History's A Disaster

Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus Train Crash of 1918

• Andrew

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A midnight circus run. A hot axle on a curve. An empty troop train racing through signals toward a sleeping engineer. Before dawn near Ivanhoe, Indiana, steel met wood, kerosene met sparks, and one of America’s worst rail disasters turned a rolling home into a furnace. We walk through the Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus Train crash of 1918 step by step—how the show moved by rail, why old wooden cars and open-flame lighting created lethal conditions, and how wartime fatigue and overworked crews pushed a fragile system past its limits.

We trace the collision from the brakeman’s flare to the grinding path of the locomotive through multiple sleepers, then into the desperate escapes that drew on acrobat strength and performer grit. Local responders and a delayed fire brigade faced an inferno measured in minutes, not hours. The aftermath is as human as it is historical: the grim work of identification, entire acts erased, and a community forced to rebuild while grieving. At Showman’s Rest, stone elephants bow over shared graves—some named, many marked unknown—reminding us that spectacle and risk have always traveled together.

The legal fight centers on engineer Alonzo Sargent, the manslaughter charge, and a not-guilty verdict that split public opinion. We unpack the evidence, the defense’s medical claims, and the broader industry context that made fatigue inevitable. From there, we connect the dots to reforms: phasing out wooden passenger cars, tightening hours-of-service limits, and advancing signal enforcement and automatic braking so safety doesn’t depend on a single tired human. It’s a story about accountability, design choices, and the slow march of rail safety that too often follows tragedy.

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Special thank you to Lunarfall Audio for producing and doing all the heavy lifting on audio editing since April 13, 2025, the Murder of Christopher Meyer episode https://lunarfallaudio.com/


SPEAKER_00:

