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You're probably familiar with a rock and roll type of Zeppelin.
But there was a time when the original Zeppelins, flying
dirigible airships named after the German count who invented
them, ruled the skies for both warfare and passenger flights
in the early 20th century.
These flying bags of hydrogen were an engineering
marvel and popular mode of air travel
until the Hindenburg came crashing
down just before World War II.
Today, we're exploring strange, fascinating facts
about the Hindenburg disaster.
But before we get started, be sure to subscribe to the Weird
History channel and let us know in the comments below what
other historical disasters you would like to hear about.
OK, let's go see what was behind Oh, the humanity.
[SUSPENSFUL MUSIC]
The story of the LZ-129 Hindenburg
is fairly well known as part of modern history.
Once the world's largest airship,
the massive flying machine was one
of Germany's rigid dirigible airships colloquially known
as a Zeppelin.
Although they were popular war machines during World War I,
the Hindenburg was actually a passenger airship
making its way to Manchester Township, New Jersey,
on that fateful night in 1937.
Containing 16 large bags full of flammable hydrogen
gas in its envelope, the ship was basically
a flying explosion waiting to happen.
As the Hindenburg made its final approach, tragedy struck.
The Zeppelin caught fire, then slammed into a tower,
bursting into flames, and crashed onto the landing field
below.
The crash of the Hindenburg led to the deaths
of 35 of the 97 passengers, including
the fatality of at least one of the ground crew.
And it all began with a thunderstorm.
The Hindenburg's commander, Captain Max Pruss,
decided to delay landing due to the storm.
And when it began to pass, the ship
dropped its landing ropes about 180 feet from the ground
just before the incident that ignited the fire.
Most witnesses saw the first flames at 7:25 PM,
and the fire quickly spread over the next minute consuming
the airship.
Some reports say that once the airship caught fire,
it took 32 seconds from the initial signs of distress
to the subsequent crash landing.
But what went wrong?
Whether it was a stray lightning bolt, static electricity,
or even a bit of good old fashioned anti-Nazi sabotage,
the fate of the Hindenburg captured public imagination
largely thanks to the eyewitness testimony
of a reporter who was present at the time
and disturbing footage of the disaster.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
The hydrogen on the Hindenburg was a fast-burning gas
that held the ship aloft as it flew through the sky.
It was relatively safe, but as soon
as the airship's skin caught fire,
it quickly ignited the gas.
Out of the 97 people aboard the airship as it was engulfed
in flames, only 13 passengers, 22 crewmen, and a single worker
on the ground actually died during the disaster.
Per several accounts of the mayhem, some passengers
were forced to leap from the airship in an attempt
to save themselves.
Because the ship was close to landing,
they were near the ground, so some of the jumpers
did survive the ordeal.
Other jumpers met an untimely end when they either did not
survive the jump, or the burning airship landed on top of them.
Surprisingly, many of the casualties
were not burn victims, as only two unlucky people succumbed
from burns.
These two passengers were very likely close
to the fire's origin, one survivor, Werner Doehner,
told People Magazine, a few years before he passed,
a harrowing account of the ordeal.
As his family sat in the port side dining room
to watch the landing, the airship
approached the mooring mast and dropped its landing ropes.
His father disappeared to another deck
for a replacement roll of camera film when the fire struck.
Doehner told the AP, "Suddenly, the air was on fire.
My mother took my brother and threw him out.
She grabbed me and fell back and then threw me out.
She tried to get my sister, but she was too heavy,
and my mother decided to get out by the time the Zeppelin was
nearly on the ground."
He lost his father and sister in the disaster,
but his mother survived with a broken hip.
Doehner was burned on his face, both hands, and down
his right leg below the knee.
The nurse gave him a needle to pop
has blisters once the family made it to the infirmary.
Speaking in 2017, Doehner reflected on the disaster.
"The internet and social media has exposed and attracted
the interest of a younger generation," he said,
"The Hindenburg is something you don't forget."
The last survivor of the Hindenburg disaster
passed two years later.
