“IT WAS A TERRIBLE THING TO SEE”
DOWNTOWN DAYTON – Part Five
RICHARD FILLEY
Richard Filley, a Big Four railroad conductor, was forced to spend two days and nights in the upper floor of the Union Station Depot with 115 other people.
I left Cleveland at nine o’clock on Monday and it was 4:55 a.m. Tuesday when we crossed the Great Miami bridge at Dayton. We were flagged as we approached the depot. The tracks beyond were in such bad shape that the dispatcher feared to let us proceed.
We remained just across the bridge until 8:30 a.m. The river was rising at a rapid rate, but no one had any fear.
Finally the water covered the tracks and then orders came for us to take on the passengers of a Pennsylvania train lying alongside and we were told to make for the depot. As we got alongside the shed the fires on the engine were extinguished by the flood. Water around us was waist deep.
We started lifting passengers on to the train shed and boosting them from there into the upper windows of the depot. We also threw ropes to six men in a Cincinnati, Hamilton and Dayton train, 125 feet away. They tied these around their waists and we pulled them to the shed. We rescued in the same way three men who had gone to sleep in the caboose of another train.
The kitchen of the depot restaurant was on the second floor and we had food for that day and night. The rain kept pouring down. Ludlow Street was a gushing river. It carried pianos, tables, horses, wagons and small houses along with it.
By Wednesday morning we seemed to be in the midst of an ocean. Many houses were floating down the river. They were piled up against the Miami Bridge until it finally gave way.
Wednesday night the storm reached its climax. The rain fell as from a hose. Lightening flashed and thunder crashed. Then the worst of the fires broke out and from our windows we could see flames shooting fifty feet into the air. Both men and women knelt on the floor and prayed. One man, a member of a theatrical troupe, was temporarily out of his head.
“We’re goners,” a man said to me, and I was ready to believe him.
Thursday morning brought relief, however, and as it began to get colder the water began to recede rapidly. We saw land during the day and by Friday morning the river was inside its banks.
Our food came from the debris which floated on the water. We had apples, ham, succotash, sausage, mushrooms, olives, tomatoes, cabbage, and in fact everything that comes in cans. They were washed alongside the building and we fished them up. Engineer O’Dell made a scoop from a box for catching cans. We dug our coal out of the tender of the engine and our water came from the engine’s tank. By a stroke of luck that seemed to pursue us we had filled it when we crossed the bridge.
We had the stoves of the restaurant where we built fires and cooked everything. At night every one who slept at all laid down on the floor.
Friday, when I left, Dayton was covered with mud. Houses and stores had been gutted by the flood and in many cases the contents of the houses had been washed into the river.
Perhaps the queerest sight of all was a table we saw floating by us. It was set for dinner. Plates were laid for four, and in the center was a catsup bottle and a sugar bowl, with a menu card between. Four chairs surrounded the table. Water had not touched the top of the table. The chairs were held in place by the pressure of the water.
DR. JOHN C. REEVE
Dr. John C. Reeve took the time during the flood to write a letter to his daughter, Lottie, in New York. The message was short due to the fact that the only available paper he had was old newspaper wrappers. Dr. Reeve was 87 years old and his wife, Emma, was ill and blind. Her death, a month later, was believed to be partly due to her experiences during the flood.
Wednesday, March 26, 10:15
Dear Lottie;
I am sitting at upper window, Mother’s room. Outside a raging torrent pours down Wilkinson Street, a mighty river down Third Street towards west. No human being in sight, no sign of life – silent as the grave. Below, piles on piles of wreckage, a fine piano lying in our yard! Fortunately, yesterday, 7 a.m., I had gotten breakfast at Arcade, oatmeal and coffee. Brought some to Mother.
The danger whistles had sounded before I was up, I supposed for break of levee. I did not care much, did not think of possibilities, not even when water came in yard. I banked on great flood of ’66 when this lot – house not then built – stood high and dry, whilst all around was overflowed.
Now it came so fast I had to hustle to get Mother to the stairs. Now, since last evening it has fallen nearly four inches, and as we passed last night in total darkness (piece of candle two or three inches long), I made an effort to get my lamp from the back office. I stripped to the buff, got down to last step, did not take the next, so cold, room so full of floating furniture that I could not make my way to the lamp. I was in to my armpits! We had a good supply of crackers, a few nuts, a few apples.
