Johnstown Flood – American Disasters

May 5, 2014December 16, 2020

The Inherent Dangers of Narrative

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In his piece “A Place for Stories: Nature, History, and Narrative,” William Cronon expertly interrogates narrative as a form of storytelling. Cronon suggests that narrative’s most impressive strengths are also its greatest weaknesses. As we saw while reading Johnstown Flood, certain narrative forms have the unique ability to convey history as a “story” (Cronon 1349). McCullough’s narrative sensationalized the history of a small town and an under appreciated disaster memorably, which ultimately enabled me to remember specific facts about the flood than I probably would not have had I learned about it from a traditional textbook. Yet Cronon also warns about the inherent dangers of narrative, asserting that “in the act of separating story from non-story, we wield the most powerful yet dangerous tool of the narrative form” and that “[narrative] inevitably sanctions some voices while silencing others” (1349-1350).

Cronon points out that the differences between Bonnifield’s rendition of the Dust Bowl and Worster’s likely are the result of the inherent shortcomings in the narrative form. Each tells a story, yet they tell their stories from entirely different perspectives and thus arrive at varying outcomes. (Cronon 1348).

In an effort to illustrate the tendency of narrative to ignore sides of each story, Cronon rehashes Frederick Jackson Turner’s history of the West. Cronon suggests that Turner created a narrative that “[made] the Indians the foil for its story of progress…[making] their conquest seem natural, commonsensical, inevitable” (Cronon 1352). Turner’s narrative illustrates the ease with which certain pieces of history are ignored in favor of creating a coherent narrative.

On another note, Betsy points out in her post the strength’s of Cronon’s article when compared to Koppes’s. Koppes’s blatant preference for Worster’s work over Bonnifield undermined the authority of his review. Cronon, on the other hand, regards both writers as “competent” and respectively presents each of their arguements (1348). His objective approach to each author’s argument creates a pleasanter read that appears more informed and believable.

March 17, 2014December 16, 2020

A Comparison of the Johnstown Flood, the Galveston Hurricane, And Those Who Portrayed Them

The narrative style Erik Larson employs to describe the Galveston Hurricane of 1900 is, at a rudimentary level, similar to that of David McCullough. Larson, similar to McCullough, does not intertwine footnotes with the text, which as Sarah and Emily argue discounts the reliability of the narrator. The Johnstown Flood however, offers a variety of accounts to provide balance and diversity to the narrative, while Isaac’s Storm emphasizes a dominant narrative fostered by other lesser accounts.

Science also differentiates the two novels: it was heavily stressed in Isaac’s Storm and nearly disregarded in The Johnstown Flood. The description of the formation of a hurricane felt similar to Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything, and I wonder if Larson would have benefited as a historical writer by implementing a citation scheme similar to Bryson’s (Bryson provides footnotes).

The residents of Galveston cultivated a feeling of security similar to that of Johnstown residents. Unlike the Chicago Fire or the Johnstown Flood, the Galveston Hurricane was not preceded by months of foreboding weather. Similar to the residents of Johnstown, the Galvestonians were accustomed to small floods, and severely doubted the likelihood of anything a disaster. However, I believe Johnstown residents to be more ignorant of potential threat, due to a history of flooding and the poor location, than Galveston residents, who had never experienced a hurricane before. Instead of placing partial blame on Galvestonians, Larson expresses his disappointment in the United States Weather Bureau’s confidence and the Cuban weather cable ban. Further, he places blame much more indiscreetly on authorities, including Isaac. Larson transforms the principal character, Isaac, into an antagonist by noting the observation of a decreasing barometric pressure yet neglecting to warn people.

However, all this being said, it is easier to criticize the inaction of meteorologists knowing what we know now about weather patterns and the outcome of the hurricane. AJ phrased it well in his post: “The era that this event occurred in, the way people went about handling the situation and the eventual misjudged outcome, I believe explains a lot about where disaster preparedness was at the time and showed Americans what desperately needed to change.” I understand why Isaac trusted his former knowledge and dismissed the threat of catastrophe.

March 12, 2014December 16, 2020

Societal v. Individual Culpability: Parallels between Johnstown’s and Triangle’s Historical Narratives

As Sarah notes in her post, many historians have critiqued McCullough for his writing style for not being truly historical or academic in nature. While some of this criticism is certainly well deserved, I would like to note that his patchwork style is extremely valuable in the way that it allows us to understand the Johnstown Flood as a structural societal fault, rather than one of individual culpability.

