Washed Away: How the Great Flood of 1913, America's Most Widespread Natural Disaster, Terrorized a Nation and Changed It Forever by Geoff Williams Page A

Hostler, and a future daughter-in-law, Regina Ranker, were inside the house. The evening before, when her husband George left forwork on the night shift at the lime kiln, when it was apparent that the streets were dangerous but he believed the home was their sanctuary, the father and husband had put on his coat and stressed to the family: “In any event, do not leave the house.”
    Mrs. Klingshirn listened. Even if he hadn’t said those words, the 39-year-old mother might well have wondered where to go in the middle of the night and surely fretted that her husband might come to the house, believe they were still inside, and attempt to rescue them. But hearing that directive and probably something of a plea probably kept coming back to the whole family.
    Staying put must have seemed like the wise course of action to remain where they were, even as several neighbors on East Davis Street packed up and fled; but Mrs. Klingshirn, Ray Hostler, Regina Ranker, and the rest of the children would have been far better off if one of the adults had persuaded everything to enact the old chestnut, well worn even in 1913: better be safe than sorry. It was an expression made for moments like these.
    Columbus, Ohio, 3 A . M .
    The first call for help to the police came in from a house on West Mound Street. The entire area, particularly the Hocking Valley railroad yards, was flooded. The authorities were ready for flooding, they thought. Columbus’s weather forecaster had warned the city the evening before of possible flooding, and throughout the night, they had been patrolling the streets in the rain. Not that anyone expected anything all that serious.
    Dayton, Ohio, 4 A . M .
    Mr. E. T. Herbig, the traffic chief of the Bell phone exchanges, had issued orders to the operators to clue him in if anyone saw anything unusual; and having been wakened throughout the night by calls of water rising, the bleary-eyed telephone man came to the company to start work.
    Still, people downtown didn’t think a full-fledged flood would reach them. Fred Aring, a telegraph operator, noted in his diary that at about 4 A . M . on this day, “We had received meager reports from operators in north and south of Dayton that the Miami River had been and stillwas rising rapidly.” But there were no levees in South Dayton, noted Aring, and so some flooding “was to be expected.… Certainly no general flood is expected.”
    Dayton, Ohio, 4:30 A . M .
    The Platt Iron Works’ day engineer was roused awake by a neighbor who informed him that the water was spilling over the levees, and while it wasn’t much, it was coming over faster with every passing minute. The day engineer made a few quick adjustments to his home—taking some family photos, valuables, or important papers upstairs—and raced to the plant, where he gave the night engineer and watchman the scoop. They blew the whistle for the next twenty minutes.
    Many people heard it, as far as five miles away, but many people had no earthly idea what it meant. People like John P. Foose, a Civil War veteran, didn’t know what was happening, but he looked outside at the torrential downpour, and, as he mentioned in a letter to his brother, he saw a troubling sight that gave him an idea of what was coming: “Across the street, the people were up and moving their things upstairs.”
    About twenty minutes later, as the Platt Iron Works whistle sputtered to a stop, Foose’s two daughters ran to the river to see what was happening. They came back to report that the water was as high as the levee. Foose and the family wolfed down a quick breakfast and began taking the rugs upstairs.
    In at least one part of Dayton—a Mrs. Mildred Grothjan would recall years later—one man was walking the rainy streets, shouting through a megaphone, telling everyone to flee for the hills: a flood was coming. But nobody, according to Grothjan, believed him, and everyone in