that fouled the hallways. Many escaped by ladder, but 92 students
and their teachers died together, praying for rescue.
The Chicago
American published a memorial edition four days after the fire. The
front page was covered with school photos of many of the victims. This
display of happy faces looked like a grade school graduating class. To
friends and relatives, these victims would remain children forever.
For months, Chicago media covered the fire story. Rumors ran rampant. Controversy swirled around all connected with the school, from the bishop to the building’s janitor. Authorities gathered statements from every student and school employee but all leads grew cold. Many authorities remained convinced that the fire was purposely set, probably by a student. Meanwhile, the mother of one boy who had survived the fire harbored her own suspicions. Her son, whom we will call Tony, was often playing with matches and had set other smaller fires in the neighborhood. Her greatest fear was that he might have started this one, too.
Turbulent Childhood
Tony’s mother allegedly had been raped by her own stepfather. At the age of 15, she gave birth to her son in a home for unwed mothers. She was supposed to give up her child for adoption. But when the time came to sign the papers, she refused to let anybody take her child away.
Though lacking mature parenting skills,
this friendless girl set out for distant Chicago with her infant son.
Little is known of Tony’s early childhood, although the young mother
lived for a time with relatives in the city. But the first sign that
something terribly wrong had happened to him came at age five: Tony
began setting fires.
Tony’s emotional problems spilled over to school and peer relationships, and he was ridiculed and bullied by peers. At the Angels school, Sister Carolan taught religion and counseled Tony. She described him as a boy starving for a male role model. He was hungry for interaction with the two priests assigned to the school. Sister Carolan saw him as a practical joker who acted up for attention but meant no harm. He was always remorseful when he had done something wrong. Other teachers were not so kind in their assessment. Tony was intelligent but needed close supervision. He restlessly roamed through the school, and teachers would send other students to locate him and escort him back to class.
Area fire investigators kept a roster of students enrolled in Our Lady of Angels School at the time of the fire. In any other case when arson was suspected, they crosschecked the names of juvenile suspects against this roster. Police were unaware that shortly after the Angels fire, a troubled fifth grade boy moved from the parish to the suburb of Cicero. His mother had married, so Tony now had a stepfather. He also gained a new name but retained his old ways, now becoming a firebug in Cicero.
Tony was enrolled in a new parochial school but only lasted two months. He was then sent to the Cicero public schools. Tony did not fit in there either. He loathed school, as shown in poor attendance and grades. Teachers saw him as a troublemaker whose deportment was “deplorable.” Of course, school authorities had to deal with his disruptive behavior while being totally in the dark about what was going on inside this troubled boy.
Tony’s new stepfather tried to lay down the law but did not give Tony the love he craved. When it was just Tony and his mom, home had been a sanctuary from a hostile world. With the new man in the house, home became a battleground. Tony’s behavior continued to deteriorate.
The Angry Fire Setter
For three years, authorities were unable to connect Tony to the fire that killed ninety-two students and three teachers, although he repeatedly was seen in the vicinity of suspicious Cicero fires. When questioned, he denied involvement. He was never detained or locked up but always released to his mother. She denied or minimized his behavior and sought to protect him.
According to neighbors, Tony’s stepfather was abusive. He reportedly beat Tony with rabbit punches and held his hand over the gas burner. Tony was terrified of the man who told him: “The next time you set anything on fire and if you kill anybody, and if the police don’t get you and give you the electric chair, I’ll come after you myself and kill you.” Threats were to no avail, and Tony was implicated in a string of suspicious fires. He seemed to want to be caught. On the other hand, he was terrified of his stepfather. When interrogated by police, Tony was usually accompanied by his mother and both denied any wrongdoing.
By now, Tony’s mother was so concerned, that she rarely let her son out of her sight. She drove him to school so he didn’t get into trouble on the way. When not working, she accompanied Tony on his paper route for fear he might be accused of some new charge. She also sought counseling at Catholic Social Services. But counselors did not connect and his problems remained concealed.
One day Tony knocked on the door of a customer on his paper route. He asked her if she smelled smoke on his clothing. He then reported that he had just “discovered” a fire in a nearby basement and told her to call the fire department. Officials questioned him about this and other fires.
