Fritz Deeg

Crew Member

Age: 24

Hometown: Friedrichshafen, Germany

Occupation: Cabin steward

Location at time of fire: Passenger decks, portside dining room.

Survived



Fritz Deeg was one of the Hindenburg's compliment of stewards. He was born in 1912 in Dornbirn, Vorarlberg, Austria, but his family moved to Friedrichshafen, Germany when he was a child. His father managed the Saalbau, an auditorium built by the Zeppelin Company. It served as a cafeteria, a theatre and a recreational center for the Zeppelin Company's employees. Deeg's father eventually moved to Bregenz, also in Voralberg, Austria, where he ran a hotel called the Europa. 

After he finished school, Fritz Deeg served an apprenticeship at the Buchhorner Hof hotel in Friedrichshafen. Following his apprenticeship, in 1934, he was hired by the Zeppelin Company to serve aboard the LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin as a steward on the airship's new South American passenger route. He then transferred over to the new LZ-129 Hindenburg when she was commissioned in March of 1936, making every subsequent flight save the next to last trip of the 1936 season. Between 1934 and the end of the 1936 flight season, he crossed the ocean 40 times, covering approximately 750,000 km.

Fritz Deeg (in white jacket at left) and Severin Klein (in white jacket at right) serve guests in the Hindenburg's dining room. Dr. Hugo Eckener sits at the head of the table. (photo courtesy of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin GmBH Archive)

Fritz Deeg (left) serves Captain Ernst Lehmann (head of the table in bow tie and glasses) in the Hindenburg's dining room.

Deeg was aboard the Hindenburg's first North Atlantic flight of 1937. The voyage was relatively uneventful, and as Deeg chatted with the mechanics and the rest of the crew down in the crew's mess on B-deck as they took meals together throughout the flight, he got the same impression from the rest of them: all was running smoothly, aside from the stiff head-winds the ship was fighting its way through, and it was more or less a routine trip. Once the Hindenburg approached New York, flying along the bay, Deeg and another passenger watched a red Daily News plane fly alongside the ship for about 15 minutes or so. As the ship passed Long Island and approached Manhattan, other airplanes began flying close to the Hindenburg to take a look, with two or three flying above the ship and one of them tucking in below. Deeg had seen this happen on virtually every flight the ship had made over New York, and he assured nearby passengers that this was completely normal and there was nothing at all to worry about.

When the Hindenburg came in to land at Lakehurst that evening at around 7:00 PM that evening, Deeg and several of the other stewards finished up piling the passengers' baggage at the head of the stairs on A-deck so that the Zeppelin Company's porters could haul it downstairs and out of the ship once the ship was moored, and then went to the observation windows to watch the landing. Deeg went over to the lounge on the starboard side of the ship, but so many of the passengers were there that he could not find a spot from which to watch the landing. He lingered for a minute or so, talking with Colonel Fritz Erdmann, a Luftwaffe officer who was aboard the ship as a passenger/observer. Erdmann's Luftwaffe comrade, Major Hans-Hugo Witt, walked over to speak with the colonel, and Deeg left the two of them to their conversation and walked over to the dining room on the port side of the ship.

There was much more room over there, with only about a dozen people at the windows, and so Deeg found himself a spot near the aft-most observation window. Fellow steward Severin Klein stood nearby, talking with the Doehner family as they watched the landing crew below. Deeg watched the landing ropes drop from the bow, and then a few minutes later he suddenly heard a detonation, looked back along the hull, and saw fire near the ship's stern. Shortly thereafter, he heard another detonation and felt a blast that shook the entire ship and seemed to come from the aft section.

Fritz Deeg's location in the passenger decks at the time of the fire.

The stern of the ship sank down immediately after that, and as every loose object in the dining room (and several people) tumbled aft along the inclined floor, Deeg held on to the open window frame to keep from being thrown against the rear wall himself. He looked for his chance to jump, and as the ship's bow finally fell to the ground and the wreckage rose up slightly into the air again as the ship rebounded off of its forward landing wheel, Klein, standing behind him, shouted to Deeg to jump. Deeg swung himself down through the window, hung on briefly to the window frame, and then dropped to the ground from a height of perhaps 20 feet or so. He landed in the sand, and proceeded to run until he was about 50 feet from the wreck.

Fritz Deeg (arrow) drops from one of the observation windows at the aft end of the dining room.

Once he was a safe distance from the fire, Deeg turned around and looked back and saw that the entire ship was ablaze. He then noticed that the wind was blowing the smoke and flames towards the starboard side of the wreckage, making it possible to re-enter the ship on the port side so as to locate and rescue at least some of the passengers. Deeg therefore returned to the ship, and as he approached the wreck, he saw that the two little Doehner boys were standing at the same window through which Deeg had jumped and which, due to the way the wreckage had landed, was still about 15 feet above the ground and still slowly settling. Deeg called to the boys, who were understandably afraid to jump. Their mother then dropped the older of the two, Walter, to Deeg, who caught the child by the hands and threw him clear of the fire. Deeg turned back to the window called to the second boy, Werner, and his mother pushed him out the window as well. Werner's hair had started to burn by the time he jumped, and Deeg patted out the fire and carried the boy a few meters away and handed him over to another rescuer.

Noticing that the wreckage seemed to have stopped settling, Deeg went to the smashed windows of B-deck, which were then at about ground level, and climbed in along with Captain Walter Ziegler, and navigators Eduard Boetius and Christian Nielsen. They climbed up to A-deck into the ruins of the dining room, and began leading the remaining passengers back down the stairs and out the B-deck windows. Mr. and Mrs. Otto Ernst were first, and Deeg and the others passed them through the windows to steward Eugen Nunnenmacher and one of the ground crew.

Gradually, the rest of the surviving passengers on the port side were led down the stairs and out of the ship, and Deeg then looked to the starboard side to see if he could help anyone over there. Unfortunately, that entire side of the passenger deck was burning, and one of the other rescuers told Deeg not to try to go in there. Moments later, the starboard lounge burst into even heavier flames, and Deeg knew it was hopeless. He picked up some bags and photographs scattered nearby on the floor and headed back downstairs. He climbed back out through the B-deck windows, and a few seconds later the rest of the passenger areas behind him were engulfed in flames.

The day after the fire, Deeg, along with fellow steward Wilhelm Balla and Chief Engineer Rudolf Sauter, had the unenviable task of trying to identify bodies of those killed in the fire. Some of the bodies in the makeshift morgue in the northeast corner of Hangar #1 were so badly burnt that they were unable to identify them right away, or had to resort to identifying them based on their rings, gold teeth, etc.