This morning young men from roof on house next gave us coffee. Mrs. S. J. P. could reach to them and they to us, eggs and shredded wheat. We have no water, no light, no salt for egg, no telephone connection, no cars, no paper – nothing! Yes, we have natural gas and know how to appreciate it. Neither one next door has it. I boiled an egg soft for Mother, first thing she has kept down. Have some hard-boiled for my dinner.
Mary, we know, is worrying fearfully. We can get no word to her or from her. The front and side of our house is a raging torrent – a sea up to Callahan building. Two streetcars stand in front of old Winter’s house, water just over the tops of their windows. Inside house, water went over mantels – you know the rest! All night in the darkness the crashing and creaking of furnace pipes in cellar, the banging of furniture floating about below. I could not sleep – do you wonder?
Pitiful to see the horses swimming for their lives; no foothold for them. Four yesterday, and now one has just struggled along and been swept down Third Street.
3:00 p.m. Five hours, water evidently falling. Yesterday at 3 reached highest, just cleared globes of electric light; was there when night closed. Now, third-thirds of the lamppost is visible.
Still two currents rage and swirl and eddy along, one from North Wilkinson, the other from East Third Street, joining forces here. They have swept a long section of board fence and placed it right across this corner, so shielding the corner of the house, sending one down West Third, the other South Wilkinson. But for this, I don’t think I should be writing this now! I dined on a hard boiled egg and two crackers, Mother on soft boiled egg and a little coffee, black, no sugar, no milk – neither attractive nor appetizing. We glory in our fire, and just think what a find! A teakettle full of rain water on bathroom stove and forgotten! Now we can drink! You have to get down to bedrock to appreciate such a find as that! I have lain down a good deal; slept none, but am very tired, I will sleep better tonight; the noises have all stopped and I can close my eyes with the firm assurance that the house will be standing in the morning.
Two men in boat and canoe have passed several times, but did not appear anxious to find out if anyone wanted anything. It rains by times, just to make it more cheerful! All is still, quiet, desolation, and ruin! Your mother is a wonderful woman – not a word of complaint or fear has she uttered, not even one of anxiety.
5:00 p.m. As if one calamity were not enough, for half an hour I have been watching the flames of a fire, the highest, finest flames I ever saw. A man in canoe says it is east of Beckel. Where will it stop? Night is falling. Good night.
Thursday, 9:00 a.m. Went to bed saddened by beating rain against windows, by glare of light from flames up Third Street. By fact that we had lost our comforter – natural gas would burn no more! Had a long, sound, refreshing sleep; wakened by light streaming in, rushed out to look up stream and see the fire blazing up – great tongues of flame. The whole block must be burning. That was 3:15 a.m. Another good sleep; wake at 6, driving snow, all, everywhere white where snow could rest. Outside, all water, but moving very sluggishly now. Top of fence just visible; no sign of life; all desolation and ruin. I know the meaning of the words now! The Taylors, next door west, called us – did we want anything? Yes, coffee. They made us a pot; by long reaching, both sides, we can just get to each other. They sent sandwiches, too, which E. cannot eat, and I do not want. I had a cup of coffee, then a raw egg beaten up with whiskey and a little water. I was glad to give the T’s the whiskey. I have plenty – thanks to J. A. McM.
Then next for fire. Got with difficulty some of the bricks out which block natural gas; broke up paper boxes and few thin box tops! Oh! If I had hatchet or axe; there are bookshelves plenty, fuel plenty, but efforts to break and pull show me how feeble I am. I just had to lie down.
9:30 a.m. Sitting here at window saw rapidly coming down East Third Street a boat – man and woman in stern saluting with hands; window hard to get up. Just had to hear the shout: ‘Mr. and Mrs. Penfield.’ He called, ‘Do you want anything?’ I said, ‘No, not much,’ and they were gone. Now, they live a few squares from Mary. I hope they will give her word. Evidently they were in doctor’s office down town, imprisoned, just getting home. Our other neighbor, Patterson, is at his office; Mrs. P. shut up there. I have drunk a little more hot coffee, but mouth and throat are so dry, I cannot eat. Next!
11:30 a.m. Sky cleared. Sun shining. Can see our yard where uncovered by wreckage. Water all out of front room, but several inches of slime and mud prevent my going to foot of stairs. Furniture piled in heaps in front and towards bay window. Down office stairs; back office not yet clear of water; furniture piled in heaps. Think by night I can get lamp. Boats pass often now; have brought food for men in Y.W.C.A.
