Jor six Albany James H. Gray Civic Center REF 975.8 FLO GO.RM. Flood of the century : In Dougherty County, 23 squore miles of land uliqs flooded. Flashback 1994: The Beginning Volunteers to The rescue The Months Ahead On Sacred Grounds Markers.............................. Fall from Antediluvian Grace Flood................................ Rumors............................... Three days up a Tree The Flint River crested at a record 44 feet; the crest of the Flint at flood stage is 21 feet. PUBLISHER/ART DIRECTOR- DESIGNER............... MICHAEL BROOKS Chong Na PHOTOGRAPHY................................ MICHAEL BROOKS/MARC HEDGES Shawn Hirst/ William R. Kicklighter Writers.. Vic Miller/K.K. Snyder ulf Kirchdorfer Literary Advisor- editor........... Vic Miller/K.K. Snyder Lou Emond LTSS COUNTY LTTA.NY Ph. (912) 7 Post Office Eox 49 Leesburg, Georgia 317^ BROOKS PUBLISHING 1 120 West Broad Avenue Albany Georgia 31707 (912) 888-0035 <3)1994 Brooks Publishing reserves all copy rights. Reproduction in part or in whole is prohibited without written permission 8500 residents have been flooded in Dougherty County alone. Only 600 had flood insurance. wise man loses nothinc Flood of The Century by K.K. Snyder "This is not a drill: please evacuate your home immediately. Take as few of your belongings as possible. You're home may soon be under water. Act quickly. I repeat, this is not a drill." For thousands in Dougherty, Lee and surrounding counties, evacuating their homes and losing everything they own to the relentless ravaging flood waters of the 1994 flood will be the worst experience of their lives. Though the murky waters have receded in most residential areas, streets are haunted by the sights and smells of a destructive mother nature. Thousands still remain in shelters having nothing left to go home to. Displaced caskets are tied to trees and stored in hopes of possible identification so that they may be laid to rest once again. Flashback: 1925 The Flint River spills over its banks taking homes and lives with it. People rush to stores to hoard supplies, hoping to wait out this disaster. Residents buy every oil stove available in Albany that January 20th because of the closing of the gas plant as a safety precaution. All trains from the north are stopped to prevent the railroad cars from plunging into the Kinchafoonee Creek where the bridge has washed out. The public committee has only 400 meals to serve to displaced survivors during the entire ordeal. The Flint crests at 37.8 feet- a record that stands until 1994. 1994: The Beginning It was the 4th of July weekend. Friends and families joined for cook-outs and parties in celebration of the country's independence. Weather channels were centering on the newly developing tropical storm, Alberto. Residents of Florida were warned of the possibility of a hurricane, but luckily lives were spared. As the depression stalled over the southeast, the rains began to fall. Inches of the wet drops filled our river and creeks as well as those to the north of Albany. Flash flood warnings were being aired for certain areas, but no one could foresee the flood that would eventually destroy lives, homes, and farmland. The Macon area was first to be hit by this catastrophe, taking eight lives in a short time. Albany engineers then began to calculate the effect these rains would have on the Flint River. Not even the preciseness of mathematics could predict the vast area that would ultimately be flooded. Disaster next struck Sumter County. Americus received a record 21 inches of rain in one day. Another seventeen lives were lost July 6th as cars plunged off the washed out roads, their drivers traveled unaware of the dangers that lay ahead. The city of Americus became isolated as road closings multiplied. Officials of Dougherty County and the City of Albany were warned of the impending flood, with estimates setting the crest of the Flint River at 37 feet. By the next day, the river had surpassed the engineers' figures and was at 41 feet, already 20 feet above flood stage. This was the first day of official evacuations, which would eventually extend to areas residents would never have believed to be in the flood plain. The ominous river water rushed into areas quickly, necessi- tating rescues from tree branches and the rooftops of homes. Rains were still falling, the river and the creeks still rising. The first deaths were recorded for the city of Albany as 2000 people uuere put out of work by the flood. two children lost their lives in the murky waters when their family's car was washed into the river. The Flint was now measuring 43 feet and still rising. All main bridges in Albany were closed, and the east and west sides of the city were separated by raging waters, leaving each side to its own defense. Volunteers had already streamed into the area to assist with evacuations, rescues, sand bagging, and the over-full shelters. Shelters were opening in increasing numbers in the county's schools and churches. The National Guard was brought in as well as the Marine Corps personnel from MCLB in Albany. Members of the DNR as well as State Troopers were also on the scene to do whatever needed to be done. Unfortunately, many optimistic residents who attempted to defend their homes from floodwaters had to be rescued by the many heroes of this tragic event. By July 9th, 30 shelters were in operation in Albany alone, filled with the more than Photo: Shawn Hirst The Rlbony Humane Society sheltered over 800 animals during the flood weeks. Ifticri': the waters Jr rowned everything except man and day, lytiny them above the clouds where they saw a wonJerJul worlJ oj lanJ and trees - Creek dndian Jllyi, 22,800 people were evacuated along the Flint River in Rlbany. 24,000 evacuees who were forced from their homes. Finally, the waters ceased to rise. The Flint crested at 44 feet, 5 feet above the record level set in January 1925. Almost miraculously, essential power and water sources were not affected by the flood, sparing Albany the hardships faced by many less-fortunate communities. Lives had been lost, saved, and changed forever by an event recorded as the worst natural disaster ever to hit the state of Georgia. Flood waters slowly receded, leaving behind mud, household belongings, and an indescribable stench. But Albanians returned- undaunted by the tragedy- to salvage what they could and to begin rebuilding in the place they know is home. Volunteers To The Rescue... This area would be mourning additional deaths had it not been for the unselfish outpouring of volunteers. Lee County is especially proud of its volunteer staff at the Lee County Fire Department and the Leesburg Emergency Rescue Station. 