Chief Engineer Rudolf Sauter (left, in dark uniform) and stewards Fritz Deeg (center) and Wilhelm Balla (right) leave Hangar One at Lakehurst after identifying the bodies of fire victims, on May 7th, 1937.

 

Fritz Deeg recounts his experiences during the Hindenburg's last flight for the U.S. Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry. Fellow steward Severin Klein sits in the background at left.

Deeg testified, mostly in English but partly through interpreter Karl Loerky, to the US Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry on May 13th, exactly a week after the disaster. Deeg sailed to Germany two days later on May 15th onboard the steamship Europa, along with the other surviving stewards and members of the kitchen staff, arriving in Bremerhaven on May 22nd.

Fritz Deeg survived the war and settled in  Bregenz. He passed away in 1990 at the age of 78.

(Special thanks to Jim Kalafus at Gare Maritime for generously providing the photo of Fritz Deeg and Captain Lehmann in the Hindenburg's dining room.)

George Hirschfeld

      Passenger

      Age: 35

     Residence: Bremen, Germany

     Occupation: Cotton broker

     Location at time of fire: Starboard passenger lounge

     Survived

George Emil Wilkens Hirschfeld, born May 25th, 1901, was a 35 year-old cotton broker from Bremen. While his cotton broker father, Julius Hirschfeld, was from Germany, his mother Emily was from Galveston, Texas. As a young man of 23, Hirschfeld was sent over to the United States in 1924 where he worked for the next four years at the family cotton plantation near Hearne, Texas along the Brazos River in order to get a feel for the cotton trade.

By 1937, Hirschfeld was a partner in the Bremen cotton-dealing firm of Lentz and Hirschfeld, which had originally been established by Hirschfeld's father in 1897 and which since that time had regularly imported large amounts of American cotton. Hirschfeld was also a member of the Bremen Cotton Exchange as well as Bremen's Chamber for Industry and Trade where he was chairman of that body's committee dealing with the cotton trade. He flew on the Hindenburg's first North American flight of 1937 so that he could spend some time in the States studying the possibilities of developing business under a recent barter agreement between the U.S. and Germany, in which American cotton would be shipped to Germany in exchange for German goods brought to the United States. He was also to meet with a number of American bankers during his visit to New York, his first since 1928.

Hirschfeld was accompanied by friends to the airfield at Frankfurt on the evening of May 3rd, 1937 to board the Hindenburg. Since well-wishers were not generally allowed to approach the ship, Hirschfeld said his goodbyes and walked over to board the ship with the other passengers, and marveled at the sight of the "enormous silver giant." Once aboard, Hirschfeld watched the ground crew release the ship, and noted how it rose in absolute silence for about 200 feet, at which point the engines were started. He and his fellow passengers were then treated to the sight of German towns and villages sliding by less than 1000 feet below them. As he later wrote in a letter to his mother, "We had a wonderful trip in the dark over the Rhine cities, particularly Cologne."

Hirschfeld later recalled being immediately impressed by the Hindenburg's passenger accommodations. "The airship had a wonderful layout," he later wrote. "Everything was very modern, most practical and also roomy. The individual cabins had running cold and warm water. The meals were elegantly served on their fabulous own service and everything was extremely clean. The dining room as well as the lounge for the guests was very roomy and tastefully appointed."

The first day out over the Atlantic was drab and cloudy, and Hirschfeld noted that without much to see below, the day was more or less uneventful. By the second day, however, the ship approached Newfoundland and Hirschfeld was amazed by the numerous icebergs in the ocean below. "There were many icebergs and in addition there were entire large strips of loose ice in the sea," he would later write. "The icebergs really looked fantastic. We flew very low over some of them. One of these giants protruded about 250 feet from the water and was 1000 feet long."

The next afternoon, the Hindenburg flew down the northeastern coast of the United States, making a wide circle over New York, and Hirschfeld was impressed by how enormously the city had grown since his last visit there almost a decade before. As the afternoon passed, the Hindenburg flew further south to Lakehurst, where thunderstorms prevented an immediate landing. After a couple hours of cruising up and down the southern New Jersey shore, the weather cleared and the ship returned to Lakehurst to land. Hirschfeld was in the starboard lounge with other passengers, watching through a pair of Zeiss binoculars as the ground crew picked up the landing lines and the ship nosed in towards its mooring mast.

George Hirschfeld's location in the starboard lounge at the time of the fire.

Suddenly, Hirschfeld heard a "muffled bang" and felt the ship shake violently. He saw the observation windows illuminated red from the outside and knew then that the ship was on fire. As the ship tilted aft and Hirschfeld slid towards the aft wall of the lounge, he was aware of additional explosions as the fire ignited the ship's gas cells one by one. As the passengers around him began to panic, Hirschfeld realized that his only chance was to keep his head and "to act with calmest control." He waited near the aft wall of the lounge until he heard the ship hit the ground, then leapt over a pile of chairs toward the nearest window, not knowing that the hull was briefly rebounding 10 or 20 feet back into the air. " I do not know whether I jumped through an open window or a closed one," Hirschfeld later recalled, "since the windows are not made of glass but mica."

Hirschfeld fell perhaps 15-20 feet and landed in the sand below. The ship rolled slightly to starboard as it hit the ground for the second and final time, and the hull structure above the starboard windows was collapsing to the ground all around the area where Hirschfeld and several other passengers were trying to escape. Hirschfeld found himself "surrounded by an immense red conflagration." He glanced back and saw that the area near the windows was still clear and not yet burning, but he knew that the only way out was through the burning wreckage in front of him. Hirschfeld, aware that there were even more glowing metal girders above him beginning to sink down, immediately began to run and leap through the mass of wreckage before him.

Suddenly, a pair of crossed wires snagged his foot and he fell. "At that moment I believed myself to be lost, but concentrated my entire willpower to crawl back and free my foot," he said. He picked himself up and continued to run, and had almost reached safety when a burning girder fell directly in front of him. He threw up his hands to protect his face, burning them on the hot metal in the process. Hirschfeld ducked past the girder and made his way over and under the remaining debris that lay in front of him. He noted that the cool air coming from outside to feed the fire was probably the main reason he was not burning alive at that point. He was also wearing a long, heavy coat, which also helped to protect him from the heat and flames. Just before he cleared the last of the wreckage, Hirschfeld realized that he was still holding onto his binoculars, and tossed them aside.

