The Stardust Fire: The Real Story

It was an age of disco and punk, wide lapels, and hairspray. 1981. Friday, 13 of February, in a northern Dublin suburb called Artane, The Stardust nightclub held a Valentine’s Disco Championship Dinner. The girls and women glammed up and the young lads mostly donned jackets and ties. This was the place to be on that winter evening for a night of drinks, dancing, flirting, and fun. Over 800 young people showed up to boogie. Most were still there until the wee hours–after 1am on Valentine’s Day proper.

That’s when the fire started. Unbelievable heat, flames, choking smoke, burning droplets raining from the ceiling. Within a matter of minutes the DJ’s records had stopped spinning and flames engulfed the entire club, killing 48 people. Many of them burned alive, left unidentifiable in the ashen ruins. In some cases, dental records and jewellery were the only way loved ones could identify which body to bury. Hundreds who survived were left charred and maimed. Families were destroyed and suffer to this day and beyond. And no one has ever been held fully to account.

I want to tell the story of what happened.

It’s important, not just to honour and remember the lives that were lost, but to openly recognise the deception, reckless decisions, and intimidation that has shrouded a wealthy family at the centre of it, all of which has protected them from ever facing up to their own culpability.

To this day, more than 40 years later, investigations are still ongoing. I flip through news articles and websites trying to understand. Many overviews, like Wikipedia, are intentionally vague, given that the facts are so disputed and muddled. So I dig a little deeper. The story gets crazier, but it also becomes like quicksand, pulling me into forensic details and licencing and permits and fire service proximity. There is a void of information in between the two worlds of cautious summaries and ordinance mires.

I want to tell the story of what happened. I want to make it accessible and as honest as possible with the information available to the general public. I want us all to remember.

This is the story of the Stardust Fire.

The West Cork Murder Case: Sophie Toscan du Plantier and Suspect Ian Bailey

UPDATE: 2024

Below is my personal analysis and theories on the gruesome murder of Sophie Toscan du Plantier in West Cork, Ireland, 1996. This was an article that attracted the attention of the case’s prime suspect who reacted to it personally on Twitter in a less than favourable light (as you can read at the end of this article). That suspect–Ian Bailey–passed away in recent days at the age of 66.

He collapsed in public due to a heart attack. It was his third in less than a year. After his first two episodes in 2023, he claimed that it was the stress of the everlasting accusations that had weakened his life. That might be true. But he also led a very hard lifestyle that easily could have compromised his longevity.

To this day I still have substantial doubts that he was the murderer. But I have never been certain. Now it appears that if he was harbouring a major secret about Sophie’s death, it has gone with him to the grave. His ex-partner Jules, or even Marie Farrell, maybe–just maybe–still have secrets to reveal.

This is a grim reminder though that this case has grown quite cold and the sands of time are sweeping away any chance we may have had for truth. Hopefully with time also comes peace.

My true crime obsession: The murder of Sophie Toscan du Plantier in a remote area of West Cork, Ireland, 1996. A French woman–wealthy, attractive, and free-spirited, spending a Christmas holiday alone in her remote Irish cottage–turned up dead. No, not dead. Savagely murdered. Bludgeoned with multiple rocks and a cinder block, her nightclothes snagged in brambles and her body laid open to the sky on the edge of a dirt driving path.

A Guide to Strange Historical Diseases and Mortality

OR, “Ye Olde Deaths in Times of Yore”

Genealogy research has forced me to brush up on my medical ailments of centuries past to understand what horrible diseases befell my poor ancestors. Physicians of yore had all sorts of colorful ideas and terminology relating to the body, and its functions and diseases. It’s been an unfortunate journey reading about pustules, limb loss, and rashes. Leeches. Bad milk. Dental abcesses that cause suffocation. Fellow amateur historians out there can appreciate the horror. It’s a damn disgusting treat that makes me really happy to be alive in modern times.

