The Erie Daily Times, May 19, 1927 FIX BLAST ON 'DEMON' DEATH TOLL IN SCHOOL TRAGEDY 43 43, of Which 37 Are Children, Die as Structure Collapses on Classes. By Foster Eaton United Press Staff Correspondent Bath, Mich., May 19. - Andrew E. Kehoe, 50 year old Clinton county farmer known to his rural neighbors as "a demon, but not crazy", murdered his invalid wife, burned down his farm buildings, dynamited the township Consolidated school, killing 42 innoncent persons and then committed suicide by dynamiting the automobile in which he sat viewing the ruins of the school. That, in brief, is the chronicle of one of the blackest days of criminal vengeance in the history of Michigan which has plunged this little rural village into mourning and has drawn from Governor Fred W. Green an official appeal to citizens of Michigan to contribute to a fund to rehabilitate Bath. DESTRUCTIVE DRIVE Kehoe's diabolical campaign of destruction began at about 8:45 a.m. Wednesday with the murder of his wife and firing of his farm buildings, and was laid bare to a stunned community at 8:40 a.m. Thursday with the discovery of the charred, brutally beaten body of his wife under a farm truck some 20 rods from the smouldering ruins of his farm. "Of course we don't know", said David M. Harte, across the road neighbor of the Kehoes, "but we believe he burned his buildings to vent his spite against the foreclosure of a mortgage, dynamited the school in protest against the $40 tax rate imposed by its construction and murdered his wife to spare her the ordeal of an ignominy of his act." The ruins of the school had yielded the bodies of 37 children Thursday. Forty-three more, pitifully torn by the explosion which brought the west wing of the building down upon them as they studied, were being cared for in hospitals. Six adults also were among the dead. 43 DEATH TOLL It was not certain whether the death list of 43 would be increased by further search of the ruins. The community Thursday was in pathetic, stunned mourning. The common grief was too great to allow room for resentment at the depressing financial burden piled on its already overburdened shoulders by the tragedy. The new school house, pride of the county, cost of which caused high taxes which were alleged to have so crazed Andrew E. Kehoe, the treasurer, that he dynamited the structure and killed himself as well, was virtually in ruins and the already overburdened, heavily bonded community faced the necessity of rebuilding the costly structure. BLASTS STRUCTURE. With the swiftness and destructiveness of a war-time barrage, bushels full of dynamite secretly planted under the foundations of the school by the despondent Kehoe turned the left wing of the structure into a scene of horror early Wednesday. Overcome by the enormity of the tragedy and unable to explain the motives of any human being who would plot such an act, Bath's 700 citizens somewhat dumbly united in the general opinion that "nothing like it ever happened before". They were incapable of adequate expression. "This is too much for this village to stand", said Robert Gates, father of a 16-year-old student, who was hurled bodily through a window by the explosion. "The state should take a hand and help us get back on our feet. We were just beginning to pay off the bonds on the school, now we have nothing but a double debt, and the loss of 43 members of the community." THOUSANDS VISIT SCENE News of the tragedy spread rapidly through the state of Michigan. By the time frantic parents and friends had reclaimed the last of the broken forms of the victims, last Wednesday, a solid line of automobiles stretching literally for miles along every road leading into the town choked every highway. Every home in the village, most of which were in mourning, was ablaze with light far into the night, while hundreds of citizens and visitors crowded the streets and discussed the tragedy. During the early evening scores of villagers appeared as if shell-shocked whenever news photographers snapped the ruins of the school. With the coming of the first dusk of tragedy, however, members of the diminutive community haltingly told accounts of the explosion. Martin G. Milliman, 72-year-old resident of Bath, told of running to the school with the first blast, and of "pitching in to save as many as I could". COULDN'T STAND IT "But I couldn't stand it for long", he said. "I had taken four bodies out of the ruins when Kehoe, believed by every one to have planned the entire disaster, drew up to the curb in front of the wrecked school and called out to Emory E. Huyck, superintendent, who was supervising the work of resuce. "Both of the men stood talking at the curb for a few minutes when suddenly Kehoe's automobile was blown to bits. He and Huyck were killed outright, Nelson McFarran, who was passing by, was also killed, and Glenn Smith, Bath's postmaster, was mortally wounded, with both legs severed at the knees. "When I saw Mrs. Smith rush over to her husband and gather his broken form into her arms, somehow I lost all the strength I had. I was trying to saw off a plank that held a little girl captive in the wreckage, but I couldn't work the saw, and a man working beside me said 'you had better go home' and I did." DESCRIBES HORROR Robert Gates was one of the first to reach the school after the explosion, and told of heart-rending scenes with the breathless arrival of mothers and fathers. "Mother after mother came running into the school yard, and demanded information about her child and, on seeing the lifeless form lying on the lawn, broke into sobs and swooned", he said. "In no time more than 100 men were at work tearing away the debris of the school, and nearly as many women were frantically pawing over the timber and broken bricks for trace of their children. I saw more than one woman lift clusters of brick held together by mortar heavier than the average