I spent the day finishing a cross-stitch project and watching part of my collection of American Experience episodes. Of course I began with "The Hurricane on '38." One can't grow up in Rhode Island, or at least couldn't grow up when I did, without hearing stories about the hurricane of 1938. We grew up with the older folks comparing that storm with each new hurricane or nor'easter. There were several close contenders, one in 1954 which I "remembered" simply because of the softcover "Hurricane Book" we kept in the attic, comparing the devastation in that year against photos from 1938. The hurricane I actually did remember was in 1963; we lost power for three days plus shingles from the roof, and the chimney cracked. The power came back on with a speaker's blare and my first comment was typical of a 60s seven-year-old: "Oh, goody, now I can watch TV!"

The 1938 hurricane was a heartbreaker. It might as well have been Galveston 38 years earlier. No warnings were given because the Weather Bureau considered it unlikely that the hurricane would make landfall where it did. "Hurricanes don't hit New England," the head of the Bureau said. When a junior meterologist plotted the path of the storm and asked if people shouldn't be warned, this same bullheaded superior said no, that New Englanders wouldn't listen to it anyway. The stories are frightening and fascinating: a family who rode out the storm riding a portion of their attic which was swept inland by the storm surge, ten Baptist ladies having their annual picnic who could not escape the waves and were all drowned, the couple who married despite Providence flooding below them. Providence was jackhammered by the storm; at one point the water downtown was 14 feet deep, a level memorialized by a brass plaque on the old Providence Journal building. Providence was built on a marsh and the city stunk of rotting plants and sewage as the waters receded; then the looters showed up.

My mother was at work that day. She kept glancing up to the window and told folks she could see bricks, window frames, stones, tree branches going by. No one believed her as the wind whipped rain against the windows. Finally at four, the height of the storm, they were told to go home. She had to walk all the way up Federal Hill on her own. My grandmother was hysterical because my grandfather was not home; he had gone up to their lots near what is now Providence College. But he was on high ground, at least, and safe.

Another of my American Experience favorites is "Coney Island," which was done by Rick Burns. I fell in love with this film the first time I saw it. At one point many years ago I was depressed and would watch the film over and over, sometimes twice in a night. It has a melancholy score despite its lively subject and I can't help aching at the old footage of people frolicking on the Brooklyn shore in thick awkward "bathing costumes" or the folks riding the forgotten rides at the different Coney Island parks, Steeplechase, Luna Park, Dreamland, and wishing I could take a time machine back just to see how it all looked in color. (Not to mention to figure out how people in those days actually survived in summer wearing all those layers of clothing!) The rides at Dreamland, which only lasted seven years before being consumed by fire, sounded fascinating: a depiction of the Biblical creation, another of Hell, a submarine ride (ten years before submarines were used in World War I), a ride through "the Swiss mountains" with frigid air blown on people to simulate the effect, and more. Also, the very first incubators were in use at Dreamland. Most doctors of the era refused to believe they helped babies, but the doctor who built them saved 7,500 infants out of the 8,000 which were brought to him.

Oddly, McCullough's own "Johnstown Flood" always seems a lesser effort to me after reading his book. The film tells the story of the haves and have-nots at Johnstown and the club that brought about the town's downfall, but does not talk about the aftermath of the dam breaking as well as McCullough does in his book. The photos, however, are fascinating. It is maddening to realize that Johnstown didn't have to happen: all those deaths could have been prevented had the dam been reinforced and proper overflow been provided, but the rich owners of the lake provided by the dam couldn't be bothered to properly repair it.

The last two programs I watched are the fun ones: "Barnum's Big Top," about P.T. Barnum's careers as a museum showman and then circus empresario, and "Mr. Sears' Catalogue," which, while chronicling the rise of Sears and his company, is less the story of Sears and more the story of the people who profited most from his "wish book," the rural dwellers in the Midwest and West. The story is spiced with actual letters from the Sears catalogue archives--several young people of both sexes asking if Sears could provide them with appropriate mates, a rhymed order for a corset, etc.--and the delightful reminisces about the early rural mailmen, who, during the course of their route, might be asked to tend animals or sell eggs to purchase a needed stamp!

The most fascinating story was about Alvah Roebuck, who, despite having his name on every Sears store, even today, actually had his shares bought out in the late 1800s. Roebuck went on to invent several things, but then used his profits to invest in Florida land. The 1929 Crash wiped him out and he finally went to Sears looking for a job, anything that would pay, even sweeping floors. The astounded Sears executives (Mr. Sears himself having died years earlier), hired him back to do promotional work, such as cutting ribbons at new Sears stores!

----------------------------------------------------------------
. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 11:43:00 PM

Comments: Post a Comment