Deep Dive
Shownotes Transcript
John Park slams his pickaxe into the ground, sending chunks of loose dirt flying. Another worker scoops up the dirt with a shovel and tosses it onto a growing pile.
Park wipes the rain from his face, then looks around at the two dozen workers on his crew, each swinging a pickaxe or hoisting a shovel. He hollers instructions over the pounding rain, which hasn't let up for hours. "More earth, there! Yeah, that's right! And tamp it down harder! It'll wash away if you leave it like that!" Park is just 23, but as the chief engineer for the nearby hunting and fishing club, he's in charge of this crew.
They were originally hired to install sewage lines for the club's lavish cottages, but this morning they've been given another more urgent task: raise the height of the dam that sits on club property. It's just before 9 a.m. on May 31st, 1889 in western Pennsylvania. Torrential rains, including eight inches the previous day, have raised the water level dangerously high in the lake behind the South Fork Dam.
The water now sits less than three feet from the crest of the dam, and each second more water is pouring into the lake from the swollen creek surrounding it. If the rising water spills over the top of the dam, it will flood Johnstown and the other towns in the river valley below. The overflowing water could also damage the top of the dam, which could lead to even more flooding. Park doesn't want to contemplate how bad things could get.
Thousands of homes could be destroyed and tens of thousands of people displaced. So Park and his crew are breaking up the southbound lane of the road that runs over the top of the dam and piling the loosened dirt onto the northbound lane, which runs closer to the lake.
Then they're tamping down this dirt so it can serve as a berm, a low dirt wall that will be a barrier against the water. If they can build the berm high enough, maybe they can keep the water in the lake where it belongs. But the dirt road is rock hard, packed down solid after years of horse and carriage traffic, so their work is agonizingly slow. And Park can see that the lake is rising faster than their berm.
How's it going, John?
"'Slow. We'd make better progress with a horse and a plow. Maybe we can borrow one from the farmer next door?' As Park speaks, he sees Unger's eyes dart toward the lake. He's not paying attention. Park might as well be speaking to the wind. "'Sir? What do you think? Do you want to fetch a horse and a plow?' "'Uh, fine. Yes.'
But Unger doesn't move. He seems to be paralyzed with fear. Finally, Park sets down his pickaxe. Sir, keep an eye on the workers. I'll be back with that plow. Park takes off running down the road. If they're going to find a horse and plow, he'll have to do it himself. Every second counts. If they can't raise the height of the dam before the water overtops it, then the towns in the valley below could be doomed.
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Progressive Casualty Insurance Company & Affiliates. Comparison rates not available in all states or situations. Prices vary based on how you buy. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. In May of 1889, record rains fell in western Pennsylvania, causing widespread flooding. Of greatest concern was the rising water level at Lake Connemaw, which was held back by the aging South Fork Dam.
At the time, Lake Connemaw was the largest man-made lake in the United States, and the dam was all that stood between its 20 million tons of water and the 30,000 people who lived in the valley below the dam, most of them in the steel mill city of Johnstown. As the water rose, engineer John Park and his crew scrambled to reinforce the dam. Park also began to alert the valley towns that danger might be coming.
But for most people, the warnings would come too late. This is Episode 2, Overflow. John McKee hears the tolling of church bells and wakes up shivering. Nine clangs for 9 a.m. He opens his eyes and immediately regrets it.
His head throbs, like someone's driving nails into it. His mouth tastes like some tiny creature crawled inside and died. He reaches down to pull up his covers and to go back to sleep. But something's wrong. McKee gropes around, but he can't feel any covers. And come to think of it, he's not resting on a mattress. But something hard. Where is he?
He forces his eyes open again and sees a concrete floor and vertical iron bars. All at once he remembers and groans. He's been arrested. He should be at work at the steel mill now. Instead, he's in the Johnstown drunk tank. McKee covers his eyes with his hands and begins to think back to yesterday. He and his two friends bought some whiskey and had a grand old time at the Memorial Day Parade.
One friend even snuck onto a temperance float. Then they got a notion to climb up a church tower and ring the bell. He's fuzzy on what happened next. A cop appeared and then everyone scattered, but McKee tripped and fell. He must have gotten caught while his friends ran away. He can't believe his stupidity. What was he thinking?
A door opens at the end of the corridor. McKee sits up and sees the jailer, a heavy man with loose jowls. "Got a visitor, McKee?" Through the door steps McKee's father. The mere sight of him makes McKee burn with shame. His father is an officer in the local temperance union, and now he has to bail out his son for public drunkenness. McKee drops his head, avoiding his father's gaze.