Tony’s past caught up to him on December 8, 1961. He admitted to police that he had set some fires in Cicero. Tony described one fire where the motive seemed to have been retribution: “I wanted to get even with the kid who lives there. He pushes me around a lot and I don’t like him.” He later recanted this statement.
As investigators zeroed in, his parents hired an attorney. His mother vigorously protested that her boy was being harassed by authorities. She charged that they interrogated him at school whenever there was a fire, interfering with his education. She had kept a list of eleven such fires; maybe her boy started one or two of them, but certainly he did not start them all.
The Admission
Tony’s parents agreed to a polygraph test, hoping to clear their boy of some allegations. They retained John E. Reid, a prominent polygraph expert, lawyer, and former Chicago police officer. Mr. Reid was highly skillful and, in short order, built rapport with Tony. Tony admitted to setting several lesser fires in his neighborhood and recalled details from when he burned a garage when he was only five years old. Tony seemed relieved to be able to get these secrets off his chest. “Sometimes, after I set the fires, I feel so bad, I wish I hadn’t been born.”
When Tony mentioned that he once was a student at Our Lady of Angels School, Mr. Reid was stunned. If this was arson, this was the most infamous school violence in history. Tony was opening up by layers. He initially said only that he knew who set the Angels fire and that he and a friend had talked about it. “On the afternoon it happened, I was coming back to school with this other kid, and I said, ‘I got some matches in my pocket and I could burn down the school and we wouldn’t have to go to school no more.’”
Mr. Reid played to Tony’s conscience: “You know telling a lie is a sin. There are ninety-two children and three nuns looking down at us right now from heaven who want the truth. Now tell me, did you set the school on fire?” After initially suggesting another boy had set the fire, Tony changed his story. He told of leaving class to go to the boys’ bathroom in the basement and lighting a barrel of paper with three matches. He watched the flames get bigger and bigger and then ran back to his room.
“Why did you set the fire?” Mr. Reid asked. The boy’s voice turned bitter: “Because of my teachers,” he said. “I hated my teachers and my principal. They always were threatening me. They always wanted to expel me from school.”
After speaking to Tony’s mother, Mr. Reid
determined she had suspected this all along. Reid felt obligated to
contact authorities and related the boy’s admission to Cook County
Juvenile Judge Alfred Cilella.
On January 16, 1962, the Chicago
Tribune reported:
“Information that a 13-year-old boy has confessed setting the fire at Our Lady of Angels School which took the lives of 92 children and 3 nuns was given yesterday to Judge Alfred J. Cilella of Family Court.” This was the last the public would hear of the matter for a generation.
The Judge’s Dilemma
Judge Cilella sealed all records and ordered that Tony be locked in isolation at Audy Juvenile Home in Chicago. Even police and investigators were not allowed to interview him. A court psychologist found that Tony scored in the bright-normal range of intelligence. A panel of psychiatrists determined Tony was not psychotic and was competent to stand trial.
Closed juvenile court hearings’ began in
early February. On advice of his attorneys, Tony pled not guilty to all
charges. He claimed he gave a confession to Reid because he was
frightened and tired. Under Illinois law at the time, a ten year old
could not be held criminally liable. The boy obviously needed treatment.
Judge Cilella found Tony guilty of certain Cicero fires. He threw out
the Angels charge, citing inconsistencies in the boy’s story. In
reality, nothing would be served by reopening this tragedy.
The judge had few options since placement anywhere in Illinois increased the risk that Tony might be murdered if his identity became known. Placement outside of the State of Illinois seemed to be in the best interests of the child. In the very city where the world’s first juvenile court was founded, Judge Alfred J. Cilella pondered his responsibility.
When the court rendered its decision, Tony’s parents were not present. The state was now to be legally responsible for raising this boy. Over the years, Judge Cilella had sent other difficult youth who needed a fresh start to a school operated by Floyd Starr in Michigan. So, the judge ordered Tony to be placed at Starr Commonwealth to receive psychiatric therapy for fire setting.