man would think of handling without a crowbar. CALLS FOR "DADDY" "I found one dead girl, and was working beside Guy Richardson, when I heard a little girl buried a foot below the top level of the debris calling 'Daddy, daddy, come and get me'. "At that time I did not know that my own boy had escaped serious injury, when he was thrown through a first-story window by the explosion. But I decided I would not say anything about it, and kept on working to get that little girl free. "There was a heavy board pinning her down, and I made up my mind the only thing to do was to break it free, so I pulled on it with all the strength I had, at the same time calling to the girl, 'yes, your daddy will be there in a few minutes.' The next moment I had broken the board and pulled out the girl. CHILD ESCAPED "She was not injured. She was the daughter of the man who was working right beside me. Richardson gathered her into his arms and took her to Mrs. Richardson, who was working in another section of the school at the time." Two elderly citizens of the village saw the actual explosion, which occurred while they were holding a conversation rural-fashion over the fence adjoining their homes next to the school. "The whole east wing seemed to lift up about four feet", one of them said. "The walls caved outward, the roof toppled into the interior and a heavy cloud of smoke spread out in all directions. Then we heard the screams of the children, and saw the women folks come running from every direction. For a few minutes we could not understand what had happend." KILLED LATER Saved from death in the first blast, Superintendent Huyck met death 10 minutes later after seeing every one of the pupils of his class climb to safety. "Mr. Huyck was giving us an examination", Anson McNatt, a pupil, said in describing the explosion. "We were in the upstairs room in the east wing, the old part. I was sitting near the door, Mr. Huyck was at the front of the room. "The explosion came at 9:45. The door blew open and the windows blew out. There was a dull jar and I jumped to the door to look out. The hallway was littered with plaster. The plaster came down off the ceiling and the light shades dropped, too. ESCAPE OUT WINDOW "I jumped to the door and tried to run out, but the hallway was full of smoke and plaster. Then Mr. Huyck yelled for us to climb out the window. We slid down a shed roof and jumped to the ground or climbed down the ladder." Against the east side of the wing there was a low addition with a sloping roof, which starts near the second story windows and slants within eight feet of the ground. "Mr. Huyck saw that we were all out safe and then went to the front to see what he could do. It was ten minutes later that Kehoe's automobile blew up. I understand that Kehoe called Mr. Huyck up to the car." No adequate explanation of the madness which seized Kehoe had been made Thursday. BECOMES MADDENED. Pieced together, the varying stories seemed to indicate that Kehoe, a farmer, had been brooding constantly over his financial troubles. They were increased by the taxation which the building of the new school made necessary and he blamed the school board for it. A mortage on his property had recently been foreclosed. Apparently his rage turned against the whole community and he decided to destroy himself, his property, and inflict the deepest wound he could devise on his neighbors. Bath's blackest day began at about 8 a.m. Wednesday when Kehoe set fire to his own farm buildings, about a mile from the school. Then he drove to the school, just after the morning session had started, and set off the dynamite planted in the basement. RDB note: incorrect, the school was on a timer. WHOLE PLACE MINED. The intention had been to destroy the entire structure and the 200 or more pupils in it. Preparations had been thorough. State troopers found five bushel baskets of dynamite in the right wing, which had not been wrecked. The whole place had been intricately wired through concealed conduits, as though by an expert electrician. A half ton of dynamite in all had been placed under the building, the work of days, state troopers said. The wiring connected with the dynamite under the other wing failed to function and a greater tragedy was averted. When the explosion occurred and Kehoe had seen the culmination of his plans, he sat in his autombile near the school and calling the principal, Emory E. Huyck, to his car, set off another supply fo dynamite piled in the back seat. Both were blown to destruction with the car. INTERCEPT DYNAMITE Kehoe's resentment against everybody he thought even remotely connected with his financial troubles was further indicated by the finding of a package of dynamite mailed to an insurance broker in Lansing, with whom he had dealings. It was intercepted in the mails and turned over to the state authorities. RDB note: another report has it that this was just a box of the school board records. Bath was too grief stricken to talk much of funeral plans, although some said they thought a common funeral should be held and that [] "the Red Cross should bear the expense". Plans were expected to be formulated and announced Thursday. Wednesday, while rescue operations were in progress under direction of Michigan State Police, officials of the state and of the city of Lansing arrived to investigate the tragedy and supervise the task of reclamation. Gov. Fred W. Green was one of the first to appear on the scene, while Mayor Laird J. Troyer, of Lansing arrived later and offered with the Governor every facility at his command. