Good Ol’ Boys, Boats, and Indiana Floodwaters

Rising Waters and Helpful Neighbors in Small Town Indiana

We don’t have many thunderstorms where I live now, in western New York State. I’m sure that has to do with our proximity to Lakes Erie and Ontario and our temperatures not reaching much above 80 in the summer. But for a guy from Indiana who is used to lots of storms from April through September, it was a bit of a shock when I realized I’d only seen two or three thunderstorms in my first few years up here.

Alright, now some lifelong Buffalonians are going to argue with me that we have thunderstorms and there’s lightning all the time.

Sure.

But, no.

Not like the Midwest.

In Indiana, storms are an event; we plan for them. Candles, flashlights, phones charged, put a little water in the bathtub. Be prepared.

Even with this ritualistic rigmarole, one truth exists with two opposing realities in the midst of the preparation: the preparation will not matter. Either the storm will come and pass with no need for those candles or full-charged phones, or the storm will be a gully-washing, root-snapping catastrophe, and the candles only help you see the destruction in your front yard as the volunteer fire department works with the power company to get the utility poles and live wires off the ground.

Midwesterners know how to prepare for a storm. It’s instinctual; there’s something in our reptilian brains—our blood—that moves us to change grocery day to tomorrow because the skies look “weird” today, or move the kids out of the dugouts and into the concessions stands (I know y’all know what I’m talkin’ about), or windup the patio umbrella and lay it against the house instead of letting it become a nature’s javelin.

No Time to Prepare for a Freak Flood

So, when we get caught off guard in an overnight deluge—even though we’ve spent lifetimes arming ourselves against the worst outcomes—there’s a sense of disbelief and anger—‘how could we not be prepared for this.’ Enough close calls or inconveniences and headaches can never prepare a small community for the day a freak flash flood sweeps down a national road and fills homes, store fronts, and SUVs with waist-high waters.

The towns most familiar to me—the towns where I grew up, learned to drive, learned to get lost and find my way home, and where a lot of my friends and their parents still live—are dealing with this right now. Today, as I write this. I’m writing because I have no idea how to help. My energy has to go somewhere on this.

Overnight, heavy rains pushed waters into towns like Cambridge City, New Castle, and Connersville, Indiana, devastating families, destroying homes and businesses, and upending lives. I’m not going to give much more time to the destruction. We all know what that looks like and we will be inundated with it over the next few weeks as these waters recede and the rebuilding starts.

What won’t get quite enough attention is what I know is already taking place. It’s what was taking place when the first puddles began forming in that valley in east-central Indiana. It’s the help. The community. The neighborly duty of not offering help but simply giving it without invitation. Whether it’s offering sandbags and flashlights, a place to dry off and clean up, or a much-needed embrace when 30-years is washed away in a single afternoon, these people who make these small towns are coming together to face the storm and make things better, both for themselves and each other.

Rednecks, Boats, and Chainsaws vs Floodwaters in Small Town Indiana

If you’ve never lived in a small town like this, let me tell you what’s about to happen. Well, first, I should tell you what’s already happening. Yes, first responders are out in their cruisers, trucks, and boats helping to rescue people. But they’ve got help. The Redneck Cavalry. No matter how loud or often local and state police are yelling at these good ol’ boys to get back in their homes, it will be to no avail. There’s nothing a guy with a boat and a fridge pack of Mountain Dew loves more than using that boat to get shit done.

Now, a real quick note: when I say ‘boat,’ I’m not talking about a bass boat or a bay boat; I’m talking about a fishing boat—a rowboat with an outboard motor that gets sent down the White River or on some pay lake with a couple coolers that start the day full of Keystone or Pabst and end the day with a new pet turtle two buddies are going to fight over until both wives tell them no.

If you live in a small town and know a guy named Ricky or Dewayne, you know a guy with one of these boats. Come on! And right now, in Cambridge City, those guys are taking their t-shirts off, wrapping them around their heads to keep the sweat and water from dripping into their eyes, and they’re pulling moms and kids, grandparents, and people who have trouble getting around out of their homes and puttering them up to higher ground or the emergency evacuation center at the school or community building.

Now, while Ricky and Dewayne aren’t to be outdone, another group is giving them a run for their money. Their cousins (everyone in a small town is someone else’s cousin) Brad and Mitchell have chainsaws and they’re going where the water has already given way to dryer ground, and they’re cutting up the fallen trees to clear driveways and parking spots and roadways so emergency vehicles and evacuating neighbors don’t have to wait an extra minute, especially since  another storm is on its way.

More Heroes Than The Crazies

But there are still more heroes to be lauded—the moms, grandmas, and aunts who have come together to comingle their broods for the night. A house once meant for four is now bursting at the seams with eight kids under 12 and six adults. Everyone is eating boxed macaroni and distracting themselves with card games or Nintendo Switches. Of course, some of them have made it to the community center or high school where hundreds are waiting for direction, clothing, and food. By nightfall, everyone will be devastated, but everyone will be comfortable, clothed, and fed, and they’ll have a cot or a spot to sleep for the night.

Hope Is Coming

These waters will soon return to the creeks and rivers that have risen up against these towns. The ground will be dry again. What can be salvaged will be salvaged, and what cannot will be remade and remade better. But for many, the struggle ahead will drag on, draining them of energy, pushing their emotions past their boundaries, and challenging their ability to remain upright.

But just as these floodwaters were not endured alone, the rebuilding of their homes—of their lives—will not be done in secret or without the helping hands of those next door and around the block. Help from neighbors and family and community doesn’t stop simply because the streets have dried and the schools reopen. Doors will continue to be knocked on for weeks and weeks, “just checking in” on each other. Porch beers and hot dishes will be walked down from the far ends of Church Street to where Plum Street meets Main. Blankets and pillows and towels will wrap soap and toothbrushes and a few extra dollars “for whatever you need.”

We can talk about how to prevent this kind of flood from happening again or how to protect ourselves against it if it does happen. We can get back to the preparation. But it can wait.

For now, it’s time for neighbors to be neighbors. It’s time for help. It’s time for a small town to be what a small town is—a community.

A Personal Note

On a personal note, I want to send every ounce of love to my friends and family in east-central Indiana. You’re in the middle of it now, but you will get through this. (Easy for me to say 500 miles away. I get it.)

One Last Thought

To the gentlemen in the crowd—Be safe. Remember things can be replaced but tough guys with bad depth perception and a high tolerance for risk can’t; so, don’t anything crazy.

“When I was a boy and I’d see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” –Mr. Rogers

-AT

Adam Tidrow is a serial entrepreneur, expert in American business and economic history, and scholar whose work focuses primarily on local economic development in the American Rust Belt.