11,509. RUDIMENTS, pt. 582

RUDIMENTS, pt. 582
(hundred year storm)
When the floodwaters

came to Elmira, they

took most everything

with them. Raging waters,

all of a sudden, from the

usually pretty sedate

Chemung River. It ran

through the center of

town, the river did,

with levees and some

side ramps and all, but

never anything of

concern to people.

The river there just

sort of remained as a

fixture, something that

divided the town, you

knew where you were,

which bridge went over

at Elm, Maple, Walnut.

South-siders were needy.

North-siders felt rather

big-deal about themselves.

Right up to the college

(where I would later live,

two blocks  over). It lazily

made its way along, sliding

comfortably over things.

There were a few workable,

small islands in the middle.

Kids would row out, find

the seclusion, do what they

wanted, knowing they had

for 10 minutes of approach

time, by water  -  rowboat

or canoe  -  for any others

to be arriving. Nothing

ever got to the center of

the river that wasn't

brought there by humans.

One way to put it.

-

Until the flood : all of a

sudden, in the receding

floodwaters, left behind,

these islands were covered

with strange debris  -  I

mean, you could find a

little bit of everything,

from car parts and bicycles

to the occasional gravestone

and couch. The roar of that

June 22, 1972 river-flood

lingered in its debris. Even

I admit it was pretty strange

-  the cemetery or two out

along the way, they also

got ripped up, and there

are photos, yes, of caskets

and grave markets floating

downstream. The southside,

being the lower land, got

pretty much submerged

for about 6 or 7 blocks in;

underwater 6 feet of water

and mud for, probably 10

days anyway. Much of the

higher northside was spared,

except for a few river-turn

areas and other low spots

and riverbank places. It

was a real mess, and

everything was coated

in a think slime of brown

mud, shiny. It eventually

dried as the rest of June

broke through, caked itself,

and cracked into these large

slabs, and fell off  -  if it

had nor already been

hosed down. Much of

it wasn't, as that entire

salvage and rescue and

rebuild process took a

long time  -  paperwork,

personnel, tractors and

loaders too. People were

 still just getting started

months later, and the rest

of that long Summer

consisted of the varied

noises of demolition,

salvage, and rebuilding.

The banks had themselves

to come back, as two of

the major ones, Chemung

Valley Savings Bank, and

Marine Midland Bank,

had both themselves gotten

slammed. Back then there

wasn't yet, as there is now,

a small national bank on

every corner  -  TD, Chase,

Bank of America, etc.

Things were different,

and I don't know how

this all got bankrolled,

but it did  -  Government

agents, loan and assistance

people, their files, etc.,

were everywhere.

-

The meteorology types, as is

their wont, already had this

named as Hurricane Agnes.

Then the usual bullshit

began, as doubters started

saying it wasn't technically

a hurricane, have come in from

north and west, not coastal,

and all the rest. So they began

calling it a 'Tropical Storm'

instead. Like who cared? It

was Hurricane Hell, as

far as I could see. It sure

got me to wondering about

those nomenclature types of

people  -  I figured they all had

to be anal-retentive if they had

to go worrying about what to

CALL a storm of such force.

What the heck was on their

minds, and what kept them

occupied? Try shoveling up

100 pounds of 'name' instead

of mud, in a shovelful, day

after day. See what you'll

call it then.

-

Though I was still living way

out in the boonies, but working

in Elmira at that time. I was

spared damage, but I did, of

course, lose my job. First

Street, just what it calls itself,

was close enough to the river

to get subsumed in the disaster.

If you know anything about

printing, or any machinery,

for that matter, you'll know

how deadly thick layers of

slimy mud can be on well-honed

parts and precision machinery.

Most everything in printing  -

from the presses to bindery

equipment, of course, the paper,

and all the rest, was ruined. It

took a long time for that salvage

and repair operation; near to a

year. My boss Floyd just said

I should find something to do

until if and when he called back

to say they were ready for another

go. I had any of ten other farm

jobs and stuff I could do  -  which

I did undertake  -  and actually

when the call did come I had

to think a bit before deciding if

I just didn't wish to stay put.

But I went back for a while,

though it never was quite the

same for me.

-

Like I said. I'd been spared  -

house and road and barn and all,

everything withstood. Maybe

a few trees down and a lot of

beat-up looking shrubbery, but

it all came back and the new

wet spots dried of, by August

anyway. It was touch and go

for a while, but Elmira itself was

like a bomb-scene. The Chemung
River had been set to raging, and
now it was running into Elmira
carrying half the water of the rest 
of New York State, from the Finger
Lakes, at least, on down on its back.
And that included whatever it picked 
up along the way : tires, cars, lumber,
sheds, and animals too. Pure havoc

had been set lose in the poor old

place, which was no running-

song before hand. Now it just

came off as a choir of drunks.

The place was a wreck, and

what came back after the flood,

though still recognizable, was

too new and fabricated and

plasticized to have any real,

good, old, and authentic feel.

That rigid and proud core

of the 'Civil War' sort of bolster

that had been there before, it

was all gone. They went and

one up'd the McDonald's by

now adding a Burger King.

-

The day of the really strong 

storm, we got holed up in some 

Red Cross station. The wind 

was howling, and we'd been out

eastways and coming back

in I took a bridge that went

over the river and that river

tunnel acted as a shaftway

for winds, probably 80mph.

Rattled the car to Hell and

lifted my wipers right off the

windscreen and tore them off.

So there I was in the midst

of God's own downpour, 

sideways winds, in a car, and 

no wipers and yet 60 miles 

from home. As it was anyway,

they'd closed the roadway a

number of miles up, and we 

were directed into some horrible

industrial siding in the middle

of what seemed nowhere, where

they had established a Red Cross

and emergency aid station. Cots

and food and coffee and the

rest. It was just a big, open 

and sloppy place, being used 

by maybe 100 of the most

miserable people you'd meet.

Kid-toys all around, kids all

scampering and being noisy,

sulky and worried parents

staring into their coffee. One 

or two small TV's were running

(back in those days, thankfully,

none of that had hit wall-size 

hi-def markings yet). A few

authority types were at a folding

table, talking names and info  -

clipboards and paperwork..

-

There wasn't much of anything

else to be done  -  checkerboards 

and playing cards. One guy was

already grumbling about his

livestock and how they were

endangered but these people had

forced him into here to evacuate;

another guy went on about 'Hundred

year storm, they say. Hundred years,

what do they know. It could happen

all over again next week!' One

lady was crying  - she looked like

something out of one of those old

Depression pictures you see, from

Walker Evans  -  long, sad, skinny

face, eye sockets hollow, thin and

measly housedress and big, untied

boots.