March 13, 1990: Elba, AL
Seven old men formed a straight-back chair semicircle around the wood stove in the store front of Bill’s Hardware on the square. None of them could have told you how long they’d been coming there, or how long their Daddies had done it before them, but the chair veneers bore the imprints of several generations of overall-clad backsides. Almost every weekday, they converged on the storefront to pass the time swapping stories and playing checkers.
This rainy season, they’d already dodged a February flood event that inundated several counties in north Alabama. Shortly before 7 p.m., Haywood Robinson worked the conversation around to how living in this town, in the bowl formed by an earth levee snugged up against the Pea River, was like playing Russian roulette with God. Most springs, the rains came and went, dropping the hammer on an empty riverbed, swelling the creeks and river that converged north of town, but otherwise passing harmlessly south, toward the Gulf of Mexico.
“But every oncet in a while,” Haywood said, “She’ll pick up a heavy load from the Gulf, and BAM! Full-on volley into the heart of town, like back in ‘29, when we flooded so bad, Frank Roosevelt sent the feds in to build the levee. I worked on that levee as a young buck, you know,” he said, referring to the Works Progress Administration project that established an earthen wall around the town. The other old-timers nodded along as if it was the first time they’d heard.
March 14, 1990: Dothan, AL
Blink McMahon wheeled his convertible Camaro into his reserved parking spot outside the WDHN studio, unfolded his 6’2” frame onto the pavement, and fussed over his hair in the tinted car window. Satisfied, he walked around the car, stooping for a moment to flick a clod of clay off his WTHRMAN personalized tag. Damn dirt roads, he thought and let his mind wander to the super-highways surrounding Atlanta, where the V-8 could stretch its legs. The station had run a spot last night on the city’s long-term transportation projects. Wouldn’t hurt my feelings, traffic to weave in and out of on the way to work, and not the four-legged kind.
As a teen, Blink had designs on riding his athletic prowess to a bigger destiny than rural south Alabama, before a knee injury relegated him to a career in another field. In college, he’d discovered a knack for broadcast journalism where his good looks made him a magnetic presence. His co-anchor called his smile a flash bulb. “You just turn it on when you need it,” she’d said one night in bed, “and whoever happens to be in front of it, has to stop and pay attention.”
After school, the flash bulb had ended up within an hour of where he started, working his way up from weekend forecasting to take over as chief meteorologist four years ago after his predecessor went down in a hunting accident.
He grabbed his overnight bag from the passenger seat and walked into the station, stopping by the news desk to see what Laura was wearing today. Laura entered this world as Thelma Griggs, via a single-wide trailer just up the road. Better known as her on-air name, Laura Stevens, she was the currently-platinum blonde who anchored the 5 and 10 p.m. broadcasts.
“Uh oh,” Laura said, looking up from her pre-read material to greet him with a smile. “We expecting weather? I see you got your bag.”
His eyes lingered on the low cut of her sweater before he raised them to meet hers. “I’m just being careful. There’s a system coming in, and it could stall, or spit out a couple tornados.” He lay his hand on the counter next to hers, stroking her pinky with his, and flaring a flirty smile. “Might get lucky, and get us an overnighter.”
Laura set her papers on top of his hand and stroked his hand under them. “Lower your voice, Blink,” she said, looking around, but still smiling. “It’s a small town, honey.” She shimmied in her seat and arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
Laura’s husband was a dentist in Dothan. Perfect dullard of a little man, Reginald, Blink thought when he met him at the station Christmas party two years ago. He was shorter than Laura! Then again, little Reggie couldn’t help it if he was no Blink McMahon. There could be only one.
Laura went back to pre-reading her afternoon stories, and Blink strutted on. He dropped his bag in the little bunkroom off the main studio and went to his desk, pulling the latest National Weather Service report off the teletype as he went, then plopping down in the hard little chair to read it. Routine, he thought, except for that little footnote about the upper level steering currents dropping off. That could make for an interesting few days. He dropped the report. But it’s still nothing to write home about.
Home was the little bowl-shaped town of Elba, AL. He had grown up in the shadow of Elba’s earthen levee, and it was the police chief, Haywood Robinson, who nicknamed Blink when he outran all 11 would-be tacklers from arch-rival Enterprise to preserve his team’s perfect season in the waning seconds of the final game of 1971.
Haywood had clapped the assistant principal on the shoulder, “Wasn’t that something? I blinked, and that boy was gone! Just call him old Blink McMahon.” The nickname had been with Blink so long now, he’d almost forgotten his given name. In fact, the only person who called him by it was Laura, and then only behind closed doors.
The five o’clock report was in full swing when Blink finished his prep. He looked up from his graphics just in time to hear Laura deliver the tagline he’d come up with, “We’ll be back in a blink with the weather. Don’t y’all go anywhere, now.”
Game time, he thought. I’ll miss that woman when I get the call to Atlanta.
