The Sinking of the M. E. Norman – Tom Lee’s Story

By Dennis Wolf

Friday, May 8, 1925, was a nice day in Memphis, with the temperature around 70 degrees and light winds from the east. The Mid-South Chapter of the American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE) was holding its annual meeting in Memphis, and the agenda included a picnic day trip to inspect a levee revetment project about 20 miles south of Memphis at Pinckney Landing. The members of the society were permitted to bring family members and gusts along for the trip, and many members did. Two riverboats were hired for the trip. The Choctaw was the larger and faster boat. For the return trip, most of the Memphians boarded the M. E. Norman, as they planned to discuss the possibility of forming a local chapter of the ASCE. The Choctaw was in the lead and ahead of the Norman.[i]

The M. E. Norman[ii]

The excursion left at noon, and the trip downriver was uneventful. After the picnic and inspection, the two boats left Landing 96 and started back towards Memphis, with the Choctaw in the lead.[iii]

The M. E. Norman

The M. E. Norman was built in 1924 as a towboat and named for the M. E. Norman Towing and Lumber Company. She had been purchased on January 15, 1925, by the Mississippi River Commission, First and Second District, United States Engineers, and was operated by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. The sternwheel steamboat had a steel hull, was 114 feet long, with a beam of 26 feet, a draft of 3.9 feet, and a speed of 12 miles an hour. She had recently been converted to burn oil, and was powered by two oil-fed boilers.[iv] She was valued at $85,000 ($1,531,462 in 224 dollars).[v]

The M. E. Norman underway[vi]

The conversion had added a lot of weight, as the oil burning engine weighed more than the coal burning engine. Also added were two oil tanks, a 3,000-pound water still, two 500-pound water tanks, a donkey boiler weighing 4,000 pounds, and a 2,000-pound coal bunker. That day she was also carrying 2,000 pounds of ice.[vii] With this much weight, there was just a few inches of freeboard (the distance between the water line and the edge of the upper deck of a boat or ship). She was a new boat that was less than a year old, and this was the first time she carried passengers.[viii]

The Sinking

With so little freeboard, water had been spilling into the boat for much of the trip. Clarence Miller, a fireman on the boat, said that “the lower deck was awash in water so that members of the crew could not walk from the engine room to the boiler room.” He did not believe that the captain was aware of this. The boat would list to one side or the other, and twice during the trip, Captain Fenton had asked the passengers to move to the high side of the boat to correct the list. Captain Fenton made the request again, and before the passengers could move, the boat listed even more to starboard, and water poured in. When Miller felt the boat turning over, he turned off the boilers before going up on the deck. The time was 4:50 p.m.

One of the passengers, W. W. DeBerard, said that the passengers rushed out of a screened in portion at the bow, and many called for life preservers. He said there was no panic. Life preservers were handed out, and also thrown in the river along with planks of wood[ix]. He said that within about 20 seconds the boat turned over, and then went down by the stern within three minutes. Some passengers jumped, and many passengers were swept into the swift, cold current, which was estimated to be running at 9 miles per hour.[x] There were lifeboats, but they proved useless: one was launched but sank, and the others were tangled in the rigging and sank with the boat. Oars from the lifeboats, however, floated free and were used for flotation.[xi] The boat sank in 43 feet of water, about 300-feet from the Mississippi shore.[xii]

One item of note in many of the news articles about the sinking was that the “tragedy was devoid of hysteria.” “Everyone was helping everyone else.” The May 10, 1925 edition of the Commercial Appeal said that “The sinking of the oil-burning, stern-wheel steamer probably will go down in history as the most orderly disaster of a century.”[xiii]

Map showing the location of the Norman, the Choctaw, and Tom Lee’s boat, the Zev. The red circle indicates where the Norman sank. The orange circle indicates the Choctaw. The yellow circle is Tom Lee’s boat. The Choctaw could not see the Norman because of the bend in the river. Tom Lee could see both boats from his position.[xiv]

The Initial Response

In 1926 there were no cell phones, no two-way radios on towboats, and not many telephones in homes, which meant help would take time to arrive. Therefore, the surviving passengers, and any others in the area who were close by, would be the first to assist.