Then, suddenly, he was in the clear. Hirschfeld continued to run until he felt himself to be a safe distance from the wreck, at which point he stumbled to the ground, breathing hard and noticing for the first time that he'd twisted his ankle slightly. A man in overalls whom Hirschfeld assumed to be a member of the ground crew helped him away from the ship. Behind him, he could hear the screams of other passengers who were still trapped in the wreckage.

Hirschfeld's first instinct was to wire his family and business associates back in Germany, so he asked to be taken to the Western Union station in the main hangar. He later discovered that the telegrams he sent never arrived, apparently lost in the massive wave of similar messages that were being sent. Hirschfeld was then shown to a car that took him to the air station's infirmary. Shortly after he arrived, another car brought in several more survivors who were terribly burned, and Hirschfeld could not take the horrible sight, so he instead walked outside again. He stood in the cool night air, scarcely realizing that he'd been burned, when his business associate Adam Schildge and two other men found him. Schildge and the others had been onhand to meet Hirschfeld, and were visibly relieved that he was alive.

George Hirschfeld, his head bandaged and his face coated in burn cream, is loaded into an ambulance for transfer to Lenox Hill Hospital in New York on May 7th, 1937.

They drove Hirschfeld over to a hospital in nearby Lakewood, where he was given first aid for burns to his hands and face and was kept overnight. The following day Hirschfeld was transferred, along with fellow passenger Hans Vinholt and three crewmen (Theodor Ritter, Franz Herzog, and Josef Leibrecht), to Lenox Hill Hospital in Manhattan, where he immediately wrote (most likely with assistance, as his hands were bandaged) a letter to his mother describing his airship voyage as well as his narrow escape. The letter was reprinted in the May 21st, 1937 issue of the Bremer Nachrichten, and was also used as the basis for Hirschfeld's article "My Trip on the Last Voyage of the Hindenburg" in the June-July 1937 issue of the German-American commercial bulletin.

Amazingly, most of Hirschfeld's burns were superficial, and he was able to leave the hospital on May 27th, a few weeks after the disaster (and two days after his 36th birthday). He remained in the United States until the 29th of June when he returned home to Germany.

George Hirschfeld passed away on November 26th, 1986 at the age of 85.

George Hirschfeld, circa 1985

Many thanks to Tom Pause, the grandson of George Hirschfeld, for providing the photos used in this article, and for filling in details of his grandfather's life.

Otto and Elsa Ernst

Passengers

Ages: Otto Ernst - 77
Elsa Ernst - 63

Residence: Hamburg, Germany

Mr. Ernst's occupation: Seed trader

Location at time of fire: Passenger decks – portside dining room

Otto Ernst: Died in hospital
Elsa Ernst: Survived

Otto and Elsa Ernst were a couple from Hamburg, Germany. Otto C. Ernst was part of a large seed company and nursery in Hamburg, Ernst & von Spreckelsen, which had been established back in 1849. He and his wife were longtime aviation enthusiasts, and since there was finally a reliable non-stop air service across the North Atlantic, they had decided to take a trip by air to the United States. They booked passage to New York on the Hindenburg on its first North American flight of the 1937 season, which left Frankfurt on the evening of May 3rd. They planned to stay for a week and then return on the Hindenburg's second eastbound flight of the season on May 14th (and would have shared a second flight with fellow passenger Nelson Morris, who was also planning to return to Europe on the Hindenburg's May 14th flight.)

Fellow passenger Margaret Mather later remembered the Ernsts as "gentle old people who had been flying for 25 years and loved the air." The couple spent most of their time sitting quietly by the observation windows, contentedly watching the clouds and the ocean pass by beneath them.

Otto and Elsa Ernst's location in the portside dining room at the time of the fire.

When the Hindenburg came in to land at Lakehurst on the evening of May 6th, Mr. and Mrs. Ernst were in the portside dining room, sitting on one of the couches near the front-most observation window near stewards Wilhelm Balla and Max Henneberg, as well as fellow passenger Joseph Späh. Suddenly they felt the ship give a heavy shake, and Mrs. Ernst noticed a yellowish glow outside the windows. The stern of the ship then tilted down and the Ernsts were thrown from their seat and instinctively grabbed hold of Balla. The three of them tumbled to the floor and began sliding down toward the aft wall of the dining room. Once the floor leveled out again, the Ernsts sat where they'd fallen, dazed, until rescuers entered the wreckage of the dining room and led the couple down the ship's debarkation stairs to safety.

As the Ernsts emerged from the wreck steward Eugen Nunnenmacher, who had leapt from a window and had already begun helping passengers to safety, saw the Ernsts and immediately came over to help. Mr. Ernst was in shock and ready to collapse, so Nunnenmacher and a member of the ground crew both took hold of him to lend him support, and took them to a car that was headed for the air station's infirmary.

Two photos of Otto and Elsa Ernst after their escape, being assisted by steward Eugen Nunnenmacher (far right) and an unknown member of the civilian ground crew (far left.)

The Ernsts were taken to Paul Kimball Hospital in nearby Lakewood to recover from their injuries. Elsa Ernst did recover but Otto's condition gradually worsened due to trauma from his burns and from shock. He was given at least one transfusion, on May 14th, but it wasn't enough to save him. At 8:40 on the morning of May 15th, 1937, at which time he and his wife had thought they'd be enjoying a second Hindenburg flight over the ocean, Otto Ernst passed away.

Elsa Ernst brought Otto's body home to Germany a week later onboard the steamship Bremen.

Edward Douglas

Passenger

Age: 38

Hometown: Newark, NJ

Occupation: Director of European Operations for McCann/Erickson Corp., Frankfurt division

Location at time of fire: Passenger decks, probably starboard lounge

Died in wreck


Edward H. Douglas was born on October 28, 1898 in Newark, NJ. He had been a US Navy petty officer during World War I, and after the war he returned to Europe and went into advertising, first with General Motors, and then later with the H. K. McCann Company, a European division of McCann/Erickson, through which he continued to work with General Motors. He spent several years in Paris, and then in the early 1930s was transferred to Frankfurt, where he developed a wide range of international contacts. By 1937 he was McCann's Director of European Operations.