March 14: Elba
At the First Baptist Church downtown, Martha Spanner checked the clock over her desk in the church office. Her husband, Jimmy, had brought them to town a few months ago, his first job as a preacher after getting “the call” later in life. After 23 years of marriage, she doubted his direction sometimes, but never his commitment. So when he told her they were moving from Virginia to south Alabama to take over a church, she didn’t argue, just gave her poker chips to her sister, and started packing.
Now that she doubled as preacher’s wife and church secretary, Martha was watching for anything that might interfere with their first ever camp meeting revival. Spiritual Spring Cleaning, as Jimmy had dubbed it, was scheduled to run Friday night through Sunday.
It had just started raining, great splattering drops pecking the concrete outside the office, and she jumped when a blast of thunder cracked. Damn the weather extremes in this backwards-ass place, she thought. Sorry, Jesus. She crossed herself. I sure hope Jimmy knows what he’s doing.
She turned on the small television she kept in the office and adjusted the rabbit ears to bring Blink McMahon into focus. He was talking about a front coming in that was likely to stall, with the potential for up to 14 inches of rain.
“Jimmy,” she called to her husband. “I think you’re gonna want to see this.”
Jimmy came to the doorway and frowned, “Please remember to call me ‘Pastor’ in the church, Martha.” He glanced at the television and waved a dismissal. “He’s fully clothed. It’s fine.”
They’d learned to read Blink’s continuum of dishevelment over the seasons they’d been in town. Fully put together was normal. If Blink appeared with no tie, an unbuttoned shirt, and sleeves rolled up, they knew they were in for a rough time.
“Besides, if we play this right,” Jimmy went on, “It could mean more souls saved. We’re gonna pray the rain away Friday night, and God will provide!” He pumped his fist. “God always wins, Martha!”
Martha sighed. Jimmy hadn’t always been this way, acting like he had a stick up his butt for Jesus. There was a time when he was as regular a man as any, drinking and gambling for hours in the casinos on the Jersey shore. When he lost $5,000 at the Golden Nugget two years ago, it seemed to change him overnight. He started talking about getting right with the Lord, and getting the call. He took a course in religious studies at the local community college and set up a VCR in the basement to spend hours poring over Jimmy Swaggart footage. A couple of times, Martha had walked in on him stopping the tape and rewinding it, mimicking the televangelist’s mannerisms until he had a routine. He’d started combing his hair to match Swaggart’s just before he came in one afternoon and told her he’d gotten them a pastorship in Elba, AL. Martha had located the little town in her atlas by first finding the nearest city, Dothan, and tracing a route west for 50 miles.
Pastor Spanner stopped in the doorway and walked back to survey the open ledger on Martha’s desk. He read a couple of lines and pursed his lips. “Now, don’t forget what we talked about with the charitable donation.” Her shoulders tensed, and he patted her. “It’s okay if we go in the red today; we’ll make up for it over the weekend.”
March 15: Dothan
Blink wheeled into the studio parking lot with minutes to spare before the afternoon news report. He had slept at home the night before, but the drive down the dirt road that led from his home had been one continuous slip and slide. His head throbbed from the concentration the drive required, so he ducked in the back door to bypass the news desk, stopping under the awning for a minute to watch the runoff accumulate in the parking lot’s low point drain.
“Blink?” he heard Laura call as he stopped by the teletype. “Is that you?” She hurried around the corner to find him sitting at his desk. “Oh, good. I was worried about you.” She caressed his cheek.
He finished reading the contents of the wire and said, “Looks like we’ll get our overnighter. NWS is now saying Pea River will crest over flood stage, probably sometime early Saturday.” Laura nodded and headed off to call Reginald to tell him she’d need to stay at the station that night.
Blink loosened his tie for the 5 o’clock broadcast, conscious of the need to signal a mild amount of urgency. “Now, there’s no need to panic, but there is cause for concern here. The National Weather Service has revised its crest estimate to 32 feet for the Pea River at Elba. That’s two feet above flood stage. We encourage all residents to make preparations, in case the situation deteriorates further. Stay tuned to Floodwatch ’90 here at WDHN, and we’ll keep you informed.”
The report wrapped with the new background content he’d worked with Laura and the production crew to create. The team had put together a graphics and audio package for continuing coverage. Blink flashed his usual smile as the audio faded, then concentrated on looking professionally somber as the camera panned back.
The next morning, they’d start staffing a crew on-site around the clock until the crisis was over. In the meantime, Blink volunteered to keep watch overnight. After the late report, Laura waited on a hilltop ½ mile away and slipped back into the studio once everyone else was gone.
“If I play my cards right, there may be an Emmy in this,” Blink whispered in her ear in the bunkroom bed. She kissed his palm and turned his hand over, pressing it to her bare stomach and inching closer to him. He continued, his voice taut with hope. “After that, those Atlanta stations will be beating down my door.”
