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In their own words: readers share moving stories of the Great Flood of '93 Robert W. Duffy Post-Dispatch 09/05/1993
This story was originally published in the Post-Dispatch on September 5, 1993.
Dear Sir,
I am 11 years old and I wanted to help the people who were hurt by the flood this year. I asked my mom to please let me sandbag but she thought I was too young. So I asked my friend Kelly if she'd help me and we made a cofee can into a collecting can and went door to door in our subdivision, Lake James Manor. We aren't finished yet but we have $72.40 and we hope to get $100.oo or more. Some people say I already gave but they usually give more. Some people don't believe we are giving to the flooded people but I say oh yes we are we want to help too. I hope and pray we won't collect for the flood victims ever again. It did make me feel good to help others this summer.
This is my story by
Jackie Gassel
Florissant, Mo.
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AND SO THEY came in to the newspaper, stories of wanting to help and finding ways to do it and feeling good for having done it, stories about being helped, stories of adventure, stories of mud and muck and sorrow, stories about the ruination of all the things that make the past tangible and give shape and form to memories.
Jackie Gassel was the youngest person to contribute to our collection of stories of this god-awful disaster.
She was not, however, the youngest person to help.
Isabel M. Boehning of Arcadia sent a picture of Rebekah Mayes, 7, of Ironton, Mo., who parked herself in front of the Baldwin Hardware Store in Ironton and collected money.
Marie P. Hewlett of Chesterfield may have the story of the very, very youngest "participant." Here's what she told us:
"Little did I know when I suggested we go sandbagging to my 15-year-old daughter Joy, a sophomore at Parkway Central High School, and to my new daughter-in-law of 6 months, Kim Hewlett, who married my only son Jim in January 1993, that I would be exposing my future first grandchild to . . . the history-making flood of '93. . . .
"Kim had only known for a few days that she was expecting, and rather than refuse her mother-in-law and arouse suspicion before she and Jim could sit down with the family and break the news, she willingly went to the St. Charles area on a Sunday morning and sandbagged with the rest of us. . . ."
The urge to help was astonishingly compelling. In addition to the multitudes of local citizens who turned out, it was not unusual at all to go to a shelter and find folks from way out-of-town pitching in.
At the Red Cross shelter at Cleveland High School, volunteers from Virginia and a New Jersey suburb of New York City acted as information officers, and a lawyer from Connecticut put estates and trusts on hold and spent three weeks delivering food in St. Charles County.
Ruth Lauck of Affton heard the voices of America over the telephone.
"I really do not care if this gets in the paper or not," she wrote. "I just want to tell you about the wonderful people who called and talked to the volunteers at Salvation Army. We were answering calls from all over the country as fast as we could pick up the phones. All of my calls were people asking, `What can we do? What can we send? What is needed most?' It was so moving, it was hard not to cry. Some of the people I talked with sounded like they were on the verge of crying. It made us all realize how great people are when push comes to shove."
Sometimes help came in a burst of spontaneity.
Rhona and Leo Lococo operate a bed-and-breakfast in St. Charles.
"On Friday evening July 30," Rhona Lococo wrote, "we hosted a 30-year class reunion. Gathered from all parts of the country, they came to reunite for an evening of fun, an overnight stay at our B&B, and a leisurely breakfast the next day and then back to their own lives, but they were so touched by the devastation of the flood they opted for quick burgers and then filling sandbags for hours at North Fifth and Olive streets. They came back exhausted, but happy that they could contribute.
"On arrival to the reunion they were polite strangers who hadn't seen each other for 30 years. When they left after breakfast on Saturday, they were warm friends again who had shared in the Flood of '93."
Generosity, as Marie Bates of Florissant noted, extended beyond human bounds.
This is a story about three little flood puppies and the wonderful vets who took care of them for free. I volunteered to assist at the Pet Care Store in St. Peters where flood animals are being adopted and fostered out. . . .
"One of the puppies was seriously ill, after treading water for hours, developing pneumonia, then parvo, a serious and deadly virus. Another puppy had a large abscess on its neck and jaw.
"But my heart went out to the one I'll call McFlood, a little Rottweiler/Lab mix puppy, because he was full of sores and everyone passed him by to adopt more healthy looking animals. A vet at Florissant Animal Hospital volunteered her time and conducted tests and treated the puppies. Regretfully, she had to put the seriously ill puppy to sleep. She offered the clinic's services to operate on the second puppy the next week at no charge and told me that Mick was severely malnourished and needed lots of love and food.
"I took Mick home and two days later he developed painful bloat. I rushed him to another vet in Florissant that I went to for my own pets, but he refused to treat Mick without payment even though poor Mick lay there in obvious distress. I hated to ask, but once again I called Florissant Animal Hospital, and the vet agreed to see Mick for free. Everyone at the hospital was so helpful and caring. They took care of him all day so I could go to work, treated and evaluated him. When I picked Mick up that night, he was a new puppy, all playful and happy like a puppy should be."
