Flood-ravaged community a disturbing sight

Three weeks ago, I wrote in a column about the horrific flood that had ravaged by hometown of Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Last weekend, I got a chance to see the devastation first-hand.

It was a disturbing sight.

My parents had told me ahead of time about the blocks and blocks of destruction. I had read accounts from civic leaders who had referred to the disaster as "our Katrina." I had foraged the Internet for photos and videos of the flood damage. Yet my parents told me the pictures don't tell the whole story — that you had to see it in person to understand.

And they were right.

The trip to Iowa was supposed to be about celebration — celebrating the Fourth of July with my sister and her family, celebrating my parents' upcoming 40th anniversary. But driving through the flood-ravaged streets of Cedar Rapids, there was nothing to celebrate.

We saw Ellis Park, where the floodwaters ripped dozens of boat houses from their moorings. Many ended up smashed against a railroad bridge downstream. Others could still be seen strewn about the park, on what is once again dry land, hundreds of yards from the river.

We drove through neighborhoods that bear names like "Time-Check" and "Czech Village," where hundreds and hundreds of refrigerators and washing machines and clothes dryers line the roadway, along with large piles of other debris, all caked with the muddy silt of the Cedar River.

It was a disturbing, revolting sight. But amazingly enough, I was told that the scene I witnessed was markedly better than what had existed days earlier. They say mountains of debris of all sorts once lined the roadway — a solid wall of discarded items, ranging from furniture to clothing to childhood toys.


Red, yellow and green tags were attached to the homes, most all with water lines still clearly visible. The green tags — there weren't many — indicated the homes that were safe to return to. The yellow tags marked residences that could be entered, but not occupied. The most-damaged buildings got red tags, a message to simply stay away.

The downtown area looked like a war zone. Around every corner was a disaster relief vehicle of some kind. Huge generators, supplying electricity to the area — which had still not regained power — made travel through the streets difficult. Many buildings had giant tubes coming out of them, as crews worked diligently to remove lingering moisture.

We drove past the railroad bridge that collapsed into the river. Several railroad cars were still visible, awaiting a difficult recovery from the murky water. We drove past the public library — the Cedar Rapids Gazette said it won't reopen for at least a year. We drove past the home of Theatre Cedar Rapids, where the curb in front was filled with discarded debris, but the marquee above contained the optimistic message, "We're all in this together."

To say it was a somber tour is to say the least. Nobody wants to see their hometown like this. I think of all the families, who have lost everything in this flood. Like Katrina, some of the hardest-hit areas were home to families who could afford it the least.

I hope those who saw my minivan creeping through the flooded areas with its out-of-state plates were not offended. Indeed, I can understand the last thing those who suffered such devastation need is tourists gawking at their plight.

Yet it was something I needed to see. It was something my kids needed to see. The Flood of 2008 will forever be a defining moment in the history of my hometown, and it was important for me to try to understand the devastation that has occurred there. For that matter, it's important for people around the country to understand as well. Cedar Rapids still needs help, and I urge anyone who is interested in doing so to visit www.floodlist.com to find out what they can do.

In the wake of this epic disaster, a couple other points need to be mentioned. First, it's worth noting that throughout this ordeal, which has impacted tens of thousands of people and more than 1,000 city blocks, not a single fatality has been reported. That miracle is a tribute to the careful planning and diligent work of the emergency management workers of the community.

Second, though the city is suffering perhaps the worst ordeal in its history, there has been almost no civil unrest. There have been no riots. There have been no waves of finger-pointing and blame-casting. There have been no angry mobs. Instead, the people of this community have handled the crisis with a grace and dignity that makes me intensely proud to call Cedar Rapids my hometown.

Like the marquee says, the residents of Cedar Rapids are "all in this together."

And together, the city will rise again.

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I'm a sucker for a good music montage, and the video below is well done. It's from an outfit calling itself "iowafloodaid."