Laura yanked the cover away with her, springing from the bed. “What about me, Blink? I helped make you what you are. I went to bat for you when Tom Jarrett took a load of buckshot to the chest.” Laura had pushed for Blink as Tom’s replacement, in spite of his relatively young age, and it had proven a good decision, as the station’s market share rose considerably with Blink’s promotion. “You gonna just throw me away like a piece of country trash?” She stood in the middle of the floor, lip quivering, sheet covering her torso.
Blink sprawled in the center of the bed, one bare leg draped over the side. At 38, he was still slim and mostly muscular. Only in the last few months had he noticed a little paunch creeping onto his belly.
He motioned Laura toward him and flashed his quick smile. “Aw, honey. You know we’re a package deal. I’ll tell those big-shot producers they can’t have one of us without the other. Come on back to old Harry.”
March 16: Elba
Police Chief Tanner Davis stopped his big diesel response vehicle outside Bill’s Hardware and replayed what he’d just seen. The Expedition had over a foot of ground clearance, but the water in the low spots north of town was already approaching the running boards, and it was raining harder than ever. Am I overreacting? he wondered. Everybody in town seemed to be going about their daily routines. First Baptist Church, with its newish preacher, was carrying on with its revival over the weekend.
Whitewater Creek, Beaverdam Creek, and Pea River all converged on the town’s north edge, merging to form one churning, brownish-red mass during spring rains. Everyone who lived there knew it; you could calibrate your calendar by it. But this time, the air was loaded with tropical moisture, squalls coming in waves. Early forecasts called for a lower crest than the flood he’d worked as a young officer 15 years ago, but Tanner had a bad feeling. He’d learned over almost 20 years in law enforcement to trust his gut, and he felt a stone wedged there now.
He shut off the motor and sat in the truck a couple more minutes, watching clay-colored water accumulate in the storm drains on the curb, before gurgling down and starting the process again. It was mesmerizing, how everything seemed to be going through a scouring process. But there was something sinister in the way the water was piling up too.
He shook himself out of his trance, pulled his jacket hood over his head, and waded through the latest squall to enter the circle of older men gathered around the potbelly stove.
“Hey, Chief,” Haywood greeted him. “It’s pretty nasty out, wanna sit a spell with us?” He motioned toward an extra chair over to the side.
Tanner remained standing but nodded a greeting to each man before turning back to Haywood. These were the previous generation’s police chiefs, school principals, and business owners, so he made it a point to be deferential. “No, Mr. Haywood, I was hoping you’d ride out and look at the levee with me.”
Haywood looked directly at him. He’d trained Tanner as a young officer, and he’d never known him to overreact. His coolness under fire was one of the reasons Haywood had backed his hiring over a more experienced man from outside the county a year ago when Haywood retired.
“Blink McMahon said the river was gonna crest around 32 feet,” Dee Bailey sang out. “Surely you ain’t worried about that, are you?”
“Hell, I got more water than that in my backyard when my granddaughter broke up with her boyfriend,” Mutt Jefferson chimed in. The older men laughed.
Tanner flushed but held his ground. “Yes, and he’s been steady revising his estimate. Last night, he was saying 24 feet. It’s coming up fast, and the way this front is stalled, it just keeps on coming. I’d feel better if I had our town expert look at it with me.” Haywood had served 26 years as police chief before Tanner.
“I’ll ride out there with you, if it’ll ease your mind. Haywood winked at Tanner. “Do me good to get out from this nest of old buzzards.” He nodded at the circle and walked out with Tanner.
March 16: Dothan
Blink slouched at his desk in the newsroom, waiting for his next Floodwatch ‘90 spot. A full crew now camped out on cots at the station. Laura occupied the bunkroom and ran updates a couple of times an hour from 6 am until 10 pm. He was starting to rue the day he’d come up with the Floodwatch jingle and graphics, because he hovered on the edge of saturation. He stubbed out the latest in a string of cigarettes and reached for the most recent NWS report emerging from the teletype.
Holy shit, this might get some national coverage, he thought as he sat up and read the bulletin. This really could be my ticket to Atlanta. The latest prediction now indicated a 38 foot crest on Saturday morning, and a 100-year flood event for Elba.
The phone on his desk jangled just as he heard Laura say, “We’ll be back in a blink with more Floodwatch ‘90 coverage.” Only a handful of people had his direct number, so he answered it, “Blink, I need your help” came a tired voice on the other end. “I need you to help me get the word out.”
Blink searched his memory and finally came up with a fuzzy match. “Tanner?” Blink shook his head. “How long has it been, 18, 19 years?” Tanner was Blink’s back-up on the undefeated team in 1971.
The producer walked over and jerked his head toward the green screen, holding up his index finger. “One minute to air,” he mouthed. Blink nodded and waved him away.
