The Great Molasses Flood of 1919: Boston’s Stickiest Disaster.

Did You Know that one of the most bizarre and deadly disasters in American history wasn’t caused by fire, explosion, or earthquake—but by molasses?
On January 15, 1919, a massive storage tank filled with 2.3 million gallons of molasses burst in the North End of Boston, unleashing a sticky tidal wave that would kill 21 people, injure over 150, and level buildings in its path. It became known as the Great Molasses Flood.
The tank stood 50 feet tall and 90 feet wide, built hastily in 1915 by the Purity Distilling Company, a subsidiary of United States Industrial Alcohol. The company needed to store molasses for producing industrial alcohol, which was in high demand during World War I. But in their rush to meet production needs, they cut corners. The tank was poorly constructed, improperly tested, and had been leaking since the day it was filled. Locals joked that kids would bring buckets to scoop up the sweet syrup oozing from its seams.
Despite these signs, the company made no serious effort to reinforce the structure. They painted the tank brown to hide the leaks rather than fix them. No engineers were consulted before or after construction. Complaints were ignored. And so, this ticking time bomb sat in the heart of a bustling neighborhood.
On the morning of January 15, Boston was experiencing an unseasonably warm spell. Temperatures had shot up over 40 degrees Fahrenheit after a cold snap. Some speculate that the warmer weather caused fermentation inside the tank, increasing internal pressure. Around 12:30 p.m., with a thunderous roar, the steel container split open, sending a wave of molasses—25 feet high and moving at 35 miles per hour—crashing through the city streets.
Imagine a tsunami of syrup sweeping through the neighborhood. Wooden buildings were ripped from their foundations. The elevated train line was twisted like a toy. Horses and wagons were overturned, and people were caught mid-step, unable to escape. Some victims suffocated where they stood, encased in a rising tide of sticky brown sludge.
The firehouse on Commercial Street was hit directly. Firefighters scrambled to escape as the building crumbled around them. Nearby residents, shoppers, and dock workers were swept away. Rescuers and onlookers rushed to help but found themselves mired in knee-deep molasses, struggling to move or breathe. The weight of the flood was so intense it cracked paving stones and bent steel.
Cleanup efforts were monumental. The molasses hardened quickly in the cold January air, trapping debris and bodies. Hundreds of workers, sailors, police, and volunteers spent weeks clearing the mess. They used sand, sawdust, and saltwater to dissolve the sugar. For months afterward, the smell of molasses lingered in the streets, on the waterfront, and even in the subway. Residents claimed the scent lasted for decades.
The aftermath led to a flood of litigation. More than 100 lawsuits were filed against the United States Industrial Alcohol Company. During the hearings, it was revealed that the tank’s steel was too thin, the rivets were flawed, and proper testing was never performed. The company tried to shift blame, suggesting anarchists had sabotaged the tank, but there was no evidence to support this theory. In the end, they were found liable and paid out around $628,000 in damages—equivalent to more than $10 million today.
This disaster spurred reforms in engineering standards and building regulations across the United States. For the first time, companies faced real scrutiny for negligence, and Boston required professional inspections for major construction. It marked a turning point in corporate accountability.
Today, little remains to indicate that molasses once drowned part of Boston. The site is now Langone Park, and a small plaque honors the victims. But the tale of the Great Molasses Flood lives on, not just for its shock value, but for what it reveals about oversight, industrial gre