Lou’s View

By Lou Bernard

If there’s one thing Clinton County is consistently known for, it’s floods. We should have a flood on our official county symbol. Since our founding in 1839, we have consistently gotten periodic floods that define a lot of our history. This is largely due to founder Jerry Church, who grew up along a river and loved places that were prone to flooding.

The earliest flood I can find a record of once Clinton County was founded is 1847. It was known as the “Pumpkin Flood” because it happened on October 9th.

This one hit Keating Township particularly hard, wiping out just about every building in the area. The conjunction of the Susquehanna and Sinnemahoning rose rapidly, trapping one family on a roof until they could be rescued by canoe. James Wadsworth and John Clawater found an overturned canoe and rescued the family—And, in fact, one of the rescued women later married Wadsworth, giving them quite a cool “How did you two meet?” story.

People survived however they could. Some made rafts out of pine boughs, which were plentiful in the area. One woman, Susan Smoke, was found floating on a mattress for rescue.

Robert Lusk had stashed gold in a hollowed-out log of his cabin, and guess what? He wound up chasing the log down the river, but never did find it. So someplace up there, there’s a lost log with gold bars hidden inside. Have fun with that.

Afterward, food was scarce until supplies of flour and other food could be sent up.

There were floods in 1861 and 1865, too, but not nearly as bad. The 1865 flood was credited, in one story, with temporarily uncovering the Giantess, a lost statue with a curse on it. The story, written by Henry Shoemaker, credits the curse with the death of Abraham Lincoln, in spite of the fact that we were pretty clear on the cause of death there.

The 1889 flood is basically credited with destroying the canals and damaging the lumber industry. Already, the canals were on their way out, essentially, because railroading was more efficient and worked much better in the winter. When the flood hit, it did a lot of damage to the canals, making it unprofitable to repair them again.

Which, in turn, did a lot of economic damage to the lumber operations in the county, which is what started the downhill turn for lumbering.

1918. The Ice Flood. It began on February 13th, backing up huge chunks of ice into yards and streets. People gathered around oil lamps for warmth. Other, more easily entertained people went out and ice skated on Bellefonte Avenue. This flood affected Lock Haven very badly, and Renovo sent some trains down with relief supplies.

The Clinton County Times often ran a column that purported to be the opinions of the soldiers on the Civil War monument. After the 1918 flood, they interviewed the sailor, who suggested that he’d rather have been the guy all the way at the top.

And then came 1936. The 1936 flood hit on Saint Patrick’s Day, causing previously unprecedented levels of damage. While everything else was underwater, Saint Paul’s Episcopal Church burned down because of a communication error. Two puppies were secured in an attic for safety, later rescued, and named “Flood” and “Mud.” A couple of neighbors across Fallon Alley, on the highest floors, developed a method of sharing cigarettes via a rope strung across the alley. Charles Coira, managed of the silk mill, turned the mill into a base for rescue operations.

In all these flood stories, though, there’s something I notice. They all end essentially the same way. In every single case, the newspapers ran a story afterward about how resilient Clinton County people are, and how we were definitely going to get through it. There was always talk of how the people of Clinton County were going to survive….And so far, we always have.