Tanner said again, more forcefully, “I need your help, Blink. I’ve got to get folks inside the bowl to evacuate. Haywood Robinson and I both think we may lose the levee.”
Blink stood up and paced, stretching and rolling the phone cord over in his hand. “Christ, Tanner, are you sure? That hasn’t happened in our lifetimes.”
“Pretty sure.” Tanner sighed. “Haywood says it looks worse now than it did back in ’29. It’s already lapping near the top in heavier squalls.”
“He’s an old man, Tanner. How can he even remember what it looked like then? The NWS isn’t predicting nearly that level. I’m not sure we need to hit the panic button just yet.” He sat back down and shuddered as he thought about his parents, who lived just outside the downtown bowl.
“Some things you don’t forget, Blink. I’m telling you, it’s bad.” Tanner sounded desperate. “Help me, please. People trust you. We can’t get to them all, and I feel like we only have a few hours.”
The producer came back and raised his eyebrows at Blink. “I’ve gotta go, Tanner. Send somebody to check on Mama, and I’ll do what I can,” he promised.
Blink yanked his tie off and lurched breathlessly to his mark in front of the green screen, rolling his sleeves up as he went.
“I’m sorry I’m late, folks, but I’ve got breaking news from the National Weather Service. We’re now predicting a 100-year flood event on the Pea River in Elba. Again, a 100 year flood event for Elba. Let’s go to the Doppler.”
Blink gestured toward a spot on the map where the heaviest rain concentrated, “As you view our Super Doppler-18 imagery of this intense downpour, particularly over Coffee and Dale Counties, we’ve had upwards of 12 inches of rain over the past 18 hours. We’ve heard from the local response chief in Elba, and they’re asking everyone within the bowl, within the levee’s footprint, to evacuate. At the moment, this is a precaution, because the National Weather Service is only predicting 38 feet there in Elba, which should not push the levee to its breaking point. Our next Floodwatch ‘90 update will be at 5:45 p.m.”
March 16: Elba
Martha had one eye on the television, and one on the sky for the 5:45 update. Blink said the National Weather Service was now predicting a crest of 40 feet. He had shown a graphic showing the recommended evacuation areas, and another with the shelter locations in neighboring counties. First Baptist was squarely in the evacuation area.
In 1969, a 22-year-old Martha had watched as the remnants of Hurricane Camille brought 27 inches of rain to Nelson County, Virginia, within a 24-hour period, swelling the Tye and James Rivers to monstrous proportions, and killing 124 people overnight. The experience had stalked her actions since, driving her insistence that they buy a house on high ground and install a house-wide generator upon their move to Elba. The unease she felt now was primal.
“Jimmy, these waves of rain are like the bands we went through in Camille; do you remember?” she called, but he was rocking back and forth and talking to himself, working into the fervor he reserved for preaching. She tamped the concern down inside herself, but edges of it kept poking out.
The church doors opened at 6:30, and the faithful piled in through the latest bout of heavy rain. “Brethren,” Jimmy began a few minutes later from the pulpit, “I’m thankful to see so many have their priorities in the right place.” He looked out over a full sanctuary. Apparently, people had decided to cast their cares about the weather on the Lord; Jimmy found faces he’d never seen in nearly every pew.
“It may look bad, but no weapon formed against us shall prosper. God always wins, amen?” He got a few tentative amens, in response.
Jimmy dialed up his intensity, bouncing slightly in the pulpit, rocking forward and back on the balls of his feet and banging the microphone. “SATAN is trying to bring the forces of NATURE against us, but I am here to TELL you, no weapon formed against US shall prosper. GOD will provide.” He marched out, goose-stepping a little, tone and volume rising, even though he had left the microphone behind.
Martha watched, fascinated, from her customary spot in the front row, as a dot of spit clung to the corner of his mouth. She always made a little game out of trying to predict whether it would fall harmlessly to the ground or launch onto some poor believer. “The same God that parted the Red Sea for the Israelites can turn the waters of Whitewater Creek and Pea River. Can I get an amen, now?”
“Amen,” the congregation answered, louder and more enthusiastically than before. They were getting warmed up now. The spit swayed, but held on.
Good, Jimmy thought. Take it easy now, boy. Get ‘em good and whipped up before you bring out that offering plate. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the corner of his mouth.
“Let’s open our hymnals to page 220 and we’ll carry the first, second, and fourth stanzas.” Jimmy waited a couple of beats, then raised his hand and nodded at Nancy, the pianist. Nancy banged through the reprise, and the congregation sang with gusto:
“We shall meet beyond the flood/In robes made white through Jesus’ blood/And hold sweet converse, free from pain/Beyond the swelling flood!” As they sang, Jimmy strode up and down the center aisle, singing loudly, clapping the men on the pew ends on their shoulders.
