1955 Santa Cruz Flood Recollections
Page Two
Art Wagner (Holy Cross, '57)
--
What I remember about the 1955 Flood. Here are a few random thoughts from my
shrinking memory bank.
The night of the flood my mother wouldn't let me go down to see the river.
And since we lived at 218 Highland Ave (near High St.) the river was not that
far and I wanted to see it. But she could get hysterical, so I didn't go. The
next day I went without telling her.
I rode my bike along the San Lorenzo River. I remember seeing a Buick
bobbing around, floating off shore at the mouth of the River. The ocean out
from the river's mouth was brown for 100s of yards.
I remember that it rained for days and days before the flood and I wore out
a raincoat. It was a clear plastic, flimsy one. I rode in the rain every day
on my bike, past Branciforte School to work at Warren Electric in the stock
room. Warren Electric was up on Soquel Avenue, so it didn't get flooded.
Granite Construction was building the Highway 1 bypass at that time. The
bridge over the River was not completed, only the piers were up. My Dad,
George Wagner, told me that he wanted to insure the piers, but the management
elected for no insurance. Well, the river knocked the piers over. As it turned
out though, the State of California redesigned the bridge so Granite was able
to cut their losses.
A friend of mine, Bill Whalen, worked at Andy's Auto Supply. He drove his
nice 1948 Chevrolet down town and parked it nearby so that he could help Andy
sand bag and move up his goods. They moved the goods up, but in the meantime
his car was flooded. His car smelled like silt for months afterward. Of course
Bill was ticked. (That's an understatement.)
There were lots of cars damaged by the flood; they were filled with silt
throughout.
I remember that the beaches were piled unbelievably high with logs and
driftwood. People were encouraged in the following days to take their chain
saws and cut the wood up for firewood.
My memory bank has emptied. -- Art Wagner
Patricia Banach Lowell ('54)
--
As I looked out our kitchen window I saw a man in a rowboat.
It was December of 1955, and I was home for the Christmas holidays from UC- Berkeley. Home was 334 Washington St., just off Laurel Street. We lived in a tiny, two-bedroom rental - my mom, dad and sister Pam.
Exactly when the heavy rains started, I don't remember, but the water behind our house kept rising and rising. The street behind was Chestnut Street and directly in back of my house and across the empty lot was a motel owned by Rodney Smart's family. The back door of our house had a steep set of wooden steps that descended into our backyard. The water kept rising and rising and rising.
Because we had some Christmas presents wrapped and ready, my mom decided to put most of them in the highest place in the house - atop our refrigerator, just in case the water got in. There were neighbors a few houses down that had a second story where we could evacuate, if necessary.
The water kept rising and rising and rising. We continually opened the back door to see how far up the steps it had come. Inch by inch . . . In the end, it stopped directly beneath our back door, having crept up at least six feet from the bottom of the yard.
I found out later that the man in the rowboat was seeing if there was anyone in the motel apartments who needed to get out.
The next day the whole town - those who had not been flooded - turned out to take stock of the damage on Pacific Avenue. I went to Mode O'Day, owned by Barbara Rittenhouse, where I had a job over the holiday break. It was a sea of mud. We hosed and shoveled and swept the awful stuff for hours. We all were exhausted and, of course, filthy. I don't remember how many days we did this, but I know it didn't get cleaned up quickly.
River mud has very fine silt that insinuates itself into every hairline crack and cranny. It has a long, long shelf life, too. I remember coming back the next summer to work once again and still saw its evidence in the baseboards of the store.
Such an exciting time that was for me, but so horrible for those people who lost their homes and possessions. Our little town was on the news throughout California, and I was flattered that a certain young man, whom I later married, cared enough about me to call about my welfare.
John Lute ('57)
--
Here are my experiences during the 1955 flood.
I decided to go to the Santa Cruz Theater that evening, ran out and jumped in my 32 Chevrolet truck, but it only had half a hood and something got wet -- so I started walking.
At intermission the manager announced that anyone parked on the street should move their cars since the river was just about to flood. A couple people got up and left. I was sitting in the balcony along with about 3 other people when we heard some squealing and people leaving downstairs, but we didn't pay much attention and finished the second feature.
When I stepped into the lobby there was about 3" of water on the floor and it was pouring down the aisles; on the street it was up to my knees, and by the time I reached the Water Street bridge it was above my waist.
