What is the Boston Molasses Disaster?
Whoever coined the phrase “slow as molasses” had never heard of the Boston Molasses Disaster (a.k.a. Boston Molasses Flood). Let me tell you a little story…
It was the middle of Winter, January of 1919. No snow lay on the ground, but winter coats where still out in force. You could smell the salt in the air, wafting in from Boston Harbor.
In the North Shore neighborhood of the city, things were business as usual. Then, without warning or provocation, lug nuts started firing from the side of a metal storage tank, like bullets from a gun. An internal pressure had built up, ripping the structural screws from their duvets.
And then the storage tank collapsed.
A veritable tsunami of molasses was released into the streets. Some of the “waves” peaked at heights of 16 feet! What’s more, the molasses tore ripped the streets at an estimated speed of 35 mph.
That’s faster than any man has ever run. That’s faster than the average horse. “Slow as molasses” is a misnomer.
The molasses wave, heavy with latent energy, was devastating to the surrounding area. Buildings were literally pulled off of their foundations and smashed into pieces. Trains where strewn from the tracks like toys.
And those unlucky enough to be caught in it’s wake were smashed against cobblestone streets, bashed against brick walls. Men and women floundered in the viscous liquid, trapped like a fly in a web. The air was sticky–sweet and full of trepidation.
The National Guard came to help, followed by the police, army and navy. Tragically, a human toll had already been paid. 21 people perished, and at least 50 others were injured.
The location of the original ruptured storage tank as since become a little league field. Only an unassuming little plaque is left at the site to commemorate the event.
To this day, some Bostonians claim you can still smell molasses on hot summer days. None of them attribute this smell to the local concerns that use molasses to can baked beans. Then again, we all need myths.
But sometimes fact is much more curious (and more awe-inspiring) than fiction.



