Wfld Missouri Sweeps Valley (Continued from page 1) Sioux, staved at the fortress. He was reared at O’Neill. He said mass Easter morn for refugees and workers and immediately took off his vest ments and went to work on the now-famous South Sioux dike. Several South Sioux City churches held Easter mom ser vices. Evangelical Luthpran church voted to turn three thou sand dollars in the building fund over to relief work. Mr. Lockwood and Mr. Bless ing told us the American Red Cross was doing a terrific job at South Sioux. I asked Joe what America would be like in times of disaster without an agency like the ARC —the only organization that is big enough and has the know how to move right in. Joe mum bled that he wouldn’t want to think about it. ine relatively new uaxota county courthouse was upended internally. All records had been moved to the top floor. The dis trict courtroom was a women’s refugee center A dike had been started around the building and then the idea was abandoned, presumably because of higher priorities. An amateur radio operator from Winnebago stayed at his post in the otherwise empty county judge’s office. Old men lined the top floor hallways. Louis Larson had liv ed there 60 years. “Nothing like it ever before,” he said. We couldn’t get a broadcast line out of Dakota City. Not a chance. We eyed the Burlington rail dike carefully, water already was splashing over. We wanted to linger for the rescue of that couple at the west edge of town —but thought we’d better move out while the getting was good. You see, we had the mistaken idea that The Frontier couldn’t go to press four days later without us. Down the road a few miles pa trolmen were battling the sight seers. It’s understandable why folks in their Easter finery would want to view the sights, but not understandable why six or eight pleasure cars would tie up a bulldozer heading for the front. The men and machines mov ing in on Jhe scene reminded me of a settinq in Europe just a few years ago. Instead of drab-green war machines and GI uniforms the dozers came in orange and yellow and the warriors were a motley crew dressed in everything imag inable. There was a big road block at WinneMago. It turned away thousands of motorists. The highway patrol had radio ed clearance for us and we took : the badly - chewed river road, i highway 73-E, from a point five miles east of Walthill to Decatur. Perched atop a high bluff ov erlooking the valley, near Macy, we looked out on an expanse of water that stretched as far as the eye could see. A mist or haze hung over the monstrous river. You had to have a high vantage point or go aloft in a plane to get the full picture. To determine the exact width of the savage Missouri you merely asked your self or consulted a map and de termined how far apart were the bluffs. This yardstick was par- j ticuiany true uciuw , where the river valley begins to narrow. Upstream at points the bluffs are 30 miles apart—Ne barska side to Iowa side — and nowhere was the river actually that wide: Clusters of trees and bits of high ground presented an island effect. Reminded me of that part of Minnesota known as the land of a thousand islands. Some al- j most submerged buildings pro truded above the water here and there. There was no mistaking what had happened to personal property and once proud real estate under that cruel, cold crest of water: Ruin and de spair. At Decatur, itself built on the side of a bluff, every ounce of energy was being hurled into a dike a mile southeast of the town. The dike is lVz miles long, five to eight feet high, about eight feet thick at the top and varying thicknesses at the base. It was a titanic community effort that warmed one’s heart. Like ants on an ant hill we saw a hundred men working along side five giant ’dozers. The dike was designed to protect thousands of acres of rich bottomland, hun dreds of farmsteads and possibly prevent water reaching Teka mah, normally five miles from the water. Workers came from Lyons, Walthill, Oakland and Fremont. The Red Cross chapter hurriedly established a canteen where tir ed workmen, pulling shifts a round-the-clock, were battling time and the river gone mad. WJAG was going to stay on the air a few hours overtime in anticipation of a report from us. Their reporters already