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I was living in southeastern KY. In April of that year, there was what some folks called a "500-year flood". The rivers and valleys flood very quickly when the waters run off the mountain tops. Much like the city of New Orleans, our little city had a floodwall built around it to protect the people from the river's overflow. The town was like a bowl - once the water gets in, it is difficult to get out.
Early in the morning, about 2 am, the water started coming over the floodwall and we went door to door to get people out of their homes and to safe locations. Many parked their cars on the hillside above the graveyard, just on the other side of the hospital. People were told the water might come over the wall but nobody really believed it. It had never happened before.
For the previous year before the flood, I had worked on powerline construction across the mountaintops of Bell and Harlan County, cutting roads into the hillsides to haul steel to the tops, with which we would build steel towers to hold the power lines for the utility company. Little did we know that the roads we were cutting into the mountains would act as irrigation ditches once it rained and all the water would come rushing to the bottom, down to the bottom of the muddy Cumberland River. The silt would settle on the bottom of the river and the river would hold less water each year as the silt built up.
First sign I knew it was going to be bad, a few miles down the road, the water was surrounding some cattle in this huge pasture. As their island on which they stood got smaller and smaller, the cattle eventually started swimming to shore, in this case, the mountainside. I recall one small steer that clung to its mother for what seemed like a mile before it finally made it to safety. Later that night, the water came over the floodwall and destroyed our little town.
People lost everything they had. My mother's home was under water for three days. She lost her car and all her family photos and everything of sentimental value. The local postmaster took his life, rather than face the desperation. People were climbing telephone poles with scuba gear and "frogfeet". A woman had a baby in a small boat before she could make it to the hospital. People were fearful the coffins would start coming out of the ground.
People were depressed and broke and did not know what to do next. Some stayed a few days with relatives that were not affected by the flood. But, after about three days, the water subsided and mud was about knee-deep as people made their ways back into the remnants of their
homes to see what they could save. There was wholesale desperation.
Jimmy Carter came to visit and flew over in a helicopter before the water had subsided. He gave people hope. He worked with different government agencies, mostly thru HUD, to bring mobile homes (trailers) into the area for people to live in. They were like mansions to people that did not have a place to lay their head. Jimmy Carter did a good job at coordinating the effort, as trailers were brought in from hundreds of miles away. It saved a lot of lives for a lot of people, including my Mom.
The town never completely recovered. They built the floodwall higher and stronger. They made a by-pass around the city and the town almost became a ghost town. The dogwoods and rosebud trees still bloom but there is little, if any, economic growth. The Flood of '77 almost killed that little town in the mountains.
About two weeks ago, they had a special election and voted the place "wet" for the first time in about 60 years. They were opposed by the religious fundamentalists and the Pentecostal preachers, but the people voted to go "wet". No one would have predicted that. It was a total surprise. It will be nice to sit down to a cold beer the next time I visit...
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