The Stench...

Monday, July 28, 2008

(UAW Local 167 News)The Stench….
By Fred Bivins/UAW Local 167 News

The stench was appalling. Men were working in the dust without benefit of masks or even a bandanna pulled across their faces. The mounds of dirt along the road had just hours before been layers of Cedar River mud settled several feet deep making the thoroughfare impassable. The detritus from homes along the route made piles upwards of ten and fifteen feet and maybe even higher. The sun shown like the summer day it was, masking any hint of the power of the weather system that had parked itself over this quaint community just days earlier. The cleanup was now in full swing.

Sandbags held their positions along the flood walls which protected the park along the river and the town adjacent. The downtown of Cedar Falls had been spared the same calamity that befell other areas just across the highway. But then the town had erected the flood walls for just that purpose. The interesting dichotomy of the bright orange and yellow polypropylene bags stacked in overlapping courses gave the feeling from a distance that the park was lined with brilliantly blooming marigolds. Flowers wouldn’t have held the waters at bay, however, and some of the sandbags appeared to have failed as well. In several spots there were bulges backed with sand pushed up against the piles and then another course of bags created a wall stretching six or so feet behind the breach packed higher than the original effort.

This was day three of our sojourn into Iowa, a trip we were not sure we would even be making just a week ago. Weather reports and downed phone lines had kept us in that netherworld of not being able to complete plans for the visit.

On day one we saw the mighty Mississippi, looking placid and a reminder of the words of an old wag. The river was, “A mile wide and a foot deep.” Well in this case that foot became two then three then much more and stretched as far as the eye could see. We were in Davenport and were looking at Highway 67 which was under about four feet of ugly brown muck, which brought to mind the rest of that quote, it being “too thin to plow, and too thick to drink.” Evidence of higher levels was everywhere, from mud stains on the Figgie Museum stairs to the hundreds of pumps forcing the liquid out of basements everywhere on the flood plain.

Later that afternoon we drove through Cedar Rapids. The elevated highway took us well over head of people whose homes were standing, but looked like total losses. Walls no longer existed and the mountains of debris were just hints of the losses these poor citizens were facing. Dumpsters were filled to overflowing and yet people threw more of their sodden belongings on the heap.

Sunday we spent making our way around Waterloo and saw the truly awe inspiring power of water. No, not the all-too-familiar and ubiquitous piles of sand bags, and not the piles of dead fish on the “dry” side of the levees. It was the railroad bridge, wrenched from its moorings and laying like a scene from World War Two. A twisted mass of rail and girder that looked like a giant had pulled it up and wrung it between his huge fists then threw it back into the river. Massive concrete piers torn away from the bedrock like pebbles kicked along the road. The forces of nature at work, but still not their worst. It was the only bridge to suffer that fate so it could have been worse.

For some it’s hard to say it could be worse. The maid who cleaned the room on Saturday had every right to show the face of someone who had suffered the worst. We exchanged pleasantries in the hall and a brief conversation. I asked if she had been affected by the flood she said she had lost her house. That was not the worst thing, she said. Just before the flood she had lost her husband. “But,” she said, “I’m still alive!” My life suddenly seemed much easier.

This hotel is filled and so is the one next door. Looking out the window to the lot below the scene looked like something out of a John Steinbeck novel. People milling around and small piles of belongings all over the macadam. Some displaced families have been staying there. It seemed strange though that all those noisy folks, many with unkempt, stringy hair, were men. The realization struck that these were the FEMA gypsies that the desk clerk had told me were coming. She called them volunteers… but they’re really day-laborers. Contract employees brought to places like this to clean up. They had been brought here in two old school busses. As a group they looked more like the denizens of establishments with a four a.m., “last call.” Where they were going to work no one knew.

Slowly, methodically, and at great expense these communities are pulling themselves back…back to the surface…getting their heads above water. Marilyn, the maid, will not be rebuilding. She said it will just be too hard to do alone. Where will she go? She just shrugged her shoulders. Her smile and good humor, while masking her pain and grief, give a good indication that she, like so many other Iowans, will make it through.

Side Bar

What can you do to help?

In the area where the foul odor was the worst and the dust the thickest, Red Cross volunteers had set up a tent and were passing out canned drinking water to residents and workers alike. This is just one facet of the American Red Cross disaster response. They also provide shelter and food as well as counseling for victims. Water may wash the bad taste out of the mouths of the people, and some who leave even may soon forget the smell. That stench though permeates the ground and air and will probably haunt thousands for months to come. Those who stay behind and rebuild their lives and homes after the aid workers leave will be forever grateful for the help they’ve received and on a day like today for the clear, cool, water. In the long run however they need far more than water to get rid of the smell and to get their lives back.
The Disaster Relief Fund ran out of money. They have borrowed to help in Iowa as well as the communities that are affected further south on the Mississippi. They estimate that $15 Million will be spent helping victims of these floods. After the ARC announced that the Disaster Relief Fund was depleted money started coming in. As of this writing $8 Million has been collected.
Donors can contribute via the internet at www.RedCross.org , by phone at 1-800-HELP-NOW (1-800-435-7669) or 1-800-257-7575 (Spanish) or by mail: American Red Cross, P.O. Box 37243, Washington, D.C. 20013. The Red Cross honors donor intent. If you wish to designate your donation to a specific disaster, please do so at the time of your donation.
Visit www.RedCross.org to find out the latest information and learn how you can help.