March 2014 – Page 4 – American Disasters

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

Description 2.0: Reading Between the Lines

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Chapters four through six of McCullough’s book The Johnstown Flood, is essentially a chronicle of the disastrous element of the natural disaster. It was less an investigation of the causes of the flood, but rather an explication of the events that took place the day of the flood. The narrative that McCoullough crafts accomplishes two goals: it details the great losses that result from the flood and it provides descriptions of the flood. The narrative describes death and the destruction of homes. It describes men and women fearing that their families have been drowned as the wave passes by and consumes the only homes they’ve known. It describes men and women watching from the hill as the flood smashes their homes to smithereens. It describes a man’s horror at having to drop a cripple, and essentially leave him for dead, in order to save himself. Likewise, McCoullough describes the height and speed of the wave as it crashes through towns swallowing bridges, trees, and homes. He describes how the wave carries with it a thick mixture of trees, debris, mud, packed earth from the dam, and twisted metals from ruined train tracks.

But what is most interesting about the narrative that McCoullough builds is his insertion of humanity. When we think about natural disasters it’s easy to think about body counts or property value lost and turn that into a great epic about tragedy. Like Catherine Schmidt referenced in her post, great stories about floods persist in the myths of various different cultures, but these stories focus on great loss or the heroics of one man. But the version of the events, as told by McCollough, forces us to see the wide spectrum of humanity that persists during an event such as this. It includes tales of bravery, temperance, tragedy, cowardice, and fear. We are forced to consider not just what happened in Johnstown, but what happened to the towns touched along the way. And through interwoven impressions we are also able to see the wave through the eyes of those who experienced it. For example, McCollough contrasted the testimony of the man who felt the wave was one-hundred feet tall, with the study which put the wave at about forty. In seeing his exaggeration we are able to contextualize the fear this man was feeling. Both his description of the loss and descriptions of the flood allow for this insertion of humanity causing us to see the vast ways that the flood affected life in Johnstown and surrounding areas. McCollough leaves us with a history of the flood which is more than the sum total of bodies left in its wake.

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

Acknowledgment vs. Preparation: The Johnstown Flood

David McCullough’s casual approach to historical authenticity is questionable at some points. For example, it would be to difficult to verify the scene where Johnstown telegraph agent Frank Deckert read the telegraph concerning the South Fork Dam breaking and “laughed out loud” (87). Even though he bases his narrative more on speculation than exact eyewitness accounts, McCullough illustrates the important point in this scenario: Deckert had little concern about the dam breaking, as it was a rumor that he had heard dozens of times before. It is a trend that McCullough highlights: many people acknowledged the dangers that the South Fork Dam and Lake Conemaugh presented, saying that “not a house in town would be left standing” should the dam give way (158). Nevertheless, the preparation process in case of this scenario was appallingly mismanaged. This issue of acknowledgment versus preparation is vitally significant in not only the Johnstown flood, but in innumerable disasters throughout history. How could so much risk be universally accepted, yet not be addressed directly and seriously?

McCullough presents a compelling, if not simple, answer: diffusion of responsibility. As Alexandra noted earlier, McCullough notes in Chapters 4-6 how this lack of proper communication and responsibility contributed directly to damage and to deaths. The risk was so great and so imminent that the region’s residents simply presumed that efforts at inspection and communication were conducted by a higher body. Townsfolk assumed that local officials kept an eye on the dam, and local officials assumed that the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club managed the dam’s affairs. No clear authority was established for the safety of the dam; therefore, the telegraph agents interpreted the warnings before the collapse as hogwash and rumor rather than official decree. Even railroad magnate Robert Pitcairn did not know if he should trust the transmissions, as he doubted Colonel Unger’s capabilities and “simply paid little attention to any reports…as they had been made perhaps nearly every year” (174). The “Crying Wolf” scenario plays a big role here, but leaves another gaping question: If Pitcairn (a SFFHC member) was untrustworthy of reports about the dam, why didn’t he make an effort to make the reports more reliable or improve the communication? He acknowledged the problem, but made no effort to ameliorate it. Such is the mistake – often fatal – that McCullough emphasizes throughout his analysis of the flood.