17-year-old Jacqueline McCorkle, the youngest volunteer of the Lee County Fire Department, was involved in the evacuations of both Lee and Dougherty County residents along with her boyfriend Clint Purdue, his bother Stacy, and Alton Cook. "It wouldn't have been possible without the volunteers. Everybody knows everybody in Lee County, and they always pull together in a time of need." Her father, A.J. McCorkle, is also a volunteer for the Century District Fire Department, as well as being Fire Chief for the city of Albany. Like many people, both paid employees and fell lillioh d vme old seizes uno rose w There were q total of 160 interruptions in the state highway system of District 4. volunteers, Mr. McCorkle did double duty during the flood days. His job at the Albany station includes support for the fire department, supplying fuel and oil mix for the rescue boats. His unofficial title is now "Hero, as he was involved in the rescues of many who would have surely perished had he not been there for them. On Wednesday, July 6th, McCorkle began to monitor the Kinchafoonee in Lee County as well as Muckalee Creek. At 6:00 p.m., every member of the Lee County Fire and Rescue team had been paged to report to the Century command post. Jacqueline reported to her dad that the creek had risen 1 foot in a short 15 minutes. Knowing that time was not on his side, McCorkle decided to form a Red Bone District post to initiate evacuation of residents now being threatened by the swelling Muckalee. By this time the Hwy.32 bridge had been closed and parts of Lee County were becoming isolated from one another. Brian Pollard lived in one of the homes in danger of being flooded along Stoney Road, and McCorkle arrived at the home to help Pollard's wife get the familys things moved to safety. Unfortunately, water overran the bank quickly, and people who had been watching the evacuation suddenly needed to evacuate themselves. "By the time we got the last people out the water was waist deep. This was within one hour after the water had begun to come up over the bank." Once that area was secured, McCorkle and his fellow volunteers moved to Graves Springs Road, where one trailer had already washed away and two others were submerged in iW$5 the swift flowing current of the flooded creek. At this point, a boat was still not available and their own lives were definitely at risk. "All the boats were over at the Century District, for the Century area rescue. They never thought Muckalee was going to flood." The volunteers were now cut off from Albany because Philema Road was under water. Mr. Hare, a citizen of Lee County, volunteered his services as well as his own boat for rescue purposes. A Red Bone command post was established at the Express Lane convenience store to organize rescues when McCorkle learned from his radio monitor that Crusoe Village had gone under and the Albany Fire Dept, had been dispatched to that area. He then alerted the Albany Dept, that he had a rescue boat available on the Lee County side and was given autho- rization to assist in rescues. As they prepared to launch the boat, another call came in, this one from the Sportsman's Club Road area, that a woman was trapped, so the boat was diverted to respond. However, when the call was answered, volunteers were met by a woman who just wanted someone to help load furniture. After the false call, McCorkle came back and launched the boat at Chehaw Park. The boat contained McCorkle, Bobby Spargo of the Albany Fire Dept., David Howell and Jim Dietch 'lave saoea mountain. 'tee. you off whilst thou art on the 'ha Corahmana Photo: Shawn hirst 3000 National Guardsmen were brought in to the flooded areas. of Lee Co. Fire and Rescue, and Mr. Hare. The current was too swift to allow the boat to carry them to Lovers Lane Road to assist in evacuations. Instead the team went up Muckalee Creek. Reportedly, a couple had been calling for help on their cellular phone from the attic of their home since 2:00 that morning and no boats had been able to reach them. Two boats that had previously set out for this rescue at 3:00 had not been heard from since. So not only was the safety of area residents a concern, but the safety of the rescue teams as well. McCorkle's team spotted a Lee C.I. rescue boat in the trees attempting to rescue two men. The small engine on the C.I.'s boat wasn't strong enough to tame the swift current, and their rescue attempt had been futile. Mr. Hare's bass boat had a much more powerful engine and McCorkle knew that his rescue teams help was crucially need. "When we spotted these two guys hanging on to a tree, there was no way we were going to leave them. When we got up to the tree, the two men piled in; we didnt have to tell them to get in the boat. The rescue team then resumed the search for the couple stranded in their attic. Soon they spotted the couple who were now on the peak of the roof after chopping their way out of the attic with an ax. The boat being full, the team headed back to the landing to drop off the four whose lives they'd saved. Now it was time for McCorkle and Spargo to report for duty at the Albany Fire Department. Donna Mathis, secretary to Charles Hardison, was another double-duty volunteer who worked hours upon hours to answer phones at the rescue center in Lee County while her four children were being cared for at home. Mrs. Mathis is also a paramedic for Lee County and was busy in that role during the flood days as well. She hesitated to even attempt to give a list of all the volunteers. "There were so many- I'd hate to leave anyone out. One of her most memorable incidents of this whole ordeal was a call she received from a 12-year-old boy who was at home with his grandparents off Century Road The youth's grandmother was hooked up to an oxygen tank powered by a battery that was slowly running down. Afraid of approaching flood waters, the boy placed a call at 2:00 a.m. which was answered by Mrs. Mathis at the rescue center. He expressed his fear and their need to be rescued, but no boat could reach their area. Instead, Mathis enlisted the help of a military vehicle capable of traveling through deep water and dispatched them to the home. The boy and his grandparents were whisked away to an ambulance equipped with oxygen, and the next day the boy called Mathis to thank her, even remembering her first name. "1 told him he was the one who deserved the thanks since he had done a wonderful job for a 12-year-old kid," says Mathis. "That made staying up all night worthwhile for me." Be It Ever So Humble... Certainly evacuees longed for the magic of Dorothy's red shoes, to be able to click their heels together while repeating "There's no place like home, there's no place like home," waking up to find themselves in their own beds at home, safe and dry. However, thousands of evacuated residents had to flock to the flood shelters seeking food, safety, and a place to sleep. Almost three dozen shelters were in operation in Albany, manned by hundreds of volunteers. Shelter workers did everything from cooking and serving meals and snacks, to cleaning bathrooms and playing with the many children who'd been abruptly taken from their homes. A Henderson Road evacuee, Mary Lee Reese, was housed in the Sherwood Church Family Life Center shelter along with her father, husband, mother-in-law and two sisters. Mrs. Reeses father, Charlie Platt, is 102-years-old and was in Albany during the disastrous flood of 1925. Time has erased all memories of his previous flood experience, and even now he doesn't compre- hend that they've lost their home to the flood. "I told Daddy that the house was gone," said Mrs. Reese, "and he said 'Gone where?' Perhaps Charlie is better off not understanding the loss his family has suffered. Other shelter residents sat day after day, not knowing whether they had a home to return to. "I'd like to know one way or another," said one evacuee, "At least then we could begin to make plans for our family." Tom Pollock, Administrator of Sherwood Baptist church says things have run smoothly at the shelter. "We're fortunate to have many nurses who are members of our church volunteering to provide medical services for our shelter," said Pollock. The first Sunday service at Sherwood held after the flood must have been very inspirational. 