Who doesn't love the circus? The death-defying acts of acrobats on the highwire? The trapeze artists swinging to and fro? The creepy ass clowns doing whatever it is clowns do. The smell of animal shit and BO from all the unwashed asses gathered together under the big top. The freak shows and all the drugs. Okay, maybe, just maybe not that last one. While not as popular today, the circus used to be one of the biggest forms of entertainment, with hundreds of them criss-crossing the country in the late 19th and early 20th century by train or by road, which would inevitably lead to accidents. And one of the worst accidents happened on the morning of June 22nd, 1918. So, what happened? I'm Andrew, and this is History's A Disaster. Tonight we are diving into the Hagenbeck Wallace Circus Train disaster of 1918 that claimed the lives of over 80 people. And tonight's episode is brought to you by the Flying Squirrel Sleep Biters. Is the need for sleep driving you nutty? Need to stay awake to study for that big test? Or got a big day on the job? Then turn to the Flying Squirrel. With its patent pending and non-FDA approved formula, Flying Squirrel no sleep pills will keep you awake no matter how warm and sleepy you get. Now the Hagenbach Wallace Circus started off as a small traveling circus that would eventually put most others to shame. By 1918, it had established itself as one of the top traveling circuses in America, second only to the legendary Wrinkling Brothers. The show featured exotic animals, death-defying acrobats, horseback riders, and clowns who entertained audiences across the country. Like all major circuses back then, Hagenbeck Wallace traveled by train from town to town. The sheer size of these massive circuses made trains an outright necessity. They employed hundreds of people, from world-famous performers all the way down to the rastabouts who set up and took down the Big Top, cared for the animals, and the support staff that actually managed the countless things needed to keep the show on the road. Many of them lived on the trains year-round, making the railroad cars their homes as they traveled across the country. Families traveled together, children were born on the road, and this would lead to a tight-knit community among the show people who shared this nomadic lifestyle. In June of 1918, the circus was in the middle of its summer tour through the Midwest. The nation was deep into World War I, which had created labor shortages and strained the country's infrastructure, including the railroads. Many experienced railroad workers had been drafted or had volunteered to go off to war, and those who remained often worked long hard hours to keep the trains running. And this would play a big part into the coming disaster. On the evening of June 21, 1918, the Hagenbeck Wallace Circus finished up its show in Michigan City, Indiana. The show had gone well, and the crowds had been huge and eager to be entertained. As was standard practice, once the last of the crowds left, the rustabouts immediately began the enormous task of breaking down the operation. The big top came down, equipment was packed, animals were loaded into their cars, and performers gathered their belongings. The circus traveled on two separate trains. Making up the first circus train section was six sleeper cars plus all of the animals and their handlers. The second train would meet the first in Hammond, Indiana. Except for the New York Central Railroad engine, its accompanying tender, and the mandatory New York Central caboose, all of the railroad cars were old wooden-framed limited service rolling stock owned by the Hagenbach-Wallace Circus, meaning they were all old pieces of shit made almost exclusively out of wood. By order of the government, the overall condition of the rolling stock, though still legal to operate on the rail system, it was required that all the circus train equipment be limited to speeds of 25 miles per hour or less. The second circus train was made of 20 of these shitty wooden cars pulled by a New York Central Railroad engine and had roughly 400 circus performers and workers on it. Many of these cars in the second train were specially designed sleeping cars where the performers and workers slept and lived between stops. The train departed Michigan City around midnight, heading south towards Hammond, where the circus was scheduled to perform the following day. The route would take them all along the Michigan Central Railroad tracks. The sleeping cars were full of exhausted circus people who had worked long into the night packing up the show. Performers, roustabouts, animal handlers, and their families settled into their berths, expecting to wake up at their next destination. Many of them fell asleep quickly, lulled by the familiar rhythm of the rails. In car 3, members of the trapeze troops left. Car 4 housed the circus band. Other cars contained the show's laborers, its cooks, equestrian performers, and administrative staff. The train rumbled through the darkness of the Indiana countryside, making its way steadily southward. Behind the circus train, another train was scheduled to follow the same route. The rail line was seeing heavy use by the military to move soldiers from the west coast eastwards where they would be shipped off to Europe. This second train was an empty troop transport train, engine number 8485 of the Michigan Central Railroad, which had just dropped off soldiers and was returning back to the West Coast. The train consisted of a locomotive, a tender, and 21 empty wooden coaches. At the throttle was engineer Alonzo Sargent. Sargent was an experienced engineer, but on this night, several things were working against him. He had already worked a long shift and fatigue was setting in. Additionally, later reports suggested that Sgt. While other accounts hinted that maybe he had a few drinks beforehand. But none of this has ever been proven. As the empty troop train followed the circus train through the night, it should have maintained a safe distance. The railroad signal system was designed to prevent a rear-end collision. The train tracks were divided into blocks, and signal lights indicated whether the track ahead was clear or occupied by another train. When the circus train passed through each block, it should have triggered warning signals that would alert any following train. However, as Sergeant's train approached the area near Ivanhoe, Indiana, a small community roughly 30 miles south of Michigan City, something went horribly wrong. Multiple warning signals alerted Sergeant that the circus train was ahead of him on the same track. There was a yellow caution signal two miles before the collision point, followed by a red stop signal that was clearly visible. But Sergeant had assumed that the line would clear before he made it through, so he maintained speed and kept on going. And at some point during this ride, Sergeant shut the windows in the engine, blocking out the cold wind that had been ripping through and keeping him awake. As the wind was blocked out, the cabin of the engine warmed up. In the warm, cozy environment of the engine, the warmth lulled the overworked and tired engineer to sleep. Ahead of him on the tracks, the circus train had come to a stop. While going through a curve, the brakeman in the caboose, Oscar Tim, spotted an overheating axle and called the train to a stop so they could look into it. During their investigation into it, Tim spotted the troop transport train coming and realized they were not slowing down. Tim estimated their speed around 25 miles per hour based off the smoke plume. In an effort to alert the oncoming train, Tim rushed toward the train waving a flare as a signal. The train showed no signs of slowing down. In a last-ditch effort, as the train swept past him, he threw the flare at the train engine, striking the window, but to no avail. The train kept going. 