The devastating explosion at a fertilizer plant in West, Texas, on Wednesday, April 17, 2013, happened 66 years after one of the nation’s worst industrial disasters—also caused by a fertilizer explosion. On April 16, 1947, more than 500 people were killed and 3,000 injured as a series of violent explosions and fires demolished the Gulf Coast seaport of Texas City, Texas.

The Post reported on the events leading to the explosion of the S.S. Grandcamp vessel; the minute-by-minute account of the terrible blast; and the legal battle that followed.

As in West, Texas, many of the firefighters were killed, and there is speculation that the volunteer firemen may not have known how to fight a fertilizer fire. The Post noted that although they knew how to fight ship fires, oil, benzol and propane fires, there was no general current knowledge that ammonium nitrate would explode.

It is impossible to estimate the force of the Grandcamp explosion, but it is difficult to exaggerate it. Terminal buildings ceased to exist. Monsanto’s warehouse—a steel-and-brick structure—was flattened. The main power plant was similarly crushed, and, as the blast fanned out, walls of manufacturing buildings fell, partitions shredded, pipelines carrying flammable liquids were torn apart. Two sightseeing light planes, 1,500 feet above the Grandcamp, were blown out of the air, with the loss of four lives. Windows in Galveston and Freeport were shattered; the explosion was felt in Palestine, Texas, 200 miles away.

Read more in “Death on the Water Front” by Milton MacKaye (October 26, 1957).

Fertilizer Explosions: What Have We Learned From Past Disasters? The Saturday Evening Post

Bad news may travel fast, but at the time of the Alamo siege, it rarely moved faster than the walking pace of a horse or the cruising speed of an early steamship.

So on April 9, 1836, readers must have thought the Post’s news from Texas appeared with unusual speed. A mere four weeks after the event, it reported the Mexican army was besieging the Alamo of San Antonio de Bexar and would likely obtain possession of the place.

The shocking news had barely sunk in when the next issue brought a report on the fall of the Alamo and the merciless slaughter of prisoners. Under the headline “Horrible Butchery, Highly Important from Texas,” the Post reported: “… On the 6th March, about midnight, the Alamo was assaulted by the whole force of the Mexican army, commanded by [Gen. Antonio López de] Santa Anna in person. The battle was desperate until daylight, when only 7 men belonging to the Texian Garrison were found alive, who cried for quarters, but were told that there was no mercy for them—they then continued fighting until the whole were butchered.

“… Gen. [Jim] Bowie was murdered in his bed sick and helpless. [The Mexican] General Cos, on entering the fort, ordered the servant of Col. Travis to point out the body of his master. [When] he did so, Cos drew his sword and mangled the face and limbs with the malignant feeling of a Comanche savage.”

General Antonio López de Santa Anna

The victory was as decisive as it was brutal, but Santa Anna’s success only inspired Texans to take arms against him. Hundreds of settlers who had previously refused to support the Texan army before now rushed to offer their services.

These settlers had moved from the U.S. into the Mexican territory of Texas at the invitation of the Mexican government. The leaders in Mexico City hoped they would develop its dry northern plains and build a buffer of loyal inhabitants between themselves and the United States. Under the Mexican Constitution of 1824, the government granted the American immigrants both land and a fair degree of autonomy.

By 1830, however, Santa Anna had become Mexico’s dictator. When he dissolved the country’s legislature, several states in Mexico rose up in rebellion. Santa Anna ruthlessly put down all opposition, and then turned his attention to the northeast and the Texans who showed little inclination to recognize any government.

He decided he could waste no time or mercy suppressing the rebellion, and so marched on San Antonio with 1,800 soldiers to confront a small army of Texans encamped at the Alamo. The commander of the garrison, Col. William Travis, sent out urgent pleas for reinforcements. One of the Texan commanders he was hoping would march over the horizon to his rescue was Col. J.W. Fanning. But Fanning had troubles of his own. As the Post reported: “Distressing news has reached us of the horrible massacre and butchery of the entire command of Col. Fanning, by the tyrant monster Santa Anna and his forces. … Col. F. being overpowered by the Mexicans … capitulated upon the promise of Santa Anna, that himself and soldiers should be treated as prisoners of war. But no sooner had the fiend of hell fastened them in his clutches than he secured their arms, and early next morning ordered them all to be shot.

