Arthur Thompson McPeake and George Kay Sacrifice Lives at Canonsburg.
AN AWFUL EXPERIENCE
Anton Gleditsch Saves One of His Children, but Death Claims the Other.
By R.J. Farrell
(Special Telegram to The Dispatch)
Canonsburg, Pa., Aug 27 -- Last night was a night of heroism in this town. Heroes, perhaps uncrowned by laurels or unadorned by hero medals, today are pursuing their daily toil or consoling neighbors in bereavement, totally unmindful of their own bravery. But there are dead heroes as well, several of them.
There are those who gave up their own lives in that awful, whirling jam of humanity in the doorway of the Morgan Theater in an effort to find some means of exit for unfortunate relatives, neighbors or perhaps not even acquaintances.
In one family there is mourning today for the loss of a stalwart, manly boy, the youngest of two brothers. He had not even been inside the theater, but seeing the mad crush after having left his office in the same building just a few minutes before, he stripped off his coat, and with a cry of, "My God, something must be done," he jumped into the midst of the wild mass in the doorway.
He had saved two; he was about to pull a third from the struggle when the weight of those above him bore down upon him. This was Arthur Thompson McPeake of 116 East College street. His neck was broken. He was aged 22, a son of George C. McPeake, a prominent real estate man of Canonsburg. It is one of the oldest and most respected families of the town.
First to the Rescue.
When the cry of fire was followed by the mad rush of pleasure seekers for the one doorway of the Opera House young McPeake, with several friends, was standing on the street not far from the theater. He with others immediately ran to the entrance of the theater, arriving there just as the first of the tumbling panic driven mob commenced to crowd the doorway leading to the street and safety. Apparently realizing that death was imminent, young McPeake, without a moment's hesitation, plunged directly into the fast filling doorway. He was the first to start the work of rescue which proved so futile.
Unaided, he succeeded in dragging from the
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Two Other Heroes.
Another and even much younger hero was George Kay, son of R. M. Kay, a professor of music of west College street. George, who was not quite 13 years of age, had been in the theater, but was one off the first to leave and had reached the street safely before the fatal crush came. Looking back he saw that there was need of help if some of those in the jam were to be saved, so he turned bravely back and did his best to save a little girl. He did manage to extricate one child and had gone back to help another when the crush of humanity became overpowering and he was buried with the rest. George was a manly little fellow and his father said that he always said he would do his best to help people caught in just such a situation as that at the theater. George had displayed much talent as a musician. he was the coronetist of a boy's brass band which was being organized with his father as instructor. the band will never become a reality now.
Anton Gleditsch of West College street was another who had a harrowing experience. he came out of the panic with the knowledge that he had saved one of his two children, and did all that mortal man could do to save the other, only to learn when they took him from the death heap that his first born was among the victims. He had taken the two girls to the picture show at the entreaty of the elder. His wife was not feeling well and remained home. He was waiting in the hallway for the first show to conclude, when the crowd came rushing out of the doors and took his off his feet. he was pushed down the stairs despite his efforts to keep his feet, and gradually felt himself being borne down. He made a mad effort and managed to lift the younger child above the heads of those before him and throw it out where he saw a man's arm waiting for it. But there his efforts ended. He said:
"I had my left arm about the other child and i tried to free it to get a better hold. I tried to get my right hand down to lift the little one up so that I might do as I did with the other, but my left arm was held fast as if it had been buried in cement and I could not get my right down through the bodies that were packing closer and closer about me. I felt the little one sinking down and tried with all my strength to brace myself, but the crowd was too great and I was borne down myself. I must have been rendered unconscious for a moment, for the next I remember after everything went black was that I was being pushed forward and I could not see or feel my child. And to come home to the sick mother with such news. Good God, I tremble to think of it."