Early that morning, Tom Lee, who was 40-years-old, was on the river in his boat. He had worked for the C. W. Hunter Company for 18 years, doing levee construction, maintenance, and repair work. Even though he worked on the river daily, he never learned to swim. That day, he took his boss about 70 miles downriver to Helena in his 28-foot motorized skiff (a shallow, flat-bottomed open boat), called the Zev (he named the boat in jest after the American thoroughbred horse racing champion). He passed the Norman on his way back to Memphis and noticed that she was listing to starboard. He kept watching her over his shoulder. He said he was about a quarter-mile past the Norman when he saw her turn over. He had turned his boat around already and headed for the scene as fast as he could. Just as he got there, the hull went under the water. He immediately started pulling people from the cold, swift moving water. His skiff could hold eight people, and he made five trips to rescue as many people as he could.[xv] One of the people he saved was Margaret Oates. She said she thought the yellow dress she was wearing allowed Tom to spot her. She was some distance downstream from the site of the sinking, and was the last person Tom pulled from the water.[xvi] She later married Hugo Dixon, and their Memphis home is now the Dixon Gallery and Gardens.[xvii]

There were 75 people aboard the Norman. Eighteen passengers and 5 crewmen died. Forty-seven passengers and 5 crewmen survived. Tom Lee saved 32 of the 52 survivors, taking them to a sandbar and dropping them off so he could go back for more. After he rescued every one that he could, he returned to the sandbar and built a fire for the survivors.[xviii] After that, he returned to the river, looking for survivors in the water and along the riverbank.[xix]

While Tom Lee was rescuing people from the river, some passengers had made it to shore on their own. George Foster, one of those passengers, walked several miles to the farm of K. R. Armistead in Lake Comorant, Mississippi. The Armistead’s had a phone, and Mr. Foster called the Memphis Police Department and reported the sinking.

Rescue workers, boats, and ambulances responded immediately. As word got out, many sightseers and reporters went, too. Several lighter boats set out from Memphis to assist if they could. Eugene Travis and Jack Carley, two Commercial Appeal reporters, and Dr. Louis LeRoy, were the first to reach the scene at 7:35 p.m. on the motor launch Elf. They were able to find the survivors on the sand bank, who were keeping warm by a large fire. Some survivors had made it to a small, two-room cabin a short distance away.[xx] The men began providing medical care, support, and comfort to the survivors.[xxi]

The Choctaw was not aware that the Norman had sunk. It was not until the Choctaw arrived in Memphis until those on board learned of the incident. Rescue workers, including 14 doctors and nurses, Memphis Mayor Rowlett Payne, relatives of those on board the Norman, and looky-loos crowded onto the Choctaw and she set out to where the Norman had sunk. The Choctaw, and the government steamer Chisca, brought the survivors back to Memphis, arriving at 11:00 p.m..[xxii]

The Recovery

While Tom Lee saved many passengers, others were able to save themselves, and other passengers, too. People were floating in the cold water without life preservers. Others had life preservers, and others clung to flotsam. The manner of dress for that time period saw women wearing dresses and petticoats. Men wore vests and jackets. This clothing quickly became waterlogged and caused some people to drown. Others were able to remove their outer garments and were pulled from the river in their underwear.

Annette Shearer was struggling with her waterlogged clothing, and she thought she would drown. The hand of a rescuer was reaching for her when she went under. The rescuer was able to grab her hair and pull her to safety. Her son, John, was saved by Clarence Miller, a fireman on the Norman. Miller had reached the bank already and saw Mrs. Shearer struggling to hold her son up. Miller went back into the river, swam to them, secured the life preserver around Mrs. Miller, and then took her son from her and swam back to shore. Mrs. Miller was rescued by Tom Lee.[xxiii] Her husband, Charles, died.

