Today, a small plaque in the north end of Boston marks the site of a horrific event.

There are many such plaques across United States, plaques commemorating floods and fires, riots, and hangings, shootouts, murders, even disappearances.

But there's no plaque quite like the one in the north end anywhere else in the country. Because there is no other historical event

in U.S. history quite like what happened. At midday on January 15th, 1919, a Wednesday, Boston's

North End was full of both workers and residents venturing outdoors to enjoy some unseasonably warm

weather. At about one o'clock, they all heard a low rumble. Many of them

assumed it was a train. There were a bunch in the neighborhood. There was also a stopping point nearby

for steamships with goods bound for U.S. industrial alcohol. The rumbling sound grew. The ground

vibrated. Suddenly a loud crack was heard. Some metal went flying. And then everything

descended into pure chaos. A four-faceted tide swept through Boston's north end at roughly 35

miles per hour, plucking houses from their foundations, slamming people into walls or sucking them

underneath the current. An elevated train was knocked off its tracks. Windows were smashed.

Pets were lost. It was a flood. It was liquid, but it wasn't water. It was deadly, but also delicious.

It was molasses.

Words and ideas can change the world. I hated her, but I wanted to love my mother.

I have a dream.

I'll plead not guilty right now.

Your only chance is to leave with us.

Welcome to another edition of Time Sucks, Short Sucks.

I'm Dan Cummins, and today I will be sharing the story of the Boston molasses flood,

a.k.a. the great molasses flood. A few of us probably pay much attention to molasses these days.

I don't know if you're a big a molasses officianto. Most of us aren't. Maybe some of us have an affinity

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