'We had 20 people saved during our service that day," stated Pollock. After a disaster of this magnitude, some people undoubtedly come to believe that they are at the mercy of a higher power. As the days stretched to weeks, fatigue began to creep up on the volunteer shelter workers. A few problems did arise in some of the shelters, but that is to be expected when so . many people are thrown together and forced to live in such .dose quarters. There were isolated reports of fornication among shelter inhabitants unable to control their hormones. Some shelters had problems with evacuees being uncoopera- tive with clean up responsibilities, often walking away from a mess or spill, leaving it for some volunteer to clean up. However, many evacuees had better living conditions in the shelters than they'd had at home and were very thankful for the three meals a day and air conditioning now being made available to them. Most shelter occupants said they were happy with the care they were being given and were grateful to have somewhere to go in this calamity. Many shelters, such as the Sherwood center, are merely temporary and will be transferring occupants to other shelters as space becomes available. Unfortunately, some shelters may have to remain in operation for months, as evacuees arrange to rebuild their homes or find other dwellings to move into. As in all natural disasters, the Red Cross was quickly on the scene, organizing several shelters of their own and set- ting up distribution warehouses to supply all area shelters. Bill Hamby, a Red Cross Disaster Service Volunteer, has been in charge of the distribution warehouse on Dawson Road An Albany resident, Hamby said, 'Tve worked 17 disasters since 1979, but this is the first one that's come to me." : The Red Cross has gathered the full strength of its forces in this area and has some of its most experienced workers going around the clock to try to alleviate some of the problems faced by the flood victims. A large group of volunteers were the members of the Brotherhood of Southern Baptist Cooking Unit of First Baptist Church. These hardworking people cooked daily for the shelters and sent the food out in Red Cross Emergency Response vehicles to be distributed to the shelters. Similarly, the Knights of Columbus kitchen cooked for the 150 sheltered at the Knights' hall as well as those at the Darton College gym. School cafeterias were also busy preparing massive amounts of food to provide hot meals to shelter residents. Most of the food prepared in these different kitchens was purchased by the Red Cross, though a lot of food was donated to prepare care packages for families who needed Albany and Dougherty County's public facilities, roods and bridges sustained $500 million in flood damages. Photo: Shawn Hirst Photo: Shawn Hirst them. Countless businesses donated supplies, food, and baby needs in bulk amounts. The outpouring of charity was relentless, with cleaning supplies and necessities pouring in from across the nation. Many survivors of last year's devastat- ing flood in the central states were happy to help in any way they could. 'Tve been through this; 1 know how helpless these people feel," stated one survivor from Missouri. The Months Ahead... While many businesses have been destroyed or forced to take considerable losses because of this flood, the pendulum will soon swing to the other extreme. The economy will see a generous elevation in months to come and unemployment will be lowered as well. Furniture, clothing, and building materials suppliers will face heavy demands. Jobs will abound for the unemployed in the areas of clean-up teams and construction crews. Rebuilding is going to take money and laborers, bringing companies temporarily to this area. Residents in need of rebuilding are being warned about the likelihood of scam artists who'll try to make quick cash at the expense of anyone who hires them. People are being advised to contact the Better Business Bureau for references of the potential contractor or business. In another sense, the flood will have a tremendous environmental impact. Everything from crop herbicides to human corpses has been mixed through these foul waters. Raw sewage was another element of this toxic mixture, as drainage systems were overtaxed during the flooding. However, because of the amount of water involved, dilution of these hazardous elements may be an environmental buffer for the affected areas. The EPA and EPD have been monitor- ing this situation and plan to continue their assessments. Another health hazard residents are being warned of is the possibility of contracting cholera, hepatitis, and tetanus by having bodily contact with the flood water or anything which it has contaminated. Extreme caution is being advised as the clean-up process continues. This Too Shall Pass... Or will it? A few religious sects believe that these disas- ters are but a taste of what's to come before the end of the world. Earthquakes, floods, deadly diseases, war - all of these have been used as illustrations by some church leaders as an attempt to warn sinners of what they may be headed for. But how real is the belief of some of these followers? "About as real as real can be, says one retired Pentecostal preacher from Kentucky. "People's strong faith can get them through 18 ilmn just about anything, but it's at times like these that our faith is truly tested, and one day the believers will be separated from the disbelievers." Unfortunately, a disaster of this magni- tude does not discriminate between its victims, taking any- . ng and everything that gets in the way. This flood will go down in record books and family diaries, the story to be told generation after generation. Quite possibly, the most significant thing survivors will remember is the com- ing together of people who would ordinarily never cross paths, to offer support, shelter, and the power to rebuild lives after so much has been lost. 7000 residents in Albany lost their homes to the flood Oh Sacred Grounds By K.K. Snyder Laying a loved one