Today is the 84th Day of the Year
Bessie, my young neighbor, will not come home from work tonight.
She lives a few doors down — her building is the one just before you reach the corner of First Avenue.
Bessie is 15 years old, far too young to work as hard as she does, 6 days a week.
She came to the United States from Italy with her family when she was a one –year-old child.
Bessie Viviano is an American girl.
I am certain Bessie has dreams of a better life.
That’s what America is supposed to be about, isn’t it?
To live a better life?
To breathe the air of freedom and opportunity?
That is why so many people came to our shores – to work hard enough and long enough to reach what would not have been possible in the places left behind.
My neighbor Bessie Viviano is a shirtwaist seamstress.
She works downtown at the Triangle Waist Factory, with hundreds of other immigrants, Italian and Jewish girls and women, and a few men too.
It’s very difficult for them inside that factory, although I’ve heard it’s not the worst of the factories.
They are crammed together sewing and sewing. No breaks, no considerations from owners or management.
They are treated poorly and paid little.
They are charged if they break a needle or make a mistake.
Bessie and her co-workers too often come home with no pay or reduced pay, punished for errors caused by fatigue or the company’s faulty sewing machines.
Bessie will never come home, never come back to East 54th Street, never get married, never leave the factory alive, never find a better life.
Bessie and 145 others she works with will never know that much of what they demanded during the strikes will come true – eventually.
2011
I wonder what her family did that day and that night and during the days and the nights that came long after Bessie Viviano’s death. Was she remembered?
100 years ago today, on a Saturday, the 25th of March 1911, at 4:40 p.m., a fire broke out in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory located on the corner of Washington Place and Greene Street. The factory was in the Asch Building, on the eighth, ninth and tenth floors. (Today it is the Brown Building of Science, of New York University.)
Bessie and 145 of her co-workers were killed that day. They were all immigrants, Jewish and Italian girls and women and a number of men. Exit doors were locked. Some jumped to their deaths in a desperate hope they would be saved by the nets the firemen held, but they were not. Some jumped when already ablaze. Some fell down the elevator shaft trying to escape. Some were crushed as the fire escape melted and collapsed and they fell to their deaths. The ground was 100 feet below them. Some were trapped inside and burned together in an inferno – the flames betrayed the American Dream.
There is no extant image of Bessie that I’ve ever been able to find. Yet, Bessie exists for me especially because she lived on the same street I do. Unlike Bessie Viviano I have lived much of the American dream she and so many others were denied. This anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire is important not only because it is the 100th year but also because workers all over the world are still in jeopardy of losing their lives or being severely injured in unsafe workplaces. This year matters because some among us seem to have forgotten why our labor movement existed. And why the right to a collective voice to redress unfairness and abuse still matters to us, to working people in a democracy.
Bessie became a part of my life, on a previous 25th of March, when I stumbled upon a chalked message in front of what was once 352 East 54th. Now the awning says: 350 East 54th. The chalked words said Bessie Viviano, 15 years of age, and gave a few more basic facts. A small poster on a tree noted the day of the fire. The visual experience stopped me cold as I stood and read it. Then I began to cry. Suddenly this was a real event, not just historical facts, not only a singularly important part of women’s history, of the history of workers in our country, and of immigration. It was the story of my street, my neighborhood. On this street, in 1911 this young girl perished in that fire that I heard about from childhood. Then as now and for as long as I live, Bessie was and is my neighbor. I did not know then, nor do I know today, if any of the Viviano family’s descendants survive. I know that Bessie did not have a family yet, not at 15. So I have become her family, a chosen descendent of my ancestor-neighbor. Names are written on sidewalks all over the city by a remarkable group of people at the Chalk Project. Volunteers mark each and every place a victim of the fire lived, on the 25th of March, each and every year.
What I say to Bessie quietly each year is that this is a better place than it was in 1911. But I confess there is still much work to do. I tell her that for too many, especially the poor and newly arrived, life is still harsh and often dangerous.
This year I wanted to do something within the space on From This Terrace for and about the 100th Anniversary of the Factory Fire. I asked Susan Springer Anderson to think about what she would do as an artist. The result is called simply 11.3.25.11. It is exhibited here for all of you to see. Susan tells the story in more vivid detail than any words or pictures of the tragedy could possibly convey. Art is often the best storyteller we have.
