flood – American Disasters

March 12, 2014December 16, 2020

Bouncing Back

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Blog Post 7 (for Thursday, 3/12)

In the aftermath of the Johnstown flood, the surviving inhabitants of Johnstown reacted much more methodically than I had imagined they would, considering how traumatic the event was. They were preoccupied with establishing order, and with conducting the business of rebuilding in a disciplined manner.

Almost immediately, the survivors gathered to elect temporary leadership; Arthur Moxham and his partner Tom Johnson were chosen. Under their guidance, committees were formed to gather food and drinkable water, as well as to locate other survivors and gather the dead. These actions represent an interesting contradiction, however— while food and water were pressing deficiencies, and other survivors ought to be sought out, what practical use does a body count have? None, other than to quantify the destruction of the flood.

And even though collecting and observing the brutalized bodies of their neighbors was an emotionally demanding task, it was done with organization and careful planning. The dead were carried back to established morgues, where they were either identified, or categorized with extreme detail. Record entries describe their gender, height, weight, age, hair, dress, and the items they carried. Furthermore, graves were dug rather unnecessarily for each of the deceased, despite the trouble.

I would have expected more looting and robbery, a greater sense of religiosity, and an increase in personal interests as opposed to community interests amongst the survivors. McCullough mentions some of this, but mostly emphasizes a much more uplifting narrative. In the aftermath of the flood, individuals were inclined to cooperate, much like the cogs of the industrial machines they had once operated. Furthermore, Molly describes how members of the press and other visitors came from all around to assist in the relief effort while compiling their stories. I can only wonder whether the sense of community and desire for order that these individuals showed, even after having been reduced to utter chaos, was particular to those who lived during the Gilded Age and Progressive Era.

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

Description 2.0: Reading Between the Lines

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

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.