Some of those pulled from the river did not survive. Edgar Bosard was 5-years-old. His mother and father died, and he was pulled from the river. In spite of continued resuscitation efforts, he died on one of the rescue boats of injuries received in the sinking.

H. Bowser, who worked for the Illinois Central Railroad, swam with his 10-year-old nephew to Tom Lee’s boat. Mr. Bowser placed his nephew in the boat and helped some women into the boat, but refused to get in until others were rescued. His body was recovered four weeks later on July 6, 1925.

Leroy Hidinger had taken his 5-year-old son, Leroy, Jr., and his 78-year-old mother, Lydia, on the excursion. When the boat started to sink, he was not with his son or mother. He found his son and they jumped from the boat, with Leroy, Jr., holding on to his father’s neck. They drifted about a mile downstream as the current was too strong for him to swim against. His son saw his grandmother just a few yards away and she was sinking. Mr. Hidinger reached for his mother, but she went under. He was going to dive for her, but realized that act would mean the death of his son. He said, “I knew what action my mother would have wanted me to take.” Shortly thereafter, a motorboat plucked them from the river.

An ambulance brings victims of the sinking pf the M. E. Norman[xxiv]

The wreck of M.E. Norman was located on Sunday night, May 10, as the boat had drifted several hundred yards downriver from where it initially sank. Engineers determined that it would be difficult to raise the vessel. In an attempt to retrieve the trapped bodies of those who drowned on the boat, divers were sent into the river, but the swift current swept the divers far down the river.

It was decided to break the boat up to try and release the bodies. On Monday, May 11, several recovery boats were stationed downriver to watch for bodies that may be released when the boat was broken up. Salvage crews used three anchors to try and to demolish the ship’s cabin. The entire skylight over the center hall was brought to the surface, and workers believed that this opening would result in bodies floating to the surface.[xxv] However, “the Father of Waters refused to give up the dead which it had guarded so jealously for three days and nights.” At that point, engineers discussed the use of dynamite to break up the hull.[xxvi]

Using the anchor to break open the Norman in the search for bodies[xxvii]

The body of fireman Earl Simonson was found on May 13. The bodies of Lydia Hidinger and Charles Shearer were found om May 16. All three bodies were pulled from the river several miles south of the wreck. Sixteen people were still missing.[xxviii]

By May 18, nine bodies had been recovered. At this point, the bodies had to be identified from the personal effects found on them, which included their convention badges, or dental records. [xxix] Recovery efforts continued for many weeks. The last body was found eight months after the sinking, on January 3, 1926. Three bodies were never recovered.[xxx]

On November 28, 1930, two fur trappers discovered a skull on Baskett Bar, 20 miles south of Memphis. It was theorized that it may have been the skull of one of the passengers on the Norman. The skull was sent to Tunica, Mississippi, for evaluation[xxxi], On January 6, 1931, three skeletons were found on Commerce Bar, and again the theory was put forth that they could be the missing victims of the Norman. The remains were sent to Tunica.[xxxii] Unfortunately, no follow-up information was found on these two incidents during the research for this project, so it is unknown if these were victims from the Norman.

Tom Lee

Following the rescue, when Mr. Lee got back to Memphis, he was taken to meet Mayor Paine, still wearing the clothes he was wearing during the rescue. Those he rescued were very grateful and credited Lee with saving their lives. James M. Wood, secretary of Fischer Lime and Cement Company, said it best: “We owe our lives to Tom Lee. That’s all there is to it.”[xxxiii]

Mayor Rowlett Paine and Vice Mayor Thomas A. Allen nominated Mr. Lee for a Carnegie Hero Medal.[xxxiv] Unfortunately, the Carnegie Hero Fund Commission did not select him to receive the medal.[xxxv]

Lee’s heroism inspired many people. The city, and those he saved, were very grateful. He traveled to Washington, where toured the city and met President Calvin Coolidge on May 22. Memphis Jeweler Julius Goodman presented Mr. Lee with a gold watch. He received many awards, but when asked what he really wanted, he said he wanted a home for himself and his wife, Margaret.[xxxvi]