McKee looks up in surprise and sees his father shaking with fury.
With that, his father turns on his heels and leaves. McKee shouts after him, but the old man doesn't even break stride as he exits. McKee turns to the jailer. He laughs and walks away.
McKee slumps back in despair on the cold bench. His head is aching. He's missing work, and his father is livid with him. There's no way this day could possibly get any worse. Reverend H.L. Chapman opens his Bible in his study and skims for the right passage. He raises his voice and speaks into the telephone. Mrs. Ross, can you hear me?
He's consoling the widow of a man who accidentally drowned late last night. It's just past 10 a.m., and with the streets of Johnstown starting to flood today, there's no way Chapman can get across town to comfort her. Unfortunately, the connection on the line is terrible. Chapman is getting irritated, but hopes Mrs. Ross can't tell from his voice. Mrs. Ross, please speak up. Hello? Hello?
No, no, I can't hear you. The bad connection isn't his only problem. He still hasn't finished his Sunday sermon. Plus, his wife's tiresome cousin, Mrs. Brinker, is here. In fact, for the past half hour, Brinker and his maid Lizzie have been stomping up and down the back stairs near his office. It's an annoying distraction. He has no idea why they're causing such a racket.
Finally, the static clears, and Chapman can hear Mrs. Ross. "I'm just wondering, Reverend, can you come by?" "No, I can't. I still can't get across town. But I would like to pray with you. I'm going to read a passage from the Gospel of John." After he finishes reading, Chapman bows his head and leads Mrs. Ross in a prayer.
It's not the same as being there, but it's the best he can do right now. Suddenly, there's a huge commotion from the hallway. A smashed bottle and a clattering of tin cans on the stairs. The noise snaps Chapman's last strand of patience. Asking Mrs. Ross to wait, he marches to the door, opens it, and glares into the hallway.
He finds his maid Lizzie there, along with Mrs. Brinker. They were apparently carrying cans and bottles upstairs, and one of them slipped and dropped everything. Milk is running down the steps and pulling at the bottom. Chapman cannot believe his eyes. What on earth are you doing? Brinker's voice is timid as she answers. Oh, we're laying provisions in the attic.
Food, milk, matches, provisions? For what purpose? In case the dam can't hold the flood. It takes Chapman every ounce of Christian charity he has not to yell. I told you earlier. The dam has been there for 40 years and can stand a little rain. Besides, we live in one of the highest parts of town and our foundation is raised up. The chances of flooding here are nil.
But his lecture ends up backfiring. Brinker bursts into tears. The maid wraps her arms around Brinker to comfort her and shoots Chapman a disapproving look. Chapman sighs, waves his hands and tells them they can do whatever they want. He's annoyed at the prospect of having to haul all the food down later. But if it will quiet his wife's cousin, so be it.
With a sermon to write and a drowned man's wife to comfort, he has more important things to worry about than some foolish nonsense about the dam. Victor Heiser trudges up the stairs of his family's dry goods store, a 50-pound bag of cornmeal on his shoulder. It's his 10th trip up in the past half hour, and he's getting winded. In fact, he nearly loses his balance at the top. He grabs the doorframe to keep upright.
But after he drops the bag in a corner, a smile crosses his face. Despite his fatigue, he's having a great morning. It's 10 a.m., and with the floodwaters creeping up into his family's store, his mother released him from his studies for once, so he could help move sacks of flour and cornmeal to the second floor. It isn't easy work, but anything beats conjugating French verbs.
A moment later, Victor's big, beefy father arrives at the top of the stairs with two bags, one over each shoulder. He sees Victor staring and grins. See? Your old man's still got it.
Victor laughs. His father served in the Union Army during the Civil War, and never misses a chance to remind him. Victor starts grabbing the bags from him, then tossing them on the pile.
His father walks over to a dusty wardrobe with the name "Heiser" carved into the front. He opens it and pulls out a garment on a hanger.
Victor's eyes go wide. He thinks about the 50-pound sack he just hauled up and imagines someone losing that much weight. It's hard to picture his father skinny.
He runs his fingers over the scratchy blue cloth. Aside from its tarnished buttons, it's still in great shape. Do you think I'd be good in the army? You know what? I bet you would. You're tough, but I don't think your mother would let you join. She won't let me do anything. Unlike his carefree dad, Victor's mother is a taskmaster. When she's not scrutinizing the accounting books, she's riding Victor for not studying enough.
