I carry my keys on a keychain of a bloody ear.

I bought the keychain in the torture chamber gift shop of a castle outside of London. After tourists file through the dim hallways full of terrible machines, past “the rack” and the tiny hole in the ground reserved for solitary confinement, they reach a room packed with things to buy: notecards of torture devices, posters matching crime to punishment, keychains mimicking dismembered body parts.

Popular culture has its way of translating tragedy into commodity. Hollywood blockbusters reach millions of viewers, yet the films inevitably embellish dialogue, adjust character roles and distort events. The films might expose new perspectives on historical catastrophes. S chindler's List focuses on the involvement of a businessman with the Holocaust. Saving Private Ryan concentrates on the search for a soldier in World War II. Titanic follows a young couple and their relationship on board and during the sinking of the ship. All of these high-revenue movies are based on “facts,” and all three of them feature an individual's story in order to make these overwhelming tragedies more personal. But this ploy, this toying with the viewer's emotions, persuades the viewer to sympathize with the character, to believe in them and in the “facts” that they might represent.

While these movies can promote a greater awareness of the past, they also instill movie-goers with a skewed and sensationalized perspective. The possibility of getting the story right is moot, especially since there is no “correct” telling. By narrowing the scope of an incomprehensible event, a more personalized presentation can whittle a large scale horror into a smaller, bite-size chunk — something accessible, and often (unfortunately), something more consumable. The reproduction of an event can slink away from accuracy in order to capitalize on the effect of the horror. This effect is made consumable, and the gift shop profits: T-shirts, wall posters, movie soundtracks, plastic figurines. We pull out our wallets, as I did for the bloody keychain.

Theodor Adorno argued that there could be no poetry after the Holocaust, that because of the supreme horror and inconceivable loss it was impossible to represent the cold truth of real events. Tim O'Brien has argued that the only way to possibly grasp the wretchedness of real catastrophe is to fictionalize it. These two opinions open a dialogue on the treatment of historical tragedy in fiction; but in this society, it's only a matter of time before that fiction is turned into an empty commodity.

The Western Electric Company had scheduled its employee picnic for Saturday, July 24, 1915. Five ships, one of which was the Eastland , were to transport employees and their families across Lake Michigan to Indiana. People were expecting a day of festivities. Instead, the Eastland rolled over while at dock at the Clark Street Bridge in the Chicago River. Two thousand five hundred people had already boarded, 844 of whom died in the capsizing. More passengers died in the Eastland disaster than in the sinking of the Titanic.

While previous generations seem to know of the Eastland disaster, at present, public awareness remains relatively minimal. Maybe we should televise a reenactment of the event, and let Fox TV cast their best sitcom actors as the main protagonists. Maybe we should contact the post office to highlight some of the key rescuers in their next stamp release, after they have finished running the Elvis line . We could organize a halftime show during a huge football game, and read off the names of the victims while cheerleaders solemnly bow their heads on the sidelines. Perhaps McDonald's wouldn't mind including a plastic replica of the Eastland in their Happy Meals , with detachable lifeboats so that kids can learn one way that the tragedy could have been avoided.

After the sinking of the Titanic , all ships were required to have more lifeboats in case of emergency. But the extra weight of the boats only added to the ship's instability. In a matter of seconds, the celebration on the Eastland's decks turned into disaster. The ship fell over and crashed into the Chicago River, throwing hundreds of passengers into the water. People hung from the railings, dangling like spiders. Passengers who couldn't swim dragged others down with them, desperate at any attempt of survival. As one survivor said, infants were floating like corks . (go to page 2)