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

How the Viaduct Exemplifies Gilded-Age Disaster

Sherwood Callaway

Blog Post 6 (for Tuesday, 3/11)

The Johnstown Flood contains all the elements of a Gilded-Age disaster archetype. The dam itself was gilded. The circumstances under which it burst exposed the dam for what it was— shoddily built and poorly maintained. Fatalities were mostly immigrant laborers who lived in the valley below. As much as they were victims of the flood, they were the victims of negligence. Wealthy businessmen, who perpetuated the poor conditions that these laborers worked in and lived in, had been careless in allowing the dam to exist in disrepair. Catherine points out in her post that the “capitalists, who commanded and encouraged construction of the dam, were not physically affected with the eventual collapse of the dam.” They were confident that nature could not overcome human architectural achievements. This story of class struggle, industrialism, tragic negligence, Machiavellian capitalism and arrogance during the Gilded-Age is a familiar one.

David McCullough writes in The Johnstown Flood that the “viaduct was one of the landmarks of the country” (107). I would venture to say that the viaduct was also a temporal landmark representing the Gilded-Age, and exemplary of many of the elements that comprise a Gilded-Age disaster archetype. This particular viaduct was built for train usage, making it distinct from similar structures that have existed since antiquity, and uniquely industrial— fitting for Gilded-Age use. McCullough also explains that it was an especially impressive architectural achievement, standing “seventy-five feet high and [bridging] the river gap with one single eight-foot arch” (107). The concept of a viaduct, or any other bridge for that matter, demonstrates an inherent conflict between humans and their environments. Human convenience is often at odds with the circumstances of natural world. The viaduct allowed trains to go over the river, rather than having to go around it. During the flood, the viaduct’s arch became clogged with debris, forming a second damn. It collapsed under the pressure of the water and was destroyed. Makes me think of a Blue Oyster Cult lyric that aptly describes the moment: “history shows again and again how nature points out the folly of man.”

Except that was about Godzilla.

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

Where’s the Fault?

Throughout The Johnstown Flood, McCullough alludes to the roles that weak or inattentive authorities played in the flood. He suggested that the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club ignored reports that the dam was weak and a danger to the population (74). Additionally, he repeats throughout the novel that people were desensitized to the possibility of the dam breaking and therefore many authorities as well as civilians discounted reports that there could be or was a problem. McCullough essentially suggests that if authorities had perhaps taken more care in prevention, this entire disaster could have been circumvented.

As the action escalades through chapters 4-6, McCullough readdresses the role of effective and ineffective authority figures in a blatant juxtaposition of the management of two trains at East Conemaugh Yard. McCullough states that the only train to have “no fatalities among its passengers” was the mail train, which was due in large part to the “good sense of the crew” (123). In fact, the conductor of the mail train warned the passengers of the potential danger, giving them the opportunity to prepare for escape. McCullough states that “Warthen… at least made it sound serious” to the people onboard as opposed to the other authority figures who said “that the dam was an old chestnut” and that the people were “not to think any more of it” (123).

McCullough is clearly highlighting the differences effective authority figures can make through his in-depth comparison between Warthen’s decisions in the midst of the disaster as compared to the rest of the conductors. His detailed comparison between the two as well as his repetition of the preparedness of the mail train’s passengers emphasize his belief in the power authorities have in natural disasters. Catherine also mentions the role authorities have in disaster prevention and management in her post.

As we discussed previously in class, it is important to keep in mind that neither man nor nature can be isolated as the cause of a disaster. Rather it is almost exclusively the interplay between these two characters that allows disasters to occur.

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

Fire and Water: Comparing the Great Chicago Fire with the Johnstown Flood

In some ways, the Johnstown Flood parallels with the Great Chicago fire. There is an element of human neglect and fallibility that contributed to the disasters; Chicago buildings were primarily made of wood or hastily constructed and the dam near Johnstown was not properly maintained. Then there were a few warning signs. Chicago had experienced drought and smaller fires cropped up periodically. Although “most never saw it coming,” some people around Johnstown did get warnings like George Fisher or the engineer trying to decide whether to move his train (143; 102-103). Nature also plays a role in the disasters. In the Chicago fire, winds helped to spread the fire. In the Johnstown flood, torrential downpour broke the dam. Many reactions to the dam’s breaking were similar to the fire in Chicago or the Peshtigo fire. People ran everywhere, shouting in total chaos, as H.M. Bennent observes (104). People tried to outrun the wave like people leapt in the river to save themselves from the fire. As Caschmidt notes, some people attributed these disasters to divine punishment or reward. Father Pernin ties religion into the Great Peshtigo Fire. Some Johnstown people also tied religion to the flood. As Gertrude said, the flood looked “like the Day of Judgment I had seen as a little girl in Bible histories” (161).