Cynthia H. Merman of Creve Coeur provided these capsule stories:
"Two young men arrive from Boston. They want to help with the sandbagging, but first need shelter. A woman volunteer speaks up, the only drawback being that her home is 60 miles from any sandbag efforts. Another volunteer locates a Red Cross shelter where they can stay. Soon they have a cot, meals and are sandbagging from dawn to dusk.
"A woman goes to a shelter to offer rooms in her five-bedroom home. She says `my home is large and comfortable and I hate to see any of it unused when so many people have been forced from their homes.'
"A young evacuee, lugging a cat in a covered cardboard box, worries that a lady with a bad back is too far back in a very long line. Can she switch places with her?"
There were some good-luck stories. Dick Chapman wrote about his experiences at Arrowhead Airport, and how he, his son, Ted Chapman, and his friend Dennis Schwandt raced floodwaters to move airplanes to high ground.
They hauled out a Taylorcraft plane with a 36-foot wingspan that belonged to their friend Tim Woods. Using a trailer, they traveled along a road that's about 20 feet wide.
That evacuation required some artful negotiation. It was accomplished in the wee hours of Saturday, July 31. Floodwaters were rising all the while. Dennis' plane awaited rescue, and for a while no one was sure where Dennis was. Here's Chapman's story of what happened:
"Where was Dennis? He was walking back to the airport to get to his plane. As the sun broke the horizon, we heard him take off!! He had made it back! He was the last non-floatable vehicle out. . . . We all cheered, Dennis flew over us in a victory fly-by."
Here's a story contributed by Glenn Koenen of Oakville and Robert Merz of Spanish Lake. They called it "The River Versus Fort Scott."
"In northeast St. Louis County, where hills meet the flat, man fought the Mississippi River to a draw.
"Three generations of the Scott family lived in homes along Columbia Bottoms Road. Grace Baptist Church was built on ground just north of the Scotts. A tame Mississippi flowed beyond farm fields, most of a mile away.
"Early in July, the Mississippi left her banks and crept across the fields. To save the homes and the church would require building a wall more than 800 feet long and, in places, 10 feet tall. Half a million pounds of sand and countless sandbags were needed. Hundreds of people - neighbors, friends, strangers - appeared and the work began.
"As the river climbed the wall, water began to seep through the sandbags, in trickles here, in gallons-a-minute streams there. The call went out for pumps. Soon a dozen engines were throwing water back into the Mississippi.
"Some of the volunteers became regulars: the Gang of Seven Daves, including Fireman Dave and Wall Boss Dave who sprained his ankle - then worked on crutches. Bubba went from pump to pump each night, refilling gas tanks. The Mormon Kids, six missionaries, built the wall for days on end. Grand Bagmeister Bob directed layer upon layer of new sandbags. Rich, veteran of the 1973 flood, returned. The Scotts were all there too, day and night, placing bags and running pumps.
"No one dared total the hours donated to the cause. Some worked a few hours, others gave up their day jobs to work on the wall.
"Many helped without seeing Columbia Bottoms Road. Restaurants sent food, the Salvation Army and Red Cross stopped by with sandwiches, cold drinks and words of encouragement. Porta-potties appeared and the health department gave tetanus shots.
"By the first weekend water reached the base of the wall. Atop one corner they placed an American Flag and a `Fort Scott' sign. Volunteers wrote their names on sandbags for the top layer.
"The next week the Mississippi rose higher.
"On Saturday morning, July 17, forty sandbags slid out of place. Dutch Dave earned his nickname by using his body to hold up the wall. A dozen volunteers worked in waist-deep seepage water to patch the hole. Some guy named Bob tied a rope to his chest, put a sandbag on his belt for ballast, and went into (and under) the river to sheet the outside of the wall with plastic.
"In the earliest hours of July 18th new leaks appeared: They were patched as a TV news crew from Huntsville, Ala., taped the scene. Later, still before dawn, the river crept within one bag of the top of the wall. A human chain sent sandbags into the low spots.
"At dawn Fort Scott stood defiant before the Mississippi River.
"The battle continued. Leaks appeared and bags were filled. The regulars became family to the Scotts. The mounds of fast food wrappers and empty beverage cans grew. Television crews gave updates from the wall.
"Then, as the forecast crest neared 50 feet, courage and sweat leaned too close to danger. A river that tears trees from the ground and carries away houses can topple walls and kill sandbaggers. Reluctantly, the fire chief ordered Fort Scott decommissioned.
"All three of the Scott family homes were flooded.
"The volunteers? They came back, filled more bags and extended the wall northward, working into the early days of August. Grace Baptist Church and houses up Columbia Bottoms Road were saved by the veterans of Fort Scott.
"No one who worked on the wall would let the river win again."
That determined spirit is like a thread of steel that weaves its way through story after story of the flood of 1993.
