On November 29, 1972, a terrible tragedy befell a group of unsuspecting New Orleanians enjoying a quiet afternoon during the holiday season. The Lamplighter Club was a small rooftop venue at the top of the Rault Center, a 17-story building populated with offices and nice apartments. One of the few high rises in 1970s New Orleans, it boasted a skyline view from the heart of the Central Business District. The lounge attracted many affluent professionals and cocktail lovers looking for a drink with some nice scenery to the corners of Gravier and South Rampart.
The fire started on the 16th floor, just below the Lamplighter Club. It was the middle of the day, but the bar was busy that afternoon. The Rault Center had no internal sprinkler system and the blaze quickly escalated, flames and smoke cutting off access to stairwells. As the upper floors became a literal towering inferno, some Lamplighter patrons—as well as several women in the salon on the floor beneath it—found themselves trapped.
With daylight still shining, pedestrians and TV crews outside watching smoke rise from the building could see people pressing themselves against the large windows while calling for help.
Firefighters arrived on the scene and were horrified to find their ladders were too short by three whole stories to reach the frantic victims. Rescuers working inside the building had no way to get to the salon or bar, where panicked professionals had been inhaling smoke and being scorched by heat for nearly 45 minutes.
As TV cameras rolled and shocked New Orleanians watched, five bodies jumped from a blown out window. Their choice had been to burn alive, or attempt to survive the 9-story fall onto the roof of the neighboring Traveler’s building. Only one did. Natalie Vrbaskovich Smith broke both legs, her back, and pelvis, but ultimately lived to share her harrowing ordeal. The mother-of-four and wife later said thoughts of her family drove her to make the literal leap of faith.
Jacqueline Mailho, Norris Farley, and Jannas McBeth were not so lucky, dying on impact. Wilma Williams survived the fall, but ultimately succumbed to the injuries she sustained a few weeks later.
Meanwhile on the roof, it seemed as if 8 men were about to meet a similar fate. By this time floors 15 through 17 were completely lost to the flames, and the roof the men stood on threatened to collapse. But as they debated when and where to jump, a surprise helicopter saved the day. Piloted by John Lockwood, a former member of the British Royal Air Force now working for Offshore Helicopters in Houma, the aircraft had actually been carrying the Lamplighter’s owner, businessman Harold Masons, over the city when the fire broke out. Masons and Lockwood agreed they had to attempt to rescue the stranded men, which wasn’t exactly easy since the CBD wasn’t designed for mid-day helicopter rescues. Power lines, smoke, other buildings...it wasn't easy.
Lockwood ended up making 3 trips total, picking up 2-3 men at a time and dropping them in front of City Hall. The roof collapsed shortly after he completed the rescue mission.
Construction worker Charles J. Michel, who was found trapped in a stairwell, and city employee Lloyd Caldwell were rescued by firefighters but did not survive the their burns.
The tragedy rocked the city, and tainted the property for years to come. Building lease holders streamed out, and the structure remained vacant for decades.
The Rault Center fire, in combination with several other high profile high-rise accidents in other cities, eventually caused New Orleans to mandate automatic sprinkler systems and improve crisis response plans for tall buildings. City officials have asserted multiple times over the years that these changes have saved thousands of lives, lending a “silver lining” to the bleakness of the Rault devastation.
The building has since been renovated and revitalized. It is currently home to The Troubadour Hotel and the Jayne Bistro, but the memory of that terrible day lingers for locals who were there in 1972.
“It was one of the low points of my career,” one-time Fire Superintendent William McCrossen told Nola.com in 2019. “I can still kind of feel the thud when they hit the roof. It’s burned into your psyche.”