Remembering the Triangle Factory Fire, 100 years later   Ballad
of the Triangle Fire  By Ruth Rubin  In the heart of New York
City, near Washington Square In nineteen eleven, March winds
were cold and bare. A fire broke out in a building ten stories
high, And a hundred and forty-six young girls in those flames
did die.  On the top floor of that building, ten stories in the
air These young girls were working in an old sweatshop there;
They were sewing shirtwaists for a very low wage. So tired and
pale and worn-out! They were at a tender age.  The sweatshop was
a stuffy room with but a single door; The windows they were gray
with dust from off that dirty floor; There were no comforts, no
fresh air, no light to sew thereby, And the girls, they toiled
from early morn till darkness filled the sky.  Then on that
fateful day - dear God, most terrible of days! When that fire
broke out, it grew into a mighty blaze. In that firetrap way up
there with but a single door, So many innocent working girls
burned, to live no