110 Years Later: How George Halas Escaped the Eastland Disaster & Chicago’s Most Haunted Tragedy

On this day in 1915, the Chicago River bore witness to one of the deadliest, yet strangely under-remembered, tragedies in American history. The SS Eastland, overloaded with more than 2,500 Western Electric employees and their families, rolled over while still docked along the river near the Clark Street Bridge. In under five minutes, 844 people drowned — many of them women and children trapped below deck. It was a disaster that rivaled the Titanic in lives lost, yet never reached the same mythic status.

A young George Halas — yes, the man who would go on to found the Chicago Bears and become one of the founding fathers of the NFL — was supposed to be aboard that day. A twist of fate made him late, and it saved his life.

While the wreck happened downtown, the echoes of that horrific morning ripple through other parts of the city. One of the eeriest connections lives in Chicago’s West Loop. Long before Oprah Winfrey made it her media empire’s headquarters, Harpo Studios stood on a patch of land steeped in Eastland tragedy. The building once housed the Second Regiment Armory — and in the days following the disaster, it served as a makeshift morgue for hundreds of recovered bodies.

Imagine that: the same soundstage where Oprah gave away cars and held interviews with world leaders and celebrities was once a space lined with coffins, grieving families, and the overwhelming silence of loss.

And it seems not everyone has moved on.

Harpo employees — back when the studio was still buzzing — reported ghostly encounters: shadowy figures, cold drafts in sealed rooms, lights flickering on and off without cause. Footsteps in the halls when no one was there. Even Oprah herself acknowledged that the building had a mysterious energy.

Other locations tied to the disaster, including the Reid Murdoch Building near the river, are said to share that haunted imprint. Some say the spirits still linger, waiting for the world to truly honor their story.

So today, on the 110th anniversary of the Eastland Disaster, take a moment to look out over the river. Think about George Halas, about the hundreds who never made it to the picnic, about the spectral fingerprints left behind in a city that often moves too fast to remember.

History doesn’t die — it haunts.

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