No Hopeless Kids
Floyd Starr had known other fire-setters in his day. In 1915, the Chicago Daily News reported a speech that he gave before the local YMCA on the theme “there is no such thing as a bad boy.”2 He told the story of Ernest, a boy almost thirteen who was an arsonist, tortured animals, and stole continuously. “The boy who burns down barns, lies, cheats, and disturbs his neighborhood isn’t any different at heart from the boy who is held up in the same block as a model.” Many who spoke in court thought Ernest was a hopeless case and wanted him locked away in the state correctional school.
Instead, that judge decided to send the boy to Starr Commonwealth.
The court had kept Tony locked incommunicado from January through March. While isolation was for his own protection, Tony felt bitterness at being abandoned. The detention facility became his private Alcatraz. He wanted to get out-but to be sent away from his family was to lose everything. He had never left his mother since she had refused to give him up at birth. But on a mid-April morning, Tony was loaded with his scant possessions to embark for Michigan.
A New Beginning
The trip from Chicago to Michigan follows the course of Interstate 94.
After two hours of industrial sprawl, the highway opens onto the farms and orchards of southern Michigan. Halfway across the state, Starr Commonwealth is announced by a large billboard displaying a lad and the motto “There is no such thing as a bad boy.”3
First impressions are disorienting.
Could this possibly be a school for troubled students? The
three-hundred-fifty-acre campus with a pristine lake is surrounded by
pine forests and farms. Floyd Starr believed that beauty is a silent
teacher: “I wanted to send them a clear message: this beautiful place is
for you because you are of value.”
Tony arrived at Starr Commonwealth in the afternoon. After school on a typical spring day, boys were busily engaged in a variety of work and recreation activities. Some rode in trucks toting tools for maintenance or farm work. From the band room in Webster Hall came the sounds of clarinets or trumpets blaring as the band practiced for Memorial Day.
Other groups of boys would be fishing on the shores of Montcalm Lake or running on the track. Three months locked in a cell, and now Tony entered a place without bars or fences.
Tony was supposed to receive therapy for fire setting. Remarkably, any reference to arson had been purged from the records sent to Starr. Initially, nobody at Starr had the slightest hint of the real reason for this referral. If Tony’s past was kept from his new caretakers, then treatment for fire setting certainly could not be arranged. Was the court trying to lower the risk that Tony’s past would become public? Were the records sanitized to make admission more likely? Perhaps. But other factors probably weighed on the judge’s mind.
Judge Cilella realized that Tony needed more than talking to psychiatrists. Starr was never known as a psychiatric facility, but as an environment where a damaged boy could be restored to healthy maturity. As a juvenile judge, his task was to protect both this child and the public. Following the original Cook County children’s court charter, Judge Cilella would balance “the moral, emotional, mental, and physical welfare of the minor and the best interests of the community.” By cleaning the slate, Tony was given a second chance.
A Reclaiming Environment
Like all new boys, Tony was assigned to a
residence with a dozen other boys. This was scary for a lad who had
spent most of his life without Siblings or friends. At first, it was
strange to hear the other boys call the houseparents “Mom” and “Pop.”
All shared in work. Setting tables, serving, washing dishes, carrying
garbage, mopping bathrooms-all followed a system that seemed strange to
Tony. A small student handbook contained tips on cleanliness and good
manners. The main rule was to be generous. Floyd Starr would say,
“Commonwealth means we all share in common every good thing that
happens.”
School was held in three buildings situated near the lake,
and students switched classes like on a college campus. One building
housed academics; another, the vocational, music, and art programs; and
the third was a fully equipped gymnasium near the sports field. Tony
would be toughened with rigorous daily physical education. After school,
play alternated with hard work. Some boys elected sports, while those less athletic like Tony signed up for
the band.
The campus had a natural rhythm of events calculated to provide structure and strengthen character. In the spring, boys planted gardens and trees. Mr. Starr told the boys, “Every spring we plant new trees to replace those that will be lost to lightning, wind, or disease.” He then would show them the tree planted by Helen Keller on her visit. He said it was a privilege to help plant trees because students were giving a gift to future generations of boys.
