In 1889, high up in the mountains and hollows of western
Pennsylvania, a tragic set of circumstances were put into motion; circumstances
that would forever scar countless thousands of families directly and indirectly,
and drive deeper still a wedge between the working class and the wealthy of
this – the ostentatious and gaudy, “Gilded Era”- of American history.
On May 31st of that year, an earthen dam at the exclusive
“South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club” gave way, unleashing a thunderous wave
of death and destruction upon the residents of Johnstown, PA, situated some
fourteen miles off, in a low-lying, flood prone valley.
2,209 people perished in total, marking this as the most deadly flood in America’s history. Perhaps worse still was the scandal that grew as the true cause became apparent, for man himself played as great a role in this catastrophe, as did nature. Necessary repairs and maintenance (the sole responsibility of the fish and hunt club), were either not performed, or done haphazardly as a stopgap measure, which in turn greatly impacted upon the dam’s structural integrity. These weaknesses, exploited by record heavy rains, proved disastrous in the end to the citizens of Johnstown - and forever floated a dark cloud over the reputations of the wealthy club members, whom were mostly put to blame for the tragedy.
My most recent visit to the Johnstown region was a serendipitous
one. I arrived on May 31st, 2002 – quite coincidentally on the flood’s 113th
anniversary. Not realizing my fortune at first, I questioned why a number of
people were dressed in 19th century garb, particularly in the village of St
Michael (a former coal-town that sprang up around the abandoned summer colony
encircling Lake Conemaugh). Here, well-placed members of the “South Fork Fishing
and Hunting Club” once socialized at the “clubhouse”, while others enjoyed the
idyllic lake setting from their “cottages”, scattered about the waters edge.
This of course, was the very same lake that would eventually breach the South
Fork dam, on its headlong rush toward the city of Johnstown.
A number of structures still remain from this period, with
the clubhouse (built in 1889) standing most prominent- both physically, and
historically. Upon entering this grand Victorian building, I was greeted by
Pauline Roberts, and Shirley Vozel, two local historians who head-up the “1889
South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club Historical Preservation Society.” Both ladies
looked fetching, resplendent in finery from those days of yore. They had donned
such attire, I soon learned, in commemoration of the tragedy that occurred 113
years before –to the very day.
They spoke of omnipotent and obscenely wealthy club members;
men like Andrew Carnegie, the steel magnate, Andrew Mellon, of banking fame,
and Robert Pitcairn, who oversaw the Pittsburgh division of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, and offered to me an overview of the days in which these so called
“Robber Barons” lived. When the club was in operation, you would likely find
these notables taking their meals here, in the clubhouse dining room- beside
the enormous brick fireplace. Most came to the mountains to seek a cool respite
from the unbearably hot summers back in Pittsburgh, as well as to escape the
heavy smog that was becoming a common feature in that heavily industrialized
city. Ironically, most of these members would never make the acquaintance of
anyone hailing from Johnstown (“class” separation being so very prevalent and
pervasive in those days). Yet, despite this fact, the working –class people
of Johnstown and the privileged members of this club would, by a stroke of fate,
become irrevocably intertwined in history.
Climbing the wooden staircase to the second floor, I could
sense their haughty presence as I moved from room to room, through a portion
of the clubhouse that has fallen into disrepair. This sensation may have been
more than just the tricks of imagination, as these upper bedrooms are purportedly
haunted. Too, I thought how solemn were the faces of these men as they learned
of the dam break, and afterwards how very indignant they became when they discovered
that blame had been laid at their very doorstep. Upon leaving, I sampled a few
of the homemade pastries that the ladies had prepared specially for the day,
and bid them farewell, hopeful that this historic building would always find
itself in the loving hands of such capable and knowledgeable caretakers.
On the opposite side of the now dry lakebed, stands the “Johnstown
Flood National Memorial”. It affords a panoramic view of the earthen dam remains,
and features an informative museum that directly addresses the tragedy. On that
day, 2,209 milk jugs had been placed on walkways leading from the museum to
both sides of the former dam. Each contained a candle inside to be lit that
evening as a memorial to those lost in the flood. It was then that I was struck
by the enormity of the loss. To think, behind each of those candles stood an
entire family consumed by grief, forever mourning their loved ones, and forever
questioning why this horrific event had to take place. It was a question that,
sadly, would never be answered to anyone’s total satisfaction.
From St Michael it is a short ride down the winding valley
to Johnstown proper. There, the “Johnstown Flood Museum” occupies an ornate
stone building originally funded, quite ironically, by Andrew Carnegie. It contains
a number of artifacts from the 1889 flood, and features an award-winning movie
by Charles Guggenheim. This film, though short in length, is historically accurate,
and stirs up emotions ranging from sadness for the victims, to outright contempt
for those entrusted with the dam’s upkeep. A powerful film indeed.
After seeing the movie, I decided to catch a ride on the “Johnstown Inclined Plane” (built shortly after the dam break as an escape route for future floods). From this point, hundreds of feet above the city, I could clearly see the convoluted path that the great wall of water followed through the mountains, as it descended upon Johnstown.
Looking at photos snapped from this vantage point just
after the flood, and comparing them to what now lay before me, I was taken with
the magnitude of the tragedy, and the remarkable comeback that Johnstown has
staged. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what the town might have become, had
the catastrophe never occurred; just how very different this view might be,
had the personal contributions of 2,209 people not been erased forever.
From the lookout, I made my way over to “Grandview Cemetery”. There, more than
700 plain marble headstones, arranged neatly, row after row, mark the final
resting place of the unidentified victims of the great flood - their voices
forever silenced. As I strolled past each row, I remembered that the candle
lighting ceremony at the dam site was soon to commence. I hurriedly rode back
up to St. Michael, to witness this historic event. No sooner had I arrived,
then the skies above me opened in a cacophony of thunderous fury and flashing
light, dumping windswept rain to the earth in liquid sheets. As I sought refuge
from the storm, I thought of the organizers who had spent so much time methodically
placing the tribute candles, as they couldn’t possibly be lit in such a deluge,
but then, upon reflection, I thought the better of it.
One hundred and thirteen years before –to the very day- this
valley had been inundated by just such a fearsome downpour from the heavens
above.
For those 2,209 unsuspecting citizens of Johnstown whose lives were cut short
by just such ravages of nature’s fury, there could be no more fitting tribute…
If you visit
The “1889 Clubhouse” is located in the town of St. Michael. Call (814) 495-9566
for information.
The “Johnstown Flood National Memorial” can be reached by following US 219 to
the St. Michael/ Sidman exit. From the exit, proceed east on PA 869. A left
turn onto Lake Road leads to the memorial. Call (814) 495-4643 for information.
The “Johnstown Flood Museum” is located at 304 Washington St., Johnstown. An
award winning film devoted to the tragedy is screened daily. Call (814) 539-1889
for information.