Relay

Doug Kuntz

Three Sundays ago, in Laurel, Mont., the Cenex oil refinery 15 miles east of Billings along Interstate 90 blew up. I know this because I was in a hotel room just outside of Billings watching the World Series on TV when one of those annoying strips started scrolling across the bottom of the screen. . . .

"Laurel officials state that at this time there will be no need for the immediate evacuation of Laurel. Please stay tuned for more news about the explosion at the Laurel Refinery."

Ron Pletcher, vice president for refining at the plant, was quoted in the Billings Gazette the following day. "It was not something that you wanted to be here for," he said.

For a brief instant on the previous evening, his words couldn't have been further from the truth for me. My thinking was that I should take some pictures. Three things dissuaded me.

First, I was with a friend who I'm sure had no interest in the fire. Second, the Yankees were playing at that very moment. And, finally, what could I possibly do with pictures of a refinery fire in Laurel, Mont.? I finished watching the game as the situation at the plant stabilized.

My business out west came to a close the following Wednesday, and, as I caught an afternoon flight from Billings to Salt Lake City and then to J.F.K., the Yankees were on their way once again to winning the World Series. In the car riding out to East Hampton, all the radio stations were talking about the series and the big parade being planned for the following morning in the Canyon of Heroes.

I remembered how mad at myself I had been for not going to the parade in 1996. I arrived home at 3 that morning, went to sleep at 6, got back up at 8, and went to work. By noon, I convinced my sister and, later that afternoon, my stepson, Peter, to go to the parade with me the following morning. Neither of them put up a fight.

We left at 8 a.m., not knowing that the Long Island Expressway was closed westbound at Exit 52, and had been for almost two hours due to a fatal accident. At 11:45 we stashed the car in a lot on 23d Street, and ran for the downtown number six train. The train (due to crowded conditions in the street), did not stop at City Hall or at the following stop.

We got off at Trinity Square, and, as we were walking up the stairs to street level, we could hear the growing roar of two million people cheering their home team. I remember thinking to myself at that point that if we didn't get one-inch closer to the actual parade the day would not have been wasted.

The air was charged with excitement when we got out onto the street and tried to move closer to Broadway, which was blocked with police barricades and uniformed officers. As we walked along the barricades people here and there, both young and old, started ducking under the barricades and heading for Broadway.

As more and more people began to do this, and as we were tightly packed together, it became harder not to follow them. The police were becoming agitated, at times grabbing people who crossed the barricades. Passing underneath the barricade and moving closer to the parade route, we actually came within 20 feet of Broadway and saw parts of the parade, including some of the ballplayers.

After the parade had ended, the three of us began wading through waist-to-knee deep confettii that was being pushed into piles inside other police barricades along Broadway, where Sanitation Department personnel were loading it onto trucks. Moderate winds blew the stuff in all directions, making the task somewhat difficult.

We were walking in the direction of a group of trees that were covered with confetti, when all of a sudden the street began filling with thick smoke. Through the smoke you could see flames being fanned by the winds and burning paper being carried to other piles of paper and igniting them. As new heaps of paper caught fire, they were consumed rapidly.

I yelled for Peter and my sister to move back behind the barricade, and, once they were there, I moved forward toward the main part of the fire. The press contingent had moved on to City Hall where the festivities were continuing and I was the only photographer there except for a TV cameraman.

It was a scene of incredible pandemonium, with flames, smoke, high winds, people running around in all directions, officials yelling orders at the sanitation workers.

The situation looked like it was rapidly getting out of hand as the flames continued their downtown march. The Fire Department was unable to get its equipment close enough because of the crowded streets. Here and there, men fought the flames with extinguishers and a garden hose.

Then, as quickly as the fire began, it subsided. This was most likely due to the fact that all the fuel in its path had been consumed. No more than 15 minutes had transpired from start to finish.

I stood there amidst the debris and couldn't help but think about the Laurel refinery. Unlike the refinery fire, and the pictures of it that I never took, I was now in possession of photographs that nobody else had. A photo editor at The New York Times had me bring the film to her, and, although nothing was published, she told me that I had a couple of nice shots. When the film was returned to me I could see that two frames had been marked.

At home later in the day I heard about the fire in Amagansett that had critically injured Francis Lester. His home and all of his processions were destroyed and a fund is being established to help defray his medical costs.

Doug Kuntz is The Star's photo editor.