She even kept him home from the town parade yesterday. But before Victor can complain more, his father puts a hand on Victor's shoulder and squeezes. "Yeah, I understand you get frustrated with her, but she only wants what's best for you. You want to work in the store your whole life? No, right? Then buckle down." As Victor nods, he feels the grip relax. His father smiles.
But a boy needs to have fun too. I'll talk to her, okay? His father takes the uniform and puts it back in the wardrobe. Then he leads Victor back down the stairs. They still have a lot of work to do in case the flood gets any worse. Engineer John Park rides his horse along the dirt road that stretches across the top of the dam.
His workers pound away with pickaxes and shovels in the driving rain. A local farmer has a horse and plow working the road as well, chewing up the soil. It's 11:30 in the morning and they've been toiling for nearly three hours. But even with the help of the plow, they still haven't made much progress. The dam is huge, 900 feet wide, and they've only been able to add a foot to its height so far.
And, unfortunately, the water is rising faster than ever. It's now just 18 inches below the original top of the dam, and the rain is showing no signs of letting up. Park looks down the outer face of the dam and feels a flutter of panic. There, more than 50 feet below him, he can see water leaking through the face of the dam in several places.
With a chill, he realizes that even if they can raise the height of the dam, the sheer volume of water might still cause it to fail. To prevent a catastrophe, they need to try something else. He calls over a half dozen of the workers. "Stop! Stop what you're doing here and go to the western edge of the dam! I want you to open a new spillway there! Go and dig as fast as you can!"
Right now, the dam has a single spillway on its eastern edge, which helps divert excess water around the dam. But clearly, it's not doing enough. Park hopes that by opening a second channel, they can release enough water to ease the pressure on the dam and stop the lake from rising. While his men gather their tools, Park considers what to do next. Part of him wants to stay here and direct the crews, but there's another duty to attend to first.
He spurs his horse and takes off. There are thousands of people in the towns below the dam, and he needs to warn them of a possible worst-case scenario that the South Fork Dam might collapse.
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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. John Park yelps as his horse slips in the mud and nearly tumbles. But he seizes the reins and steadies her, then coaxes her on. The road is slick, and he knows he's pushing her too hard. But he's got to spread the warning as soon as possible about the danger of the rising lake at the dam.
Despite the hazardous road, he makes good time. After just 10 minutes of riding, he arrives in South Fork, the first town in the river valley, two miles below the dam.
It's a small town of 1,500 people. The downtown area has a bank, tailor, barbershop, and a few other businesses. The houses are mostly crowded on the surrounding ridges. Scanning the downtown now, Park spots a dozen or so people escaping the rain under the awning of a general store. He hurries over. Excuse me! You all need to get to higher ground! The dam is in danger of overflowing! They all turn to stare at him.
Then a curly-haired man in overalls steps forward. Look, everyone, it's Paul Revere on his horse, coming to warn us.
The crowd starts laughing. Park is baffled at first, then flushes red with anger. I'm serious. Your lives are in danger. The water is rising every minute. The curly-haired man just smirks. We hear that every year. Besides, two of our aldermen hiked up to the lake at 8 o'clock this morning, and they said it looked fine.
Sharing his employer proves to be a mistake.
Everyone scowls at him. Most people in the river valley hate the club for cutting off access to hunting and fishing spots, but Park is undeterred. If you're not going to listen, can you at least point me to the telegraph station so I can alert the other towns further downriver? But the people just ignore him. All except one old man. He's scruffy and unshaven, and walks unsteadily,
But he approaches Park. I know where the telegraph station is. What message should I tell them? Park is about to say that he wants to deliver the message himself. Then he thinks better of it. If the people hate the club that much, maybe it's better if the warning comes from a local. And that way, Park can get back to the dam sooner. He's sure his help is still needed there. Park tells the man what to say and emphasizes the need to hurry.
then parked wheels on his horse and takes off back up the money road for the dam. Emma Ehrenfeld taps out a message on her telegraph key, relaying the news of the day to Pittsburgh. As South Fork's telegraph operator, it's her job to send and receive all incoming and outgoing messages, which today are all related to the heavy overnight rains and flooding.
From what she can tell, it's a mess out there. Several bridges have been washed out in the area, and some sections of railroad track are swamped. Train dispatchers want to know when they can get things running again. Even in the terse language of telegrams, she can tell many of them are getting impatient. Around noon, she finally gets a moment to catch her breath. She was hoping to snuggle up next to her office stove today in the chilly rain and read a little.