On the bridge I met Milton McNaulty; he asked if I would help him try to save as much as possible in his grandmother's house. We got down to the intersection of Ocean and Water and the site was something else. B-40 Creek was coming in from the 5 Spot side and the river rushed in from the Chevron Station side, with it boiling up in the center of the intersection. A police officer in a boat tried to tell us we couldn't go down Ocean Street, but that's the way we had to go, so we went anyway.
Once inside the house we found throw rugs floating around, making it look like the floor had raised. We went around putting everything that hadn't gotten wet yet up as high as we could. All the sudden Milton screamed he had gotten shocked when he touched the electric stove, so we decided it was too dangerous in there and we went out the back door and tried to cross the alley, but the water was flowing quite fast down the alley. It took us almost a block to get across. He said his boss Walt Trinidad lived on the next street and we could stay there for the night.
After meeting the Trinidads, whose home was built up high enough that no water had come into the house, we had a hot drink and warm dry clothes. We sat on the porch to watch the cars float by, but I was worried about my Mom and sister, so I gave Walt back the dry clothes, cut the legs off my Levi's and went looking for a phone that worked. Down the street a ways was an old couple sitting on their porch. I asked if their phone still worked. They said yes and that I could use it, but their cat was stuck up in the rafters in the basement; if the water got any higher he would drown.
They showed me where the door was, they could hear him right under the porch where they were sitting, I got the door open and could come up between the rafters to breath, he wasn't hard to find and I was able to take him from one rafter to the other, without putting him underwater till I got back to the door. (I advise anyone not to try to swim underwater with a cat in one hand, for they don't like it a bit.) But the people were very happy and let me use their phone.
When Mom got out of bed she discovered about a foot of water in the house; she told me they would try to drive the car to the top of the Plymouth Street hill, they were leaving NOW, and not to try to come home.
So I went back to Walt's house and watched the cars float by, the next morning the water was low enough to walk home. I found my folks and we cleaned the mud out of the house.
When I took the clothes back to Walt's house, he asked if I had a job. I said no and he hired me. He was the Manager of the Regal Service Station, which backed up to the San Lorenzo River by the Water Street Bridge. We were friends forever. I was crushed when I found out he passed away and I never heard about it until months later.
The 55 flood was a night of bad luck for most of the Santa Cruz residents, but for me it turned into a night of opportunity and good friendship. --John Lute
Rosemary MacGowan Corbin ('57)
--
My recollections of the flood of "55 are quite vivid, probably because we lived so close to the river.
As they were announcing on KSCO for the merchants on Front St. and Pacific Ave. to move everything up three feet because the river was expected to go that high, my father said, "I've been here since 1916, and that River isn't going to flood." So much for the wisdom of elders.
For those who weren't listening to the radio, and those who had basements, or those who ONLY put their merchandise up three feet, it was a disaster! We lived a block and half up Broadway from the river. The Red Cross evacuated everyone in the block below us, and all of our immediate neighbors in row boats, however, we were able to stay because we went up a flight of stairs to get into our house.
As we watched the river lap over our lawn, our cocker spaniel went nuts barking at the ducks in his front yard. An elderly friend of my father who lived by the river, climbed out of his window into a tree, and spent the night there. My father gave him a suit because he lost all of his clothes. Two women who lived in the block below us refused to leave, and, I believe, drowned.
I remember hearing the drone of the pumps working for days pumping out the basements where all of the lay-aways for Christmas had been ruined, and the mud and stench of it all along Pacific Ave. There were flood sales with lots of bargains, but, bitter/sweet ones.
The rumor going around was that no one would buy a car in S.C. because they were afraid that all of the engines of the cars in the dealerships on Front St. were covered with silt, so, they shipped them to San Jose to be sold.
One of my friends who lived in a trailer by the river said that after they returned when the river had returned to its channel, their goldfish was still swimming around in his bowl. After it all Federal agencies set up assistance tables in the auditorium. I don't know why I was there, but it was my first introduction to the work of the Small Business Administration. So much for a nosy teenager.
Unfortunately, as a response, the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers converted our beautiful river into a cement channel. What a shame. They don't do that anymore. Clearing the natural course of the river is more effective and more attractive. --Rosemary MacGowan Corbin
Ron Miller ('56) of TheColumnists.Com [Used with permission.]
--
For all those who mistakenly believe I went directly from a career delivering newspapers to another career writing for them, it may be a shock to learn I'm growing wistfully nostalgic about the demise of my former employer, Montgomery Ward & Co.