to rest is always a grief-filled experience. So having to attempt to identify a deceased family members casket or even an actual corpse or appendages would certainly be horrid. This is the problem some Albany residents face now that flood waters have begun to diminish. Over 400 caskets have been disturbed from their peaceful depths, and in some cases the bodies have been washed from within. Riverside and Oakview cemeteries, both city- owned, were disturbed during the flood, as the swift current washed away the soil covering the caskets. Once the dirt was displaced, the caskets shot straight up out of the water, exploding as high as 6 feet above the surface. City coroner Bucky Brookshire has been hush-hush about the plan for identification of the uprooted remains, admitting only that they are being stored at the Exchange Club Fairgrounds. Unfortunately, some of these caskets date back to the 19th century and have deteriorated beyond the possibility of identification. Time is certainly a factor in this situation, and hopefully most of the deceased will be identified quickly and their bodies laid to rest once again, probably a few feet deeper than before. GBI Director Buddy Nix says GB1 teams are still searching for additional remains which may have been washed away to other locations downstream. Albany has been receiving advice on how to deal with this problem from federal advisors who had over 600 caskets and corpses to replace after last year's flood in the St. Louis area. This process is expected to take several months as families are assisted in identifying caskets and even corpses. Mr. Nix stated that burial records at Riverside Cemetery were submerged in the flood waters and are in the process of being dried and restored as much as possible. A family assistance center has been set up to aid families who had loved ones buried in either Riverside or Oakview cemeteries. Mr. Brookshire stated that no identifications have been made as of August 1. This will be a very painful process for most involved- just one more way in which the tragedy of this flood will linger long after the waters have come to rest within their banks. f, silent9 solemn scene, wnere \saesars9 nerves9 MARKERS U If Kircfidorfer The waters came in July. They had come before for over a hundred years but never bothered much more than my light-sleeping ears. All of a sudden I was awakened above the earth afloat rafting along Whispering Pines, light of a chartered helicopter flashing me as if dead were alive for the alive. My fine housing did not once open a door. I was roped, tied, with others to be stored on the fairgrounds until my turn came to meet the medical un maker. I was in the papers yes, but not with my head sticking out, satisfying the living that they too could, no would, die one day and be put on show, nobody able to really put them under for sure. )e crawl Incle 33 shelters were in operation at the peak of evacuations. 4,202 people were housed in these shelters. Fall From Antediluvian Grace: A Personal and Therefore Microcosmic Account of The Flood of 1994 by 0' Victor Miller (For: Woody, Share, John Y., Fred, Lynn, Richard, Hope, Bruce, Mack, Bob, Ben, Kay, John P, Aynne, Tony, Jackie, David H David P., Steve, Mike D., Mike R Michael, Marc, Kick, Miss Trish, Sonny, Gilbert, Carla, Carl, Clarice, The Lee County Volunteer Fire Department Rescue Team, The Lee County Sheriffs Department, the Red Cross, FEMA, the DNR, the National Guard and all the others.) Its a disaster of biblical magnitude when graveyards yawn, burping caskets and bodies from saturated graves. Sewers back up and spew foul water, fountains regurgitating subterranean corrup- tion. The stench, the loss, the disrupted peace of old age, the sacrificed innocence, the mass confusion as tens of thousands of homeless people exodus to higher ground. The rising water brings forth snakes, frogs, rats, panic. The falling water collapses the earth, causing gaping sinkholes, stench, disease, toxic wastes. I keep waiting for it to rain blood, but it doesnt. Water keeps falling from a pewter sky. Water and more water. Its rained for two weeks straight. Alberto comes and goes, and now the flood makes its own perpetual weather, the vapor rising from the Flint River basin and falling as still more rain. Evacuation John Yeoman trucks me and Maisy, my eleven-year-old daugh- ter, across Oakridge Bridge to Mothers house after Radium Springs Road has been evacuated. Following tedious detours and begging through roadblocks, we finally arrive on the water soaked lawn. The raging Flint at the back steps is the color of meat loaf, ignoring the high banks where I used to play and fish. High water hasnt threatened this house in the fifty years since architect Edward Jones and contractor Ben Blalock created it of heartpine, plaster, and crown molding. Its a small house, a Williamsburg replica, with steep roof and perfectionists' authenticity of detail. We are moved by the quiet order of Mother's precious belongings, her Persian carpets, Chinese porcelains, Queen Anne furniture, English paintings. She has collected antiques with a lifelong reverence. If material things can have spirit, these things do, haunted by master craftsmen of different centuries and distant lands. We real- ize too late that this house, along with thousands more, will flood. A fire truck blows its horn for us to leave the area. Now. We carry what we can up the narrow stairs to the second floor. .John and I move furniture while Maisy disappears and returns with three boxes of her great grandmother's jewelry, evidencing some magnetic mechanism in the uterus that divines jewelry. How else would she know where it was hidden? 1 just did, she says, but Sandra Yeoman, subsequently defending her gender, says No. Maisy knew where the jewelry was because she'd played with it on rainy day, that's all. Women like Sandra are quick to disclaim gynecological metaphysics, although every man knows the uterus, even before it matures and after it desiccates, is the seat of magical and worrisome phenomena and is drawn to anything that glitters, from rhinestones to tiaras. Flood The creeks come up fast in Lee County. The typical scenario, according to rescue chief l.W. Cook: 'Whoever got rescued jumped back into the water to help somebody else. We'd never have gotten everybody out if they hadn't. We just didn't have enough people, even with the National GuaRoad" At 11:00 Wednesday night a bearded volunteer bangs on my door and drafts me and my jonboat to rescue residents from Northampton rooftops, where the Muckalee Creek is rising four feet per hour. As I leave, Claire hands me a life jacket that used to belong to my stepdaughter, Mary Catherine, before she turned six and outgrew it. I try it on, but it elevates my arms so that I have to crab sideways through the door. We top a hill on Northampton and see the flooded subdivi- sion. Emergency lights flash eerily on wrinkled water. Late model cars and trucks are submerged to their side mirrors, and some dome