One can predict how easily an object or organism will move through a particular medium by calculating the relevant Reynolds number, which in this case takes into account the viscosity and density of the fluid as well as the velocity and size of the object or organism. Physics also explains why swimming in molasses is near impossible. In 1919 the dense wall of syrup surging from its collapsed tank initially moved fast enough to sweep people up and demolish buildings, only to settle into a more gelatinous state that kept people trapped. Because of this physical property, a wave of molasses is even more devastating than a typical tsunami. When you squeeze or smack the bottle, however, applying stress and increasing the shear rate, the fluids suddenly flow. In a stationary bottle, these fluids are thick and goopy and do not shift much if you tilt the container this way and that. Consider non-Newtonian fluids such as toothpaste, ketchup and whipped cream.

Molasses is a non-Newtonian fluid, which means that its viscosity depends on the forces applied to it, as measured by shear rate. 'The substance itself gives the entire event an unusual, whimsical quality,' wrote Stephen Puleo in his book Dark Tide, which recounts the story of McManus and many others who witnessed the calamity.Ī wave of molasses does not behave like a wave of water. To fully understand this bizarre disaster, we need to examine what makes it unique-its very substance.

The Great Molasses Flood of 1919 is both tragic and fantastic. The courts also faulted the United States Industrial Alcohol Co., which owned the tank, for ignoring numerous signs of the structure's instability over the years, such as frequent leaks. The storage tank had been filled to near capacity on July 13 and the molasses had likely fermented, producing carbon dioxide that raised the pressure inside the cylinder. A long ensuing legal battle revealed several possible reasons for the flood. The other half died from injuries and infections in the following weeks. About half the victims were crushed by the wave or by debris or drowned in the molasses the day of the incident. Ultimately, the disaster killed 21 people and injured another 150. People, horses and dogs caught in the mess struggled to escape, only sinking further. From there, it thinned out into a coating one half to one meter deep. A chest-deep river of molasses stretched from the base of the tank about 90 meters into the streets. The deluge crushed freight cars, tore Engine 31 firehouse from its foundation and, when it reached an elevated railway on Atlantic Avenue, nearly lifted a train right off the tracks. All that thick syrup ripped apart the cylindrical tank that once held it, throwing slivers of steel and large rivets in all directions. More than 7.5 million liters of molasses surged through Boston's North End at around 55 kilometers per hour in a wave about 7.5 meters high and 50 meters wide at its peak. 'Send all available rescue vehicles and personnel immediately,' he yelled, 'there's a wave of molasses coming down Commercial Street!' Temporarily stunned, McManus turned back to the call box. He turned to see a five-story-high metal tank split open, releasing a massive wall of dark amber fluid. Moments later he heard a sound like machine guns and an awful grating. On January 15, 1919-an unusually warm winter day in Boston-patrolman Frank McManus picked up a call box on Commercial Street, contacted his precinct station and began his daily report.

Boston molasses flood photos