According to author A. A. Hoehling (and due to a number of dubious efforts to invent drama and intrigue in his 1962 book, "Who Destroyed The Hindenburg?" his claims about Douglas should not be taken at face value and are included here merely for the sake of completion), Edward Douglas was divorced while in Frankfurt, and his wife Martha and daughter Dorothy moved to Switzerland. About this time, the story goes, Douglas hired a young Jewish secretary. This did not go unnoticed by the local authorities, as Douglas’ office at 56 Neue Mainzer Strasse was in the same building as the Frankfurt branch office of Goebbels’ Ministry of Propaganda. Douglas was allegedly asked by the authorities to fire his secretary, and when he refused the Gestapo and the S.D. began following the two of them around Frankfurt, tapped his phones, and on at least one occasion broke into his office at night and went through his files. He then transferred to the company's London office, perhaps having had enough of the Gestapo.

Regardless of whether or not any of the story told by Hoehling is true, the fact is that as of the first week of May, 1937, Edward Douglas was traveling to America to spend some time visiting family, since he hadn't been home since 1930. He had informed his mother in California (where she lived in Altadena with two of her sons: George, retired advertising manager formerly with General Motors Corporation in Japan; and Paul, a student at Pasadena Junior college) of his plans to fly on the Hindenburg, as well as his younger brother Halsey, a member of the editorial staff of the Newark Evening News who lived in Belleville, NJ. On May 6th, Halsey Douglas was at his home uneasily eyeing the afternoon thunderstorms and, once again according to Hoehling, even having an instinctive feeling that he’d not see his brother alive again.

As for the events of the last flight of the Hindenburg, little is actually known about Douglas’ experiences on the trip. One thing is certain, however: whereas several books (and even the 1975 movie with George C. Scott) have Douglas receiving a mysterious coded telegram onboard the ship, this simply did not happen. Author Michael M. Mooney, in writing his 1972 book "The Hindenburg," (succumbing, to an even greater extent than Hoehling, to a need to invent drama for his book) concocted that story from events that allegedly took place involving Mooney’s father, James D. Mooney. James Mooney had been President of Overseas Operations for General Motors during the 1930s and was allegedly (according to his son) the GM executive to whom Edward Douglas reported in Frankfurt. Apparently, James Mooney received a telegram much like the one eventually attributed to Douglas, and years later his son Michael simply added it to his fictionalized account of Douglas' last days, admitting as much in the acknowledgement section of his book.

Edward Douglas' possible location in the starboard passenger lounge at the time of the fire.

What is known for certain is that Edward Douglas was in the passenger area on the Hindenburg as it came in to land at Lakehurst, NJ on the evening of May 6th, 1937, and was probably in the starboard lounge when the fire broke out. He never made it out of the ship, and his brother Halsey, who had been at the air station to greet him, identified his body either later that night or early the next day. Halsey Douglas told reporters afterward that he suspected that Edward might have been suffocated to death before he was burned, saying that when he saw the body, "Ed's hand was still held up in front of his face as though to keep the fumes away."

After Edward Douglas' death, his wife Martha and daughter Dorothy moved back to the United States. Many years later, after retiring, Dorothy Douglas moved to Menomonie, WI to look after her uncle Halsey, who had retired there some years before. Halsey Douglas passed away on September 27th, 1999 at the age of 91. Dorothy Douglas passed away a couple of years later, on June 26th, 2001 at the age of 76.


Please note: I must stress again that much of what has previously been written about Edward Douglas over the years, the bulk of which comes from the books of A. A. Hoehling and Michael Mooney, is either absolutely false (in the case of the infamous in-flight telegram) or else is highly suspect in light of the source material (namely, the bit of intrigue involving Douglas' Jewish secretary and the Gestapo in Frankfurt) and is as yet unconfirmed by a second, reputable source.

The biggest problem with Hoehling's book is that, while it was the original source of a libelous accusation of sabotage leveled at a Hindenburg crew member and much of the book is wasted on useless narrative tangents intended to create an air of mystery, research using alternate sources (official eyewitness testimony, newspaper articles, later interviews with survivors) indicates that the straight reportage that Hoehling did for his book did tend to be more or less accurate. The information about Edward Douglas that Hoehling included in his book falls therefore, in my opinion, into an uncomfortable grey area. It could conceivably be true, as is the case with much of the non-sabotage oriented material in Hoehling's book. However, I also know that the source of much of Hoehling's information on Edward Douglas also seems to have been the same person who helped him to concoct his baseless sabotage theory. Hence, my quandary over the matter.

For this reason, as I briefly mention in the article, I have included the questionable material about Douglas' experiences with the Gestapo in Frankfurt with the parenthetical warning about the dubious nature of the source. It is my hope that I will eventually find a source to either confirm or debunk the information in question. For now, I reluctantly let it stand, with the caveat "Could have happened, but probably not."

Christian Nielsen

 
Crew Member

Age: 27

Hometown: Sylt, Germany

Occupation: Navigator

Location at time of fire: Control car - navigation room

Survived


Christian Nielsen was a navigator who normally flew on the LZ-127 Graf Zeppelin. He was born on April 28, 1910 on the North Frisian island of Sylt. When he was 16 years old, he spent two years apprenticing as a seaman, and then beginning in April of 1928 he sailed the world as a merchant marine. Nielsen signed on with the F. Laeisz shipping company, and served as an able-bodied seaman aboard the Pinnas, a three-masted, full-rigged ship. The Pinnas had been purchased by F. Laeisz in 1911 as the Fitzjames from the W. Montgomery company of London.

The Pinnas

In April of 1929, the Pinnas, under the command of Captain L. Lehmann and with a crew of 25, Christian Nielsen among them, rounded Cape Horn, bound for the west coast of South America with a load of cement, coal, and general cargo. The Pinnas had been fighting hurricane-force winds for two weeks and making very little headway. Suddenly, the wind dropped, leaving heavy swells that caused the ship to roll up to 50 degrees in either direction. After having weathered 14 days worth of extremely high winds, the heavy rolling proved too much for the Pinnas. Her foremast and mainmast both gave way, breaking a few feet above the deck. The mizzenmast also cracked just above the top, and the mizzen topsail and yards dropped to starboard. The Pinnas was now almost completely at the mercy of the sea.

The crew set to work cutting down the remains of the steel mizzen topmast, which had not completely parted, and which now hung against the side of the ship and threatened to damage the hull plating. Once the topmast had been cut away, the crew rigged an emergency aerial to the remains of the mizzenmast so that the radio officer could send an SOS.


