Beyond the Byline: Agnes could never wash away the spirit of the people

WILKES-BARRE — Exactly 52 years ago today, my dad and I lost everything we had.

Well, let me qualify that. We lost everything dearest to us on May 10, 1968, when my mom, dad’s wife, passed away. That was far more devastating to us than the wrath of Agnes could ever be.

But Agnes did wreak havoc to us and every other person/family who had the Susquehanna River crash through their front door.

Everything dad and I had was lost, including many sentimental — priceless to us — items such as photographs, diplomas, recipes, letters, my 1960s record albums and baseball cards from the 1950s and 1960s.

We were left with stink, mud and devastation.

The Agnes Flood of 1972 — June 23, 1972, to be exact — was the day that altered so many lives. And not in a good way.

So today is not a day to celebrate anything, certainly not Agnes and that muddy water. I can still smell it — like I said, it stunk. Still does.

Two years ago when the Times Leader partnered with WBRE-TV to do a series of stories on the flood for the 50th anniversary, it was with great trepidation and an abundance of reluctance that almost prevented me from returning to the apartment building where my dad and I were rousted from our sleep and ordered to “get to higher ground.”

Dad and I complied, but in so doing, we failed to take many items we treasured. Like a lot of people, we thought we would leave and return the next day — that there would be no flood and life would resume as normal.

Oh how wrong we were.

Agnes took way everything we had that documented our life with mom — photos, jewelry, cookbooks, you name it. Everything we had that brought mom back to us was gone.

I was just 21 years old and with (hopefully) a bright future ahead. When the flood arrived, dad and I went to my Aunt Betty’s (dad’s sister) house on East Shawnee Avenue. We often visited there, but now it was home.

It was fun at Aunt Betty’s house — she put ketchup on her fried eggs — but it wasn’t really home. Home was gone.

We were given use of a HUD mobile home and parked it behind Aunt Betty’s house. I still remember them hauling it up Henderson Street and resting it on cinder blocks. It was quite the pad — a couple of bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. And it was the scene of several parties that are legendary to this day.

Here we were, my daddy and me, living in a trailer and faced with the task of putting our already broken lives back together. Never did we miss 210 Reynolds St. as much as we did in the aftermath of Agnes.

Yes, we lost all those valuable items that were filled with cherished memories. But one more thing that all flood victims will never get back is that feeling of security — the feeling of safety — the feeling that no matter what, everything would be okay.

That’s what I lost in May 1968 and then again in June 1972. That’s what all victims of Agnes lost.

No matter how high they build the levees, there can never be assurance in my mind that it won’t happen again. We are forever at risk of losing our homes, our belongings, our keepsakes — our everything.

We can cope with most of those losses. We can replace some things. We can remember.

But we — at least I — can’t feel like I did before Agnes no matter how hard I try.

It’s the loss of that feeling — of being able to go to bed without the worry of hearing those sirens and those men on bullhorns.

The flood of 1972 humbled me, humbled us all. It stripped away our carefree attitude.

I’m older now. There are many more worries in my life and the lives of all flood victims.

But the summer of 1972 took away all of my naivete. The brown, muddy, smelly river water clearly showed me the reality of loss. And it left an ever-present dread every time that damn river rises.

Like all flood victims, we were resilient. We rolled up our sleeves, cleaned our homes up and rebuilt our lives.

I learned a lot during the flood and the experience I had got me my first real job that in an odd way, led to my career in newspapering.

But the Flood of ‘72 took an emotional toll that was far-reaching.

Through it all, the people — the flood victims and all who volunteered to help — engineered a most amazing recovery.

The “Valley With A Heart” was reborn.

Many homes were saved — far too many others were lost. All those cherished items gathered over generations would never be recovered.

But the spirit of the people was never lost. The people were not going to allow that flood to diminish their lives, their history and their heritage be forgotten.

Agnes did much harm to this valley and its people.

But that flood could never wash away what had always been this region’s most valuable asset — its people and their spirit.