4:45 p.m. Thursday. Things clearing up; skies brighter; sunshine sometimes. Two offers to take us to Dayton View, one by boat from Dr. Henry, next from Red Cross. Mother refused to go.
Men walking on tracks. Water just to ankles. Inspecting track, I suppose. We have done well enough for food. The Taylors sent a big piece of bologna, fresh bread, coffee. Mother can eat nothing. Drinks coffee. What we want most is milk for her. At 4 I stripped and went to lower regions, the office below; there is a shorter word! Got the lamp; coal oil can gone; got hatchet; have cut up some bed slats and have more, so fuel is provided for. All floor below, everything covered with mud, slime – so sticky can hardly get feet out of it. Such a sight below! Furniture overturned – piled in heaps.
Dr. Huston, in Red Cross, offered to take us to Dayton View – this, the second offer – Mother refused to go. He promised to get word to Mary.
Friday, 3d. Night passed. Fourth day dawned. My toilet – rub face with wet end of towel. Great disappointment last night. Lamp, that I made such a perilous trip to get, would not burn! Could not sleep; thoughts of this, near and remote, on us and others in city of Dayton, kept me awake hours. This morning shows streets and sidewalks are clear. Now, 11 a.m., have talked with friends in street. A man from next door got in by ladder from roof to window; he has knocked bookshelves up.
Dr. Evans has brought from depot a bucket of coal – so we are well off. Mrs. P. has given us bouillon cubes; next door evaporated milk. Mother will not drink it.
I have been down. No imagination can depict the ruin, the wreck. Mud, sticky mud, pulls rubbers off. Piano overturned. Everything upset, and wrecked. Sun shining now – glorious! A trip down to get water, and I only just got back; dropped on floor and lay a good while before I could get up.
Friday, third day, evening approaching. I cannot write much today. Have had fire all day and natural gas promised for tomorrow. Wish you could see me. Went with great difficulty to kitchen pump for water; just reaching stairs when narrow board underfoot turned and I went down into slime. You should see my clothes. I am faint, mouth and throat so dry I cannot eat.
Street full of people. Have just had word that Charley is at Lebanon in hotel. Am told that city is under martial law; see lots of badges on street. But how fine is the sunshine all day. Mother keeps about on her feet. How she lives I cannot imagine; she eats so little.
Saturday, 10:00 a.m. Soon after I wrote last Robert came with wagon to get us to Dayton View. I got downstairs, but had to be lifted into wagon. Dr. Henry fortunately came at same time and he carried Mother down and over the slimy, slippery steps. We rode, my head lying in one young woman’s lap; Mother’s in another. Water too deep in places for carriage. We got here safely. Oh! The luxury of washing face and neck, and of hot milk! Dayton View is a huge relief station; schoolhouse headquarters, full and more coming. Good organization; military; no going about without pass. Our rescue came none too soon. I feel certain that I could not have got through another night. I have now for memory the recollection of a great calamity, second, perhaps, to the Titanic, but to none other.
W. J. BLAKENEY
W. J. Blakeney’s told of his plight during the flood in a letter to S. A. Millington of Rochester, New York. Blakeney once lived in Rochester, but had moved to 424 West Second Street in Dayton and was working as secretary and treasurer for the Crawford, McGregor & Canby company.
You inquire concerning the disastrous flood and conflagration which cost Dayton probably $200,000,000, desolated what was a beautiful and prosperous city, but a city which will be greater and more prosperous after the era of reconstruction that already has set in with an energy that is remarkable. There is an optimism abroad which cannot help but work wonders as times passes.
But in retrospect: On Easter Sunday, March 23, some of the choirs of Dayton churches sang ‘I Know That My Redeemer Liveth,’ and the whirling storm drowned out the anthem. The 24th was a day of one continuous downpour of rain. The morning of the 25th the flood was upon us. At 6 o’clock that morning as I looked from the window of my room I saw that the street and sidewalks were entirely covered with dark, muddy water. At the same moment the yard became flooded. Having a lot of furniture and sundry articles stored in the cellar, I started downstairs, but before the cellar could be reached, the water rushed in and was three-quarters up the stairway from the cellar.