This remarkable photograph shows the extent of the damage suffered by the Pinnas. View is looking aft, across piles of wrecked masts, sails, and rigging, with the remains of the mizzenmast still rigged in the background near the ship's stern.


The Pinnas' distress signal was picked up on the evening of April 22nd by the Chilean steamer Alfonso, which was bound for Punta Arenas. The captain of the Alfonso, Jorge E. Jensen Hansen, made haste for port, and informed the local authorities in Punta Arenas of the situation. The Alfonso received orders to load up with fuel and provisions and to set sail immediately to aid the Pinnas.

The Chilean steamship, Alfonso

At dusk on April 24th, the Alfonso reached the Pinnas' location, about 200 miles west-southwest of Cape Horn. They found the German ship with her masts, sails, and rigging on her deck, with the crew trying to use the remaining mizzen sail to hold the ship into the wind, so that it wouldn't continue to roll on the rough seas. Captain Jensen hoped to be able to approach the Pinnas so as to lend assistance, but the weather had worsened again, with high winds and hail making a close approach too dangerous. The Alfonso, therefore, remained nearby for almost three days, waiting for weather conditions to improve.

Finally, on the morning of April 27th, the weather eased up somewhat and Captain Lehmann of the Pinnas radioed the Alfonso with an urgent request for assistance. The Pinnas was rapidly taking on water, and the decision had been made to abandon ship before the hull began to break up. Captain Jensen tried to bring the Alfonso alongside the Pinnas to rescue the crew, but the Pinnas was still rolling too badly.

Instead, Jensen ordered second mate Enrique Imhoff to take five men and one of the Alfonso's boats and row across to the Pinnas to effect a rescue. Since the rolling of the dying ship made an approach from either side impossible, Imhoff decided instead to row around to the Pinnas' bow. A pilot ladder was lowered from the Pinnas' bowsprit, and Imhoff and his men safely transferred the Pinnas' crew to the Alfonso in two trips, with Captain Lehmann being the last to leave his ship. Once the Pinnas' crew were all safely aboard, the Alfonso returned to Punta Arenas. The Pinnas herself was left adrift, and presumably sank somewhere off the southwestern coast of Chile.

A boat from the Alfonso rows across to the Pinnas (background) to rescue her crew.

Along with the rest of his crewmates, able-bodied seaman Christian Nielsen survived the wrecking of the Pinnas. He had suffered a broken jaw during the shipwreck, but one of his fellow sailors, F. Steffans, managed to set Nielsen's jaw using a piece of wood. Many years later, Nielsen's son Rink served as second officer on a Laeisz ship on which Steffans was also serving as a boatswain.

Nielsen and his crewmates spent the next two weeks recovering in Puntas Arenas, then boarded a steamer back to Germany.

(An excellent, detailed account of the wreck of the Pinnas and the rescue of her crew by the Alfonso, written by Chilean Contralmirante Roberto Benavente, can be found HERE.)

Later that year, in July of 1929, Nielsen signed on with the crew of the luxury yacht Orion. Commissioned by wealthy American textile magnate Julius Forstmann and built at the Krupp shipyards in Kiel, the 333-foot Orion spent seven months, from November 1929 until early June of 1930, cruising Forstmann's family around the world. Christian Nielsen was part of the Orion's crew of about 55 (depending upon the leg of the voyage in question.) The Orion was later sold to the US Navy in 1940, refitted as a gunship, and renamed the USS Vixen. It served as the flagship for the Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet throughout World War II.

The former luxury yacht Orion, refitted as a US Navy patrol gunboat and rechristened USS Vixen.

In 1931, Nielsen received his officer's patent papers, and in 1932 he was similarly certified as a ship's radio operator. That same year, he received training in aerial navigation, and then in 1933 he trained as a pilot. In October of 1933, Nielsen enlisted in the German Navy, becoming an officer by 1935. He then transferred to the Luftwaffe in October of 1935 where he received further aviation training.

Christian Nielsen during his Luftwaffe flight training, circa 1935. (photo courtesy of Maiken Nielsen)

Just after the New Year, in January of 1936, Christian Nielsen retired from active military duty and was hired by the Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei. He and his wife Maria, pregnant with their first child, moved from Sylt down to Friedrichshafen. There, Nielsen joined the crew of the Graf Zeppelin, which was making regular passenger flights to South America. By early 1937, Nielsen was serving as one of the airship's navigators.

On the Hindenburg's first North Atlantic flight of 1937, Nielsen was flying on the Hindenburg to observe the navigational techniques that had been developed on the newer ship. He augmented a navigation crew consisting of Franz Herzog, Max Zabel, and Eduard Boetius - who was, coincidentally, from the North Frisian island of Föhr, right next to Nielsen's home island of Sylt.

As the Hindenburg approached the mooring circle at Lakehurst at the end of the flight on May 6th, Nielsen was at his landing station in the navigation room at the center of the control car. Shortly after 7:00 PM, Eduard Boetius sounded the ship's signal for landing stations. Captain Albert Sammt, the watch officer on duty, then called Boetius to take over on the elevator wheel, and Nielsen sounded the second landing stations signal a couple minutes later. Nielsen was standing on the port side of the navigation room along with Max Zabel, and they watched the ground crew take up the yaw lines after the lines were dropped from the ship's bow. As a gust struck the port beam of the ship and the portside yaw line tightened, Nielsen saw the landing crew giving ground as the ship drifted to starboard.

Christain Nielsen's location in the control car at the time of the fire.

Suddenly, the ship gave a violent jolt which threw Nielsen against the aft wall of the navigation room. Initially, he had no idea what the jolt was. His first thought was that the tightening portside yaw line had snapped, but then realized that the jolt had been too heavy for that. It was not until he pulled himself to his feet, with the ship dropping down by the stern, that he was able to get to one of the starboard windows and look aft, where he saw "a gigantic ocean of fire". The increasing inclination of the ship made it impossible for Nielsen to keep his footing, and he saw the drawers of the chart cabinet sliding open and spilling their contents across the floor. He slowly worked himself over towards the window on the port side of the navigation room as the ship neared the ground, looking for his chance to jump, but he held back for a moment when he noticed that they were still too high. He then looked forward and saw Eduard Boetius at the portside window next to the elevator wheel, also ready to jump. As the ship descended to within 10 to 15 feet of the ground, both men jumped, almost simultaneously.

Christian Nielsen (arrow) drops to the ground after jumping from the control car. Eduard Boetius is crouched on the ground just in front of him, having jumped from the window beside the elevator wheel a split second before Nielsen.