Susan designed and made a shirtwaist but it is not a replica of the shirtwaists of that time. It is a creative reinterpretation. This shirtwaist closely resembles what the workers would have worn. As you see it is white, has simple lines and gathers. In Susan’s words: “It is a humble garment. But then I needed to add the names of the fire’s victims. I wanted them to be integrated into the design, not just an added kitsch element. The idea came to take the names and write them out in an embroidery design, a design element that would have been reserved for the high-end shirtwaists (for women of means) due to the amount of labor involved.”
Susan created the shirtwaist memorial out of Tyvek, the building material. Tyvek is most often used for insulation in construction. Susan’s offering for this anniversary says many things to me, and each person that has seen it comes away with something else. That is the power of art, it transforms our lives, our reality and how we see the world – past and present. For me, the Tyvek represents a life of constriction, without freedom of movement permitted in work tasks or in daily or personal choices. The black satin ribbon waistband is an adornment but also a statement that we mourn this day. 
The creation of a floral pattern, which would not have embellished the worker’s shirtwaists, is upon close inspection, not flowers at all, but the names of each of the dead, hand-inscribed. This shirtwaist is the inspiration of a fine artist who has in turn inspired me to want to work harder to help create better lives for all who are still diminished in the choices they can make. The high neck collar and closed cuffs, typical of the day, also remind me that girls and women were held back from so much.
I tell the story of Bessie, as I imagine that day for her family, because I believe that within each great sorrowful event in history, there is the story of the One Person who then tells the story of the many, because within an individual life is the reflection of all of us.
This Day, the 25th of March 2011 is dedicated to Bessie Viviano and each and every other girl, woman and man whose life was extinguished in an industrial workplace accident that never needed to happen.
May all their names be for a blessed memory today and for all time. May the memories of the lives that they were not permitted to live fully, move each one of us forward with a renewed sense that inequality and unfairness is never acceptable.
If you would like to share any stories or feelings about this day or Susan’s work, please leave a comment or contact us. We have provided links below to other memorial projects and sources for more information about the history of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire.
Please visit our full Gallery of Photos posted in the Galleries Room on From This Terrace.
©2011 Alida Brill From This Terrace
Pictures of the 11.3.25.11 © Michael Markham Photography 2011
6–6:30pm (EST), March 24, 2011
Susan & Alida featured on A League of Our Own with host Fran Spencer
88.7 FM WHRU, http://live.streamwrhu.net/
Remember the Triangle Fire Coalition A great source for events surrounding the Centennial.
PBS American Experience Film about The Fire: Watch online here.
An article from the New York Times about Anthony Giacchino who wrote letters to the victims of the fire.
An article in the Washington Post.
Wikipedia Page
A timeline of events surrounding the fire.
Alida and Susan, you are doing amazing work, an I look forward to tuning in to the radio show soon. As you know, I find dates and anniversaries and their symmetry very sacred, and this piece — both written and visually created — highlights such significance. What marvelous gifts you bring in remembrance of those who perished needlessly and those who are still fighting for the American dream yet remain constricted.
I just forwarded to several friends this moving and original memorial. Through your words and the work of Susan Springer, this traumatic past event resonates as ominously relevant today.
The names embroidered on the shirt and those of the girls ALida evokes echo those inscribed on the mosaic floor of Judy Chicago’s Dinner Party: women of humble tasks and those of great deeds all buried alive and calling us to give them life again.
Your dialogue together on the radio show is also quite impressive.
Thank you Alida and Susan. Susan, your art is so powerful. Alida, your writing brings the tragedy to live. Reliving this day through both of you has been painful, but I feel such gratitude to both of you for keeping history alive. Alida, I’m reminded of your post about the families displaced in Japan, how you saw your own elderly aunt in one of the women walking around in the debris. I see my young grandchildren — Malia at age 10 is not that much younger than some of the girls in the factory — and feel like a Nana to all those young girls who perished.
