Disaster
I grew up knowing about two Johnstown floods, 1889
& 1936.
since I lived fourteen miles northwest of it in
New Florence.
When I was eighteen and while I was spending
the summer
in Cheyenne Wyoming, the third one happened in
1977.
When I first heard about it on the radio, I pictured
a few loaves of bread floating around in store
aisles,
but as the day progressed I realized it was
much worse.
One of my cousins was on the missing list, (but
later found).
A great uncle I barely knew was killed along
with his girlfriend
and her daughter. A trailer court I used to
visit was wiped out.
A total of 84 people lost their lives and
hundreds lost their homes.
Johnstown never recovered: businesses and employees
left for good.
I came back from Cheyenne and got a job at
Johnstown McDonald’s.
The town was a depressed area and the job
itself was depressing.
To make matters worse my three closest friends
were unemployed:
due to the flood, a broken arm and being out of
work for the winter.
I’d hang out with them and they’d talk about sleeping
in while I
had to get up at five and work at McDonald’s.
To me, it was a disaster.
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