150 tons of train were barreling down on the stopped circus train. And at roughly 4 a.m. on the morning of June 22nd, the empty troop train slammed into the rear of the stationary circus train with terrible force. The impact was devastating. The heavy locomotive of the troop train traveling at full speed smashed the steel frame of the caboose apart. Unfazed, the engine kept going, pushing the damaged frame of the caboose ahead of it. The next car was a sleeper for the unmarried and single workers of the circus. The unrecognizable twisted mass of the caboose frame being pushed in front of the engine's nose drove into and under the wood sleeper. Instantly the engine began grinding and breaking everything in its path. Wall and floorboards, frame timbers, bunks, fixtures, dividers, bedding, and people were all added to the growing pile of destruction being shoved ahead of the train. Some people were lucky enough to be tossed aside and away from the rolling devastation. After pushing its way completely through the rearmost sleeper, the engine impacted sleeper number 16, treating it the same way and immediately adding it and its occupants to the pile being pushed by the engine's nose. Still it continued on, smashing its way completely through the next car, Sleeper 15, and most of the way through Sleeper 17, before finally grinding to a halt. The sound of the collision had been tremendous, described by nearby residents as similar to an explosion. The screeching of metal, the splintering of wood, and the screams of the wounded pierced the morning air. Those in the forward cars of the circus train who survived the initial impact were thrown from their berths, jolted awake into a nightmare. But the horror was only beginning for the survivors, desperately trying to free themselves from the wreckage. The collision ruptured gas lines and overturned kerosene lamps that were used to light most of the train cars. Within moments, flames erupted from the wreckage. The wooden cars, old and dry, caught fire immediately. The fire spread quickly, fed by the wood, cloth, and other flammable materials that filled the train. Survivors trapped in the wreckage found themselves facing a horrific choice: remain trapped and burned, or attempt to escape through the twisted metal and splintered wood, possibly at the cost of severe injury. Many of those in the rear cars never had that chance. They were either killed by the initial impact or trapped so thoroughly in the wreckage that escape was impossible before the flames consumed them. The fire was burning hot enough to start melting metal bits of the train. The screams of those trapped in the flames could be heard by rescuers who were helpless to reach them. Those who could escape did so by any means possible. Some crawled through shattered windows, cutting themselves on broken glass. Others clawed their way through gaps in the wreckage, squeezing through impossibly small spaces. Performers who had spent their lives developing flexibility and strength now used every bit of their training to escape the death trap that had been their home. Survivors emerged from the wreckage in various states of injury and undress, many of them in their pajamas or less. Some were burnt, others had broken bones or severe lacerations. The scene was chaotic and hellish, illuminated by the orange glow of the flames. Those who managed to escape immediately turned to try to help others, but the fire was too intense. They could only watch in horror as the flames burnt their friends, their families, and their colleagues. The engineer of the circus train and some of the crew from the forward cars which had escaped the worst of the impact of fire rushed back to help. Local residents, awakened by the sound of the collision, hurried to the scene, but there was little they could do. The fire department from nearby Hammond was called, but it would be nearly 30 minutes after the collision before they could arrive. By then the fire had taken a grip on the wreckage and there was little they could do to stop it. It would be another 30 minutes before a rescue train could be brought in and its hoses brought to bear on the fire before they could start getting it put out. By the end, the rear section of the circus train was a smoking ruin. Four cars had been completely destroyed, reduced to twisted metal frames and piles of ash. Bodies lay scattered around the wreckage, some burned beyond recognition, others clearly showing the terrible injuries they had sustained. Rescue workers and volunteers organized themselves as best they could. The injured were carried away from the wreckage and laid out on the grass beside the tracks, where doctors and nurses who had rushed to the scene began treating them as best they could. The most severely injured were transported to hospitals in Hammond and nearby Gary. It would take days following the accident to clear the wreckage. Special teams were called in to remove the broken train cars as teams searched the debris for bodies. The task of recovering and identifying the dead was grim and difficult. Many of them were burned so badly that identification was impossible using the methods available in 1918. Some victims were identified by jewelry, dental work, or by physical characteristics that had managed to survive the flames. Over a dozen would never be identified at all. The circus community began the heartbreaking process of determining who had survived and who had died. Names were called out, and the responses or lack thereof told the story. Entire acts had been wiped out, families had been destroyed, the close-knit community had suffered a blow from which it would never fully recover. In the days following the disaster, investigators began the process of determining what had happened and who was responsible. The physical evidence painted a clear picture. The signal system had been functioning properly, the warning signals had been displayed, the circus train had been stationary on the tracks, properly positioned, and showing its rear lights as required. So the investigation turned its attention to Engineer Alonzo Sargent. He had managed to survive the collision with only minor injuries, and his testimony would be absolutely crucial. However, Sergeant claimed to have no memory of the events leading up to the crash, which is pretty fucking convenient. He maintained that he had been following proper procedures and had no explanation for why his train had failed to stop or slow down despite the warning signals. Probably