Summer brought a reduced school schedule as recreation and work became prominent. There was perpetual weed pulling and lawn mowing. Montcalm Lake bustled with its swimming beach, boats, and canoes. The Fourth of July might even bring the Governor of Michigan landing in his helicopter on the school’s athletic field. The Boy Scout troop was preparing for camping trips.
In September, it was back to school and football. All eyes were now on the first Sunday in October, Founder’s Day. A famous speaker such as athlete Jesse Owens or poet Carl Sandburg would draw thousands of visitors. Alumni returned and Floyd Starr introduced his “old boys” to the current youth. Here were models of youth who had overcome adversity.
As Thanksgiving approached, boys would hear the story of the first “Fast Day” in 1913. It seems a street kid from Detroit started the tradition by asking to give up a meal so the cost could help kids he knew in Detroit who were starving.
The other boys joined him in the fast and a tradition was established. For decades, Mr. Starr would retell the story and call for a show of hands if they wanted to continue the tradition. The vote was always unanimous.
At Christmas, fire took center stage. A highlight of the season was the “Little Builder of Christmas Fires” ceremony. All would gather around a huge fireplace built into the gymnasium wall just for this annual event. Floyd Starr would sit in a rocker by the fireplace and read the story of a boy who brought firewood to warm loveless homes. Then, the smallest boy in the Commonwealth would have the honor of putting a match to the stack of wood in the fireplace. According to tradition, if there were enough love in the Commonwealth, the fire would light with only one match. To insure a roaring fire, Mr. Starr would have the maintenance department pre-soak the wood with kerosene. It was the biggest legal blaze that most had ever enjoyed.
Spiritual growth was also encouraged by Starr’s chaplain, a jolly giant of an Anglican priest, Father Austin Pellett. Many boys would seek him out when they were wrestling with unresolved guilt. Sunday services in the Chapel in the Woods provided a time for families to visit the campus. For boys who did not get visits, the sight of parents in chapel triggered feelings of abandonment. To compensate, Father Pellett pumped out the message that every boy belonged as a child of God.
The Courage to Trust
While Tony was starving for love, he initially kept to himself. His life path had been littered with damaged relationships. But now he was immersed in a network of human bonds that would point his life in a new direction.
This lad who had never gotten along with other boys was learning to live and work with a diverse group of peers. In the residences, the mature women who served as surrogate mothers were particularly important to boys living away from home. They provided a stability that many had not found in their own mothers. Few had advanced training, but they brought deep commitment and they were huggable. College-age students who served as recreation staff provided positive role models and a high-octane version of youth care.
Heading the staff of counselors was Al Lilly, a former teacher who went on to earn a graduate degree in social work. Lilly explained, “Many students initially had very little self-control. But even when adults had to exercise external control, they talked to the student about self-control.” Boys started out in highly structured cottages. When they learned responsibility, they earned their way to more relaxed, ranch-style residences. By making good decisions, they were preparing for return to the community. They also gained insight into how their own families had broken down and learned a new style of family living. Lilly saw the big picture: “The cycle of abuse has to be broken.”
Mr. Lilly chose Jerry to be Tony’s counselor. Jerry was a zestful young man who in later years became a decorated sea captain. He was a pied piper for hard-to-reach kids. Tony was very guarded and Jerry had little to go on as the case files had been “sanitized.” The expert on Tony would have to be Tony, the boy who did not trust adults.
Jerry recognized that guarded youth needed time to find the courage to trust. One did not need to probe into the past, for in their own time, students usually opened up of their own volition. Every child has a story to tell if an adult can be found who is worthy of trust. Tony found that adult in Jerry.
Because of the seriousness of his problem, Al Lilly believed that Tony might benefit from another more seasoned counselor, so he invited Max to join Jerry as a two-person treatment team. Max was a former Ohio State police officer also much admired by the students. Six foot four and middle aged, Max was a symbol of benign fatherly power. Now this fatherless boy had two strong male role models mentoring him.