She loves Dickens and is halfway through Great Expectations. Her office is on the second floor and now she hears someone coming up the stairs. Her door opens and in walks old Ezekiel, one of the town's more unsavory characters. He's unshaven, with red eyes and sour breath.
Ehrenfeld wrinkles her nose. "Oh, hey Zeke. Listen, what do you need? I'm up to my ears here. A man came down from the dam. Said it's gonna overflow and there's some danger of it breaking." "Breaking?" "I don't know. That's what he said. Supposed to warn all the towns." Ehrenfeld crosses her arms. She's skeptical. Rumors about the dam breaking fly back and forth every year. Like most sensible people, she ignores them.
no need to cause panic. All that said, if the lake were to overflow, the flooding would get worse. People might appreciate the chance to move their furniture to the second floor or get their cows to higher ground so they don't drink dirty water. She thanks Ezekiel who turns the leaf. She gets on her telegraph key to ping the next station, four miles down river at Mineral Point.
She types out the warning, admits her skepticism, and waits for a response. Mineral Point answers quickly. Ehrenfeldt mentally translates the dots and dashes. The Mineral Point man says that he also has his doubts, but thinks the message is worth passing along to the other villages and Johnstown, just in case.
Ehrenfeld agrees, but there's a complication. The operator in Mineral Point informs her that the rainstorm has knocked out the telegraph line somewhere past Mineral Point. No messages can reach any towns beyond it right now, including Johnstown. Ehrenfeld frowns, but the Mineral Point operator has an idea. He says he can write out the message and send someone on foot or horseback to the next station after the break.
The whole thing still feels a little overboard to Ehrenfeld, but she agrees it's a good idea to pass the message along by hand. Then, with her duty complete, she finally gets back to her book.
John Park hears shouts of alarm coming from the road along the top of the dam. He's just arriving back from the village of South Fork and wants to check on the new spillway that he ordered his men to dig. He coaxes his exhausted horse toward the dam. He fears something dire has happened. When he arrives at the halfway point along the top of the dam, he sees the problem.
A huge gust of wind has just sent a wave crashing into the foot-high berm his workers have been making. The wave soaked several men, hence the shouting.
Unfortunately, the water also washed away a section of the berm. Park orders his men to start rebuilding it, but even as he says this, he fears it's a waste of time. Something else is nagging Park too. The lake water has been rising all day, but it seems like it's been accelerating in the past hour. Why? He turns and looks back toward the dam's original spillway to investigate.
He soon sees the problem. The club stalks the lake with prized black bass for the Pittsburgh Steel Magnates who have cabins here. And to prevent these expensive fish from escaping the lake, there's a series of iron grates near the mouth of the spillway. Normally, water rushes right through the grates, but with the flooding upriver, uprooted trees and other debris are clogging the grates now, jamming them completely.
Park shakes his head in frustration. The spillway is big, over 70 feet wide and several feet deep. If they don't unclog the grate soon, their smaller emergency spillway won't make any difference. The lake will overflow for sure. Park turns and looks around, trying to find his boss, Colonel Unger. He finally spots him resting beneath a tree out of the rain. He looks more dazed than ever.
Park races up to him, shouting, "The fish crates! They're clogged! They're blocking the spillway! We have to tear them out!" As useless as Unger's been all day, he finds the energy to rouse himself.
He gets to his feet, and to Park's dismay, he shakes his head. "No, we can't tear him out. We'll lose the fish." "The fish? Who cares about the fish? What about the dam? We don't have any other choice!" "Nah, I'm not losing those bass. The summer season starts next week. Our members, they're gonna want to fish."
Park pleads, but Unger refuses. He insists that the men have to unclog the grates by hand. They can use ropes to pull out the trees and larger pieces of debris. Park still thinks they should just tear the grates out, but doesn't have time to argue. He snaps the reins to get his poor horse moving again. He wants to check on his men's progress on the second spillway on the far side of the dam, though part of him now wonders if it'll be too little, too late.
Johnstown telegraph operator Frank Deckard curses under his breath. Another eight and not a nine in sight. What a crummy hand of solitaire. He's interrupted by the sound of the telegraph key. He glances at the big clock in his office to note the time. It's 12.30 p.m. on the dot. He grabs a pencil and starts transcribing the message from Morse code.
It's from upriver, which surprises him, given that the lines in that direction have been down. But the message explains that someone rode around the break in the line on horseback. That gets Deckert's attention. If someone went through all that trouble, the message must be important. But halfway through, Deckert rolls his eyes. It's a warning about the dam, 14 miles upriver.