When the last note faded, Jimmy launched into his sermon about the faithfulness of Noah, periodically reading from Genesis. He was drawing a comparison between Noah’s deliverance and that of the town when Tanner eased the back door open and walked in to sit in the back pew, water dripping from his Elba Police Department raincoat. He had precious little time to spare, but he waited a respectful 10 minutes before standing up.
Right in the middle of my dadgum sermon. Jimmy pulled his handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and pretended to wipe his brow, to hide his irritation. “We’re stealing souls for Jesus, but we didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Chief.” He chuckled drily at his joke. “What can we do for you?” he thundered. All eyes followed his to the back of the church.
Tanner looked down at his hat in his hands before raising his eyes and voice. “Preacher, I hate to interrupt the word of God, but this water won’t wait.” He gestured to the north. “We’re evacuating the downtown, and we need to get you all out of here and to a shelter.”
Mutt Jefferson chimed in from the third pew: “Blink McMahon said she’s gonna crest at 40 in the morning, Chief.”
Tanner nodded, “I know. But Haywood and me both believe it’ll be worse than that. We’ve been spray-painting marks on the levee bank and watching the rise since yesterday, and it’s just accelerating. Haywood said it’s rising faster than he’s ever seen.”
Mutt snorted, “Well, send Haywood over to tell us. We’ve rode out 40 before. Barely puts two feet of water in the streets north of town, much less down here. Me and my wife are gonna sit tight and listen to the preacher.” A wave of concern passed through the congregation, but they stayed glued to their pews.
Jimmy knew his hold on the flock was tenuous. Beads of sweat collected on his lip as he watched uncertainty ripple across the rows. He pulled the microphone out of the holder and came down to stand in front of the altar, his eyes holding Tanner’s across the sea of heads. “Chief, do you believe in the power of prayer? Do you believe Jesus parted the Red Sea?” Several heads nodded, and most turned to see what Tanner had to say to that.
“Well, yes, preacher,” Tanner shifted from foot to foot, his voice somewhat muffled by all the motion in the sanctuary. He locked eyes with Jimmy. “But God also gave us the power of discernment, don’t you think?”
Jimmy drew himself up to his full height. “I don’t know about you, Chief, but I’m not putting my faith in man. I’m keeping my eyes on the Lord. Amen, church?” They offered up a few halfhearted amens. Three women got up to stand in the back with Tanner. Some 150 heads swiveled back and forth between Jimmy and Tanner.
Jimmy stomped his foot. “God always wins, folks, let’s not forget that! The Bible is FULL of examples and evidence,” he said, punctuating each phrase with little punches of the microphone. “Now, if you believe in the power of prayer, you’ll stay right here and let’s finish what God started, amen?” He didn’t pause for the response. “We’ve got the protection of a federal levee and God’s sheltering arms, amen?”
This time, the response was strong. Jimmy went back behind the pulpit and called out another hymn, signaling the interruption was over. Tanner tried to reason with a few people in the back pews, but they turned toward the front and lifted their voices. He rounded up the dissenters and walked out the back of the church.
After the hymn, Jimmy nodded to the ushers in charge of collecting the offering. They positioned themselves at the head of the first pews. Jimmy called the church to prayer and bowed his head, starting low, and swelling in volume and energy as he went. “Lord, just like Noah, we have a chance to be faithful tonight to you and your promises. You promised you’ll bring us through not just this flood, but every flood of life, be they physical, emotional, financial, or otherwise. We don’t downplay that the situation is serious, but we know you will provide. I pray that you open this church’s hearts and minds. We will donate half this offering to organizations assisting with flood response, in the event this community or the surrounding communities need it. It may look dire now, but you can use these generous spirits to cancel out this natural phenomenon.”
He opened his eyes and looked around to see how people were receiving his message. Every head was bowed, and several hands were raised. “Bolster this flock the way you’re holding that levee up. We may be weak right now, but you always win. Bless these believers and their giving spirits that will take us beyond the swelling flood.”
The ushers passed the plates around while the pianist played and Jimmy sang. “We’ll meet to part no more. We’ll meet to part no more, beyond the swelling flood!”
Martha peered out the window into the darkness, where the rain had stopped for the moment. She wished she had Jimmy’s faith, but she couldn’t shake the feeling trouble was coiled up like a rattlesnake out there in the dark.
March 17: Dothan
Blink picked up the teletype print-out as he rousted himself from his cot, bleary-eyed from having lay down only four hours before. He’d spent most of the night watching the wire for updates, and periodically going on camera, tag-team with Laura, to exhort his former neighbors to leave their homes and shelter in a neighboring county.
Yesterday afternoon, the national networks had picked up on the magnitude of the rains and run a few short segments on the event, incorporating a couple of snippets from their Floodwatch ’90 coverage. “A rain event of Biblical proportions,” Dan Rather said.
Blink snatched up his desk phone as he read the first line, dropping the print-out to frantically sift through his Rolodex for Tanner’s patrol car phone number. The phone rang and rang, but no answer.