One difference between the Great Chicago fire and the Johnstown Flood was the amount of criminal activity. A drawing in McCullough’s book shows criminals robbing the dead (143). The press circulated wild stories about criminals and pillaging. These were soon disproved. Stories about Chicago crime were also fabricated. As jomarsh says “By sensationalizing the ways in which the fire destroyed class boundaries, writers reminded other members of the American upper class that their position, like these Chicagoans…were in constant jeopardy to the whims of God, Nature, and the subsequent horrors of the class intermingling so well represented by the, often fabricated, stories of crime during the fire.” Yet, I can’t help but imagine some of the crime stories in Chicago were true. Personal letters I read on the Great Chicago Fire website described criminals coming into town to take advantage of burned safes. Furthermore, a death proclamation to shoot criminals on sight was instituted. I wonder if there actually was some crime in Johnstown, despite McCullough’s dismissal? Perhaps Johnstown’s location or the nature of the disaster did not lend itself to profitable crimes?

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

The Great Flood: Moralizing the City or Unjustly Punishment?

In the second section of our reading of The Johnstown Flood, McCullough breaks his flow of describing the socio-economic and cultural factors that shaped Johnstown and South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club and the deficiencies that led to the dam’s collapse. Although I thought these were the only towns associated with the great flood, the second section describes every community in between that disintegrated as well. Before reading about the other communities, I pictured water gradually pouring into Johnstown. I hadn’t conceptualized a wave until I read narrative after narrative of those who survived the wave and those who fell victim to the wave.

The tidal wave that collected “several hundred freight cars, a dozen or more locomotives, passenger cars, nearly a hundred more houses, and quite a few human corpses” reminded me of the religious undertones of Father Peter Pernin and the religious concentration of “Faith and doubt: the imaginative dimensions of the Great Chicago Fire” in discourse about the Chicago Fire. McCullough does not declare those who died to be sinners, nor does he directly assign blame for the cause of the dam breaking, but this lack of blame may be interpreted as a flood sent by God. “But he had gone only a short way when he saw the wave, almost on top of him, demolishing everything, and he knew he could never make it” (161). This is similar to CT’s post about God’s choice to demolish Chicago.

Most religions have a flood narrative, whether as a cosmology or an act of purification, and this wave’s chaos could have described a purification act: “everyone heard shouting and screaming, the earsplitting crash of buildings going down, glass shattering, and the sides of houses ripping apart. Some people would later swear they heard factory whistles screeching frantically and church bells ringing” (145). I am only further convinced after reading the descriptive imagery of the St. John’ Catholic Church spires catch fire and fall off (169).

I am interested to continue reading and see how McCullough ties everything together, and if he ever directly blames one group of people for this disaster. I also wonder if he will describe who is financially responsible, and who will pay for the farmland and houses that were swept away.

March 9, 2014December 16, 2020

Plaguing the Soul of the South: The 1878 Yellow Fever Epidemic in Memphis

The yellow fever epidemic that plagued Memphis in 1878 claimed upwards of 20,000 lives, more than the Chicago Fire, the San Francisco earthquake, and the Johnstown flood combined. The epidemic was aided by El Niño, which turned the American South in a tropical region ideal for mosquitos, and by the rapid influx of immigration, which provided a fresh source of nonimmune blood. The response to the epidemic was controversial and chaotic and resulted quarantined cities, obstructed commerce, and paralyzed governments. Well over half the city’s population either died or fled, resulting in an economic collapse the led Memphis to temporarily loose its city charter. However, the epidemic of 1878 was not the first yellow fever outbreak in America, or even Memphis for that matter.

So how did the anxieties around previous yellow fever outbreaks affect the response to the catastrophic epidemic of 1878? And moreover, how did the reactions of the 1878 outbreak create new policies and regulations to prevent and quell future epidemics? To explore these questions, I plan on consulting a variety of different sources. Before the 1878, Memphis was somewhat notorious for loose sanitation regulations and practices, despite having been adversely affected by outbreaks in the past. So first I plan on consulting primary source accounts before the outbreak of 1878 that address the previous outbreaks of yellow flu and the subsequent responses. Furthermore, I plan on consulting a myriad of secondary sources that assess the efficacy of the response methods to the 1878 epidemic in reducing the impact of later epidemics. The response will include both government-sanctioned responses as well as civil and charitable actions.