[MOURNFUL MUSIC]
Doehner was right when he said no one will
forget the Hindenburg.
But no matter how horrible the Hindenburg disaster was,
it was not the most deadly airship crash at the time.
That dubious honor goes to the USS Navy airship USS Akron.
The Akron stumbled into a violent, turbulent storm
in 1933 and crashed somewhere off the coast of New Jersey.
Sounds like New Jersey was a dangerous place
for aircraft in the '30s.
In the aftermath of the Akron disaster,
only three passengers survived.
73 of the crew perished, only secondary to the 48 lives
lost in the 1930 crash of the British military airship R101.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
While Chicago radio station reporter Herbert Morrison
is famous for his emotional first-person
account of the Hindenburg disaster,
Chicago residents didn't hear his recording until
later that night.
Americans nationwide didn't learn of the disaster
until the following day.
Morrison's amazing reporting caught the public's ear,
and his audio report became a media
fixture accompanying newsreels and footage of the disaster.
His comment, Oh, the humanity, became a recognizable phrase
around the world, enduring to this day.
But that's only a small part of Morrison's original broadcast,
which told a more complete story.
"It's burst into flames... oh my, this is terrible...
It is burning, burst into flames and is falling on the mooring
mast and all the folks we...
This is one of the worst catastrophes in the world!
Oh, the humanity and all the passengers!"
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Taking a trip across the Atlantic on the Hindenburg
was a costly affair.
The total cost of a one-way ticket
between Europe and America in 1936
was a regal $400, which, adjusted for inflation,
comes to around $7,000.
The price increased to 450 in 1937.
A ride in this airship was certainly
aimed at the upper class, but that didn't stop it
from making other appearances like at a certain athletic
tournament in Berlin.
And what the Nazis considered a triumph
of their own propaganda, the Hindenburg
made a cameo at the 1936 German Olympics.
Olympic stadium spectators, along with approximately 3
million German citizens, watched the airship travel
750 feet above the ground during the summer Olympics,
performing a show for about an hour or so.
As to what kind of a show a Zeppelin performs,
it basically just flies back and forth.
Hey, it's something to watch.
During its first public flight in 1936,
the airship distributed leaflets and swastika flags
over the cities of Germany.
Flying in formation alongside other airships
at the time, the ship supported a referendum
calling for the reoccupation of Rhineland made up
of a loosely defined area in Western Germany along the Rhine
River.
As if the weather weren't already bad that day
due to the deluge of leaflets, the airship
also played patriotic music and some other propaganda
over its loudspeakers as it flew.
In fact, Germany's minister of propaganda, Joseph Goebbels,
wanted to name the dirigible after Hitler.
Luckily Dr. Hugo Eckener, who was the head of the Zeppelin
company at the time, was staunchly anti-that
and instead named the airship for late German president Paul
von Hindenburg.
Man, what a difference a name makes.
On its maiden voyage that same year,
a few other notable things happened.
The airship crossed the Atlantic in only 2 and 1/2 days.
Pretty good speed at the time, as most ocean liners
made the same journey in five.
And it held the first Catholic mass ever
to be done while traveling through the air.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Unlike your modern coach class flight
where even thinking about lighting a cigarette
we'll get you in trouble, smoking
was allowed on board the airship.
They even had a special room for it.
It was pressurized to prevent any of the flammable hydrogen
gas from infiltrating the room.
It was a bit of a ceremony, too, since a steward
escorted smokers into the room and monitored
them to ensure safety.
Leaving the smoking lounge with any kind
of lit pipe or cigarette was strictly prohibited.
When you're riding on a ship containing
seven million cubic feet of hydrogen gas,
a smoking lounge probably isn't the best idea.
But the airships designers put one in anyway.
Of course, passengers weren't allowed
to bring their own matches or lighters,
but they could buy what they needed,
including cigarettes and Cuban cigars,
once they were on board.
Safety first.
[MUSIC PLAYING]
Zeppelins were the original airmail carriers.
Capable of traveling above the ocean at a constant height
and distance, the airships were perfectly suited to the task.