Tom Lee and his boat Zev[xxxvii]

Tom Lee meeting President Calvin Coolidge[xxxviii]

In gratitude, the Engineers Club created a perpetual fund for Lee. The Commercial Appeal started a fund to raise $3,000 to purchase a home for the Lees, saying in an article in the June 4, 1925 edition of the Commercial Appeal:

Now here’s what we are trying to do. Discount a million dollars’ worth of rare judgement, cool headedness, and pluck for $3,000.

Considered what it would have been had Tom Lee not been there and then give, give a dollar, a half-dollar, give a penny, but in the name of gratitude give!

How easily we are shocked by disasters of this kind, how hysterical we become, how much we promise, and oh, how little we do. It is so easy to forget and apparently you have forgotten.

You haven’t you say?

Then prove it. Come on. Kick in.[xxxix]

The fundraising was successful, and the Lees were given a 2 bedroom, 1 bath, 880 square foot house in the Meachams North Olympic Park subdivision at 923 North Mansfield in the Klondike area of Memphis. Tom and his wife moved in in the Fall of 1925.[xl] [xli] The Lees lived there for 25 years until Tom passed away. They kept a nice house, had a large garden, and grew flowers.

Tom Lee’s home at 923 North Mansfield Street[xlii]

The city gave Mr. Lee a job with the sanitation department at the pay rate of 20 cents an hour ($3.60 an hour in 2024 dollars). This was considered a good job for an unskilled black laborer in the 1920s. Tom Lee worked for the sanitation department for 20 years, and by coincidence, one of the homes on his route was the Hidinger home at 1740 Vinton. Leroy Hidinger, Jr., one of the survivors who was 5-years-old at the time of the sinking, but who was not rescued by Lee, nor did he see Lee that day, said he talked to Lee every week.[xliii] Lee retired in 1948, and the city awarded him a pension of $75 a month,[xliv] double what his pension would have been. The Engineer’s Club paid the taxes on his house and gave him $50 each Christmas ($900 in 2024 dollars) until his death.[xlv] He died of cancer on April 1, 1952, at his home, at age 67. His funeral service was held at the church he and his wife regularly attended, Friendship Baptist Church, at 1355 Vollintine, which is still there. He is buried in Mount Carmel Cemetery in Memphis.

The Lawsuits

As with any disaster, there must be blame and restitution. In order to affix blame, there must be an investigation. The War Department’s investigation began on May 9, 1925, and focused on the boat itself and the actions of the crew. A separate investigation was begun by Captain J. R. Wyckoff and Charles T. Greenwood, United States steamboat inspectors.[xlvi]

One theory was that there was too much oil in the in the boat’s tanks. Captain Fenton confirmed that the oil tanks did not have baffles (baffles reduce sloshing, and therefore the inertia produced by sloshing). Two engineers on the boat, A. C. Butterworth and R. O. Schaefer, opined that the sloshing of the oil caused the boat to capsize.[xlvii]

Another suggested contributing cause was that there was too low a freeboard for a boat that size and carrying that much weight. Water shipped over the boat’s bow constantly. Major C. H. Miller, an engineer who was aboard the Norman, said to another passenger, R. O. Schaefer, “This boat sits too low in the water. I don’t like the way she rides. I wouldn’t design a boat like this.” Major Miller, who had designed three riverboats, died in the sinking. Mr. Schaefer was in the water for 90 minutes before he was rescued. Mr. Schaefer was the publisher of the magazine Southern Contractor and said after the sinking, “from the action of the boat and my knowledge of physics and my conversations had with experienced engineers I believe I can safely say that the catastrophe was due entirely to faulty construction of the boat.”[xlviii]