The epidemic of 1878 affected cities and towns from New Orleans to Memphis. (Interestingly, many churchly folks cited epidemic as God smiting the large Mardi Gras festivals and Carnivals held in Memphis and New Orleans each year. Sound familiar? There is extensive amount of writing on the epidemic in New Orleans, however, but significantly less surrounding the outbreak in Memphis. Finding material specific to Memphis has slowed my research process.

March 8, 2014December 16, 2020

Pompeii, Hollywood, and the Great Romance of Disaster

What is so romantic about impending disaster? In Hollywood, the combination of budding romance between star-crossed lovers and mass destruction has proven to be dramatic gold. James Cameron’s tale in Titanic of class-defying romance and inevitable heartbreak proved to be not only a huge success at the box office, but among critics as well. Titanic’s acclaim (and its monetary success) was certainly not ignored, and its strategy has been emulated numerous times. Pompeii, the new film from Paul W.S. Anderson (yes, the Resident Evil franchise director), undoubtedly reflects the ‘Jack, Rose, and rich snob’-style love triangle, with a disaster conveniently located to level the playing field and unite the true lovers.

The plot here shouldn’t surprise anyone. There are three main (heavily archetypal) characters: Milo (Harrington, the subjugated but suave slave/gladiator with a soft side for the ladies), Cassia (Browning, the aristocratic young beauty who despises her patrician peers), and Corvus (Sutherlund, the cruel politician with no empathy who wants to take Cassia as his wife). Vesuvius, of course, provides the convenience of destroying the class and social barriers preventing Milo and Cassia from riding off into the sunset. As John noted previously, Carl Smith emphasized how this destruction of barriers often horrified the upper classes, while many common people reveled in the anarchy.

The audience gets two major satisfactions from this kind of storyline. First, the Romeo and Juliet story provides catharsis, as it allows true love to emerge over seemingly insurmountable barriers. Second, the audience witnesses the downfall of corruption and egocentrism (a slave-owning society that values hedonism), exemplified through particular characters, who are often quite wealthy. If everyone thought that Corvus or Cal Hockley were great guys, then the star-crossed romance would have less punch. In other words, the disaster destroys both class superiority as well as the boundaries preventing “true love” from being achieved. Time to grab some popcorn.

March 5, 2014December 16, 2020

Close to Monongah, Even Closer to a Thesis: Research Update (3/5/14)

I realize that this post is a week late. I guess that the lack of assigned reading kept me from looking over the syllabus last week. Still, I figure that a research update could be helpful and maybe—I really hope it does—count as a blog post.

I’m currently half an hour north of Monongah. Initially, I had hoped to visit the town and see the historic mines, cemeteries, and memorials, but 6″ of snow and sub-freezing temperatures have kept me from venturing too far outside. Instead, to escape the cold, I’ve spent the last day in the warmth of the West Virginia Regional History Center. Though I’ve been able to gather some primary sources digitally, the best—that is, the personal letters, company records, and investigative reports from the disaster—are all housed in the Center’s archives. I’ve been lucky to peruse and photocopy the many of these. In addition to these primary sources, I have slowly been working my way through stack of secondary sources. I have found these to be the most helpful in narrowing my thesis.

Though my initial plan was to research the disaster’s death toll and the way it was falsified and reported, I’ve found in my research that not only is this question less feasible than other options. It’s also much less interesting. Plus, a number of scholars have written on the very topic in the last several years, leaving the question practically null and void. So, I have since changed my focus. By the end of last week, I had three “lenses” through which I planned to examine the disaster and find my thesis: gender, ethnicity, and class. Since nearly half of the victims of the disaster were either Italian-speaking immigrants or illiterate natives, uncovering the various views of the disaster from ethnically diverse perspectives would be unfeasible. Likewise, interpreting the disaster from the standpoint of gender would be difficult, considering the paucity of surviving letters and records of the women directly involved with the disaster, the 250 widows. So, by process of elimination, I have chosen class.

My research now focuses on the class tensions that arose during the hearings following the disaster and during the subsequent movement to reform West Virginia’s mining laws. Today, I read through the correspondence of West Virginia mining officials and Fairmont Coal Company owners to find primary sources from an “elite” perspective. Tomorrow, I will examine the letters and records of the miners themselves.

So, though I may be close to Monongah, I think that I am even closer to a thesis. Hopefully by the end of tomorrow, as I begin my drive back to Davidson, I will have stumbled upon it. Then, the process of writing really begins.