One of the largest takeaways from our class discussion on Tuesday was the way in which McCullough was able to effectively diffuse blame among individuals. This was accomplished by skillfully weaving together a narrative that references a multitude of characters rather than focusing on one character that best represents the narrative that he is hoping to portray. No one person’s action is overly singled out as accountable. Interestingly, The Johnstown’s Flood was still able to single out heroic actions. It is this inability to conclusively find fault and this ability to identify heroes that is of great interest to me, particularly in the way that it parallels the Triangle Factory Fire of 1911. I recently wrote a paper for another class that attempted to argue that the Triangle Fire is so imprinted into the national memory because of its massive juxtaposition between public understanding and legal recourse. To provide some background the Triangle Fire was a factory fire that resulted in the deaths of 146 women. Importantly, it resulted from an improperly constructed building with a faulty fire escape, locked doors that actually prevented workers from escaping, and a complete lack of any fire protocol or oversight by its owners who were repeatedly warned of its dangers. Yet despite seemingly obviously guilt, no one was charged. This to me was the most interesting; the fire seemed to occupy precisely the point in history at which public understanding outpaced legislation. General public understanding acknowledged the insufficiency and evils of factory conditions and the culpability of owners for consciously risking lives to increase profits, yet, despite this public agreement, legal recourse didn’t exist. To public the Triangle Fire clearly the fault of the individual owners, yet legally it was representative of a societal deficiency that individuals couldn’t be held accountable for. In the same way McCulloughs writing style implicitly argues that the Johnstown Flood, regardless of how many seemingly inexcusable individual faults contributed to its destructiveness was, at its core, a structural flaw in society. As tempting as it is to blame the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, after all they were basely responsible for the dam’s dangerous conditions, McCullough prose seems to suggest that the disaster was truly born from structural flaws. This is strongly paralleled by the way that there was a massive public outcry for the condemnation of the factories owners, yet a preceding report had shown that, relative to other garment factories, the Triangle Factory had far from the most dangerous conditions.

March 12, 2014December 16, 2020

Remembering Disaster and a Historian’s Role

A historian analyzes sources and weighs their reliability and accuracy. Emily notes, “David McCullough has been critiqued by historians for not being a ‘real’ or ‘serious’ historian.” While McCullough’s Johnstown Flood is not a “typical” scholarly work, he does occasionally critique or correct stories about the Johnstown flood. For instance at the beginning of chapter 7, McCullough writes that, “Some survivors, years later, would swear it had been a bright, warm morning, with a spotless blue sky” (183). In reality, the weather was “foul” (184). In this instance, people have constructed a memory they honestly think they experience. It is a reminder that diaries and personal accounts, while probably not intentionally lying, may misremember the actual event. With “every one of them[survivors]…brimful of tales of his experiences,” there are bound to be mis-recalled facts or invented memories (207).

Another way facts are skewed is through willfully fabricated details. Much of this fabrication seems to occur in connection with the media. For instance, McCullough writes, “whatever the reporters may have lacked in the way of facts, they made up for in imagination” (220). Sometimes a competing agenda—whether it is selling more newspapers or maybe embellishing a story for appearances’ sake—can cause people to alter the facts.

Besides these two quotes being instances of unreliable memories and accounts of history, they are also two places where McCullough does enter into a more critical historian mode of writing. He does acknowledge that some sources he used had inaccuracies and tries to recreate the probable reality. Of course, for a scholar, this little earmarks are likely not sufficient. McCullough does not give specific citations, nor does he seem to critically analyze every source. This is largely because, as Emily noted, his is a popular history for a general audience. The book can be more entertaining than a theoretical and technical treatise. It can bring historical events, as Emily argues, “to a broader audience than would otherwise be exposed to it.” I wonder if there could ever be a combination of these two tracks? A rigorous, researched, and critical work that is not dry or inaccessible and still manages to entertain? This reminds me a bit of Robert Fisk’s “Let us rebel against poisonous academics and their preposterous claptrap of exclusion.” Essentially, Fisk argues that academics have set up obscure language and certain standards that say “Keep Out…This Is Something You[non-academics/the general population] Are Not Clever Enough to Understand.” Could there be a balance to these two sides or popular literature and scholarly work? Maybe McCullough’s story could stand as it is, but in the back there is a list of sources and the decisions McCullough made about what to include and why? Granted, the work would be extraordinarily long, but it would allow the readers to choose how much they wish to engage in the work. They can simply read the popular story or they may dive into the thought process and analysis behind the work and research.

March 12, 2014December 16, 2020

The Role of the Press in the Aftermath of the Johnstown Flood

Was the press’ obsessive coverage of the flood harmful or helpful to the recovery of Johnstown? McCullough seems to present two radically different arguments in his telling of the Johnstown Flood. On the one hand, McCullough describes members of the press as opportunistic vultures just looking for their next scoop, but on the other, he repeatedly points out that their coverage helped Johnstown obtain upwards of three million dollars in relief funds.