For those of you who haven’t enjoyed such research yet, you may have been taken aback by an image recently circulating around social media (Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, the usuals), listing the causes of death in London for the year 1632. It’s pretty perplexing, isn’t it? Quinsie? Planet? Fistula? I mean, CANCER AND WOLF?

And I won’t even begin to understand “Kil’d by Several Accidents”.

If you think you have the stomach for it, I invite you to read on for an explantion of strange historical diseases and casualties. I present to you, casual reader, as well as other genealogical researchers, Ye Olde Deaths in Times of Yore:

The West Cork Murder Case: Sophie Toscan du Plantier and Suspect Ian Bailey

My true crime obsession: The murder of Sophie Toscan du Plantier in a remote area of West Cork, Ireland, 1996. A French woman–wealthy, attractive, and free-spirited, spending a Christmas holiday alone in her remote Irish cottage–turned up dead. No, not dead. Savagely murdered. Bludgeoned with multiple rocks and a cinder block, her nightclothes snagged in brambles and her body laid open to the sky on the edge of a dirt driving path.

It all happened in an area where murders are incredibly rare and the rage exacted on her body was so savage that it only deepened the perplexity of the act. Still, it gets stranger. Sophie was reclusive and very few locals knew anything about her. Locally, no one knew what she did with her days or what her visit was meant to look like. No one understood why she was scared–and according to the few accounts of her last days, she was terrified. Outside of the main players, there were likely no witnesses. No physical evidence points to the culprit. Almost nothing about the case makes sense. This murder is spectacularly strange and has had me enthralled with it for years now.

The Lazy Person’s Guide to Early Roman Emperors

Sometimes I cannot explain my fixations with history, nor my devilish need to mock it. I could argue that certain topics, such as Roman Emperors, are discussed with such reverence and so little endeavor at levity, that there is a vacuum of historical entertainment. I am painting these men as mortals, defying the dusty, pretentious misconceptions of their demigod natures. Or I could just confess that my trivia and quizzing skills were a little less than on-point in this arena. (Get it?) And the only way I could bring myself to actually learn about the Emperors was to thoroughly laugh at them. I’ll leave it to you.

“Don’t ‘asp’ me what happened to Cleopatra [snicker, snicker]”

Percy Shelley and His Insane Love Triangle, Most Scandalous

Percy Shelley. You know him as one of those poetry dudes.

He was a privileged young English poet in the 1810s, who had a progressive, yet romantic voice that attempted to influence religion and politics. But, his very brief life was full of secrets and intrigue that eclipse anything he put down on paper. Percy Shelley was at the heart of one of the most mysterious, scandalous love triangles recorded in history. Many women. Two wives. Pregnancies. Deceit. Money. Extortion. Mysterious Death.

What you are about to read is the account that you won’t find in any classroom textbook. This is the story of Percy Shelley and his insane love triangle, most scandalous.

Brexit and the Irish Border: Let’s Explain It!

Shout out to my friends and family in America who think that Ireland is one nation–and chockful of “terrorists”. Or is part of the UK. Irish history has never been an American educational priority. That is understandable. It’s a big world. Lots of conflict. But in this case, let’s take a look and see what the modern fuss is all about.

One Island, Two Countries

Ireland is a single island, but it is comprised of two separate countries: The Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland.

A Tragic Bar Fight, 1884

A terribly true story of my great-great grandfather, Lorenzo, and his brother, Rufus, taken directly from eyewitness
accounts in court records.

On the afternoon of September 16, 1884, Rufus Eldridge and Lorenzo “Ron” Stevens, farmers living on adjoining properties in London, Ontario, drove their horse-drawn wagon to Nilestown, Ontario to purchase “domestic supplies”.

Lorenzo was a 41 year-old bachelor who managed the family farm and cared for his mother. Rufus was his 48 year-old half-brother and close friend who was recently married and had just become a father for the first time. His son Freddie was a little over one year old.

