And Then Came the Flood
"But my city was gone / There was no train station / There was no downtown."
In 1869, there was a drought.
The Schuylkill River that slithers through Philadelphia was reduced to a glorified puddle a toddler might splash around in. The summer heat in southeastern Pennsylvania can be challenging even in the best of times, although today we can tame it the invention of air conditioning. The Philadelphians of 1869 had no such luxury, and for two months, that desperately needed water never came. Produce was depleted. Their water supply, which largely came from four Schuylkill River pumping stations, had fallen to critically low levels. You could count the pebbles at the bottom of the riverbed.
Then finally, on October 2, 1869, it started to rain.
What a relief it must’ve been when those first drops of life-saving water began to fall, for a city badly in need of some sort of relief to hold onto. But the rain continued to fall. And fall. And fall. Relief then turned into panic. The much-needed rain that had been dormant that whole summer suddenly would not stop, and the downpour would not let up for two days later. Then came the flood.
The Schuylkill River roared to life. The outer bands of hurricane, now known as “Saxby Gale,” dropped 10 inches or rain over the Philadelphia area, which caused the gentle river to swell, cresting at 17 feet above normal levels. Fairmount Water Works was buried beneath more than 11 feet of raging water. The Philadelphia Evening Telegraph wrote fearfully about the rising waters and the destruction it brought along the Schuylkill Valley. “barrels, boards, limbs and trunks of trees, boxes of [train] cars, fences in sections fifty feet in length, sheep and pig pens, articles of household use, etc.” were strewn about by the rushing current. Riverfront houses, factories, and taverns filled with stories worth of muddy water. Livestock, crops, livelihoods – all destroyed in the span of a day. For 150 years, it was the worst flood the Philadelphia area had ever seen.
Then on September 1, 2021, it started to rain.
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A few days before the rains came, I went for a run along Kelly Drive in Philadelphia. This has always been one of my favorite routes to run in the city. There’s just something about running along the Schuylkill River there, and the way the river sparkles in the afternoon sun, rippling from the oars of the gliding teams of rowers. The trail gets so close to the river, you feel like you’re running on the water. When I ran it that weekend, it was bustling with tired runners, anxious bikers, and ambling tourists, the way it usually is in the summer. I love running on Kelly Drive because it always seems to bring out the best in me. I always try to run my best there. It may not be the Penn Relays, but it’s a fitting arena for a city that loves its running. I love the way the trail curves around the bend and opens up to the Philadelphia skyline. If you look across the river, you can see I-76 and 90% of the time, odds are you’ll be running faster than the jam of cars backed up there. As you run, the trail moves past funny little statues, Boathouse Row, the Art Museum, under bridges and over the boardwalk by University City. I could run it every day and never get bored.
On this particular day, however, I don’t make it quite that far, but I park my car along Kelly Drive, and run 2 miles to the Art Museum and 2 miles back, just enough for a solid day of running. I felt really good that day, fully in control of my breathing and my exertion. My pace was a steady 9:50, which for a 4 miler for me is pretty decent. I like to keep it under 10:00 if I can, and I was thrilled that by the end of the run, I wasn’t totally out of breath. Again, I was in control the whole way. It felt great. And you know what the best part of that run was? The post-run pizza and beer I had afterwards in East Falls. Yeah, that was a good day indeed. Little did I know that three days later, all of that would be underwater.
On Wednesday September 1, after hitting New Orleans as a Category 4 hurricane, the remnants of Hurricane Ida made its way up the I-95 corridor. Powerful winds and rain swept through Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York City. Unlike 1869, we were warned that this storm was coming, but even with a 150-year head start (not to mention years of unheeded warnings about climate change), it’s hard to prepare for the unpredictable wrath of mother nature. Even a river as generally peaceful as the Schuylkill can become a monster in a matter of hours, and Ida sure as hell woke up this sleeping giant.
In less than 24 horus, Conshohocken - the town that I have come to know and love over the last 7 years - was devoured. I woke up, and my city was gone. If you lived anywhere within a block radius of the river, you were swimming. Cars became submarines, totaled and rendered useless on land. Apartment complexes and office buildings became islands, their bottom floors taking in water like it had just hit an iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic. Rescue boats hovered over parking lots and the running trails now submerged under 20+ feet of brown water. Boxcars from a nearby construction site sailed downstream, as if picked up by a giant child and plopped on the other side of the Mastonford Bridge.
A little further down the river, Philadelphia looked more like a poor man’s version of Venice. The Vine Street Expressway, usually a bustling thruway of rushing commuters, suddenly became an extension of the river itself. It was as if the road never existed. Of course Philadelphians – for whom no pole is too greased up with Cisco to climb – jumped, swam, and surfed with glee in what was essentially sewage and mud. Everywhere from Manayunk to Kelly Drive to South Street was fucked. Boathouse Row became an actual row of boat houses. It was jarring seeing all these images of a post-apocalyptic city. Our cities were not made for this, and unless we do something, they may never be.