“Get up!” Blink rousted the production crew from their cots on the studio floor. “We’ve got to go on the air, NOW!” He thrust the print-out into the producer’s face.
Ten minutes later, the Floodwatch ‘90 graphics and jingle ushered in his first appearance of the morning. His hair was rumpled, shirt half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and his five o’clock shadow led the way. “Folks, I’ll get right to the point. This is an emergency. The National Weather Service is now saying a crest of at least 46 feet for downtown Elba, AL. That’s 16 feet over flood stage. The levee is in imminent danger. Please take this seriously and evacuate. Follow all guidance from local authorities. If the levee breaks, it has the potential to unleash millions of gallons of water into downtown Elba in a very short period of time. There is unprecedented danger to life and limb.”
Blink looked at his watch as he walked out from in front of the green screen: 4:05 a.m.
March 17: Elba
At 4:13 a.m., Tanner took the first report of the levee top crumbling and pulled his men out of the flood zone and back to the command center.
A team of deputies and firefighters had gone door to door, finally evacuating the north section of town around 3:45 that morning. The western sky was starting to clear, but that was small consolation. We’re along for the ride now, he thought.
At 6:30, a large oak tree propelled by millions of gallons of water scored a direct hit on the wall, piercing the already weakened top section. The cumulative effect was a gaping hole. A frothing, earth-colored wall rushed into the town, inundating the Dairy Queen, and the elementary and middle schools.
Around 7 a.m., Tanner and Mickey Bennett, one of his lieutenants, took a boat from the command center to get a status. Tanner let out a long, slow whistle when he saw how much water was rushing through what looked to be about a 150 yard hole. Mickey pointed to where the middle school should have been. The top of the flagpole and a single row of ball field lights dotted the water like navigation buoys.
Mickey steered the boat around town, while Tanner noted water levels and helped Mickey dodge debris. They stopped at the sight of a Ford Ranger, nearly submerged, wipers still beating a futile path across its windshield. Mickey steered the boat over the hood until they could see the truck was unoccupied.
Tanner pointed to the south where water continued to rise. “Is that a man hanging onto a street sign?” he asked.
Mickey said, “Yeah, I think it’s Mutt Jefferson.”
Tanner shook his head. “Let’s pick him up. I’m not sure he’ll hold on until an actual rescue boat comes around.”
“Mr. Mutt,” Tanner nodded as they approached.
“Get me out of this damn water, Chief.”
Tanner reached out and grabbed the older man under his arms, lifting him into the boat. He’d lost his shoes, and one overall strap was undone.
“Where’s your wife; she still at home, sir?”
“No, the hell she is not. What kind of man do you think I am?” He shivered. “I sent her to her sister’s in Bullock County last night after church.” He took the blanket Mickey offered him and wrapped it around his shoulders. Tanner smiled to himself at the old man’s pluck.
March 17: Dothan
Laura and Blink now occupied the news desk, tag-teaming coverage. Blink was explaining how levees worked, and what had happened to the north levee in Elba. “You see,” Blink said, pointing to an aerial picture of the town. “This is what’s so dangerous at this point. There’s nowhere for the water to go. It will find low ground and just sit there unless something gives on the south side of town, giving it a path to exit the downtown area.”
Laura took over, “That’s right, Blink. A horrible, catastrophic event affecting our neighbors down the road in Elba. WDHN has a Floodwatch ‘90 team en route to cover the scene.”
Joe, the producer, had dispatched a crew as soon as the NWS wire alerted Blink to the breach. After the spot was over, Joe took his reporter’s call on speaker phone with Blink and Laura huddled around.
“I’m calling from the command center,” the reporter said. “We’re stuck here. The incident commander isn’t letting anybody downtown right now.” Blink and Joe exchanged looks.
Tanner, Blink thought. The reporter continued. “The water has hit the south levee and is now pushing back to the north. I’m reaching you via satellite phone. All the local lines are down. The water took out a switch downtown.”
“Okay, stay there,” Joe said. “We’ll take a report by phone during the next Floodwatch ’90 spot.”
“Let me borrow your truck, Laura.” Blink held out his hand. “I’m about to go on location.” Laura’s Ford Bronco was much better suited for challenging road conditions than Blink’s Camaro.
“What?” Laura shook her head. “No! Who’s going to cover the flood here in the studio?”
“You know you can carry those updates by yourself,” Joe said. Laura crossed her arms and looked at Blink, tapping her foot.
“Our viewers deserve to know what’s happening in the town, Laura.” Blink picked up Joe’s thread and smiled. “The command post won’t let our regular crew into the downtown.”
She frowned, “Maybe there’s a reason for that, Blink. Did you ever consider that?”
He turned up the wattage on his smile. “This is our chance, Laura! I can use my local connections and get a ride in for exclusive coverage.” She sighed and dug in her purse. “Just think. We’re gonna scoop the big boys!”