Nielsen landed safely and ran clear of the ship, just before it collapsed to the ground behind him. He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the entire ship was on the ground burning, then continued on until he was about 60 or 70 feet further away from the wreckage before turning around and running back to the passenger decks to assist in rescuing survivors. As he approached the wreck and prepared to climb up into the dining salon, Nielsen saw 16 year-old passenger Irene Doehner standing up on one of the portside observation windows, her hair and clothes afire. She jumped through a broken window, and when she landed Nielsen and two other rescuers quickly put out the fire on her clothes and hauled her to safety. Then, together with Boetius, Captain Walter Ziegler and steward Fritz Deeg, Nielsen climbed up into what was left of the portside dining salon. They located several passengers who had not yet made their way out of the ship, and led them to safety. Nielsen noticed that the passenger cabins in the center of A-deck were completely destroyed by fire, and left the wreckage soon afterward.

Christian Nielsen was virtually unhurt in the crash, and stayed in the States for slightly more than two weeks after the disaster. On May 19th, he testified before the US Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry into the Hindenburg fire, and within the next couple of days he sailed back to Germany with a group of his fellow surviving crew members aboard the steamship Bremen.

In September of 1939, with Germany officially at war, Nielsen volunteered for service with the Luftwaffe. He was assigned to a coastal patrol squadron in November of 1940 and stationed in France. On January 25th, 1941, Christian Nielsen was killed in action over the Bay of Biscay.


(Many thanks to Maiken Nielsen, Christian Nielsen's granddaughter, and her father, Rink Nielsen, for providing me with details about Christian's life. as well as Christian in his Luftwaffe trainer and the portrait photo that opens this article.)

Alfred Bernhardt

Crew Member

Age: 31

Hometown: Charlottenburg

Occupation: Helmsman

Location at time of fire: Bow, mooring shelf

Died in hospital

Alfred Bernhardt was born on October 28, 1905 in Charlottenburg. He was a career officer in the Merchant Marine, having gone to sea in 1924 at the age of 18. By 1929 he was a 4th officer with the HAPAG shipping line, and in 1931 he received his patent papers as Kapitän auf großer Fahrt, which meant that he was certified to captain commercial seagoing vessels anywhere in the world.

Bernhardt was also a pilot, and in January of 1934 he became a navigation instructor at the flight school in Braunschweig. Three years later, on January 1st, 1937, Alfred Bernhardt was hired by the Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei as an officer candidate. He was assigned to the LZ 129 Hindenburg as a helmsman, but as was the case with many of the recent hires from the Merchant Marine, the idea was to train him for eventual assignment as part of the command crew of one of the new airships that the DZR intended to put into service over the next few years. Before long, Alfred Bernhardt would have, in all likelihood, been given an airship command of his own.

Bernhardt was aboard the Hindenburg's first North American flight of 1937, standing watch at the ship's rudder wheel along with fellow helmsmen Kurt Schönherr and Helmut Lau. As the ship approached the mooring mast at Lakehurst at the end of the flight on the evening of May 6th, Alfred Bernhardt was on standby watch. As such, his landing station was in the extreme bow of the ship on the mooring shelf. Along with rigger Erich Spehl, elevatorman Ludwig Felber, and senior elevatorman Ernst Huchel, Bernhardt was assisting with the lowering of the ship's landing ropes as well as the steel mooring cable that would be used to winch the ship down to its mooring mast.

Alfred Bernhardt's approximate location at the time of the fire.
(Hindenburg structural diagram courtesy of David Fowler)

Bernhardt and the others had just begun to let the mooring cable down when the Hindenburg caught fire. As the ship's stern dropped, leaving the forward section pointed high into the air, the fire burst straight out through the bow, engulfing Bernhardt and the others.
By some stroke of fate, however, Bernhardt was pulled alive from the Hindenburg's wreckage. Harry J. King, who operated the baggage service for the DZR at Lakehurst, drove Bernhardt and other survivors to the air station infirmary in the back of his truck. Bernhardt was then taken to Fitkin Memorial Hospital in Neptune, NJ where he appears to have never regained consciousness. He was badly burned enough that nobody was able to recognize him, and doctors cut two rings from his fingers and had a news photographer take a picture of them in an effort to find somebody who could identify him. He died in the early morning hours of Friday, May 7, 1937, and his body was not identified until six hours after his death.
Several days after the disaster, Harry Kane found a wedding ring in the back of his truck. Assuming that it belonged either to one of the survivors whom he'd driven to the infirmary or else to one of the crash victims whose bodies he had transported away from the wreck in his truck, Kane returned the ring to the proper authorities. It turned out to have belonged to Alfred Bernhardt. Kane later received the following letter from Zeppelin Company officials:

"The wedding ring is apparently the property of Alfred Bernhardt, a crew member who died in the disaster. I'm sure that his wife will greatly appreciate the ring, particularly inasmuch as she is expecting a child very soon.

Alfred Bernhardt was buried at the Frankfurter Hauptfriedhof cemetery in Frankfurt, in a common grave alongside six other Hindenburg crew members who lost their lives in the fire. His name, along with those of the others, is inscribed on a monument over the grave site.

Alfred Bernhardt's name inscribed on crew memorial in Frankfurter Hauptfriedhof cemetery.

Thanks to Herr Manfred Sauter of the Freundeskreis zur Förderung des Zeppelin Museums e.V., whose memorial article on the Hindenburg crew members who lost their lives at Lakehurst (Zeppelin Brief, No. 59, June 2011) provided additional details on Bernhardt's career, and to Dr. Cheryl Ganz for providing me with a copy of the article.
Special thanks also to Doug and Lena King for the information about Doug's father, Harry J. King.

George Grant

Passenger

Age: 63

Residence: London, England

Occupation: Assistant manager, Wm. H. Müller & Co.

Location at time of fire: Passenger decks, portside dining room

Survived



George Grant was an assistant manager for Wm. H. Müller & Co., general passenger agents for the Hamburg-America steamship line, and oversaw the company's London office.

Born in London in November of 1873, Grant was part of a rather large family. His mother, Adeline Freer, and his father, George Henry Togo Grant, had married at Lambeth on January 20, 1867. Their first daughter, Sarah, was born in 1868, followed by Samuel (1869), William (1871), Thirza Elizabeth (1872), George (1873), Albert Edward (1875), and Emily Adeline (1876). Sadly, Adeline Grant and little Emily both died within a year of the baby’s birth, with Adeline passing away in the spring of 1877. George Sr. remarried the following year, wedding Adeline’s sister, Charlotte Elizabeth Freer, on December 9, 1878 at St. Phillips Church in Battersea. The two had one child together, Ernest, who was born in 1882.