In retrospect, what Tony most needed was probably not psychiatric treatment but stable adults to provide support and guidance. Fire setting was but a symptom of many unmet needs in Tony’s life. Jerry and Max decided to focus on present and future challenges. Tony needed to learn to bond to adults, respect authority, get along with peers, be a friend, succeed in school, plan for a vocation, and find a purpose for his life. In today’s terms, these were strength-based interventions. “Our goal,” said Jerry, “was to immerse students in experiences that helped them make sense out of their lives. We tried to provide as many normal growth opportunities as possible. As they surmounted challenges, they built confidence in themselves.”
School was not anything like Tony had known. Classes were small and most
teachers took an interest in him just like Sister Carol an once had. In
this bounty of role models, Principal Kent Esbaugh added even more
stability and was not the least intimidated by kids who hated school. In
fact, he had left a career as a principal and coach in public schools in
order to work with these highly challenging students.
Espaugh was
impressed that there were many like Tony who were intelligent but had
had lousy experiences with school. In order to succeed, it was important
to treat them with respect.
While Esbaugh had strong expectations for academic success, he believed a rich curriculum was equally important.
Automotive and wood shops, as well as creative arts, were popular. Just as in the cottages, the boys helped keep their school and classrooms immaculate. Students who once vandalized schools took pride in this place. Teachers gave abundant individualized attention. Espaugh said, “We always had students with very serious problems. Once they get their lives organized, they can turn around and be very positive.” Esbaugh saw school success as a powerful therapy. Routines of responsibility stabilized disorganized lives. Teachers would rekindle an interest in learning in students who had miserable school records. So it was with Tony.
Reclaimed and Restored
For more than three years, Tony thrived and grew. An alienated boy learned to belong. A failing student found success. An out-of-control teen learned responsibility. A self-absorbed youth became a friend to others. Grade eleven was the upper limit of the school’s curriculum at the time. Most students returned home to finish high school. But this was the era of Vietnam, and youth turning seventeen could go directly into the armed services. Military recruiters were hunting for youth who would respect authority, work as a team, and get along with diverse groups of people. Tony qualified on all counts. He decided on his future; with the court’s approval, he enlisted.
Tony’s time in Floyd Starr’s character factory came to a close. A boy who had been a terror to the community was now a strong young man set out to risk his own life in the service of his country. After completing his tour of duty in the rice fields of Southeast Asia, Tony returned to civilian life. His goal was to build a future totally unlinked to his troubled past. In later years, investigative journalists would uncover pieces of his story. All rigorously protected his privacy. When in his mid-forties, Tony was interviewed by author John Kuenster. He was reluctant to look back. “I don’t want to open old wounds. I might say something wrong. I want to forget it.”4
Tony was able to quietly take his place in the community where he chose to make his home. Today, he is not a hero who is changing the world. He is a quiet citizen doing his part, wanting little more than to live his life in privacy. We honor these wishes and end his story here.
Our Lady of Angels has also left its past behind. Today the building once gutted by fire stands again as a beacon of hope for the African American and Latino students now enrolled there. Although the Our Lady of Angels fire records have never been officially closed, those who have researched this story conclude this was the most tragic case of school violence in U.S. history.
A close friend of Judge Alfred J. Cilella recalls the incredible stress that accompanied the hearings on this case. “He took a real beating from all corners, and it had a very detrimental effect. It wasn’t long after that he got sick and died.”5 Had he lived to see the fruits of his decision, the judge would have had the satisfaction of knowing that he had been faithful to the code of the children’s court: “To serve the moral, emotional, mental, and physical welfare of the minor and the best interests of the community.”
Some might say that a child guilty of serious crimes does not deserve a second chance and that society would be better served by caging such kids for life. For half a century, Floyd Starr encountered such criticism. To those quick to condemn, Starr would recite a passage he knew by heart: “My brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him with a spirit of gentleness. But watch yourself, lest you also be tempted.” These were the words of a mass murderer turned theologian, St. Paul writing to the Galatians. Or, as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., would say, “When we look beneath the surface, beneath the impulsive evil deed, we see within our enemy-neighbor a measure of goodness and know that the viciousness and evilness of his acts are not quite representative of all that he is. We see him in a new light.”6
Reference Notes
Adapted from Brendtro, L., Ness, A., & Mitchell, M. (2005). No Disposable Kids. Bloomington, IN: National Educational Service.