because he was fucking sleeping. Witnesses who had seen the troop train in the moments before the collision testified that it showed no signs of slowing. The train's brakes had not been applied until the moment of impact, far too late to prevent the collision. The physical evidence at the scene supported the theory that Sgt. Until the moment of impact jolted him awake. The investigation also looked at the broader context of the accident. The railroad industry in 1918 was under tremendous strain due to the war. Many experienced workers had been drafted, and those who remained often worked excessive hours. Safety standards had been allowed to slip in the rush to keep trains moving. The use of wooden passenger cars, which were known to be fire hazards, continued despite the availability of safer steel cars. They just happened to be more expensive. And you know, why spend money on safety? Sargent would be arrested and charged with manslaughter. His trial became a focus of national attention with the circus community and the general public demanding justice for the victims. His trial began in September, just three months after the crash. The prosecution had a pretty straightforward case. The evidence was overwhelming. However, Sergeant's defense attorneys argued that their client had suffered from a temporary physical ailment that had caused him to lose consciousness, not mere sleep, but an actual medical emergency that he could not have prevented. They brought in medical experts who testified about various conditions that could cause sudden unconsciousness. The defense also highlighted the difficult working conditions faced by railroad engineers during the war years. Sgt. So, basically, it was all the systems' fault who was as much to blame as any individual, but mostly it was the system's. Survivors testified about the horror of the crash and fire. The families of victims demanded justice. But the legal standard for manslaughter required proving that Sgt. And the defense had introduced enough doubt about whether he had willfully ignored his duties or had suffered an unforeseeable medical emergency. In the end, the jury found Sergeant not guilty, which was a bit controversial and sparked outrage among many of the circus folk and the general public at large. Critics argued that the railroad industry had protected one of its own at the expense of justice for the victims. Supporters of the verdict maintained that the prosecution had failed to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt. Regardless of the verdict, Sgt. He would never work again as an engineer and he would have to live with this ship for the rest of his life. And some of the accounts of his life afterwards say he died poor and alone, shunned by everyone and living in misery at the memory of what had happened. Many of the victims of the crash had no families to claim them, no money for funerals, and no place to be buried. The unidentified victims faced the prospect of being buried in unmarked puppers' graves. The Showman's League of America, a fraternal organization of circus and entertainment professionals, stepped in to ensure that the victims received a dignified burial. They purchased a large plot in Woodlawn Cemetery in Forest Park, Illinois, a suburb just outside of Chicago. This plot became known as Showman's Rust. On June 26th, just four days after the disaster, a mass funeral was held for the victims. Thousands of people were in attendance, including circus performers from shows across the country who had interrupted their tours to pay their respects. The funeral procession stretched for blocks, and the grief and mourning was immense. At Showman's Rest, the victims were buried together. Some graves bore names, while others were marked simply as unknown male or unknown female. The Showman's League erected monuments to commemorate the dead. Five large stone elephants, heads bowed in mourning, were placed at the site. The elephants remain there to this day, standing eternal vigil over the graves. Showman's Rest would become sacred ground for the circus community. Every year, circus performers and enthusiasts gather at the site to remember the victims and celebrate the culture and community that the circus represented. This disaster would have lasting effects on the circus industry. Its immediate impact was practical. The show had lost a significant portion of its workforce and many of its performers. However, in the tradition of the circus, the show must go on. So, they borrowed performers from other circuses, hired new workers, and resumed touring within weeks of the crash. But despite this, the emotional and psychological toll was immense. The circus community was small and tightly knit, and everyone knew someone who had died or been injured in the accident. The tragedy cast a shadow over the entire crowd. Many performers became more aware of the dangers of their lifestyle and left the circus for safer occupations. And the Hagenbeck Wallace Circus would never fully recover. While it continued to run and even enjoy some success in the early 20s, the show had lost much of what had made it special. Many of its best performers and workers had died in the crash, so it was eventually purchased by the Wringling Brothers in 1929 and would continue to run until 1938 when it finally ended. The crash would also make an impact for railroad safety. Yet, as always, rail reform was slow. The accident showed the dangers of wooden passenger cars, which they knew about for years. When wooden cars caught fire, they became death traps. Steel cars were available and much safer, but they were also more expensive, and we all know how much companies just love to spend money, especially on silly little things like safety. It would be several more years before these shitty wooden cars were completely phased out. The accident also showed the problem of engineer fatigue. Railroad workers often worked excessive hours and the danger of fatigue-related accidents were highly documented. However, strong regulations limiting work hours and ensuring adequate rest periods were not in place. It would take several more accidents and several more deaths before real reform would happen. The signal system at Ivanhoe had worked as designed, but the accident showed that signals alone were not good enough if engineers chose to ignore them or miss them. This led to discussions about a more robust safety system, including automatic braking systems that would stop trains regardless of engineer action. Such systems were eventually developed and implemented, but it would take several more years before they were widely set up. And that was the Great Circus Train Disaster of 1918. Thanks for listening, and if you liked the show, please consider leaving a rating or review on your app of choice. And you can reach out to the show at historiesandisaster at gmail.com with questions, comments, or suggestions. As well as follow the show on social media, like Facebook, Instagram, and a few others. TikTok, YouTube, YouTube, whatever. And share the episode. Your friends will love it. And take care of yourself out there. Chase that dream. Live for today. Because tomorrow is never guaranteed. Thanks and goodbye.