March 17: Elba
Jimmy slogged through thigh-high water at the head of his driveway, congratulating himself for his foresight in tying his john boat to a street sign ahead of the levee break. Their house sat on high ground, but water of unknown depth surrounded it now on all sides. Martha yelled from the window, “Where you going, Jimmy?”
“I’m going to the church,” he yelled back. “The people at the revival gave their money, and it’s up to me to see it gets used to fulfill the needs of God’s children.” Martha pulled on her hip boots and started toward him.
“Why can’t you wait until the water goes down, Jimmy? Nobody would expect you to put yourself in danger. Folks are sheltered up for the time being.” She gestured toward the house where the generator was keeping their refrigerator cold. “I was thinking we need to put together a drive to take food to the shelters. Don’t you think the money will keep a few days? It’s locked up.” By now, she’d waded over to the boat’s stern, where Jimmy was pumping the priming bulb.
He yanked on the motor pull cord. “You know as well as I do there’s $4,800 sitting in the church safe.”
She reached into the boat to grip his arm. “Are you worried about looting? Can’t we get in touch with the local authorities and let them handle it?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you, woman? This is our big break.” She looked at him, brow crinkling in confusion. “It’s our ticket to paying off the gambling debt and starting over,” he continued. “Now come on and let’s go get it, so we can get out of town before anybody is any wiser.”
“What?” Martha jerked her hand off his arm. “What happened to the call, Jimmy?” She made quotation marks with two fingers of each hand. “What happened to God providing, Jimmy?”
Jimmy yanked the crank cord again and the motor sputtered to life. “God did provide,” he said.
He beckoned to her to get in the boat. “No,” she said, backing away. “I never signed on to take advantage of poor folks that lost everything.”
Jimmy raised his voice to make himself heard over the motor, “Have it your way. I’ve got the safe combination.” He sat down and steered off through the muddy water, growing smaller and smaller until he turned a corner and disappeared.
Blink counted 12 news trucks when he pulled into the parking lot of the highway department building serving as the command center. He spotted his counterpart from the Montgomery NBC affiliate smoking a cigarette on the loading dock and nodded in his direction. Ignoring the cardboard sign that steered him toward the press area, he lifted a police cordon tape over his head and strode directly to the command table.
“Boy, you look rough, Tan,” he said, grabbing the smaller man by the arm and giving him a half bear-hug.
He’s still large and in charge, Tanner thought. All the locals knew Blink from television, and he had a presence, even off-screen. Tanner had to admit Blink being there lifted people’s spirits, his own included.
“Tan, we go way back,” Blink began. “I need your help now. I want to ride out to some of the harder hit areas and take some live footage there, maybe set up and do some coverage here, afterward.” He gestured around him. “These stories have to be told, and who better to tell them than a hometown boy?”
Tanner thought, Good old Blink. Been hustling since high school. He nodded, “I’ll take you myself,” he said. “We’re at a standstill right now anyway. Rescue operations are complete, and we’re waiting on water to subside to do a full damage assessment.
“Here.” He walked over to a metal locker and pulled out a set of waders. “Better put these on, just in case.” He waited a beat. “Your parents are fine, by the way. They’re in the shelter over in Bullock County,” he said.
“Oh, right,” Blink said as he struggled to pull the wader boots over his feet. “Thanks for looking in on them.”
They headed into the flood waters, first touring the hard hit north side of town, then winding into the downtown area where the bulk of the water still sat. Tanner provided commentary on how the town looked now, some 12 hours after the levee break, compared to the minutes afterward. The wall of water had acted like a giant, muddy pendulum, rushing to the south with the initial break, then swinging back north when it hit the south levee. “Some low spots are sitting under 15-20 feet of water,” Tanner said as they passed the courthouse square.
“I can’t even get my mind around it,” Blink answered. “It’s like something out of a movie.” He pointed. “Wow, there’s Bill’s hardware.” The windows were all broken, and a door floated by.
“I’m surprised some of the locals with boats aren’t out and about,” Blink said.
Tanner nodded, “Yeah, we’ve had some looky-loos, as well as locals wanting to guard against looters. Mayor put a sunset curfew on, so most of them should be off the streets.” He veered to avoid a floating propane tank.
As they picked their way south of the square and motored by First Baptist Church, Blink did a double-take. “Didn’t you say the response crew had cleared all these buildings?” Tanner nodded. “I swear I saw movement in the main floor of the church there.” Tanner eased back on the throttle and wheeled the boat around, circling the church.
“Good eye,” Tanner pointed. “It looks like somebody’s got a boat tucked around the back side.” He reached for his radio. “Could be a looter, but what would they want with the church?”
He backed the boat around to the north side windows, “Hello the church!” he yelled.
After a minute, Jimmy opened a window within the sanctuary and stuck his head out. “Hey Chief.” He gave a little wave. “I’m up here because my wife forgot some of her medication. I’ll be heading out again in a few minutes.”
