The morning of Thursday, November 20, 1969 started with a bang for the islanders on the Windward coast of Saint Vincent Island.
For some, it was like the gods had finally gotten around to answering their prayers.
A huge party broke out on the beach shortly after sunrise.
And within hours, it spread to dozens of nearby villages.
But as the weekend progressed, the locals realized that something was horribly wrong, and that the once-in-a-lifetime windfall was actually a curse in disguise. Cultural BackgroundSt. Vincent and the Grenadines, or SVG, is located in the southwestern Caribbean between Saint Lucia to the north and Barbados and Grenada to the south.
The country is made up of 32 islands and cays and only has about 150 square miles (390 square km) of territory – most of which is on the northernmost island of Saint Vincent.
Saint Vincent is also home to the capital of Kingstown – not to be confused with Kingston, Jamaica, which is nearly 1,100 miles (1,770 km) to the northwest.
In the late 1960s, SVG had a population of about 95,000 residents – about two-thirds of whom were natives of African descent.
By some estimates, nearly three-quarters of the population worked in banana production which accounted for the lion’s share of the country’s economy.
The locals worked hard on their small family plots and eked out comfortable if modest livings.
And when it was time for recreation, they usually engaged in the island’s most quintessential pastime – liming.
In layman’s terms, liming is slang for relaxing, gossipping, and enjoying the pleasant weather and beautiful scenery with friends and family.
And sometimes, they threw in another element – uber-strong island “overproof” rum called Jack Iron.
And by strong, we’re talking about 150 to 180-proof.
To put that into perspective, most spirits like Scotch, vodka and American bourbon are 80-proof, or 40% alcohol by volume. By comparison, 180-proof Jack Iron is more than twice as strong – or about 90% alcohol by volume.
And unlike Scotch and Bourbon, it’s clear because the locals drink it immediately after distillation instead of aging it in oak barrels.
Most Jack Iron is produced in small home stills where quality control is minimal.
And due to its potency, it smells more like an industrial solvent than an intoxicating beverage fit for human consumption.
As for how it got its name, one common explanation is that consuming it makes drinkers feel like they’ve been whalloped in the head with an iron car jack.
Then again, the “iron” may be a reference to masculine constitution.
As in, you pretty much have to be made of iron to drink it because it packs such a punch.
From the immediate numbing of the lips and mouth, to the face-twisting throat burn to the final kick in the abdomen when the liquid finally enters the stomach, the experience is nothing short of unforgettable.
In fact, Jack Iron is so entrenched in the local culture that islanders usually pour a small portion of every new bottle onto the ground so deceased ancestors can enjoy it too.
And fishermen, laborers and banana farms often take a few nips before starting their day as a way of fortifying themselves against the strenuous work ahead.
But as ubiquitous as Jack Iron is, the islanders generally disapprove of public drunkenness.
Actually, they revere drinkers who can hold their liquor.
The goal is to consume just enough to get a jolt before work or to take the edge off while liming away a lazy afternoon.
But when the conditions are just right – like they were in the fall of 1969 – the islanders aren’t afraid to let loose and throw caution to the wind.Shipwreck On the night of Wednesday, November 19, the 90-ton schooner, Ruth 114, was traveling from Trinidad to Martinique carrying a dozen casks of Jack Iron, 100 drums of methanol – or wood alcohol – and 150 drums of aviation fuel called avgas.
Before continuing on, it’s worth pointing out that the drums of fuel and methanol were marked with big, red “DANGER” warnings.
Anyway..the storm got so bad by 3:00 the following morning that the schooner sustained serious sail and rudder damage, sprung a leak, and began filling up with seawater.
The eight-man crew tried in vain to save the vessel and its valuable cargo.
But before long, Captain Kenneth Richardson saw the writing on the wall and ordered everyone to abandon ship.
At the time, they were within sight of the beach at Colonarie on Saint Vincent’s Windward coast.
The crew launched a lifeboat, rowed to shore safely and watched the listing schooner disappear into the darkness.
After that, it drifted in the heavy seas before turning landward and running aground at Big Level Beach near the village of Sandy Bay.