That's right: I used to work for Monkey Wards. And I hasten to point out they were calling it that before I ever worked there.
As a matter of fact, I inherited the job from another person who also turned out to be a columnist writing for this website, but I'm not sure he's as wistfully nostalgic about it as I am--and probably would just as soon not have the world know about his humble beginnings.
In my social milieu of the early 1950s, it was de rigeur for teenage boys to have after-school and weekend jobs. Even though I was quite happy delivering copies of the Santa Cruz Sentinel by bicycle on Route 58, I knew it was terribly uncool for a high school boy to still have a paper route--unless, of course, it was a motor route. That's why I jumped at the chance to take over the job of "handyboy" at the Monkey Ward catalog store on Pacific Avenue in downtown Santa Cruz, Calif. . . .
For me, though, the most vivid memory of my years at Monkey Ward came on a Saturday in December in 1955. It was my job to meet one of the girls at the store at 7 a.m. and help get it ready to open it up for business. It had rained quite a bit the night before, which wasn't so unusual for Santa Cruz, but I was stunned when I crossed the San Lorenzo River just before 7 a.m. and saw whole houses floating in the river. There had been a so-called "100-year- flood" during the night and the river had flowed right down Pacific Avenue and into all the stores.
Just a few minutes after I crossed the bridge, it was closed to traffic. When I got to Monkey Ward, nobody else was there. Later, I learned that "Angie," the early girl, had barely escaped flood waters that had come into her mobile home and carried it away. None of the other women could get to the store for quite some time. Meanwhile, the National Guard was mobilized and started pressing everyone into sandbag duty, helping build up the banks of the river in fear of a second flood that night.
In those days, we stored all the layaway Christmas goods in tall shelves in the large storeroom. Those shelves had toppled and the goods were soaked and ruined. I opened the basement door to see the damage down there and found it now was an indoor swimming pool, about 12 feet deep. I'd never seen such a mess. The rest of the day remains a blur, but the good news is that all the girls survived the flood and the river didn't overflow the second night.
Though I never was much of a Monkey Ward shopper, I'm very sorry to see the old company bite the dust. It gave me my first grown-up job and my first of what turned out to be many pleasant experiences working for and with women. I wouldn't trade that job for any of the gas pump jockey or bowling alley pin- setting jobs my pals snagged in their high school years.
It may not have been a very well-paying job, but at least a guy never got greasy working at Monkey Ward. © 2001 by Ron Miller
--
[For Ron Miller's complete recollections of his days with Monkey Ward go to TheColumnists.Com]
Adela Eddy Parada ('54)
--
I was living in San Francisco and had invited my Swiss roommate to share Christmas with my family in Ben Lomond. Our trip was delayed by the flood, and it took several days until the first Greyhound bus could travel over Highway 17. The phone lines were not working in the area, so my parents were not aware I was bringing a guest. I was confident, however, that they would be delighted. The Christmas tree would be decorated and colored lights glowing and there would be a roaring fire in the fireplace. It was exciting to anticipate bringing my friend, who had been in this country for only a few months, to our cozy home on the river.
We transferred buses at Camp Evers in Scotts Valley. On arriving in Ben Lomond, we walked one mile from the town center to my home, carrying suitcases that were larger and heavier than necessary. As we rounded the corner at the top of the hill above my home, there awaited a heart-stopping sight. We set our suitcases down and waded through the mud. My home had survived but there had been four feet of water inside, the front windows had been torn off, nearly everything inside had gone down the river and the deck and 80-foot-long bulkhead, which had held the water back for at least 20 years, were gone.
And, as we waded through the mud inside, we found a fish in the bathtub.
There was no sign of life in the area. We picked up our suitcases and trudged back to Ben Lomond, unsure of where to go. The local gathering place was Henfling's Inn, so we went there to inquire about my family. Small towns are great during an emergency.
My family of five was staying with friends nearby. They were sleeping in the attic of an old house with two other families. Meals were a joint project. All the Christmas gifts for our family had been ordered from the Sears catalog office in Santa Cruz before Christmas. Most of the gifts were lost in the flood on Pacific Avenue. The flood had delayed Christmas for a few days in Ben Lomond, so we were fortunate to have arrived in time for the celebration. It was the most unbelievable and wonderful Christmas I have ever experienced. --Adela Eddy Parada
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