Tanner squinted toward the church and shook his head, “It’s Preacher Spanner. Can you believe that nut held a revival last night? I had to send Haywood over to his house afterwards to talk him into encouraging folks to evacuate. He was adamant they could pray the rain away, but his wife activated the phone tree and got several families to go.”
Blink felt a flicker of inspiration. Here it is, a tailor-made human-interest element, he thought. He’d seen national news choppers overhead during his tour with Tanner, but none of them had accessed the town from the water and, certainly, it would be hours before they’d be able to weave a local’s story through the broader scope of the disaster. I’ll get that Emmy yet, he thought.
“Tanner, I’ve got an idea. Put me in at the window. It’s a perfect height, and I can squeeze in over the sill.”
Tanner shook his head. “That’s not a good idea at all. It’s almost dark.”
“Come on, now, Tan. You’d be doing me a huge favor.” Blink beamed his quick smile. “I’ll put you on TV. Hell, you might even get a new cruiser out of it.”
Tanner held firm. “I’m responsible for your safety. There’s no telling what’s in that water.”
“Don’t be a Granny. I’ve got waders on. I’m going to talk to the preacher, in the Lord’s house. I just want to go in for a few minutes and get some footage.” Blink could sense Tanner was wavering. “Just make a quick round to check water levels one more time before dark, and come back to get me.”
The sun was low in the sky to their left side when Tanner shrugged, “If anybody can take care of himself, it’s you.”
He put the boat’s bow directly online with the window threshold, and Blink hoisted himself onto the windowsill, his camera attached via a dry bag backpack. He eased his legs over the sill and lowered himself gingerly into a sanctuary that was a mess of floating hymnals and underwater pews. Dodging a water snake, he sloshed up the stairs to the administrative spaces in the mezzanine above the sanctuary.
“Hello,” he called, “Anybody home? Preacher? This is Blink McMahon from WDHN, wanting to talk to you for a minute.” He pulled the camera out and flipped the switch that started it rolling.
“Hello, Blink, I never expected to see you today,” Jimmy smiled. “You can see we’re a little under the weather here, but God will provide. What can I do for you?”
Blink noticed the open safe behind Jimmy and frowned, “Does your wife normally keep her medicine in the church safe, Preacher?”
Jimmy brushed by Blink and shut the safe. “Well, I didn’t want to get into the particulars out the open window, with who knows who hanging around, but I came up here because I didn’t feel comfortable leaving the Lord’s money unsecured.” Blink squinted hard and waved his free hand for Jimmy to go on.
“Even though God always wins, he also gives us some discernment.” Jimmy was talking fast, his eyes darting around. “The folks at the revival wanted that money to go to the flood victims, should there be any. It looks like God was watching over their offering. I found the safe intact and I’ll be making sure the good folks of the town see that money back in the community.” “What an inspiration, Reverend,” Blink zoomed the camera in on his face, fascinated by the drop of saliva in the corner of his mouth. “You say you intend to rebuild here?”
“I think that’s what the Lord would want us to do, don’t you? So much work left to be done.”
At that moment, the church buckled sideways on its foundation. “What the hell was that?” Blink yelled. He lurched against the railing, dropping the camera into the murky water around the altar below, and ran down the steps to fish it out. His hand closed around it, and he grabbed a pew with his other hand, clawing himself upright against the church’s list. He could see Tanner in the distance, pushing the little boat hard back toward him. The church lurched again, and now the structure leaned further to the south, boards creaking, water entering new cracks on the north side.
“Tanner!” he yelled out the open window. He looked below to see a massive tongue of water sucking from the town, toward what he couldn’t see, a newly opened hole on the south side of the levee. “Stay back! Save yourself,” he yelled as the church took a dive into the again-roiling waters. “Tell Laura I…” The rest was lost in the creaking and snapping of boards coming apart. Later, when Tanner delivered the news to Martha, he’d recount that he’d also heard Jimmy cry out to God, but he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t made that part up.
March 17: Dothan
The Floodwatch ‘90 graphics signaled the beginning of another report. “Viewers, we have breaking news from Elba,” Laura began, her voice shaking. “We’ve been waiting and praying along with you, as city leaders tried to figure out how to de-water some 20 feet of standing water in the downtown area. Now, we have it from Police Chief Tanner Davis that the south levee has given way, allowing drainage of most of the water from the city center.”
She dabbed her eyes and paused a moment to collect herself. “Tragically, the resulting vacuum took down two structures near the south levee, including First Baptist Church, where our own Blink McMahon had gone in to film the devastation and speak with the preacher, Jimmy Spanner. Chief Davis reports they are missing and presumed drowned. If confirmed, they would be the first fatalities of the entire flooding event. More to follow as we learn the details.”
The camera stayed on her as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “Cue the Floodwatch ‘90 music,” Joe Adams whispered, and the shot slowly panned out.
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