I am 59 years old. My maternal grandmother was sent to work as a “bobbin girl” in Holyoke, Mass. when 10 years old, working from 6am until 6pm five days a week and 6am until noon on Saturday. It was dark when she went to work and mostly dark when she came home. She carried a heavy wooden basket on one hip as she ran up and down the aisles between the weaving machines, changing the bobbins of thread when they ran out. Thankfully, her asthma from the dust in the air caused her parents to remove her from the mills, but by then, her posture was already deformed from the weight of the bobbin basket on her young spine.
My maternal grandfather was 9 years old when he was sent from Austria with his 11 year old sister to work in the factories of the US, because his family was too poor to feed all of their children. He never saw his family again nor did he ever attend a school. He became a trolley driver by memorizing the names of the streets, names he could not read. Later, when he was a bartender, a wooden barrel of beer exploded when he tapped it, tearing away much of his face. He received no Workers Compensation for his permanent disfigurement.
My grandparents’ early lives were unimaginably difficult. I am grateful for every person in the last hundred years who has had the courage to march for workers’ rights. Let us never forget the workers who fought to eliminate child labor and bring us the eight hour work day and five day work week, overtime pay, workers compensation, healthcare and sick day benefits, and safe working conditions. Rest in peace, Bessie.
I remember learning about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire in my 9th grade American history class—it was brief and took the space of only one class period. At the time it seemed like just one more page in my textbook, an event far removed from where I was in the world. Now, though, this post has taught me not only a historical perspective, but a personal one. Although I have never experienced these injustices, the extraordinary words and art from both of you allow for a deep connection; a powerful and moving remembrance of this tragedy and a call for what still needs to be done. Thank you for this beautiful post.
It is difficult to put into words the emotions I feel as I read Alida’s post and study Susan’s art. Just … thank you ever so much.
And I think about how grateful I am for unions — the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire was a strong impetus for their growth in this country — yet concerned that their influence seems to be waning. May this post, the artwork, and all the other memorials serve to strengthen the cause of unions in America.
To echo the words that went before, this memorial made current and personal this event of long ago. It was perhaps one of the early volleys to bring home the need for protection that a union can provide and a step in
direction of giving women the right to vote. Sad to say, I wonder if the value
a union is appreciated today. I live in California, was in a service industry,
and member of a union. I found the union to be the only buffer between both my co-workers, myself and the, at times, unrealistic expectations of the
corporate mentality. I felt I had a chance to express my concerns because I
had the strength of the union behind me which could and did protect me from retribution. What I do find disheartening is that today a good portion
of the membership, at least here in California, forget the sacrifices that were made by all those, like the Shirtwaist Girls, who went before to give us some
little say in our destinies, to provide better working conditions, a better standard of living, and hope for our children to have more options than those
of us who went before. Unfortunately, I see a strong effort by a few greedy
people to strip the average working person of that protection so brutally won
along with an apathy by the general public as to the value and need for unions. PS: May God keep and protect Geraldine Ferraro in His hand. Thank you for letting me comment.
Alida, you have given a voice to a young girl who was silenced much too soon. You have given life to someone who lived so little of it. Just as Bessie’s suffering and demise became real for you when you realized that she was a daughter of your community, you have made her real for us as well. One hundred years ago, at first, seems like such a long time ago, but with your words, you have bridged the time and reawakened us to the horror of the event, the lives lost and the ongoing struggle that many women still endure. Thank you for making us “feel it,” because that is the only way we can really know it which is the first step in the quest to change it. Susan’s sculpture is a beautiful tribute. The unique piece has a vulnerable yet haunting quality to it. The attention to detail is exquisite, and tells the story of who the victins were, what their work was, and the struggle of thier lives.
Beautifully, movingly, conceived and executed. Thank you, dear Alida, for the words. Thank you, Susan, for the art. Creativity is always the best memorial, since it breathes, and lives on.
What a beautiful story-telling, what a perfect way to bring the story to life. Both the words and the artistic interpretation of the events. Thank you–it is brilliant and moving!
Alida: Your creative gifts abound and we all are your beneficiaries. You write beautifully and you understand suffering, waste, cruelty with a deep compassion. I love your blogging. F.H.
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