On May 6, 1937 an errant spark turned the hydrogen-filled airship Hindenburg into a fireball and sent it crashing to the ground, killing 36 people.
News cameras filmed the fiery crash and live radio coverage and front-page eyewitness reports like the account here led to the demise of the the commercial airship industry.
From The San Diego Union, May 7, 1937:
34 DIE, 63 SAVED AS BLAST DESTROYS ZEP HINDENBURG
Happy shouts Turn To Shrieks of Dying Men and Women
Eyewitnesses and Leaping Passengers Tell How horror Overspread Gay Scene of Arrival After First Blinding Flash; ‘Wish I Hadn’t Been There,’ Says Doctor, Shaken by Terrible Sight.
LAKEHURST, N.J., May 6 (A.P.)— The queen of the skies — German dirigible Hindenburg— sailed serenely into Lakehurst tonight, its silver bag gleaming despite the sullen atmosphere.
Passengers stood at the windows, waving gaily.
There were few spectators on the broad sandy field to wave a return greeting, for the comings and goings of the queen of the skies, which 10 times before had dropped to earth here, were considered now of little more significance than the docking of an ocean liner.
The ship’s motors droned loudly. Two nose lines were dropped. In a few more minutes, the ship would be fast, the passengers departing.
It was 6:23 p.m.
An explosion rent the air–so loud one person said he heard it at Point Pleasant, 15 miles away.
The stern broke into flames.
Bystanders, unable to comprehend it, unable to believe it, gasped.
The happy shouts of arriving passengers turned to shrieks of dying men and women. Smiling faces of spectators became tear-splotched.
More Explosions Rend Air
More explosions followed–intermittently they continued for hours.
There was confusion, but the ground crew made the best of the situation.
After a first shout, “Run for your lives,” they ran to the ship as fast as they had retreated — doing rescue work now instead of mooring.
Passengers and crew—those who were elsewhere than in the blazing stern—jumped.
“I landed on my stomach, and crawled 30 or 40 yards to escape the flames,” Philip Mongone of New York told his two daughters at Paul Kimball hospital, Lakewood.
Two stewards and a little cabin boy jumped from a window—saved.
Burry Becker, an Associated Press photographer, said that in the twinkling of an eye, “there was nothing left but the skeleton.
“There wasn’t much smoke,” e said. “I saw a man walking toward me, assisted by two men. He had no clothes on. I saw a woman lying on a stretcher. There were screams from men and women on the field.”
‘Noise Like Bullets’
Another photographer, Larry Kennedy, said the ship burst as though it “were made of paper.”
“Pieces of fabric fell on us,” he said. “I saw one fellow jump or fall out.”
“A noise that sounded like bullets came out of the gondolas,” was the way Robert Selig, another cameraman, described it.
One witness said the ship buckled as the flames spread.