Abandoning thought of the furniture below, I made a rush for the first floor belongings, rugs, chairs, etc., finally tearing down draperies and hurrying them into the second story. Large pieces of furniture like the piano, and books, dished and silverware could not be saved. The water had now reached the first floor, rushing into the house from all sides, rising very rapidly, driving us upstairs, fleeing to save our lives. Later we could hear the pictures, clocks, bric-a-brac and furniture falling, some of it floating around, bumping against the windows, the ceiling and the stairway. The water continued to rise all day, and we thought it would rise above the second floor, and although greatly exhausted by efforts during the day, we began carrying everything to the third floor.
The water covered the city and rose to an unheard of height, reaching its greatest depth about midnight on March 25.
Fires were burning in all directions. It rained. It thundered. It lightninged. It snowed. The water rose about my home 10 feet in the first hour, finally reaching a depth of more than 12 feet above the first floor, making a total depth of from 17 to 19 feet from the street level. The large shade tree at the edge of the sidewalk and upon the premises swayed back and forth from the strong current of muddy water that moved houses, porches, stables, etc., from their foundations and landed them far away from their original locations. We witnessed a hurricane beyond description. The trees bent to the water. We brought our guns, into play and fired scores and scores of shots hoping for help, but it did not come. No man could have lived in such a torrent.
The horrors of the nights of the 25th and 26th are beyond description. Caged as in a den of lions, pacing up and down, watching the water rise, watching the flames ascending to the clouds, sweeping everything before them, listening to the explosions, and with little to eat or drink and no sleep, everything movable floating down the swift current, all sorts of drift striking the houses and shaking them to their very foundations, it seemed a question whether even the brick structure could stand the tremendous pressure; whether the conflagration would envelop the entire city, or whether the deluge would continue, finally submerging the housetops and drowning nearly the entire population. Rafts were built by many people, we among the number. We tore up sheets and bedding for ropes, anchoring the rafts to the attic windows, but fortunately few rafts were used. They could not have been of much account in such a current.
Those who were not in the flood can have no conception of the terrors of the experience. The loss of homes and the material property therein, the loss of valuable libraries with accumulations of books that can never be replaced, the ruination of paintings, pictures and bric-a-brac, and in addition to this, there are the ruination of valuable records. Even the street pavements, the streets themselves and sidewalks are turned up and topple over. Nothing stayed the destruction. The writer’s experiences are those of many others. We have our lives. Memory intervenes and swamps rhetoric, but- our foot is on our native heath and our name is McGregor.
REV. DR. CYRUS J. KEPHART
Rev. Dr. Cyrus J. Kephart, pastor of the First United Brethren Church in Dayton, wrote a letter to Rev. Dr. W. H. Washinger in Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, dated April 5, 1913. Rev. Kephart’s home was was located at 108 South Perry Street and the church was located at Fourth and Perry Street.
I will attempt a brief description of our own experiences in connection with the recent flood.
We are situated so that our experience was not so thrilling as was that of many others. Our parsonage is a very substantial building (brick) of three stories, as that we were not in great danger of collapse, and had plenty of room to get away from the water. Besides, the church shuts off our view to the East altogether. Then also there were no residences near us that were washed away, or from which there were any very startling adventures in getting away from the floods. So that our experiences were quite tame as compared with many others.
The water reached our corner somewhere about 7:30 a.m., Tuesday morning. We hurriedly took our canned fruit from the cellar, then began taking our carpets and furniture to the second floor, and continued working at this, my wife and myself, till the water was to her waist and my hips. We then took shelter on our second story, and with considerable anxiety awaited developments. The water rose rapidly all afternoon, and continued to rise slowly all afternoon and till midnight, when it was (as I have since measured) seven feet, three and one-half inches deep on our first floor. On the street passing us (Perry St.) it was about 12 feet deep. You will easily understand that is was a very great relief to us when at about 12:45 or 1 o’clock, Wednesday morning we could see by the water on our stair steps that it had fallen nearly an inch. The fall continued, so that by Friday morning there was no water in our first floor, and we were able to get out of the house, by having friends on the outside drive our doors open.
We were caught with quite limited supplies of eatables, so that for the three days we lived on bread and butter chiefly, along with some dried fruit. On Thursday boats came by and furnished us some additional supplies, we letting down our basket to receive same.