“The men under the immediate command of Colonel Fanning were all killed but FIVE!” (“Late and Important from Texas,” May 7, 1836).

Post readers had only two weeks to digest this news when the conflict suddenly ended with a surprising victory. On May 28, under the headline “Particulars of the Capture of Santa Anna,” the Post gave a report of the battle at San Jacinto by a Col. Hockley of the Texan army: “We commenced the attack upon them at half-past 5 o’clock, P.M. by a hot fire from our artillery.

“We marched up within 175 yards, unlimbered our pieces and gave them the grape and canister, while our brave riflemen poured in their deadly fire. In fifteen minutes the enemy were flying in every direction, and were hotly pursued by us. They left 500 of their slain behind them.

“Never was there a victory more complete. Gen. Cos was taken and killed by a pistol ball from one of our men, who instantly recognized him.”

Santa Anna was pursued by the Texans for 15 miles until his horse became bogged down near the Brazos River. Abandoning his horse, he ran for the nearby woods with his pursuers close behind. Once among the trees, his trail disappeared. As the Post described these events in an article dated May 28, “The pursuers then spread themselves, and searched the woods for a long time in vain, when it occurred to an old hunter that the [escaping officer] might have ‘taken a tree.’ The tops were then examined, when lo! the game was snugly ensconced in the forks of a large live oak.

“The captors did not know who their prisoner was until they reach the camp, when the Mexican soldiers exclaimed, ‘El General, El Jefe! Santa Anna.’”

Gen. Houston did not execute Santa Anna in reprisal for his slaughter of prisoners, but held him hostage to prevent further actions by the Mexican army.

Santa Anna’s brutality, by general opinion, was both immoral and stupid. Yet he declared he had the right to execute prisoners. Hadn’t he issued a proclamation that branded all supporters of Texan independence to be pirates? Hadn’t he flown a red flag at the Alamo? Didn’t the Texans know this meant he would take no prisoners?

He felt no mercy to foreigners who crossed his border to build their own communities, speak their own language, become prosperous, and aspire to political power.

Santa Anna was eventually returned to Mexico, where he became president again. Breaking the conditions of his release from the U.S., he marched into Texas in 1842, was again defeated, then overthrown, captured, and sent into exile in Cuba. He returned in 1846, declared himself president, was overthrown, and went into exile again. In 1853, he once more returned to Mexico and named himself dictator-for-life. Within a year, he was removed from power, and went into exile. In 1869, he died in New York while trying to raise money for an army that would return him to power.

How the Post Reported the Alamo Story The Saturday Evening Post

As a boy, Houston fled his fatherless family to live among the Cherokee in Tennessee. By 1812, he returned to the white community to join Andrew Jackson’s struggles against the British and their American Indian allies. Building on the reputation he had earned in battle, Houston studied law after the war. He ran for office and was elected to congress in 1823, and the governorship of Tennessee in 1827.

But his rising fortunes suddenly plummeted in 1829 when his young wife left him. He abandoned his campaign for re-election and lit out for the territories. Taking up residence among the Cherokee in Arkansas, he opened a trading post and earned a reputation for hard drinking and a hot temper.

Yet he emerged once more, this time in Texas, where he was appointed a general in the Texan army. After his victory at Santa Jacinto, which led to Texan independence, Houston was elected president of the infant republic. He was instrumental in getting Texas admitted to the Union, and he was the young state’s senator from 1846 to 1859.

The Post ran several items on Sam Houston in his time. It followed the progress of his Texas army’s rebellion against Mexico and reported his role in the victory at San Jacinto.

The Post also published several items that tracked the progress of Houston’s private life.

On May 15, 1830, this item appeared:

“Gen. Sam Houston, late Governor of Tennessee, has arrived in Nashville, from the East, on his way to his new residence among the Cherokee Indians in Arkansas.”

And, on July 24, 1830:

“Governor Houston, late of Tennessee, and more recently a resident among the Cherokees of the Arkansas, is, it seems, about to try his fortune in the Indian trade. We understand that during his late visit to New York, he, in connection with a gentleman from Nashville, purchased goods to the Amount of $20,000, for this express purpose. He has been adopted as the son of Jolly, a Cherokee Chief.”

