The memorial service

There were many speeches, mostly by labor and workers' rights advocates, music including a gut-wrenching version of We Shall Overcome, and a fire bell that rang as each of the 146 names was read.

But this was the most emotional moment: a fire ladder raised to the sixth floor while bagpipes played. I couldn't help thinking of the workers on the eighth and ninth floors, leaning out of the windows, desperately hoping for rescue, watching the ladder rise, rise, and then—stop.

The Triangle Factory Fire

Monday was the 113th anniversary of the Triangle fire. On March 25, 1911, 146 workers, almost all of them Jewish and Italian immigrants, mostly teenagers and young women, died when a fire started on the eighth floor of a building on the east side of Washington Square. Some died when the single fire escape collapsed; many jumped to their deaths to escape the flames.

I knew about the fire, and I'd often walked by the building, but “work” is the theme of my class this semester and we've studied the fire. And there was so much I didn't know, about the fire ladders that only reached the sixth floor, about the lucky few who escaped by sliding down the cables in the elevator shaft, that the entire catastrophe lasted less than twenty minutes. Or that Max Blanck, one of the owners, who was acquitted of manslaughter because there was no proof he and his partner knew that the exit doors were locked, was arrested again in 1913 when locked doors were found at his new factory. He paid a $25 fine.

Or that Frances Perkins, who I knew only as the Secretary of Labor under FDR and the first woman to serve in the cabinet, was having tea with a friend on Washington Square and saw the fire. It had a profound effect on her and she quit her job at the consumer league to work for the state commission that investigated the fire. She later said that the fire was “the first day of the New Deal.”

I went to the commemoration on Monday, and also participated in the Chalk project. For the past twenty years on March 25 volunteers have written the names and ages of all 146 victims in chalk on the sidewalk in front of the buildings where they lived. My friend Jayne had two names and I had two names and we went from the Lower East Side below Delancey to East 12th Street, remembering Jennie, Bessie, Sarah and Josephine. We may have lacked artistry—getting down to the sidewalk and back up again was a challenge and chalk wasn't as easy to manipulate as I remembered—but it was a strangely moving experience.

And did I mention that it was hot?

The temperatures on the coast were warm, but not unpleasantly so. In the desert, it felt about thirty degrees hotter. We didn't walk that far, but every time there was shade available, people took advantage of it.

And I think that's it for Saudi Arabia.

And of course there was seating

There was literally nothing around except some date palms and the road back to the village, but of course there were couches. Pink couches.

And mountains

More ruins

 

The other Yanbu

There are actually three cities comprising Yanbu. The other one we visited is Yanbu Al-Nakhal, a group of villages about an hour's drive from the coast that used to be one of the hubs on the spice and incense route between Egypt and Yemen.

There were camels and a staged sword fight on the streets of one of the villages, which wasn't that interesting, but I loved the landscape: date palms, mud-brick ruins, mountains.

Outdoor options

The pleasant plaza in front of the mosque and a restaurant along the waterfront. One thing that I found strange in both Yanbu and Jeddah was all of the upholstered furniture outdoors—not weatherproof patio furniture but ordinary couches and armchairs. I guess if it never rains you don't need to worry about mildew.

Senussi Mosque

At least I think this is the Senussi Mosque; Saudi Arabia's underdeveloped tourism structure includes online content. Usually I can just use Google to identify any buildings or natural features I've photographed, but there aren't that many sources for Saudi Arabia, and inconsistent transliteration (is it the Senussi Mosque or the Sounoussi Mosque?) makes it very hard to identify anything.

Anyway, this mosque is in the historical district in Yanbu near the Night Market. It's made from the same coral as the old buildings in Jeddah.

Saturday reflections

A Turkish diversion—I just found this photo from Ephesus. This is the entrance to the site, with some of the ruins reflected in the windows of the ticket office.

The Night Market

Yanbu is also a port on the Red Sea, and the market began 500 years ago as a gathering place for merchants and sailors. I admit to being disappointed—it was small and dark, and there was nothing I was remotely interested in buying. (I finally bought an obviously mass-produced ceramic mug with some hand painting on it just because the young woman in the shop looked so hopeful when I walked up.)

I'm sensing a theme here

Moving on to Yanbu.

The waterfront, where there is a lighthouse, and surprise! a giant sign.