Attorneys for the survivors and families said that the pilot, Captain Howard Fenton, a seasoned river pilot, should have headed the boat to a sandbar when it started to list. Captain Fenton said he tried to do that because the boat was rocking[xlix], but the rudder failed to respond. One theory was that the port rudder[l] was damaged by a snag.[li]

A superstitious cause was also put forth. The clock that was on the Norman had been on the launch Opelika when it sank several months before the Norman. The clock had been salvaged, repaired, and installed on the Norman. When it was recovered and taken aboard the towboat Chisca, the crew declared that the clock was “hoodoo” (something that brings bad luck) and wanted to throw it back in the river, but the clock was saved.[lii]

The salvaged clock from the M. E. Norman[liii]

Despite an investigation, the exact cause of the sinking was never determined. A War Department report on the incident said “it is impossible at this time to fix responsibility in appropriate degree upon individuals.” However, the War Department report placed responsibility on “nearly all district officials and employees directly connected with the boat and its operation.”[liv]

Until the passage of the Federal Tort Claims Act in 1946, the United States was sovereign (the doctrine of sovereign immunity) and one could not sue the federal government except in special circumstances. Since the Norman was owned by the United States, people would need the government’s permission to sue.

Because of public sentiment, and with the sponsorship of Senator Kenneth McKeller, on July 3, 1926, Congress passed the M. E. Norman Act, granting claimants the right to sue the United States over the Norman disaster, and setting the maximum recovery at $7,500. As expected, attorneys for the government claimed the doctrine of sovereign immunity was not removed by the Norman Act.

The first lawsuit to be tried was that of Mrs. Annette O. Shearer, whose husband, a prominent engineer, died. This suit was a test case for those who filed suit, but who were not employees injured, or relatives of government employees who died, as a result of the sinking. The results of the trial would determine two things. First, did the Act remove the claim of sovereign immunity for this disaster so the plaintiffs could recover damages? Second, were the officers of the boat so negligent that damages should be awarded?[lv]

The Memphis firm of Metcalf, Metcalf, and Apperson represented Mrs. Shearer, and most of the other plaintiffs (the firm of Metcalf, Metcalf, and Apperson was founded in 1865. It is still in business today as Apperson Crump, PLC, the longest continuously operating law firm in Memphis[lvi]).

On June 14, 1929, a federal jury decided in favor of Mrs. Shearer. The decision upheld that the intent of the Norman Act allowed affected parties to sue the government, and found that the officers of the boat were negligent. The jury awarded her $7,500 in damages ($133,603 in 2024 dollars), which was the maximum allowed under the Norman Act. The district attorney recommended that the government appeal the decision to the U. S. Circuit Court of Appeals at Cincinnati.[lvii]

On September 12, 1929, the last day the government had to file an appeal, the federal government announced that it would not appeal the verdict in the Mrs. O. A. Shearer case. This meant that the government accepted liability for the disaster and that the 23 plaintiffs who filed suit could each receive up to $7,500 in damages. The plaintiffs still had to prove they were the closest relative of the victim, and the questions of the age, earning power, life expectancy, probable decline of earning power, and pain and suffering of the victims would have to be determined. Congress would appropriate a maximum of $172,500 to pay the claims ($3,107,967 in 2024 dollars). The settlement of these claims was separate from the suits filed by the families of government employees, or for lost property.[lviii]

On December 2, 1929, it was announced that thirteen suits in the Norman case were settled for $7,500, and one suit was settled for $6,000 (the estate of 5-year-old Edgar Bosard).[lix] On December 3, 1929, the estate of Lydia Hidinger, who was 79 at the time she died in the sinking, received $5,000.[lx] Six additional suits were settled on December 10, 1929, with awards ranging from $50 to $5,500.[lxi] The last suit was settled on December 11, 1929, with an award of $3,450 to R. O. Schaefer for physical disabilities.[lxii]

The Legacy of the Norman

Time has a way of creating distance between one generation and the next. This coming May 8^th, 2025, will be the 100^th anniversary of the sinking of the M. E. Norman, but how many people remember that disaster?