had been heard from South Sioux and Blair. We were doubling our ef forts to give an assist to their burdened staff. We couldn’t get a wire at De catur, either, so we high-tailed in land. Communications along those river towns flow toward Oma ha and Sioux City. We felt we could tie-in okay at Oakland. We reacned there at 6 p.m., and went on the air 35 minutes later from the office of the Oakland Inde pendent. Formalities and protocol are dismissed on slam-bang special events broadcasts. At 6:28 the phone people gave us our broadcast connection and at 6:35 we went on the air. We didn’t know how long our tape interviews were, hadn’t heard them, didn’t, know if they were good or bad, didn’t care. c uuuwing me z.(-minuie sum mary irom Oakland we reentered the disaster zone at Tekamah, got briefed, returned to Decatur and that magnificent mud dike. bomenow we were impressed with that site. At the canteen late Sunday night we talked with weary ’dozer operators, tired runners and fuel haulers, and methodical women who kept bringing out hot meals for the la borers. There was an air of optimism, fostered mainly by lean Joe Mal loy, whose ancestry was unmis takable. "if the wind dimipishes to nigat, holding down those slap pin’ waves, we’ll hold ’er,” Joe Doasted. Joe was a tired man. About 65, he’d lost lots of sleep since that dike was started on Wed nesday night, April 9. “We have muu, corncribbing, mud, straw, snow fence and more mud in that dike. An army engineer looked it over this morning and said we’d done a good job.” i'he crest of 23 feet hit Tues day morning and the Decatur dike held! One of the ladies mashing po tatoes at the Decatur Legion hall was Mrs. Gertie Minahan's cou sin, Mrs. Pearl Lewis. Mrs. Min ahan is a clerk at McDonald’s store. We talked with a bewhisker ed, tired-looking young fellow by the name of Rollie Wil liams. He had just been evacu ated from his 16J-acre farm on the bottomland three miles southeast of Decatur. Williams, by the way, turned out to be a nephew of Inman’s Postmaster James McMahan. His place was covered by not less than two feet of water. He had stayed as long as he could, finally gave up when water got over a foot deep in the house. Williams had just returned from the Veterans hospital where he had received skin-grafting on his hand. A veteran of World War II and married, he had been on his own there years. Last year he was flooded out in a dif ferent way. No crops because the land was too \yet. It was impossible to move our “put-put” and recorder from the station wagon to the dike. With only a camera and boots we rode the drawbar of a tractor the quagmire-mile from where we were parked on highway 77 down to the dike. The drone oi tne Dig cats and the brilliance of their flood lights seemed to break the eerie spelL It was late—10 o’clock. One “cat” and crew stopped long enough for a couple of pic tures. We wallowed up to the top of the dike. It was next to impossible with a small flash bulb to light the faces of the men, the black mud dike, the dirty and almost color less flood water, and the darkest of dark nights. There was smooth efficiency and plenty of spirit — two most important elements in any bat tle. Those men fought gallantly that night and in the ensuing 36 hours—and won! There were no Easter parades from Jackson to Blair. Milady iVith all her finery wasn’t taking part this year because of water, mud and more water. It was unkind of us to knock on the door at the Reed O’Han lon, jr., residence in Blair about midnight. O’Hanlon, editor and publisher of the Blair Pilot-Tri bune ard probably Nebraska’s most widely-quoted fourth estat er, greeted us in a bathrobe. The kids were asleep and Mrs. O’ Hanlon came down in a house coat. We told our mission, knew they had a couple of spare beds, and announced we’d like to do a broadcast at the Pilot - Tribune studio the next morning. (The P-T has a radio link with KFGT, Fremont.) O’Hanlon, whose humor runs as deep as the Missouri any i ol’ day, hesitated .for' a moment then said: “I didn’t come up to your snow but the idea sounds okay. Come in.” Among other things, O’Hanlon is Washington county disaster chairman and had missed plenty of sleep until a headquarters was established in the Legion club. In spite of the tragedy and irony of it all, it