The water ran down the street past us in a very torrent, carrying furniture and debris of all kinds; ten horses went by to our knowledge; there many have been more. One horse swam into the church through the door between the parsonage and the church, and getting on a platform at the west of the church, survived. The water was several feet deep in the church, and greatly damaged the furniture and the pipe organ. When the water went out it left from 1½ to 2 inches of slimy mud. We have not cleaned the church yet, and hence cannot estimate the loss.
None of the members of First Church lost their lives in the flood, though many of them were sufferers from the flood. Many had to leave their homes, and are still living in the homes of their friends. So far as I know no U. B.’s lost their lives. Riverdale Church, one of the U. B. Churches located in the northern part of the city was also greatly damaged. The Publishing House suffered a loss of perhaps $125,000.
One difficulty... was that the fire was put out in the furnace, and the house became quite cold. We had to put on extra clothing, and once or twice to the bed to keep warm. But that was but little compared with people who had to stay on roofs of houses. We heard of two women, one of them 72 years old, who stayed on the roof of a house in the rain and cold for 28 hours.
We are very grateful that our lot was not more severe than it was.
I hope that those of you who receive carbon copies of this letter will excuse my sending such, as I have many inquiries to answer, and I must write somewhat in wholesale. Thank you for your interest and kindness in writing us.
P. J. HICKEY
Recounting of P. J. Hickey, of Detroit, who was in Dayton as a representative of the Walpole Rubber Company.
The Phillips hotel, in which I was stopping, is at Main and Third streets, in the heart of the business district. Here, at 8 o’clock, we found a couple of inches of water washing past. We thought it was a good joke.
It was no joke when we found the flood deepening with startling rapidity. In two hours the couple of inches had deepened to five feet, and we guests were up in the second story watching the water still reaching up for us.
Looking out at the windows we saw the torrent whirling down the roadway with almost irresistible force. A taxicab shot past, all submerged but the roof, on which the chauffeur crouched. At the next corner, the torrent swerved sharply, the vehicle went over on its side but was still swept on, and the chauffeur was swept into a whirlpool from which he was rescued with difficulty by people who had gathered on the court house steps equipped with ropes and boat hooks.
The roof of a shed shot by, struck a telephone pole, and was cut in two as neatly as if a giant knife had been used on it.
Horses released from livery stables came down, sometimes five abreast, battling bravely for their lives with almost human expressions of anxiety and effort on their faces. One brave fellow reached the court house steps after a tremendous effort and clattered up into the portico, shaking the water from his coat, but all the others were carried off, their great strength as useless as that of babes.
A drug store a couple of blocks away from us collapsed. The front of a brick saloon at the rear of the hotel fell into the street and we rescued the three inmates by casting ropes across the alley.
On Wednesday, fire started in the collapsed drug store and crept slowly in our direction. Structure after structure was attacked, and the steady progress of the flames awakened the only real fear we felt at any time. We counted, however, on taking to the roofs of the other buildings in our square and retreating a block in case the fire reached our hotel, and as the water was receding fairly fast we estimated that by the time we were forced to descend to earth again we would be safe enough. Fortunately the flames were checked by a fireproof building a block away.
We were more afraid of fire than anything else. No lights were permitted in the hotel; nobody was allowed to smoke.
The greatest depth of the water where we were was seven feet 11 inches in the hotel lobby. That was the only place at which we could make a sounding. Landlord John P. Breen attached a flatiron to a cord and let it down through one of the windows, but the current was so strong the flatiron wouldn’t sink while he held the cord.
The suddenness of the rise of the waters was so great that the supplies in the basement were soon inaccessible. Fortunately there was some food on the second floor and more was got by going over the roofs to a store near by. Landlord Breen took command of the situation in a masterly manner. He established a discipline that was military in its exactness. Men guests and help were placed on regular watches, with assigned duties and Mr. Breen was a tireless officer of the day and officer of the guard as well. We were placed on rations which gave us ample nourishment up to Thursday, when we had to be satisfied with one meal of a little meat, half a potato and some black coffee. For water supply we caught rainwater from the eaves and melted snow when that came. Yet everybody was cheerful.
On Thursday morning we saw soldiers and policemen wading about in the shallow water. By evening we were able to go about in the neighborhood dryshod. Even then we could learn little of what had happened in other parts of the city. Early Friday morning we learned that a train would leave at 7:30, and a number of us forgot everything else and hastened to get away to our families.
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