lights still burn. Tides of water rush through new houses puking belongings out upstairs windows as owners sit on roofs hugging their knees. We are given addresses of victims trapped by the water, but the mailboxes are underwater. We identify Northampton by rooftops and utility poles. Lee County rescue workers launch my boat into the east end of Northampton road over the vanished banks of the creek. They assign me Tony Sellars, who's trying to rescue his neighbors. Mr. Fryer, a calm, stocky man recovering from a back injury, lowers himself into the boat by a rope from a gable. He has a better flashlight than ours and he swaps. We'll lose the flashlight when I get too big for my britches and wreck the boat. After rescuing several boat loads of people, I'm feeling pretty good. We transport a little boy named Stevie to a National Guard truck that will reunite him with his mother. One woman leaves her collies in the attic with a window open. I hastily promise to go back for them after all the humans are out. Sometime before dawn this ere we love , olmea woman will decide I'm the most despicable liar in Lee County, but now we're doing fine. I've learned to make wide upstream passes to get in close to the houses. The water over lawns is so fast, I can't speed fast enough downstream to stay in control. We buzz in, whipping in and out of trees like a racing boat rounding pylons. 'Where do the Tindellsdive?" "They're way down toward the end." The water above the street is swift but steady. I run over a few mail boxes until I get the hang of driving over submerged roads and 1 speed up, getting the boat up on a plane. Suddenlywhomp eeeeeeeee-Yowwe're sailing through the air, screaming above the deranged pitch of the airborne outboardYowerrrrrruntil we splash back down, sending spray high into the air. What the hell was that?" "You hit a truck, Tony says. So now we know. The cab of a submerged truck is just the right camber to launch a speeding jonboat skywaRoad Tony points out the general direction of the Tindell house, and we zip into the collective whitewater of flooded yards, where trees braid the rushing current that has broken over the belly of an oxbow. We buck and slide through the treacherous water, but I'm back up to speed, humming with adrenaline. Grooving on the slap of the bow as it breaks through the waves. This rescue business is quite fulfilling. I may become a fu||time hero like the Lee County EMTs and volun- teer fire department rescue teams, who work full time jobs and sleep with police scanners on their pillows. Maybe I'll become a law enforcement officer. Join the D.N.R. Be a scoutmaster. Suddenly my revery aborts as I realize I'm caught in a floodway and boxed in by trees. I cut the power and the current takes us, bash- ing us into a pine. The impact rolls Tony backward over me, dipping the boat on its side as the force of the water wraps the bottom of the boat around a tree. We both go under but manage to stay with the boat because we fall upstream, the water pushing us against the bottom. There's a loud crash as the current folds the boat around the tree. I holler above the roar of the water and Tony answers. We find ourselves hanging on a sunken jonboat wrapped around a loblolly pine. Later we'll discover that at least five boats, including mine, capsize during the Northampton rescue. After a half hour our eyes adjust to the darkness and I'm able to barely make out the hands of my watch. It's three-thirty. We're on the downstream side of the tantalizing roofs of the Eller and Collins homes. The only downstream structures above the raging water are pine trees exactly the same size as the one that's tattooing Real Tree camouflage on my belly and chest. We assess the situation. 'ome chmhim \e m The boat's sure to break in half or unwrap from the tree. We have no flashlight now, no way to signal rescuers. The water is too rough for a jonboatwe'd proved that. Rescuers can't hear us yell above the roar of the water without cutting off their motor, and they can't cut off their motor without being swept away. That's assuming a rescue boat will come. 'Were screwed," 1 announce. We talk. I'm worried about deer and bobcats trying to climb the only flat structures above the water, which is our heads. Tony is worried about snakes wrapping around our necks. Things bump against our backs in the darkness, and we grunt, shudder, and moan. "If a rattlesnake gets on you," I tell him, just duck under and wash him off. The last thing a snake wants to do tonight is bite somebody." We wait for animals to come swimming by two-by-two, but only fire ants come. This torrent is one to wash the meanness out of every living thing except fire ants. We worry about the water rising slowly and pushing harder to get us off the pine tree. 1 worry about lions and tigers swimming out of Chehaw Animal Park and wanting my tree. I've developed a limited teleology. My attitude concerning the Flood of the Century has become very specific. My microcosmic world view at present consists of me, Tony, a few thousand ants, and a loblolly pine. 'We're upstream from Chehaw," Tony says. "Anyway, 1 don't think they have lions and tigers. They have an elephant." "I'd like to see an elephant about now. Or a giraffe." A rat scrambles on Tonyjs shoulder and perches like a parrot. He knocks it off, quickly re-grabbing the tree. Meanwhile, back at Chehaw, the elephant has gallumped to higher ground. Melvin Young and Howard Craven have found Mr. Charlie and two others stranded in a boat and rescued them. They've cut the wire fence and let the deer out before the alligators can corral a fawn they're interested in. They also saved a couple of wild-eyed donkeys caught in a fence and wrapped a life vest around a llama's neck and floated him to high ground. Of course, we dont know any of this. If we had known, the immediacy and magnitude of our own situation wouldn't allow us the luxury to give a damn. I'm slapping pissants and mumbling prayers. An hour before, we felt a lot of humanitarian concern for people stranded on rooftops. Now, I'd swap out everything I own for a dry shingle and a chimney to lean my back against. Wherever he is, Mr. Tindell's in the catbird seat compared to us. We are massaged by a cold water jacuzzi until our essential oils leach out. Our buttocks have shriveled up like Sunmaid apricots. Tony wants to hang on, and I'm psyching myself up for turning loose. This may evidence one difference between a 22-year-old man with a whole life ahead of him and a 52-year-old man who's drunk enough 28 9 whiskey and chased enough women anyway. Mature folks devel- op a go-with-the-flow attitude, especially when they're wore slap out from the flow. I figure a coronary infarction induced by exhaustion from trying to straddle a bucking tree is inferior to a wild ride on the Log Flume to Apalachee Bay. Our amicable four-hour argument goes something like this: "Pretend you paid a thousand dollars to shoot the Colorado River and fell out of your raft," 1 tell Tony. "Just