The  man who had become Congressman at only 30 was now setting up a trading post in the wilderness, turning his back on a promising legal and political career.

Historians agree that Houston was motivated by his failed marriage to Eliza Allen, a woman half his age. There is less agreement on what caused the marriage to collapse so catastrophically.

A Post story in 1871 attempted to explain “Why Sam Houston Exiled Himself.”

“The reason of the strange disappearance of Samuel Houston, in the early part of his life, when he left a lovely bride and the governorship of Tennessee, and exiled himself among the Indians for many years, has lately been revealed. He discovered, within a few hours after his marriage, that his wife did not love him, but had been urged into the match by an ambitious family, while loving another man. He at once retired from the house, and by his subsequent exile gave the lady a right to the divorce which she obtained.”

This explanation was, and remains, speculation. Neither Houston nor Eliza left any record of the true reason.

Following his wife’s departure, Houston returned to the Cherokee. He married a native-American woman named Tiana Rogers, the niece of his new father, Chief Oolooteka (John Jolly).

Houston tried to rebuild his life among the Cherokee, running his store, planting orchards, and occasionally traveling to Washington to expose government agents who were defrauding the tribe and breaking its treaties. Yet he was never fully at peace. Houston’s Cherokee name was “Raven,” but he was earning a new name among the tribe “Big Drunk.”

While in Washington, Houston was involved in a savage fight with a corrupt Congressman. Arrested for assault, he was defended in court by lawyer and “Star Spangled Banner” author Francis Scott Key. Houston was acquitted, but was heavily fined by a civil court for his actions. Once again, Houston departed for the frontier. This time, though, he went beyond Arkansas to Texas. His wife, Tiana, remained in the Cherokee nation and never saw Houston again.

Houston didn’t marry again until Texas had gained independence and he was its president. Now 47, he married 21-year-old Margaret Moffette Lea. Together they had eight children.

Margaret had a steadying influence on her flamboyant husband. With their marriage, Houston became more deliberate, less rash, and a more capable administrator. He was able to exert influence in Washington in favor of his state and the union.

Margaret Lea Houston was one of those invaluable Americans who refine the character of their politician-spouses. Throughout American history, the wives of legislators, judges, and chief executives—women of intelligence, wit, and compassion, who were barred from office themselves—have helped promote their husband’s careers. More importantly, many have ensured that their husbands remained true to their ideals and the public’s interest.

On April 7, 1849, the Post printed the following anecdote with a recommendation that it should be read by the wives of America.

“Gen. Houston and Wife. We take the following from one of our exchanges (we have forgotten which), confessing that we thought Gen. Houston separated from his wife or rather his wife from him—many years ago. Perhaps, though, this is a second one. But for the anecdote:

“Gen. Samuel Houston, of the United States Senate, formerly Governor of Tennessee, and after President of Texas (before the annexation), owes as much to his wife’s influence as to any other cause for his present high character and position before the nation. At a large party lately given in Washington, by Mr. Speaker Winthrop, he took occasion to give his reason for declining to attend any and all of the balls, card-parties, etc., to which he is invited. His wife, like Mrs. Polk, is a religious woman. (By the way, there was no dancing, gambling or drinking at the White House whilst Mrs. Polk presided there.) Let the wives of America read the following remarks made at Speaker Winthrop’s party by Senator Houston:

“‘I make it a point,” said the honorable Senator, “never to visit a place where my lady, if she were with me, would be unwilling to go. I know it would giver her pain, as a Christian, to attend such places, and I will not go myself where I could not take my wife.”

“A Member of Congress present alluded to his own wife, and added that there was a mutual understanding between him and her that they should each follow the bent of their own inclination in such matters.

“That may do for you,” responded Mr. Houston, “but with me it is different from what it is with many men. My wife has been the making of me. She took me when I was the victim of slavish appetites—she has redeemed and regenerated me—and I will not do that in her absence which I know would give her pain if she were present.”

“What a mighty, though secret, power has a virtuous and sensible woman over the greatest and strongest of men, if that man is her husband!”

The Wild Heart of Sam Houston The Saturday Evening Post