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Day of School Picnic Opens Tragically. By Charles E. Ahrens United Press Staff Correspondent Bath, Mich., May 19. - This was the day of the school picnic. For days, Bath mothers had been cooking and baking for the great children's day of the year. Big frosted cakes, mounds of home-baked bread, baskets of sandwiches and tubs of pickles were being made ready. DETAILS READY Dresses of the little girls were starched and ironed. Sunday suits were waiting for the boys. "Dates" were made among the older members. It was a community affair at which everyone was going to turn out. Examinations at the school were scheduled to end Wednesday and the atmosphere there was full of the suppressed excitement that precedes such a holiday. Thursday dawned and the village of Bath was preparing, not for a joyful picnic, but the mass burial of its dead. The pitiful little bodies which had been taken from the dynamited school lay in sorrowing homes. LITTLE SLEEP There was little sleep in the village Wednesday night. Thursday the community had not yet recovered sufficiently to make plans even for the funerals. Mothers sat in their homes, disconsolate. Fathers gathered at the ruins of the school, where state troopers were still supervising the work of the searchers. Other distracted parents waited at the hospitals in Lansing where the injured had been taken, suffering with their suffering children. It was the tragic aftermath of a community taxation dispute, similar to the disputes which have occurred in school communities the country over, but never before with such an outcome. The financial burden which the taxpayers carried Thursday was hardly noted in the general grief, but it was that burden which sent Andrew Kehoe mad and caused his twisted mind to conceive the punishment he visited upon his neighbors. WON'T FORGET ACT. Those who were on the scene of the explosion Wednesday shortly after it occurred will never forget the cruel consequences of Kehoe's act. The sound of the terrific, rending explosion was heard for miles. Mothers and fathers came on the run from every home in the village and its nearby farms. For hours, others were coming from outlying sections as the news spread. The school drew its membership from a large surrounding district. A conception of the scene as the mothers and fathers, frantic for their children, scrambled into the ruins, was given graphically in two sentences of one of the villagers who aided in the work. His words picked out a detail of the whole, like a searchlight bringing out in relief one section of a jumbled picture. WOMEN FRANTIC. "Women were frantically pawing over the timber and broken bricks held together by mortar heavier than the average man could think of handling without a crowbar." One by one, the small bodies were carried out by men and women, some of whom were dry-eyed and fixed of expression, while tears which they did not know were flowing coursed down the cheeks of others. The bodies were laid in long rows under blankets and parents passed down the line, looking for their own. A husband, in his farm working clothes, would support his wife, called from her duties in the kitchen and trembling so she could scarcely walk. With agony, they peered beneath each blanket as the corner was thrown back and pass on to the next. Occasionally came a scream as a woman collapsed at the sight of her son or daughter, dead, and was led away. EVENT TERRIBLE. Events in the school when the explosion came, as described by those who escaped, were confused and terrible. The effects of the explosion were so sudden that there was little conscious effort to escape. Those on the two floors of the wrecked wing were trapped, and it was only fate, or luck, that decided who would die and who emerge alive. On the first floor of the wrecked wing were the third and fourth grade pupils. The second floor housed the fifth and sixth grades. The three outer walls were blown away and the roof came down upon those on the second floor. A few against the inner wall escaped, but those on the outside were crushed under the beams and plaster. Part of the whole mass slid down among the children on the two lower floors. TEACHER KILLED Miss Hazel Weatherbee, 22, was the only teacher who died with her pupils. The other three in the wrecked wing were injured. Miss Leona Gudekust, who taught the little first grade pupiles in the other wing, told how she herded her charge to saftey when the explosion came and rocked that part of the building. "They had begged for one more story before starting their work at the blackboard", she said. "It was the day before the picnic so I let them stay in their seats and told it to them. Just then the explosion came. If I had refused to tell that story, they would have been gathered at the inner end of the room, against the west wing, which took the brunt of the explosion. That story saved many of their lives." TAKE CHILDREN OUT. She and Miss Bernice Sterling, the teacher in the next room, got their charges together in the confusion of the choking dust which arose and got them out in fair order. Those on the top floor of the same wing, which held up under the force of the explosion, escaped through windows and down the partly wrecked stairway. Some were injured. Mrs. Daniel Carpenter, who lived near the school, told of her horror when she heard the explosion, looked out and saw the school collapsing and children tumbling from the windows of the unwrecked wing. She ran to the scene. "To describe the scene as pitiful could not begin to picture that first hour after the blast", she said. "As men came running in from the neighboring workshops and farms the first of the little bodies were carried out and laid on a knoll to the north of the school. First one, then another. I counted ten before I had to leave, sickened and grief stricken. CRIES PITIFUL "Then came the sirens of ambulances from Lansing. Those that were injured were moved away. The agonizing cries of the little ones were awful to hear." On the Kehoe farm, nailed to the door of the partly burned barn, was found this note: "Criminals are made, not born." RDB note: incorrect, it was a sign hanging on a fence.