And the last voyage of the Hindenburg was no exception.
The airship carried an estimated 17,000 pieces
of mail, most of which met a fiery end in the disaster.
176 pieces of mail survived the destruction
due to being stored in a protective container.
Despite charring in the blaze, the mail could still be read.
It was postmarked four days after the airship
was destroyed and is surprisingly desirable
among modern collectors.
One surviving letter sold that was previously
unknown to collectors went on sale via Cowan's auction
on November 19, 2020, for an asking price of $7,000.
[PIANO MUSIC]
Riding on the Hindenburg was a fancy way to travel in style.
The airship's owners wanted to feature live music
during flights but had to adhere to weight restrictions
and couldn't put live musical shows inside the Zeppelin.
Turning to famous piano-making firm Julius Bluthner,
they commissioned a special lightweight baby grand piano
for use onboard.
Made almost entirely of aluminum,
the 400 pound piano was covered in yellow pigskin.
It was only used for the airship's inaugural flying
season and wasn't on board during the disaster.
At its weight, the piano was light enough
to have no effect on the flight of the airship.
On its first flight to America in 1936,
a prominent pianist named Franz Wagner gave several concerts
for the passengers, playing works by Chopin, Liszt
Beethoven, Brahms, and the popular music of the time.
For whatever reason, the piano did not
appear on many Hindenburg flights.
It was removed in 1937, put on display in a factory,
and unceremoniously destroyed in a 1943 air raid
when a bomb blew up the factory in which it
was being displayed.
[SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC]
In 1937, both German and American accident investigators
determined the Hindenburg fire started
by way of an electric spark that ignited upon reaching
unexpectedly leaking hydrogen. Some believe the electric spark
story is merely a theory.
At first, much speculation centered on the idea
the Hindenburg was intentionally set on fire
in a daring act of anti-Nazi sabotage.
Following the disaster, rigid airships
were no longer used for commercial air transportation,
but many questions about the disaster remain to this day.
Various theories surround the cause of the Hindenburg
disaster, and the long specter of doubt
still casts its shadow over exactly how
the fire started to this day.
One account comes from ground crew member
Robert Buchanan who had been manning the mooring lines when
the Hindenburg caught fire.
Seeing one of the airship's engines backfiring,
he hypothesized that the airship's outer layer
was ignited by engine sparks.
Another ground crewman, Robert Shaw,
reported a blue ring he thought may have been leaking hydrogen,
which may have been ignited by sparks generated in the ship's
engine.
In a more modern theory, retired NASA rocket fuel propulsion
engineer Addison Bain believes the cause
may have been in the coating covering the airship.
With the help of documents supporting his theory,
Bain posed that the envelope contained
a non-conductive butyl-based coating that
prevented the electrical charge from dissipating
as it should have.
The ship was coming down from a much higher angle than ever
before, and the built-up electrical charge
ignited the covering.
Bain uncovered a 1937 letter from the Zeppelin company
to the paint manufacturer with their concerns
about tests where the paint readily
ignited under an electrostatic discharge.
And later tests by the wireless telegraph
and atmospheric electrical experiment station,
they concluded the aluminum paint coating suffered
from poor conductivity when applied to the outer skin
of an airship envelope.
Bain's research is not without its detractors, though.
A noted airship historian, Dan Grossman, tends to disagree.
He noted that while it's possible,
it isn't the most likely explanation.
And it doesn't change the fact that a giant airship
was obliterated in less than 60 seconds.
Grossman holds there is only one true mystery
of the disaster, what was the cause of the leaking hydrogen.
As he told Live Science, "We know that hydrogen was leaking
and that it was ignited probably by an electrostatic discharge
caused by the weather--
there was a thunderstorm at the time of the landing."
Regardless of what actually transpired that fateful day
in 1937, the world of flying would never be the same again,
and the great flying airships of the early 20th century
became one gigantic gaseous memory.
So what do you think?
What really caused the Hindenburg fire?
Let us know in the comments below.
And while you're at it, check out some of these other videos
from our Weird History.