And when the sun came up, curious villagers waded out into the surf, climbed aboard, inspected the damaged vessel and quickly began relieving it of its precious cargo.
By then, Captain Richardson had alerted the police and told them where he thought the schooner would be.
Two vessels from Kingstown were dispatched to locate the Ruth 114 shortly thereafter, but they never found it. PartyLuckily, the hardest part of the salvage operation was getting the drums and casks over the gunwale and into the surf.
And since the drums floated, it was just a matter of pushing them toward land and rolling them onto the beach.
In less than an hour, dozens of drums and casks were lined up just waiting to be tapped.
And before long, word spread to nearby villages like Owia, Sandy Bay, Rose Bank and Orange Hill that there was enough Iron Jack rum to keep everybody buzzed for weeks on end.
Within the hour, the beach was crowded with hundreds of locals intent on getting their fair share.
For many, it felt like a once-in-a-lifetime “Manna from Heaven” moment. Or in local terms, a gift from the sea.
There was also a sense of urgency, because everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the police showed up, confiscated the cargo and brought the impromptu party to a grinding halt.
As such, the wood casks containing the Jack Iron rum were immediately tapped.
It’s unclear if it turned into a free-for-all or if the locals who made the discovery managed to maintain some semblance or order.
Whatever the case, the villagers began filling up everything from coffee cups and teapots to glass jars and empty soda bottles.
And in the chaos, they also opened the metal drums and began consuming the avgas and methanol– even though they were clearly marked with big warning signs and ominous red Xs.
Like Jack Iron, avgas and methanol are usually relatively clear.
So in the heat of the moment, it’s not that surprising that they didn’t notice they weren’t drinking the real thing.
Of course, the question was, couldn’t they taste and smell the difference?
After all, avgas is a lot like gasoline.
And methanol has even more of a kick than Jack Iron.
Nonetheless, they apparently weren’t aware that they were consuming potentially deadly substances.
And by then, some of them had already consumed real Jack Iron which lowered their inhibitions, numbed their taste beds, and made their noses far less sensitive than they would have otherwise been.
As for the methanol and avgas, some of the partiers turned it into punch by adding sugar, water and lime juice which masked the taste and smell even more.
In the early going, the grateful revelers felt like they always did after drinking intoxicating spirits..warm, tipsy, and downright jovial.
With so many drums, the party continued throughout the day, into the night and well into the weekend.
That said, the furor eventually died down as the crowd dispersed. And at that moment, the islanders who found the schooner decided that they had a rare opportunity to make some serious money.
And with that, they began selling what was left.
After that, the buyers took what they thought was bona fide Jack Iron rum back to their homes and businesses where they consumed it, sold it, and gave it to close friends and family members in their own villages and other villages up and down the coast. Aftermath/Medical ResponseThe fun and festive atmosphere took an alarming and unexpected turn about a day later.
By then, many of the formerly happy villagers were experiencing serious symptoms including dizziness, loss of motor skills, stomach cramps, nausea and vomiting, as well as blurry vision like they were viewing their surroundings through a blinding snowstorm.
Interestingly, not everyone who came down with these symptoms drank that much.
At that point, they had no idea what was happening.
But below the surface, their bodies were busy metabolizing the methanol and avgas into toxic formaldehyde and formic acid.
Patients began showing up at local clinics en masse on November 22 and 23.
And by the following day, ambulances from all over the island began arriving at Kingstown General Hospital.
In a matter of hours, the facility and its woefully unprepared staff were dealing with hundreds of sick patients, many of who were teetering on the edge of death.
Writhing, moaning, vomiting, and in some cases comatose islanders were crammed into every nook and cranny.
Many were relegated to straw mats on both sides of the already-cramped corridors because the rooms were totally full.
By then, the hospital staff knew about the shipwreck and the liquid from the metal drums that the sick patients consumed.
The problem was, they had no way of knowing if they drank straight methanol or avgas which was actually a mixture of fuel, methanol and other toxic hydrocarbons.
And to make matters worse, they couldn’t pump the pati
