HARDIN - A reader of ours at Riverbender.com recently shared a fascinating firsthand account of the Great Flood of 1993. The story, written on Aug. 8, 1993, details the sights seen and emotions felt during a boat trip through treacherous waters to drop off a donation to the Calhoun County Sheriff's Office.
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This firsthand account was submitted by Joyce Banovz. Banovz said at the time this story takes place, she was with her now late husband, Roger, “Ava,” a volunteer from the Fieldon school, as well as the late Karen Banovz-Laramore and her husband, Mike. The following has been lightly edited for clarity and grammatical accuracy:
Sunday, Aug. 8, 1993:
The Flood Drive held this weekend was a success. We took a truck load of cleaning supplies, food, and some clothing to the school in the town of Fieldon. Ava (whose house is underwater) greeted us and said to pull around back. The National Guard unloaded the truck and said the goods would be airlifted by helicopter the following day to Hardin.
Ava phoned Herb (the man who would take us by boat to Hardin). We were taking the money we had collected. In no time at all, Herb drove up with an 18-foot aluminum boat … We climbed up into the truck and were soon on our way.
We were stopped by the National Guard. “Do you have a Flood Pass?” they asked. Herb said, "No, we are going to see Barb." They motioned for us to go on.
That's when we saw the water - silos, barns, houses, corn, etc. peeking out of the water. We could see that the water had been across the road but had recently gone down. The grass was gray. The corn was gray from the bottom up to where the water had been, then it was green. There were logs and other debris all over.
Herb backed the trailer into the water, which was about five feet from the road. As we looked around, we saw a silo leaning precariously in the water alongside a house and what appeared to have once been barns. Across the lake was a row of trees, about a mile and a half long.
Herb got into the boat, started the 25 horsepower motor, and then drove the boat around to where we could all board. Putting our life jackets on, I'm sure we all had a sick feeling of fear come over us. The water was treacherous. Before we could change our minds, Herb had us on our way.
"The water here is about 12 feet deep, but it had been 16-18 feet,” Herb said. “This is so-and-so's farm, and over there was so-and-so's farm." We could not see a farm - only water.
The water was rough going. Other boats were coming in, and the passengers would wave to us as they passed. Herb said: "That's the Nutwood Levee over there, we will be crossing at the point where it broke.” We could see the sandbags were about one foot above the water, and just beyond that, the trees.
Off to our right, we could see rooftops peeking out. Then we saw the power lines. “You'll have to duck,” Herb told us. Then we went through the levee, barely fitting between the trees.
Now we were on the river, and the current was even stronger. Huge tree limbs were floating down. We crossed over to the other side. Herb knew the river very well, and we all felt better knowing that.
Then we felt the boat hit something in the water. We couldn't see what it was.
Soda bottles were floating along. Pots, pans (from someone's kitchen, no less), and family photographs were floating down river. Documents hung from the trees as if they were hung out to dry, and there was a lot of trash.
The water was green on top; it sort of looked as if grass was growing on it - and oh! The smell, it is hard to describe. It smelled like vegetation rotting - not exactly spoiled, but odd-smelling. The smell stayed with us even after we returned home.
It is odd, but when you didn't see the property damage, the river was a beautiful sight. Looking up at the bluffs, trees, and a summer evening sun shining down, and the reflections it created on the water, was a pleasure to see. But it was short lived, for then as you looked along the river was more trash, debris, and what appeared to be mail floating down.
As we got closer to Hardin, we could see people walking around. They were surveying the damage.
The Calhoun County Bank lies on the bank of the river. The water at one point had been up to the windowsills. We were still in the water looking for a place to dock; there was debris everywhere and there was a boat tied to a tree in front of the bank surrounded by water.
Herb asked if there were sandbags showing out of the water, and we told him there were. "We will have to find a different place to dock then,” he said. As we passed the Bank, you could see shrubs neatly manicured, but gray and dead. We were in water on what had been a neatly landscaped lot.
We found a place to dock, and put a beam down to walk across the mud. The smell was awful. As we got up to higher ground, you could see just how far the water had been. The houses and businesses had the water lines permanently staining the siding and brick. Windows and doors were broken and open. It felt like we were in a ghost town. The lawns were gray and dead. Tires, trash, debris, and broken sandbags lay everywhere.
We walked about two blocks and saw someone. Herb asked, "Do you know where Barb is?” "She might be at the Sheriff's Office,” they said. We walked another block and up to that point, the flood damage was all around us.
As we walked up the drive to the Sheriff's Office, a policeman drove up. He apologized: "I'm sorry you folks had to walk, but they sent me to the wrong landing.” We could have had a police escort.
As we entered the office, it was set up to be a command post. Maps, instructions, (on cleanup), Hepatitis warnings, lie on the front desk. The National Guard, men and women in uniform, were on telephones and moving papers about the room. There was a table off to the side with food in large pans; some of the people were eating.
On the front desk was a cage, and as we looked in, there was a cat, thin and scared. A lady told us that the cat had just that day been rescued. It had survived on a rooftop for three weeks.
Then the sheriff came to us and we gave him the money we had collected. He thanked us and we talked about the flood for a while. He told us about the cat and shook his head, saying: “Poor thing, scared half to death.”
As we were leaving, all the people there thanked us - but somehow, I think we all felt as if what we were doing just was not enough.
These people will be needing much more. The clean-up process will take a very long time and a lot of money. These people cannot even get to their homes, and some homes may not even be there when the water does recede.
As we left the office and were walking back to the boat, we were saddened by the devastation these people were living through. We were going to our homes, they don't have their own home, and we felt guilty.
The sun was setting as we got into the boat, and we hoped that we could get to the truck before it got too dark. The wind had died down now, so the long trip back would be easier than the trip here - it had taken one hour and 15 minutes to get there.
Herb started the motor and shoved off. The motor died. We all said: "Oh no, not now!"
Herb took the cover off the motor, reached under his feet, and found a wrench. He hit the starter a couple of times and tried it. Ah! It started.
The river was quiet, and aside from the debris, beautiful. It seemed like a very long time until we could see the milk jug which marked the place we crossed to the farm ground through the levee. Just as we were ready to go through the passageway, the current got stronger and the boat was not going in the direction we were going in - it was pulling us back into the river.
The motor died, but Herb quickly got it started again - but not before the tree limbs hit us. It was a terrifying moment. We were all relieved when we saw the power lines.
Off to our left was a farm underwater and three people in a boat, just sitting there. We waved as we passed them. When we got closer to shore, Herb told us they owned the farm. They had just been sitting there, staring at what was once their life.
By the time we had reached the shore it was dark. We were glad to be on land, the trip back took about an hour - and to think, this is the only way in or out of Hardin. It takes even longer by car to go around.
Herb did not want to take any money for his time or gas. Herb is one of Hardin's heroes.
He told us how his pick-up had gotten the front end "torn out' (his four-wheel drive now is a two-wheel drive) hauling sand, and he used his boat to haul sand to the levee.
People have come together during this crisis, and perhaps we will all learn something from this disaster: we all need each other.
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