hold your feet out in front of you, the first bump you feel will be the Flint River power dam. When we see some lights on the right, swim towards Cozumel." We can always turn loose later," Tony says. "The other res- cuers know we disappeared around here. They'll find us sooner or later, because my mamma wont let up on them until they do." "I dont think I'm going to be able to hang on much longer." "I'll hang on a week before I ride that whitewater through the Muckalee swamp. Wed get tangled in limbs and whoa vines." "When you get tangled, ball up and roll." "The treesll beat us to death." "This tree's beating me to death. Maybe we'll wash into a better tree than this son-of-a-bitch. I've about wore the crotch out of my britches riding this whipper-snapper." "You're lucky to have britches," says Tony, whos wearing a pair of Darton athletic shorts. "You're lucky to have shoes." "If we turn loose, well go over the power dam." "It wont be much more than a bump if we do. The water levels about the same below as above. "Maybe after daylight they'll send a chopper. They know we disappeared around here. What time is it now?" And so forth. We spend the night shifting positions, keeping our head and shoulders above the water. We stay on the upstream side, experimenting ways to alleviate the relentless force of the current. At first we manage to keep in place because the rushing water presses our bellies against the boat, creating a backwash, but the water rises. We find new ways to cling to the tree, lacing our arms and legs around the trunk and each other like Siamese contortionists. We straddle the side of the boat, riding the gunnels with our knees and clasping the tree with fingers, teeth, and toenails. Finally, we have to stand, the water rushing beneath our armpits. My bare feet cramp and I have to relieve them by lifting one foot at a time while Tony holds me against the tree. He offers me one of his shoes, but we can't figure any way to swap without getting washed away. Deliverance We see the spotlights of rescuers, David Howell, Jackie McCorkle, and others. We yodel, bleat, chirp, yip, and wail until we're hoarse. We dont think they can hear us. Even if they kill their outboard, they can't hear us over the roar of the rushing water. "Behind the house!" we yell, "Behind the house!" I tear my shirt off and try to wave it. We don't think they know where we are, but they do. They just can't get into the Ellers' backyard without joining us. They wait until dawn, then tie to a tree and ease their boat downstream towards us. We cheer them on like Auburn fans. They toss us a line which we tie on our sacred pine. Tugging the ropes and maneuvering with the outboard finally get them close enough to pull us in over the transom of Charlie Haire's boat. After rescuing us, our deliverers go after the Cowarts, whove climbed from the flooded attic through a hole in the roof they chopped with an ax. I spent four and a half hours hanging on a pine tree with Tony Sellars, who was twenty-two when we hit the water, about forty the next morning. 1 didn't even know what he looked like 29 Jkal which ice lose we mourn we have ever i hut must m reji ells ice that '.ma. iwe in oam until the sun came up, that glorious sun. The Redbone Rescue team says I about balanced out the debits and credits in the rescue business, i rescued about the same number of people it ' took to rescue me. Landmarks and Memorials If you're riding down Northampton Road and you see a pine tree between Bobby and Joanne Collins' and Gary and Debbie Eller's yards with the yellow meat showing, one that bob like it's been turpentined, thats the tree Tony and I clawed the bark off hanging on. Epiphany We both underwent profound attitude adjustments during our arboreal interlude. When I got back on the bank, material things were unimportant in my new ideology. 1 experienced a spiritual epiphany and swore if I ever got out of that raging body of water, euphemistically called the Muckalee Creek, Id never complain about anything again. Id give everything that wasn't washed away to the poor. I was walking on a cushion of air when I stepped out of the rescue boat. The world was bathed in holy light. You can get very spiritual hanging on a pine tree from three o'clock until dawn. We learned that worldly possessions retarded spiritual growth and restricted passage into the Kingdom of Heaven, that even a backpack could make a pilgrim too bulky to pass through the eye of a needle. Tony upped his pledge to the church and swore to honor his father and mother. I swore to honor his father and mother too if they raised enough hell to get somebody sent after us. 1 pledged to give whatever worldly possessions that hadn't been washed away to the poor and to assign passing grades to all my students grandfathered back to 1969.1 even developed a Brahmanic love for the fire ants that tormented me. How trivial and mean it was for me to deny them the sustenance of my transitory blood and flesh. Home Meanwhile, back on the swollen banb of the Kinchafoonee, Claire is evacuating our house and dog-cussing me for not being with the family during a time of crisis. Clarice is packing the flat- ware, and flashing her daughter I-told-you-so facial expressions she perfected during our wedding ceremony. I'm back in time to catch the last carload out before the police close the Slappey Drive bridge. We sojourn to my in-laws' house, where I lie comatose for a while, but after I've broken my fast with a half-dozen pork chops and gotten four or five hours sleep, my epiphany starts fading and I get to wanting some of my stuff back. I rise on one elbow from the Castro Convertible. "Where my snake boots?" I ask Claire. "I couldn't think of everything." "You get my deer rifle out? "Uh, no." "My pistol?" "Nope. "What about my heart medicine." You'd been-gone all night. I didn't know if you were coming back? When you evacuate you stick to the bare essentials." "Damn Claire, my pistol is bare essentials. We'll lose everything in the flood and I wont even be able to rob a 7-Eleven." I plunder through our belongings for a toothbrush and some dry shoes. I find a five gallon bucket full of eye liner, lipstick, and eye shadow, i rummage through three or four suitcases full of panties and brasessentials. The only thing I can find of mine is a gray pair of jockey shorts with.a stretched waistband. In the tree, when I'd decided my spiritual life was encumbered by material things, I meant things like lawn mowers, garden tools, and hair dryers. Most of the material things I was willing to part with actually belonged to Claire. Now, I didn't think I could be very spiritual without a jonboat, a .243, and a graphite fly rod. I start picturing all my neat stuff with transfigurative haloes and transcen- dental wings, a plaintive telepathic voice like E.T.'s moans like a mantra: "Hommme." "You can't get home," says Bill Kickiighter. "Slappey's closed off." "Take me to the west side of Century Bridge, I say. "I'll get Charlie Hardison or Monty