Here's one from West Alton, a town that virtually disappeared in the flood. The writer is Shirley Robertson, who lives with her husband, Ron, in a house built by his grandfather in the 1960s. It was the grandfather's dream house.
"Both he and his wife worked hard all their lives to build it. It was a beautiful house - a brick house with a walkout basement and a wishing well out front. He added some features just to make her happy. Like the bathroom right off the garage. He'd be all greasy and filthy from working at his workbench but stopped in the bathroom to clean up just to make her happy. And the little window cut out of the wall between the dining room and kitchen. And the street - he called it Anita, that was her name - just to make her happy. They were happy there. They were proud of their house. I'm glad they didn't see what happened in 1993."
Robertson wrote her story on Aug. 17, and this is what she saw when she looked around.
"West Alton looks like a war zone. Our house is still standing, but there's a crack running across the bricks. We don't know about the foundation yet. There's still three feet of water in the basement. The walls are an unrecognizable color. The floor boards are warped and sticking up a foot high in the air. There's mud everywhere. Furniture is ruined and laying every which way. The top of the walls and the ceiling were untouched as 4 1/2 feet of water paraded through the house. They are a brilliant white in sharp contrast to the rest of it.
"Why do people live on the flood plain? Besides the sentimental reasons, the following will give you an idea why West Alton was so loved.
"West Alton was a town in Missouri, nestled between the two great rivers with the bluffs above Alton gazing down upon it. There were wide open spaces in West Alton and freedom you find nowhere else.
"Flowers of all description danced across people's gardens, pausing only long enough in the dance to decorate a lamp post or two. And the trees - the mighty oaks and sycamores - hundreds of years old - the sweet sway of the branches the only sound on a spring morning. In the winter from our picture window at 5 a.m. one saw the shapeless mist rising off the river, punctuated by the white hot sun.
"There was serenity in West Alton and friendly people. Neighbor helping neighbor, and it's even more so during the time of the flood.
"West Alton will lose many residents and tear down many homes, but those of us who stay will see the town live again. It's home."
The wrath of the river was at its most dramatic in early August in the Illinois bottoms south of St. Louis. Here is a story by Robert Brown, Columbia, telling what he saw:
"Miles Cemetery is located a few miles south of Columbia, Illinois. The family mausoleum and the surrounding graves setting high atop the limestone bluff offer a commanding view of the Columbia river bottom and all of the land that was once owned by Mr. Miles. It was from this vantage point that my family went to view the Mississippi River Flood of 1993.
"We stood there surrounded by the tombstones of another generation looking at the muddy water as it covered the cornfields and all of the farmland below.
"Water extended as far north and south as your eyes could see. This water came from a breach in the 50 foot levee five miles to the north that had been pouring in for the past three days. When the crest of the water hit the secondary levee protecting 55,000 acres to the south, the river won.
"Looking down at this panoramic view of the valley below, an occasional rooftop protrudes from the water like an iceberg in an ocean. As you stand in the silence of the morning, you hear the rustle of the leaves on the trees that have shaded these graves for so many years. These iceberg rooftops indicate the spot where a family lived only hours before. These rooftops covered families and protected two or three generations of dreams, hopes, blessings and heartaches from the many storms through the years.
"Many small groups of people were standing around us and they spoke in reverend hushed voices. Some wiped away tears as they watched the rising water covering their land. `I left with only the clothes that I have on,' said one lady. `My house is next door to that yellow house down there. May I borrow your binoculars to see if the water is in my yard yet?' said another.
"One retired couple that we knew had been standing there for two hours watching their house as the water rose around it. Their eyes filled with tears as they silently shook their heads in disbelief as if to say, this is only a dream, this couldn't be happening to us.
"Today's news coverage tends to callous us from reality. The blood and the suffering that we see on TV each day is happening to another person, another city, another land. These things do not happen to us. But as you stand there touching elbows with real people, in this ancient cemetery, you realize that you are the witness to a disaster. You feel that you should fall to your knees and thank God that your home and family has been spared."
Amid the triumphs and tragedies, there were happy endings. Here's one of them, sent in by Iva Ann Fauth of St. Louis.
"At the risk of boring you dear ones with another flood story, I would like to tell you of a recent experience. . . .
"I became an evacuee on Aug. 2 at 5:30 a.m., which was the 16th anniversary of my husband's burial, which will make it doubly unforgettable.
"I was one of the lucky ones, with five children, none of whom were threatened. I was showered with TLC. After five days and four nights of wondering if the `tanks' would explode and wipe us out, I was one grateful, happy, joyous person to hear the `All Clear.'
"Always when returning home, even from a nice vacation, I have been glad to be home again, but this time, my well worn belongings looked just beautiful to me!
"Sometime, just take a look at the things that you take for granted, with the thought that you may never see them again.
"Did you ever caress an old typewriter or kiss an old magnifying glass?"
Because of space limitations, many letters for the "Flood Story" project could not be published, but sincere thanks to all who responded. Some stories that ran here were edited for length.
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