In chapter VII McCullough describes an interesting interaction between Arthur J. Moxham, Johnstown’s temporary “dictator,” and the National Guard. Earlier in the chapter McCullough wonders at Moxham’s clear-headedness, labeling his decision to begin clearing the mess as “extraordinary” (190). Yet McCullough sends the National Guard packing when they show up because he believed it best that “the people handle their problems themselves.” I thought Moxham made an interesting point, but wondered how he could possibly turn down free help when it was offered. After reading on, I realized the help was not exactly free. Johnstown would have to find shelter and food for any visitors who tried to help or write about the flood—shelter and food that the population of Johnstown desperately needed.

The accounts of the many different reporters who came to Johnstown demonstrate that members of the press did not take this into consideration when coming to town. One reporter for the Philadelphia Press, Richard Harding Davis, expected to find a restaurant, a horse and buggy, and a pressed shirt (216). Instead, he had to compete for resources with the rest of Johnstown and the many relief workers, reporters, family members, and opportunists in town. Many reporters stretched the truth beyond recognition, and in some cases the lies spread by the reporters led to trouble for members of the Johnstown community. With headlines as brass as “Fiends in Human Form” and “Drunken Hungarians, Dancing, Singing, Cursing, and Fighting amid the Ruins,” newspapers like the New York Herald endangered the lives of the Hungarians in town since they fed on prejudices and created panic (211).

However, McCullough balances this irreverent description of the press by citing the millions of dollars of relief their publicity had inspired. Not only did the press’ publicity garner the town money, but also supplies like lumber, furniture, quicklime, etc. (225). McCullough notes that leaders of Johnstown declared that any able bodied man who stayed in Johnstown needed to help with relief efforts, and many members of the press adhered to this rule to stay in town.

With all of this information, I wonder what opinion of the press I am supposed to have. As Amani points out, McCullough inserts his own opinions about humanity into his narrative. With that in mind, I was left with the idea that McCullough believed the press to be a short-term hindrance to the reconstruction of Johnstown, but an overall blessing for the survivors.

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

Sacrifices in The Johnstown Flood

In chapters I-III of his work, McCullough describes the many different factors that led to the Johnstown Flood, setting up his depiction of the chaos of the events of the flood itself in chapters IV-VI. Because he takes so much care to set the scene for this disaster early on, McCullough is free to jump around from individual account to individual account when describing the events of the flood. These vignettes are more compelling to me than a single, dry description of the flood’s path of destruction. I found myself rooting for figures like Plummer and his brother, who sacrificed their jobs in defying and gouging Hess and sounding the train’s whistle (115), and mentally scolding Samuel S. Miller for abandoning his post and the passengers on his train, an act McCullough describes as “a good deal less coolheaded and quite a lot more human” (125).

While I don’t know that I would go as far as to say that McCullough’s “historical authenticity is questionable,” as Price argues, I definitely agree that McCullough’s style has a few major drawbacks. I was particularly frustrated with a few of the photos and drawings McCullough chose to include at the end of Chapter IV. McCullough does not provide a satisfying amount of context alongside each image the way a formal essay might. For example, McCullough includes an image of a dead body in trapped in the wreckage of the flood and claims it was fake (137). Here he implies that the photographers staged a photo, but he does not explain why a photographer might have done this—a question that I think would reveal a great deal about the public’s conception of the flood. McCullough sacrifices in-depth analysis for a flowing and captivating narrative. While I wish to defend McCullough’s historical authenticity, I do question his writing style since it leaves out information I think might be helpful to his readers (although admittedly, McCullough does not purport to explain sensationalist reactions to the flood in these chapters, and he does provide some analysis elsewhere).

March 10, 2014December 16, 2020

Memory of Disaster

As Dr. Shrout mentioned in class the other day, David McCullough has been critiqued by historians for not being a ‘real’ or ‘serious’ historian. This critique extends beyond McCullough and to the entire sub-genre of narrative histories. However, I argue that this is a genre that is needed to expose large sections of the population to more in depth analyses and accounts of past events.

As a history major, I am thrilled by the idea of reading scholarly accounts of events. However, I know that not every Davidson student shares this opinion, much less the general population. I argue that narrative histories serve to bring history to a broader audience than would otherwise be exposed to it.

In reading the news in the last few days, I have come across extensive coverage of Flight MH370. Disappeared early Saturday morning with well over 200 people on board, I raise the question of how this disaster will be remembered. The Johnstown Flood, which took over 2,000 lives, has faded from popular memory. However, the Chicago Fire killed only a few hundred, but has remained ingrained in our national memory. How will this international disaster be remembered in the different countries?

Price focuses on the responsibly for the disaster-how the diffusion of responsibly at the South Fork Hunting Club was at least partially to blame for the events that followed. I inquire how the lack of a clear responsible party will affect the way that MH370 will be remembered. As discussed in class, much of the legacy of Johnstown was that it set the precedent that the upper class had a responsibility for the lower classes. How will MH370 change perceptions or practices? If it fails to have widespread policy or opinion, will it be destined to be as forgotten as the Peshtigo Fire?

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

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?