The two journeyed to Nilestown that day, as they had so often in the past, probably to purchase goods like sugar, fabrics, or fencing. As the pleasant afternoon turned to evening, the brothers were apparently in no great rush to get home. They settled in at the Nilestown Hotel with drinks, their wagon and horses stationed nearby. It was there, at the saloon, where they came across strangers John Richards, William Butt, Edward Noulty, and Henry L’Ansette, among others.

What Happened to the 1890 Census?

Genealogy nerds like me frequently weep and fan themselves to exhaustion over a gaping hole in America’s historical record: The 1890 U.S. Census is gone.

The original was destroyed. No copies exist. No scans. No photos. Therefore nearly all of it has been erased from history.

That, my friends, is no small deal. Every ten years since 1790, we have records of who lived where, with what family members, how old they were…and assorted other nuggets of personal history. Try to research your family history, and you will quickly understand what a treasure chest each census is–“oh look, my great-great grandfather was a ‘gentleman’ by profession in 1910, while in 1900, he was a fruit peddler.” I can tell you when my great grandparents took in my young, distant cousins (after their mother’s dress caught on fire from the stove, and her instincts to run across a field to a neighboring home while aflame were fatal). I can point to the empty, weed-filled lot in Detroit and say with confidence, “Yep, that was my family’s home for over fifty years.” I know all of this because of census records.

But thanks to a deep and bizarre mystery that culminated in the obliteration of the 1890 U.S. Census, I cannot track much of my American ancestors’ history and movement from 1881 to 1899. What happened to it? According to most stories it burned up in 1921. But that isn’t really the truth. Something far stranger happened, and to this day it isn’t clear at all why it happened.

This is the story of the 1890 U.S. Census and how it went from controversial marvel, to disappearing pile of ash. What you are about to read is a tale of greed, incompetence, and mystery.

American Monster: Andrew Jackson

“His wife died. They destroyed his wife and she died. He was a swashbuckler, but when his wife died you know he visited her grave everyday? I visited her grave actually because I was in Tennessee…And it was amazing. The people of Tennessee are amazing people. They love Andrew Jackson. They love Andrew Jackson in Tennessee…I mean had Andrew Jackson been a little later you wouldn’t have had the Civil War. He was a very tough person, but he had a big heart. He was really angry that he saw what was happening with regard to the Civil War, he said ‘There’s no reason for this.'”

Donald Trump really idolizes Andrew Jackson. His portrait hung in the Oval Office, and the former POTUS has verbal diarrhea, apparently, just at the mention of our seventh president. So maybe we should get to know him and understand what Donald Trump really sees in the “people’s president”.

Game of Thrones: How it Parallels the Wars of the Roses

I’ve been a bit obsessed by the The Wars of the Roses lately. I look at it like a really, really old season of Scandal, just with much worse hygiene. But apparently I’m not alone in my fascination, because author George RR Martin has made no secret that his A Song of Ice and Fire series (aka Game of Thrones) is based loosely on The Wars of the Roses. Cool. The conflict was full of intrigue, murder, battles, and wine. No wonder an author decided that with a few name changes to protect the (not-so-) innocent, this would make a great set of novels.

Now, while the books/TV show that you and I know by heart is no allegory for the multi-decade conflict, there are a whole lot of parallels we can draw. So here is where I tear into the major characters like I am Henry VIII clawing apart a whole roasted chicken (I know, I know, the Tudors come later, but seriously, that man could really eat!).

The Wars of the Roses: An Authentic, Irreverent Retelling

For nearly one hundred years in England’s history, a knot of noble families fought over the royal throne in a giant, messy multi-generational screw-you fest that history has dubbed “The Wars of the Roses”.

This title is a misnomer, of course. The murder, deception, and power mongering went far beyond any battlefield. So not simply a war.

And furthermore, though history tries to explain this era as being a battle between two families–each represented by a rose–that ignores a lot of historical context, and a whole lot of players from other families and other countries. So not really strictly about roses either.

Maybe they should have called it The Great English Stink instead. Eh, guess no poets were on hand to think of it. Shakespeare really dropped the ball on this one, eh?

“You will smell the white rose! Smell it! Smellllll it!”