A Bolt Out of a Clear Sky Passes Inches From a Sleeping Man
Lightning hits the flagpole of the Walla Walla Athletic Club on West Alder at seven in the morning, tears a hole in the roof, rips an American flag down through the building — and leaves manager S. S. Bettman untouched in his bed.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
Shooting out of an apparently clear sky, a stray bolt of lightning struck the flag pole on top of the Walla Walla athletic club building on West Alder at 7 o'clock this morning, tore a huge hole in the roof, and ranging downward passed within a few inches of S. S. Bettman, manager of the club, who was asleep on the second floor.
Except for a rude awakening by the blinding flash and report and the sound of splintered timbers, Mr. Bettman was uninjured, but considers he had a narrow escape from serious injury and possibly death.
The damage to the building is about $50 and consists of a badly splintered flag pole, the hole in the roof and the destruction of the window next to the sleeping man, where the bolt apparently shot into space. Every light in the window was broken and about one half of the sash was torn off and thrown into the street.
A big American flag which was floating from the flag staff was torn loose and taken down through the hole in the roof, and was found half suspended from the shattered window together with its ropes.
Eye witnesses to the phenomenon declare the bolt shot out of a comparatively clear sky, and with a swish like the roar of wind struck the flag pole square on top. A blinding flash and a deafening report followed, so severe that several persons standing near the building declare they were stunned for a second. The first thought that struck several on Main street was that the boiler in Betz' brewery had exploded, and a rush for that place was made by a crowd which had gathered quickly.
The general wrecked condition of the club building and a few explanations by excited individuals soon explained the cause. Mr. Bettman was known to be sleeping in the building next to the wrecked part, and failing to put in an appearance for a few minutes it was feared he had been injured. He stuck his head out of the wrecked sash a few minutes afterward, however, and informed the excited crowd below that he was all right.
A survey of the inside of the club rooms failed to disclose any damage except to an electric light. Every other light in the building had been turned on.
Frank Miller, a driver in the paid fire department, was passing with the chemical at the time and had a narrow escape from a runaway. The flash and report stunned him for a second and started the horses on a mad gallop, but he quickly recovered and stopped the team. Three other teams in the vicinity ran away. Two were later captured in different sections of the city.
"I knew it was lightning, but could hardly tell where it struck," Mr. Miller said. "It stunned me for a moment so I knew it was close. The flash and report started the team and it took all my time to attend to them. A sheet of flame seemed to come from somewhere and the report sounded like a hundred cannon fired at once."
"That is the second time in my life I have had a narrow escape from lightning," Mr. Bettman said a few minutes after the incident. "Once in the east a friend of mine was killed beside me as we lay asleep. I knew what it was when I heard the report. The flash and report woke me up. The bolt passed within a few inches of me, but I feel no ill effects from its close proximity."
“The bolt passed within a few inches of me, but I feel no ill effects from its close proximity.”
A clear-sky lightning strike is rare enough that meteorologists still call it 'bolt from the blue' — and it is the kind that kills people who thought the weather was fine. Here it missed by inches, and the loudest noise in the aftermath was half of Main Street running toward Betz' brewery expecting a boiler explosion. Walla Walla's downtown has lost the Athletic Club, but not the instinct to assume the worst sound downtown is a disaster.
From readers
No comments yet. If you know something about this story — a correction, a family memory, a source — it belongs here.