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Although it’s been a few weeks since the flood, it’s still the topic on everyone’s minds. “How’d you do in the flooding?” is the common refrain among strangers these days. How could it not be? The water has since receded and been drained, but the damage in the area still remains. There are still homes and businesses still reeling from the destruction, the power grids only recently coming back to life for many. The scars of the flood will be visible for quite a while. Hopefully our memories last as long too, so we can do our part about climate change. It seems like every week this summer we saw images of gushing water filling up NYC subways. I’d like to think all of this has been a wake up call for many, but in a country where a vocal minority is refusing to take the COVID vaccine for the greater good, I’m not going to hold my breath.
I went for my first run along the Schuylkill River Trail in Conshohocken on Monday since the flood. Between travelling this month for my day job and the flooding, so I hadn’t been able to run on the trail in a few weeks. I’d like to say the trail looks like nothing ever happened, but it’s hard to ignore the remnants. I know this trail like the back of my hand. I’ve been running on this thing for 7 years. The trees and greenery are normally flourishing this time of year, having in soaked in the usual summer sun and rain. Yesterday, as I ran past the familiar sights on the path, I saw a lot of the plant life was permanently leaning after being pushed by the heavy flood current. The smell of stale water still lingered, even after all these days. The green of the leaves dulled by a greyish, brownish, purplish coat of dried river mud. The path itself, once a smooth sheet of concrete, looks like a dirt road. My feet didn’t feel as stable with each step. I was kicking up dust. Wooden fences were destroyed, piled up like pretzel sticks at the bottom of a bag. Street signs were strewn across the ground. Yellow caution tape was draped like garland on parking lots and crumbled walls. There was even a dumpster, shoved 50 yards from where it should be.
Yes, the trail had seen some shit. Like the trail itself, we’re a little battered – some more than others – and we may not look pretty, but damnit we’re still here. We’re still riding our bikes, walking our dogs, pushing our strollers, and running the best we can. I tried to remember all this as I went on my little three mile run. It felt good to get back on this trail that has given so much to me. It may have looked a little different, but it still felt normal. And even if “normal” is more of a feeling than reality these days, that’s good enough for me.
IT KEEPS YOU RUNNING: Music for Your Miles
Music and running go hand-in-hand. Here’s what you should be putting on your running playlist this week.
Loose Buttons – “Minor Leaguer”
I had to get new running headphones last week. I usually just get a pair of cheap wireless Bluetooth headphones off Amazon because a) I’m a cheap bastard and b) I don’t think Airpods would stay in my ear while I run and also, I’m a cheap bastard. The reason I needed new headphones is because lately when I listed to music, they had a glitch in which they would start the track that I was listening to over. I would be getting to the climax towards the end of the song, only to have the rug ripped from under me. Back to the beginning of the song I would go. Other times, the first 10 seconds of a song would play, and the track would go back. Another 10 seconds, track would go back. It was infuriating! That said, I didn’t mind it as much when “Minor Leaguer” came on. I could listen to this song on repeat forever. NYC’s Loose Buttons last album, 2020’s Something Better, hit me in all the right spots thanks to their throwback Indie Rock sound and singer’s Eric Nizgretsky uncanny ability to channel Alex Turner. Now, they have a new one coming out in October titled What’s On Outside, recorded at… you guessed it… Philadelphia’s Headroom Studios with Hop Along’s Joe Reinhart. And you know what the best part is? They’re Ranger fans (well, except for the bassist who is donning a Devils jersey in the video for some deranged reason)! Yessir, they know what’s up. Like all Ranger fans, they’ve been “tryin’ since 94.” Hockey season is right around the corner, and as Nizgretsky (wait… Gretzky?) puts it in “Minor Leaguer,” soon the “boys dressed in blue” will be “back on TV disappointing me too.” What’s On Outside arrives 10/22. In the meantime, let your headphones keep this song on repeat.
Jamie and the Guarded Heart – “I Don’t Love You”
Remember my first post WAY back when in early 2021? Conshohocken’s Jamie and the Guarded Heart were the first band to be featured here. They’re one of the hardest working bands in and around Philly today. They also happened to be the first live band I saw in person post-pandemic at a little neighborhood show in Conshy this summer. They band sounded tight, and most of all, they sounded like they were having fun again. This past Sunday, they dropped their latest song “I Don’t Love You” off their upcoming new album Funeral Song. It’s a fistful of a power pop anthem about finding something new in your life, whether it be a partner or a job or what. As Jamie puts it, the song evokes “the way I feel when I look out into a crowded little venue. The fists-up feeling of a Friday night. The feeling of a never-ending sugar high. The feeling of not coming down.” Yeah, I couldn’t have said it better myself. Flood or no flood, you can’t wash out Conshohocken Rock and Roll. The new song comes with a video directed by Bob Sweeney. If you want to catch them live (and you should), they will be at John and Peter’s in New Hope, PA this weekend on 9/25. Check it out below and put your drinks in the air!
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