Moody to send a rescue boat to ferry me across." "No," says Kickiighter. Century bridge is under, but there's a bulge in the surface made by the railing. I inch along, holding the rail and sliding my front foot forward feeling for potholes. Before the water gets deep, 1 can see fish swimming over the asphalt. With a baseball bat I could stun enough for a fish fry but they'd wash to Canuga before I could pick them up. The water gets deeper and the railing runs out. I'm still too far to yell for a boat. Ruptured mobile homes are washed from their founda- tions. Just above the bridge, Billy Chambers' swamped house has been mounted by another house. These gutted dwellings look like extinct, rutting beasts. The water has climbed the hill nearly to the Highway 19 intersection, and theres no dry land in sight downstream, but I have faith my house is dry about a half mile downstream. I know that some of my neighbors have refused to evacuate. The water sweeping over Century Bridge is swift, about a class IV, but tame compared to the water in Northamton. Still, as soon as 1 jump off the bridge I'm sorry I did. Expecting to take my time drifting wu are on roado m 'eham downstream and working my way leisurely to the east bank, I find myself bobbing like a cork down a whitewater flume that keeps kick- ing me back into midstream. I jettison my shoes and shift from a demure breaststroke into an earnest Australian crawl, nearly exhaust- ing myself before I finally gain a swamped rooftop, where 1 lie gasp- ing. I want to relax until my heart settles down, but 1 notice that the volunteers have already launched a boat to rescue me. I know theyll be mad and 1 don't want to face them, so 1 dive in and swim to dry land. 1 climb to Sandybeach Road and circle behind some people on the bank. 1 ask what the commotion is about. "Some crazy sumtytch jumped off Century Bridge and drount!" says a tall man in a baseball cap. "He didn't jump," a woman insists, The fool dove." "I|bet he's O.K.," I say, sneaking off. "Hey, what you doing wet?" I'm still dripping when Lee County rescue chief J.W. Cook knocks on my door, visibly pissed. "I figured it was you, he says. "I told them leaves, grinding his teeth. 1 realize that the water has crested beneath my main floor and have an immediate onslaught of survivors guilt, but there's nothing I can do stranded on the island of Sandybeach Road. My neighbors and I plan a barbecue of venison I've salvaged can walk on water, I'm dumbfounded that his psychokinesis can support a Ford mini-van. "If you'd waited four hours instead of shaking his head whenever he speaks to me. According to Clarice, he picked it up about midway during the wedding ceremony. Mike Roberts flies me over Mother's house in his Beechcraft Duchess. From 3000 feet, I can see that the muddy Flint has flooded my childish past. Radium Golf Course, where Bobby, Marvin, Buster and I used to waterslide down fairways and over greens during lesser floods, is now a strangely shaped lake of cloverleafs, medallions, and lobes of ugly water. The Radium Casino, half submerged, looks like the squat Monticello, on the back of a nickel. South Albany is a Monopoly game interrupted by an overflow of bathroom plumbing. A sprawling village of rooftops. Streets have become canals. The Muckafoonee and Georgia Power dams detain no water. At Warwick, the Crisp Dam spillway is submerged. When the Liberty Expressway opens, I drive out to my home place apprehensive. From Mike's airplane I'm sure I've seen the Flint flowing into the dormers of the second story, but when 1 arrive, I find to bring in the boat, that it was probably just you going home." J.W. from my freezer. I'm still damp when suddenly my father-in-law, Carl Leavy, drives up. Although Claire has tediously insisted her daddy I jumping off that bridge," he says, "You could have come down Slappey Drive with me." Carl has this unconscious habit of slowly Gary and Debbie Eller escaped with teenage daughters Daphne and Tiffany, friends, and Aunt lanice by holding hands in a daisy chain and playing red rover with neck-deep water to the road, where the National Guard waited in a HEMMETT. the rising water stopped at belly-button level on the plaster walls. I'm amazed to discover that some antique furniture and most of the porcelain can be salvaged. Miraculously, hardly any of the china is broken. Cups and saucers have drifted and fluttered from room to room and come to rest in the silt. It is as though the ghosts of artisans and previous owners protected the stuff. Strange things have happened here. An Eighteenth Century chest of drawers has fallen over and is suspended over a stack of eggshell china saucers by a silver pitcher. The dented pitcher supports the chest a paper thickness above the saucers. Ben and Kay Swilley show up with a truck while Mack, Michael, Mark, Bob and John wander like apostles through the chocolate custard mud, rooting for relics. Hope Campbelt, resplendent in overalls and galoshes, culls furniture and sorts, disinfects, and boxes porcelain in the front yard She stays up to her elbows in Clorox for two days. She'll get dishpan hands but not bubonic plague. Her hands, bleached to the wrists, look like surgical gloves. Lynn and Richard Kennedy take the breakables home to wash and repack. I've soaked my hands in enough hydrogen peroxide to loosen my nails. Spending the night in the pine tree, i realize, didn't elevate me to an absolute indifference for material things, but it numbed me enough to walk without gnashing my teeth through mother's ruined things. It's ironic that when I've decided to live more simply, winnow- ing my earthly possessions to a rice bowl, a Woodall coffee mug, and a Swiss army knife, I should become the curator of Mother's stuff, which Claire has volunteered to warehouse in my living room. God laughs at me as I tunnel through narrow cardboard corridors between boxes of Spode, Haviland, and Rosenthal china, looking for my mug. My house is packed with furniture my womenfolk won't even let me sit in, and when I reach into the cabinet for the peanut butter, exotic herbs and spices cascade upon my head. Rumors A very old man with a chain saw wanders the rim of the Chicasawhatchee swamp cutting gopher wood. DNR's Gerald Henry rescues a gopher tortoise from a Northampton rooftop. At Chehaw a reluctant emu kicks the shit out of Dougherty Sheriff's Deputy Eddie lackson during a heroic attempt to transport the ostrich-like bird to higher ground. A volunteer stringing floating coffins on a tree reports that a casket burst through the surface like a blue marlin, it nearly torpe- does his boat, trailing water high into the air. "That jack-in-the-box come up out of there like a Polaris missile," he says. Indeed, over two-hundred bodies flee eternal confines. It's rumored that corpses hang like scarecrows from branches of oak trees in south Albany. One, they say, in a Confederate uniform was seen bobbing down Whispering Pines. A lusty heterosexual couple is driven from a Baptist shelter for