On May 12, 1936, seven years after the disaster, the Corp of Engineers was building a bridge to the Unites States Engineer Reservation and dedicated one of the bridge pillars in memory of those who died in the sinking of the Norman. Members of the Engineers Club and survivors of the disaster were present. The other pillar was dedicated to the Dredge Zeta. Respective bronze plaques were placed on each pillar. A copper time capsule was sealed in the pillar dedicated to the Norman survivors. One of the items placed in the capsule was the Norman’s flag, which was found during salvage operations to recover bodies from the wreckage.[lxiii]

Dedication of plaque with names of the deceased, July 20, 1936[lxiv]

At the suggestion of E. H. “Boss” Crump, the city changed the name of Astor Park to Tom Lee Park in 1953, and dedicated an obelisk monument to Tom Lee on Wednesday, July 7, 1954. Many people have heard of Tom Lee Park, but I suggest that not everyone who knows of Tom Lee Park knows who Tom Lee was, or how he risked his life multiple times that day to save 32 people.

Tom Lee Park shortly after it was renamed from Astor Park, July 6, 1953[lxv]

Tom’s wife, Margaret, at a tree planting in Tom Lee Park, undated photo.

The first obelisk was damaged and replaced by another obelisk. The second obelisk was destroyed on July 22, 2003 by the derecho event known locally as Hurricane Elvis. It was replaced on October 22, 2004, by a new 22-foot tall, 8½ ton obelisk carved from a single piece of Georgia granite.[lxvi] This third obelisk was destroyed in another derecho event (which MLG&W dubbed the Tom Lee Storm)[lxvii] on Memorial Day Weekend, May 27, 2017.[lxviii]

Tom Lee obelisk toppled, May 27, 2017[lxix]

In 2006, artist David Alan Clark created a sculpture showing Tom Lee rescuing a survivor from drowning. In October 2006, the sculpture was installed in a plaza in Tom Lee Park to commemorate the event and to honor Tom Lee. A ring of 32 white spotlights surrounds the sculpture, one for each person Tom rescued.[lxx] The keel of the boat is at eye level to give the observer the perspective of being in the water awaiting rescue. When the Mississippi River floods, water covers the park and comes up under the sculpture, which makes the boat and the man being rescued look like they are on the river.

List of those rescued by Tom Lee[lxxi]

Tom Lee Plaza[lxxii]

Tom Lee Monument during the April-May 2011 Flood[lxxiii]

A serendipitous event occurred in November 1997 that brought the Norman tragedy to the public’s attention again. A demolition crew removing a 61-year-old bridge in the old Ensley Engineering yard discovered a four-foot by four-foot by 14-inch sealed copper box in one of the columns. The discovery was made by accident, and almost did not happen. Jerry Goff, the crew supervisor, said that if the columns were not so heavy, they would have been picked up in one piece and taken to a landfill. Because of their weight, they had to be broken up, and the box fell out of one of them.

When the box was opened, the workers discovered that it contained a letter dated May 12, 1936; the red, torn, and oil stained flag from the Norman; a list of the passengers; a badge worn by Ward Barnum, one of the passengers; a May 9, 1925 edition of the Commercial Appeal; a 1936 directory of the employees in the Memphis Corp of Engineers; a 1936 organizational chart of the Memphis Corp office; the Corp of Engineers emblem; and pictures of the 1936 Mississippi River flood.[lxxiv]

On August 10, 1998, an exhibit about the sinking opened at the Clifford P. Davis Federal Building. The exhibit included items recovered from the Norman. One of the people who attended the opening was Leroy Hidinger, Jr., who was 78 at the time. He was the last known living survivor of the sinking. Leroy Hidinger, Sr., and his son, Leroy Hidinger, Jr., who was 5-years-old at the time, were on the Norman when it sunk. Though not rescued by Lee, the Hidingers knew him. Leroy Hidinger, Jr. opened Cavalier Cleaners, which he and his wife ran for 62 years. He died at age 93 in 2013.[lxxv]