George Sr., spent most of his career in the railway business, working for the LB&SC Railway (a position he had originally landed on the recommendation of his brother-in-law, the well-known civil engineer George Parker Bidder.) George Sr.’s sister, Elizabeth, ran their father’s business (William Grant had been a newsagent and a publisher of topographical maps until his death in 1860) and she had married Bartholomew Parker Bidder in 1862.

George Sr. passed away from acute lobar pneumonia exhaustion on December 12, 1889 at the age of 42. Young George Grant was only 15 years old at the time, but managed to secure a position as a house porter for a wealthy family from Westminster. Not long afterward, he began to become close with his cousin, Elizabeth Catherine Bidder (born in 1872.) In 1896 the two married in Wandsworth, where they moved into a late Victorian terraced home at 37 Swanage Road. Their first child, Marjorie Elizabeth, was born in 1899. Two more daughters would follow: Elsie in 1901 and Muriel in 1908. Marjorie, unfortunately, passed away in 1919 at the age of 20.

By the turn of the century, George Grant was working for Wm. H. Müller & Co. as a shipping and tourist clerk. His job often required him to be away from home, as in 1908 when he sailed to New York aboard the SS Amerika to observe the services and amenities for the passengers and to write up a report on his observations. Grant’s career advanced, and by the mid-1930s he had moved into his role as assistant manager in charge of the London office.

George Grant was aboard the Hindenburg's first North American flight of the 1937 season as a guest of the Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei, for which Wm. H. Müller & Co. also handled passenger bookings. As he had done previously on voyages like the one aboard the Amerika, Grant would observe the Hindenburg's onboard operations, specifically those involving passenger accommodation, and would then write a report on the trip for the DZR. He was also using this as an opportunity to visit his brother Albert, who had emigrated to the United States around 1900 and, with his wife Helen, resided in Winthrop, MA, near Boston.

Of the flight itself, Grant later remarked, "From the commencement of the voyage, everything was extremely satisfactory in every particular." He did, however, feel that the passengers' mode of dress onboard was "perhaps rather too free and easy," with no concerted effort made to wear evening dress to dinner, and with many passengers coming to dinner still dressed "as they were lounging."

Grant spent much of the flight working on a novel he was writing, as well as jotting down preliminary notes for his report for the Zeppelin Company. On the second day of the flight Grant, along with several other passengers, took part in a tour of the ship led by "one of the ship's officers" (possibly ship’s physician Dr. Kurt Rüdiger or Captain Lehmann, both of whom often conducted tours.) Grant and the others were led aft along the lower catwalk as far back as the engineers' control room amidships, where they stuck their heads in for a quick look. The group then proceeded forward to the radio room and the control car. Grant noted particularly that "as far as I could see, everything possible had been done for safety and efficiency."

On the final day of the flight, George Grant spent much of the morning typing out notes for his DZR report, working as quickly as he could so that he would be able to relax and enjoy the journey over the New England coast and New York. Later in the day, as the Hindenburg approached its landing field at Lakehurst at approximately 7:00 PM, Grant stood near one of the observation windows on the port side of the passenger decks along with other passengers. As he later related to a reporter from the Philadelphia Public Ledger, "We were all very gay and shaking hands and promising to see each other again. The steward had served a platter of sandwiches, which we were munching. We were like one big, happy family. Our baggage was all piled up, ready for the customs men. We were laughing and gay, looking forward to landing – and then it happened. In the twinkling of an eye, it happened."

George Grant's location in the portside dining room at the time of the fire.

Suddenly Grant felt a powerful shock run through the ship at the same moment that he heard an explosion. Said Grant later of the moment "It was then nothing but a regular shamble, as it seemed as if the entire structure of the airship was collapsing." It all happened so quickly that Grant, understandably disoriented, erroneously thought that the ship had accidentally struck the ground heavily and then caught fire. In reality the ship had burst into flame in midair and was now dropping stern-first to the ground. Grant slid along the floor of the promenade deck toward the rear wall of the dining salon and was, in his words, "shot into a heap with the chairs." Many of the rest of the passengers and stewards ended up in that same heap, and then according to Grant "before you could say 'Jack,' almost, you could see flames."

The second Grant saw fire burning its way into the dining salon, he got to his feet and began helping people around him to stand up, shouting "Come, everybody! Jump!" Unfortunately many of those nearby were dazed and didn't immediately grasp what was happening. Others, however, were already jumping out of the ship. Grant later remarked, "The windows were made of celluloid and the first passenger cleared right through." Grant then made his way to a nearby window and jumped from a height of 15-20 feet. He landed safely in the sand below, but as he was picking himself up another person (possibly Dr. Rüdiger) jumped out of the same window and landed heavily on Grant, who was quickly grabbed by two members of the ground crew and helped away from the wreckage with a broken right ankle and an injured back.

George Grant was taken to the air station's infirmary for first aid, and then to the Royal Pines Hotel and Clinic in Pinewald where he telephoned his brother Albert in Winthrop, MA, to tell him that he was okay. He also asked Albert to send his wife and daughters in London a telegram, which read: "Ship crashed. I'm safe. Lost all kit." Such was Grant's state of mind in those hazy first hours after his brush with death that foremost in his mind, aside from his family, was the fact that his luggage had been destroyed in the fire.

While at Royal Pines, Grant was interviewed about his escape by several area newspapers and a newsreel crew. To the Philadelphia Public Ledger he recalled, "My wife and two daughters had urged me not to take the trip. They seemed to have what you'd call feminine intuition. Well, it was my first trip to the States by air. I have visited several times by boat."

"And in the future?" asked the reporter.

Grant replied, "By boat, I guess."

The next day, Grant was transferred from Royal Pines to Lenox Hill Hospital in New York where he lay for some weeks recovering from his injuries, reflecting on the flight "from beginning to end," and puzzling over how the disaster could have possibly occurred since while one was aboard the ship, in his words, "you felt safe as could be."

At the request of the US Commerce Department's Board of Inquiry into the Hindenburg disaster, Grant dictated a letter containing his impressions of the disaster, dated May 26th, 1937. Two days later on May 28th, investigators came to Lenox Hill to interview other survivors, and Grant gave them an official testimony from his hospital bed.