oheers one to brush with guys like O’Hanlon. “Want to know where this wa ter is coming from?” he asked dourly. ) With profound admiration for his official capacity and learned background we said, “Yes, we’d like to know.” "Well/' he reflected, "there was a terrible series of snow storms up in northcentral Ne braska and southern South Dakota during the winter of 1948-'49. O'Neill seemed Jo be the hub. I guess that water went north, took a big swing around Montana and the Da kotas and is Just now getting to Blair." O’Hanlon wasn’t as funny on his Monday morning broadcast on KFGT, or later on our half-hour “Voice of The Frontier” program I originating that morning from his Blair office. He said that more water was flowing across U.S. highway 30 a half-mile east of the Blair rail and highway bridges than under the bridges. Both ap proaches were cutoff. The river threatened to cut a new channel and might leave the multimillion dollar bridges high and dry. At least J50 Blair families drew their livelihood from the bridges, considering rail work ers, truck freight line drivers, tollkeepers, port of entry em ployees, etc. He prepared for “Voice of The Frontier” listeners an interesting comparison by estimating O’Neill would consume 600,000 gallons of water for domestic purposes on a record-breaking summer day. “More than that now flows past Blair in a single second,” he said. “If all 365 days in the year were record-breaking days for water consumption at O’Neill there would not be as much consumed as is flowing past Blair right now in a single minute.” Blair was bathed in a bright sun—42 degrees—as we went on the air from there. The city, perched on a plain one hundred feet above the river, belied the drama down below on the bot tomland. We suggested that it might seem strange to many of our listeners for us to be cover ing a flood story 170 miles away. We insisted it wasn’t strange at all. For this flood is of such terrible, tragic proportions that the impact will be felt directly and indirectly wherever we live in these United States. Loss of life todaie has been held to a minimum—a fact that might place the disaster a few notches below other maior ones in America history. But financial losses are staggering. President Harry S. Truman flew to Omaha Wednesday to meet with governors and con gressmen from affected states. Gov. Val Peterson said he would call a special session of the Ne braska legislature and asked 500 thousand-dollars for flood relief in stricken eastern Nebraska i counties. Joe and I palled out or Blair and headed home from the bat tlefront. It had been only a quickie—a pinhole peek at some thing that had gone wrong to the everlasting sorrow of a lot of people. As Joe and I rolled homeward, we had time to relax and reflect while folks we left behind were in agony. Something must be done, we thought, to prevent a recurrence. Something—but we don’t know what. Somehow—yet we can’t conceive a plan. INMAN NEWS LeRoy Moore, who is employ ed at Rushville, spent the week end with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Moore. Mrs. Chester Hackett and fam ly left Saturday for Wichita, ■vans., where they will make heir home. Mr. and Mrs. Harvey A. Tomp kins were hosts at a cooperative ’inner in their home Easter Sun day. Those present were Rev. and Mrs. Charles Chappell and aughters, Mrs. J. LaVernc Jay Mr. and Mrs. A. Neil Dawes and ;ons, Mrs. Jennie Wilhoit, Mrs. Tarold Wilhoit and sons and Mr. nd Mrs. L. R. Tompkins. During he afternoon a short memorial service for the old farm home was held, followed by a service f dedication of the new home, both of which were conducted Reverend Chappell, assisted 'V Mrs. Jay. Sgt. Darrell Jacox left Mon 'ay morning for Ft. Ord, Calif., vhere he will be stationed. He is ^youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. Valter Jacox. Mr. and Mrs. Donald Wolfe and . Ptg. .69c |) STOKELY’S GRAPEFRUIT JUICE 5 46-Oz. Cans $1 CELERY HEARTS Pi's 2fr SOLID CRISP RADISHES 2 Bun. 9c r 1 i JUICE Oranges 7Vac lb. American Beauty 3 Cans Chicken Nczdle SOUP 25c BEE BRAND' PEAS 3 Cans 25c {HUNT’S PEACH PRESERVES Jar 19c 4-Pkg. Deal I BLUE WHITE 31c GALLON (In Syrup) ftPRICOTS 99c TREND 2 Ptg. Deal 37c Nash Coffee 79c ifc. ■ ■ ■ ■ m BROWN OR POWDERED SUGAR 2Lb.Pkgs... — I Plenty of C' (ft