Every spring, gossip like this floods the town. As regular as a full moon. Deckard finishes transcribing the message. South Fork Dam in danger of breaking. Notify people of Johnstown to prepare for the worst.
He's tempted to just crumple it up and throw it in the trash. He ultimately decides not to. His company has a professional duty to log and file every incoming message, but he's not going to bother passing it along. He sets it aside, sweeps up his cards, and starts shuffling. Then he glances at the clock again. A few more hours until he can finally head home. And it can't come soon enough.
John Park grabs a shovel from one of his workers and jabs it into the water of the new emergency spillway. He immediately feels the blade strike rock.
He sloshes a few feet over and jabs again. More solid rock. Park curses. His workers have already hit bedrock and just a few feet down. Park was hoping to make this spillway 10 or 12 feet deep to release enough water to lower the lake, but they can't dig through bedrock. The additional spillway will buy them a little time, but not nearly as much as he hoped.
Another big gust of wind kicks up and Park hears shouting from the workers back on the dam. He looks over and sees a terrifying sight. A sheet of water 50 feet wide is pouring over the top of the dam. It looks like thick liquid glass and sweeps several workers off their feet. One almost tumbles down the face of the 72 foot dam. Park leaps onto his horse and rides over.
As the wind dies back, the water stops pouring over the dam, but the damage has already been done. The berm of earth that his men spent all day building has largely been wiped out, like a sandcastle destroyed by the tide. With the berm gone, the lake water is now lapping over the dirt road that runs across the top of the dam.
This is exactly what Park feared. Now, as the water starts pouring over the dam, it will eat into the dirt and wash it away. This will lower the dam, releasing still more water. Things could spiral out of control very quickly, and before long, a trickle could turn into a raging waterfall. Looking things over, Park feels his throat catch.
He has no choice about what to do next. Everyone, get off the dam! Retreat to shore!
His workers stand and stare, unsure if they've heard him right. "Move! Move! Go! Get the hell out of here fast! It's too dangerous!" That gets them moving, but Park doesn't linger to see them off. He spurs his horse into motion again and takes off for the iron grates of the original spillway, which are still clogged with trees. To hell with the prized fish. They've got to remove those grates and do everything in their power to save the dam.
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Then she hurries back to her desk and starts scribbling. It's only 2:00 PM and already she's gone through a whole pad of messages. It's been the busiest day of her career so far and there's no end in sight.
Most of the messages are coming from railroad companies. They're still complaining about the schedules they have to keep and want to know when the trains will be running again. Ehrenfeld doesn't know what to tell them, except what she's already told them a dozen times, that large sections of track are flooded. It's like they think she has some magic wand to clear away millions of gallons of water.
Finally, there's a lull. Ehrenfeld sits back and closes her eyes. She's been working since 7am. Just a few more hours and she can go home, draw a hot bath, and curl up with great expectations. She's earned it. She hears footsteps on the stairs up to her office and sits up warily. She didn't appreciate Ezekiel bursting in earlier and fears he's back again.
But this time, the person knocks. Ehrenfeld rises to answer it and finds a local carriage driver named Daniel standing there. He is dripping wet and nods at her. "Hi, Miss Emma. Do you have a moment? I was hoping you could pass a message along." "I'll do what I can. What's the message?" "It's about the dam. I know, I know, there's always a lot of hoopla about it, but I just came down from there with my team and things look bad."
Daniel explains to Ehrenfeld that the spillway is completely clogged and that the water is starting to pour over the top. Ehrenfeld feels her breath catch. She knows Daniel. He's calm and sober, not prone to exaggeration. He also saw all this firsthand. He's not passing along rumors like Ezekiel was. She invites him to dry off by the potbelly stove, then sits down at her telegraph key.
First thing, Ehrenfeld tries the Johnstown line, but no surprise, it's still down. So she pings Mineral Point again, to alert that town and have them send another messenger around the break in the line. This isn't about ruined furniture anymore. This is a real emergency. She feels bad about not taking the first message as seriously as she should have. She just hopes the people of Johnstown get this more urgent message in time to evacuate to higher ground.
Horace Rose closes one eye and squints down the barrel of his rifle. He's leaning out his third story window and there's a rain soaked rat slinking along a brick wall across the street. He draws a bead on it, holds his breath and fires. It's a direct hit.