Grant then spent the next two months in the hospital, lying on his back and recovering from his injuries. Traveling as a guest of the Hamburg-America Line, Grant's wife, Elizabeth, sailed to New York aboard the steamship Hansa, arriving on July 30th. George and Elizabeth Grant then returned to England together on the Hansa's next eastbound voyage, arriving at Southampton on August 12, 1937. Grant hobbled down the ship’s gangway leaning on a cane, his suit concealing a bandaged ankle and a metal corset to support his injured back. Grant would wear the corset for the rest of his life, and the younger members of his family would later recall how, when they were children, he would have them rap on his chest with their knuckles and the corset would make a hollow, metallic sound.

George Grant arrives home in England, August 12, 1937

George Grant passed away 8 years later in 1945 at St. James Hospital, Balham, London at the age of 70. His wife Elizabeth continued to live in their family home on Swanage Road. Their daughter Elsie had died at the age fo 43 in 1944, the year before George passed. Their remaining daughter Muriel had married Frank Brisk in 1939, and as Elizabeth advanced in years, the couple moved into the Swanage Road home with her in 1959. Elizabeth Grant lived to the age of 93, and passed in 1965. Muriel Grant Brisk lived until 1992, when she was 84.

 

George Grant's notes for his never-completed report to the Zeppelin Company survived the Hindenburg fire, as he had folded them up and placed them in his coat pocket after he was done typing them out. A copy was sent to the Board of Inquiry and subsequently ended up in the United States National Archives. It is reproduced here exactly as it appears on the original document, aside from minor formatting changes and a few bracketed editorial notes.

May 6th, 1937

Off the New England Coast.

 

Notes on a voyage of the AIRSHIP "HINDENBURG"
under the Command of Captain Pruss.

1. On May 3rd, passengers assembled at the Frankfurterhof [sic.] at 4 p.m. for the necessary formalities. All baggage was thoroughly examined by the Zoll [customs] Officers, practically every package being opened. Busses left the Hotel at 7 p.m. and arrived at the Air Station, a distance of 12 km. in about 25 minutes, where upon arrival every passenger had to pass the Dovision [sic.] Officials, who were very strict and exacting in every way.

2. The "HINDENBURG" was already out of its huge shed, being moored fore and aft to two traveling waggons on rails, on which sat a large number of young men, holding same in position. A band stood at the entrance to the airship and played the usual farewell tunes. It was indeed very remarkable in the manner the great vessel was manoevered into the air, without it hardly being noticed by those onboard.

3. An excellent cold supper was served at 10 p.m. for which all passengers were more than ready.

4. A ground search-light is used when travelling over land, and this gives one a unique as well as a weird sight when passing over fields and woods. At KÖLN a parachute with mail attached was dropped and picked up below, this being visible from the Airship.

5. An excellently arranged passenger list is handed to each guest, giving the necessary information concerning meals, etc. Breakfast from 8 a.m., Lunch 12 noon, Tea 4 p.m. Supper 7 p.m. Meals are exceedingly well-served under the able direction of Chief Steward Kubis and his well-trained stewards.

6. The PUBLIC-ROOMS are especially well-arranged and comfortably furnished, with large observation windows, there being three central windows on either side which can be opened, affording passengers every opportunity of seeing anything of interest – such for instance – an ice field and a huge Iceberg, which were passed directly over when in view of Newfoundland.

THE STATEROOMS are well-fitted with good beds and bedding, with curtained space and hangers for clothing. The cellulose [sic.] washbasins, fitted with hot and cold water are rather shallow, and seem perhaps rather small after being used to deeper ones on board steamers. The cabin walls are covered with printed linen; but it is suggested that linen head covers be placed at the head of the beds, to avoid greasemarks being left behind by passengers. Additional rooms, which are outside and are more commodious have been fitted on the lower deck, just aft of the smoking room, and receiving direct daylight, should prove very popular. This brings up capacity to 70.

8. Although you can always feel there are engines, which is perhaps slightly more noticeable in the cabins, the movement of the Airship hardly varies. An occasional slight roll is therefore hardly perceptible. AIR SICKNESS is quite unknown, a strong point which cannot be too strongly emphasized.

9. DRINKS can be purchased on board at moderate prices and are served delightfully cool. Beer in bottles can be purchased in the Smoking Room.

10. WATER SUPPLY is the same for drinking and general purpose.

11. DRESS on BOARD. This is very unconventional and perhaps rather too free and easy, for many passengers make no difference in their attire from day to day.

In conclusion it is evident on all hands as to the thoughtful manner in which the passenger accomodation [sic.] has been arranged, including for instance the luminous electric switch cords and permanent waste paper boxes in the cabins.

12. NAVIGATION. An inspection of the navigation cabin, is sufficient in itself, to show that nothing has been left undone which tends to safe and efficient navigation under all weather conditions.

AIR TRAVEL has certainly come to stay and the "HINDENBURG" is likely to go down to posterity as a fore-runner of what may eventually become REGULAR WIDE WORLD TRAVEL by AIRSHIP.

Not even the most timid or nervous person need have any qualms about Airship Travel. It has been confirmed on this voyage that passengers who are always sea-sick on open liners, have been absolutely free from any sickness and so even have been able to enjoy their meals.

MOTTO: TRAVEL by AIRSHIP and avoid SEA SICKNESS!

 

Special thanks to Stanley C. Jenkins for making inquiries into George Grant’s biographical details on one of the UK’s leading online genealogy forums, and also to Dr. Jane Cavell, whose genealogical research unearthed information on Mr. Grant’s life that expanded greatly upon my own research and upon that which Mr. Jenkins had conducted. (Jane and Stanley, I now have confirmation of George Grant’s vital statistics thanks to your generous assistance, and I am tremendously grateful to you both!)

Very special thanks, also, to Andy Grant, a relative of George Grant’s, who subsequently contacted me with further details about Mr. Grant’s life and that of his father, George Henry Togo Grant. Andy, himself a genealogist, had traced the history of the Grant family, and was able to help me to further refine this article and to correct a few errors.

These errors included a long-standing myth that George Grant was distantly related to U.S. President Ulysses S. Grant. This patently untrue claim has appeared in numerous books about the Hindenburg crash over the years, and it is Andy Grant’s belief that it probably originated in one of the countless newspaper articles written in the immediate aftermath of the disaster – many of which, unfortunately, tended to value sensationalism over verified fact.