fornicating (not dancing) behind the pulpit. Another is expelled for copulating on a cot in the center of a crowded gym. An irate woman complains that FEMA officials are acting in a prejudicial manner, that they won't give her any money although the water came very close to her home. An increasing number of indolent refugees demand to be waited onthat coffee and snacks be brought to their cots while their children riot unchecked. A healthy young man sits on his porch watching volunteers sandbag his house. A lonely man walks the high ground at Raintree Condominiums, an automatic pistol strapped to his hip. While his neighbors weep and wade among their ruins, hes anxious to shoot somebody bent on stealing a waterlogged sofa, guarding past common sense against looters who'd have to be dropped in by chopper or amphibiously landed against the flotsam and jetsam of the tennis courts. Richard Huggins of Huggins Outboard Marine deployed $15,000 worth of equipment to police and fire departments to aid the rescue efforts in Lee, Dougherty , and Baker counties. Responding to the shortage of rescue boats, FEMA bought 50 boats, motors, and trailers from Perry Sports Center to give to the DNR. Looters, fraudulent collectors for charity, con artists rub their palms together. Some thieves with megaphones, before the present danger of rising waters, impersonate authorities and order homeown- ers to evacuate so they can burglarize houses. A growing number of citizens, including me, feel that looters and con artists should be denied due process. shout \e le goo One antipathetic shrew with a lavender beehive is overheard to say while surveying the damage to Jamestown Apartments, "Just as long as it doesn't get to Doublegate..." An APD traffic cop approaches a woman leaning against a tree to inform her the cemetary is a restrictive area. He discovers that she is a disinterred cemetary resident. Aftermath Theres no rainbow in the blood-blister sky, just the iridescent prism of an oil slick in a stagnant puddle, but a mottled dove limps by with a sprig of kudzu, and fire ants, which will be here until the' 1 apocalypse, start building new beds. The waters recede, browning the grass, the shrubs, the trees, with silt. The skeletons in our closets have been washed out into the street. We've learned, will learn, what- ever lessons there are in disaster, survival, and loss. We'll get a better glimpse into our interior fabric and reckon what's to be discarded, what restored. For me, a teacher too rapidly becoming jaded, I was afforded the privilege of witnessing a young man come of age. I emerged from a Northampton pine with renewed faith that the moral fiber and the archaic and obsolescent male virtues of courage, endurance, and sacrifice have not been bred entirely out of the Homo-Sapiens gene pool. Tony's mamma should know that under the most adverse circumstances and in the worst of company, her son remains respectful, considerate, and brave. If you ever get down on the human race, walk around southwest Georgia during a natural disaster. I have faith that the good people of southwest Georgia, like fire ants, possums, and cockroaches, will somehow survive. They will remain unflappable even as experts warn that underwater caverns will collapse when the waters recede, causing suckholes in the earth. Suckholes! The media warn: "Now that you've lost everything you own, the earth itself will open and swallow you up, but don't panic." There's plenty of misery, plenty of loss, plenty of despair. But don't panic. ese are oar remain - 38 \e music crei '.esbeare 43 Counties hove been declared federal disaster areas by President Clinton. 40 ennuson The Government has collected more than 50,000 pounds of househeld hazardous waste from homes in Albany. rilJi otninj ana w notninj vena,/ wn ear. must have one common en J,/ytnd nothina crown the WpthinQ hace and nothing claim, table le o r name Jlian s no Llesi work - Jnoore Rt least 31 people died in the flood, including 15 in Rmericus and 4 in Albany. 44 common woiit ennuson President Clinton pledges $65.5 million for the oreo. 46 lere are deeds which lave no form, sufferini Wi 43 Counties Hove been declared Federal disaster areas by President Clinton. Scouts were flooded out of their homes in the area. an Three Days Up a Tree by Becky Flanigan "He was wired. That was Jacqueline McCorkle's reaction to her interview with Eddie Manassi. lacquelihe, at 17 (the youngest member of the Lee County Rescue Squad), took advantage of a few slow moments during "flood fortnight" to interview a few of the residents at the Philema Road Baptist Church Shelter. Eddie had just arrived after three days and nights of being literally "up a tree." Eddie arrived home Wednesday night around 11:30 P.M. He sat down in the living room of his mobile home and soon realized that water was starting to seep in. In his charming accent: "When I see water coming in my house, I try to get to car. I see water coming so quick, 1 can't go to car. I come back in house. I sit in chair... The water continued to rise. "All the furniture start to be floating. I start to be scared. 1 put the chair on the table...finally I was scared to be in the house...then the furniture start to fall apart...1 jump through the water." The strength of the flood drove him out of his trailer. He grabbed at one tree but was swept by. f "I look at trailer going up and up. 1 was much scared," he confided. But he did catch a branch of a second tree he passed and spent the remainder of thht night as well as the next two holding on for dear life. "I stand like this for three days." He showed Jacqueline how he stood; first on the balls, then the arches, then the-heels of his feet, swollen along with his ankles and legs from numerous mosquito and fire ant bites. Of the snakes and turtles that swam around his feet he said, "It was a scary thing." Finally, on Saturday around noon, after two helicopters had passed overhead and failed to return, Eddie became desperate. "I thought.if there is no hope in 30 minutes, 1 will jump," he told Jacqueline. And then he heard yelling. "What in the hell are you doing here? were welcome words to Eddie's ears. It was Mike and Scott Bruner and Alan Williams just happening by in their boat, trying to determine the condition of their parents' home. The elder Bruners were neighbors of Manassi. They immediately delivered Eddie to rescue workers at Chehaw Park, who took him first to the hospital and then to the shelter where, after giving his story to Jacqueline, he spent the night. To the shelter workers at Philema Baptist Church and to his rescuers Eddie Manassi says, "1 thank them very much. 175,000 people were left without drinking water in Reference Donated B; jjp Anheuser-BuscM 4hmi JaclaetWte, B. W %mm liir DRINKING ViS (NotFotSm banking m K #uatM| Donated By j AnheuaorBuwck1* Jac*orwtea,B-gg> DRINKING (MotfbrSati p Georgia from the flood. enruson 88vHitr"IS \ llllflnj9glMFI 1. Sfc&filsg? 1120 West Broad Avenue Albany, Georgia 31707 (912) 888-^b^