Four of his children, ranging in age from 14 to 27, cheer behind him, while his wife Margaret makes a sound of disgust. Rose laughs and lays down the rifle, then wraps her in a hug. "Look, your husband's the best shot in the county," says you. "And he's married to the prettiest girl in the whole state." "Well, at least you're in a better mood."
Rose sighs contentedly. It's around 2.30 p.m., and the truth is, he has indeed been grumpy most of the day. Several important papers at his office got ruined by flooding overnight, and he was mad at himself for not moving them sooner. When he and his sons got back home from salvaging what papers they could at the office, Rose sent his son Forrest off to check on their cow.
He and his other son Percy tried to wade inside, but the street in front of their house was so flooded that they had to grab some planks floating by and raft around to the back. Then in the parlor downstairs, he found two feet of dirty flood water, which ruined his brand new wallpaper.
But then things got better. His adult sons Horace Jr. and Winter showed up to help move the furniture out of the first floor. Both have families of their own, and it's hard to get everyone together nowadays. He's enjoyed having them around. Then the rising waters stranded them in the house, so everyone headed upstairs to their den on the third floor.
They've been swapping old family stories ever since and roasting sausages in the fireplace. It's just too bad that his 16-year-old, Forrest, couldn't make it back from seeing their cow to safety. But he's safe and sound at a neighbor's house across the street. Rose can see over there. Forrest's hosts are stuffing his face with cakes and jam. He's probably having as good a time as anyone.
Around 2 p.m., Rose got the idea to start shooting rats. They'd been driven out of their holes by the rising water, and he figured he'd do his part to help the city exterminate them.
While Rose embraces his wife, 14-year-old Percy picks up the rifle. Hey, Dad, can I shoot that other rat out there? Sure. Just draw a bead on him, like I taught you. Percy runs off to the window. When Margaret protests, Rose kisses her. It's just some harmless fun. Why don't we have some fun, too? Do you want some wine? Are you sure? It's down on the first floor. I mean, why not? Let's get a good bottle. I'll venture down.
Rose bends over and starts rolling up his pant legs. He's looking forward to a nice, warming glass of red. It's amazing what a little family time and a good attitude can do. He could have let his foul mood ruin the whole day, but he's going to appreciate what he has. His family here, together, safe all around him. And make the most of his day.
John Park cups his hands around his mouth and shouts through the pouring rain. Again! On one, two, all! All his workers dig their boots into the mud and strain as hard as they can. The rope in their hands squeaks and groans. Park's eyes dart over to where the ropes are tied. The crews fail to dislodge the trees that have clogged the iron grates that separate the lake from the spillway.
All the branches are simply too tangled, and the weight of the water has pinned them in place. So Park finally convinced his boss, Colonel Unger, to let them retie the ropes to the iron grates themselves and tear them out, which is what they should have done in the first place. Park urges his men on. Keep pulling! Keep pulling!
But their efforts aren't working. The mass of trees and debris is simply too big to dislodge. Park looks over at the top of the dam. It's a gut-wrenching sight. Water is now pouring over the top in a steady sheet. Even worse, it looks like the water is eating into the top, eroding the dirt and releasing more water every minute. If they don't get the grates dislodged soon, things will only get worse.
Park calls out for his men to rest a moment, then rallies them for one more effort. Come on! We can do this! Everyone is soon back in line, rope in hand. Park calls out. Again on three! One! Two! But he never finishes the countdown. One of his workers shouts. Whoa, whoa! What the hell is that? He points down toward the face of the dam, to a spot Park can't see. He hurries over to get a better look.
There's a geyser of water shooting out of the face of the dam, 50 feet below them, like a gushing fire hose. One of the leaks he noticed earlier has become a full-blown rupture. Park knows what this means. The immense force of the water is breaking through the middle of the dam.
Park knew there was a chance the dam could fail, but he assumed it would happen because of water erosion over the top of the dam, a process that could take hours. Now, if there's water eating through the heart of the dam, the whole thing is in danger of collapsing in a matter of minutes. If the dam goes, 20 million tons of water will go with it.
This is the second episode of our four-part series, Johnstown Flood. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research.
If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the book Johnstown by David McCullough. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Sam Keen wrote this episode. Our editor is Steve Fennessy. Sound design by Joe Richardson. Audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Coordinating producer is Desi Blaylock. Produced by Emily Frost and Alita Rosansky.
Managing producer is Matt Gant. Senior managing producer is Ryan Lohr. Senior producers are Andy Herman and Rachel Matlow. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marshall Louis for Wondery.
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