Tuesday, November 25, 2014

"I Envy the Dead"

To complete the saga of the gifted water-engineer William Mulholland. . .

In 1926 an additional water storage reservoir and electrical power facility in the Los Angeles system was added, the site chosen by Mulholland.  The new dam was christened the St. Francis Dam, and it was located in San Francisquito Canyon (near Saugus CA) not far from where I grew up.  Only, by then the dam had not been in existence for decades.  The St. Francis Dam had failed in 1928, a scant 2 years after its completion.  It was a catastrophe that has never been surpassed in California, in terms of number of lives lost in a man-made disaster.

the completed dam and filled reservoir

Multiple problems contributed to the failure of the dam, most importantly its placement against unstable rock and a fault line.  Water leakage occurred through cracks in the concrete.  Repeated inspections called for minor repairs but the experts were not alarmed by what they saw.  Pipes were installed to divert spillage from leaks in and around the concrete.

Downstream from the dam, farmers and powerhouse employees became concerned, then nervous, as anyone would, knowing 12 billion gallons of water was precariously perched not far above ones head.  On March 12, 1928 an additional leak was discovered by the dam keeper, Tony Harnischfeger.  He called for the experts and that afternoon William Mulholland and Harvey Van Norman arrived from Los Angeles for an inspection.  They found about 20 gallons per second rushing from the latest leak.  Yikes, I say.  They expressed that repairs could be done in the future.

But there would be no future.  Less than 12 hours later--at just about midnight--the dam failed.  Its collapse unleashed a torrent that few would escape that night.  A mile below the dam, Powerhouse #2 was wiped off the face of the earth, and along with it, nearly 70 people, all employees and their families.  Harnischfeger, the dam keeper, and his son Coder were never seen again.  Churning over farms and fields down the canyon, the towering, thundering deluge followed the Santa Clara River bed 54 miles west to the sea.  Along the way it drowned whole families, buckled railroad tracks, wiped out structures, agriculture, livestock, cars whose drivers were unfortunate to be on the road that night, and it carried away a work camp full of men sound asleep in tents on the riverbank (84 of them drowned).

fallen dam sections

The Tombstone
what remained of the dam (looking downstream from where the reservoir used to be)

Heros were abroad that terrible night.  A switchboard operator 40 miles downstream got the frightful news and stayed at her position until the last possible moment, phoning the alarm to families in the path of the water.  She also alerted the police.  Two motorcycle policemen traveled east with their sirens blaring, towards the oncoming water, to shout warnings to citizens they aroused from their beds. Hundreds of lives were saved.

Victims and debris were washed out to sea, and others were buried by deep layers of mud.  Over the years bodies attributed to this disaster were occasionally recovered, including one as recently as the 1990s.  About 450 bodies were recovered.  It is thought that about 500 were killed.

the disaster was news around the country; this is a New London CT newspaper, March 13 1928

Strange stories circulated after the disaster, and even when I was a teen in the late 60s.  About 5 people had separately passed the dam that night. Some heard eerie sounds--tumbling rocks and moving earth--others heard nothing.  The dam keeper's girlfriend's fully-clothed corpse was found wedged in concrete just below the dam.  How did she get there?   Was she on top of the dam when it collapsed?   Remember, the keeper and his son were never found.  Weeks before the collapse one downstream resident had taken to sleeping in his barn on high ground because he knew the dam was going to fail; that night he heard the thunder of the water from his safe refuge.  Other folks expressed premonitions of disaster.  One woman rode the flood down the canyon on a board from her demolished house.  There is the mystery of a ladder found wedged in a portion of the dam.  Survivors were found in the tops of trees.  Supposedly one survivor was found stuck in muck up to his neck.  Weird.  The dead were dug from the mud over a period of many years.  Tomorrow I'll write about the haunted graveyard of some of the victims.

What about William Mulholland, the creator and engineer of this major disaster?   How did he react to the shock and devastation?   Remember that connected to the dam was a power facility, which generated electricity for Los Angeles.  It is said that when the city went dark that night, everyone employed by the LA Department of Water and Power knew exactly what had just happened.  Including Mulholland.   He and others hurried to the dam site that night, reaching it 2 1/2 hours after the collapse.  I'm sure he desperately wished there was a way to turn back the clock a mere 12 hours.  He later said, "I envy the dead," and  "The only ones I envy about this whole thing are the ones who are dead."
Mulholland and Harvey Van Norman at the tragic site, March 15 1928

During the subsequent investigation, Mulholland eventually took the blame; that could not be avoided.  "Fasten it on me.  If there is an error of human judgement, I am the human."  You've got to give him credit for manning up to his drastic error.  In the aftermath of the flood, a sign popped up urging "Kill Mulholland."  That was hardly necessary; he probably died inside a hundred times, or maybe 500, once for each of the dead.  He resigned his position, crushed and disgraced, and died 7 years later, his brilliant career in ashes.  Mulholland's charmed career made it possible for Los Angeles to become what it is.  It ended horribly tarnished by failure and death.


concrete debris at the dam site today




Monday, November 24, 2014

"There it is. Take it."

 William Mulholland, 1924

William Mulholland is memorialized in the name of the swanky, serpentine mountain road called Mulholland Drive that skirts the mountains north of downtown Los Angeles.  An Irishman, seaman, zanjero (ditch keeper), and brilliant self-taught engineer, he eventually rose to the position of superintendent of the Los Angeles Water Department.   When you know how important the management of water was in arid dusty burgeoning Los Angeles, you know that Mulholland rose to that post because he knew what he was doing.

Except when he didn't.  I'll get to that in tomorrow's post.

From the 1880s on, Los Angeles and the rest of Southern California was promoted to Easterners as a healthful agreeable place to settle, and the people came in droves.  They raised stock, cultivated farms, and before long the sweet aroma of tens of millions of lemon and orange blossoms wafted across the land.  The Mexican system of irrigation--ditches diverting the meager Los Angeles River--shortly became inadequate.

a Los Angeles-area scene, early 1900s; wouldn't you want to live here too?


Enter William Mulholland.  By 1887 he was in charge of water in Los Angeles.  Population boomed, growing from 50,000 in 1890 to 320,000 in 1910.  Los Angeles was and is a desert.  The Los Angeles River swelled only when rain or snow fell in the mountains.  Water would have to be brought in from somewhere else.  Somewhere else was the key to LA growth.  Somewhere else turned out to be the verdant, cultivated Owens Valley, 230 miles to the north.  Through a series of shady deceitful dealings by multiple people (including Mulholland), Owens Valley was drained of it's lake and river.  The water was channeled through a brand new massive aqueduct system to supply Los Angeles with liquid gold.  100 years later, that aqueduct is still imperative to the survival of that city.  A second system was added in 1970.

The terminus of the aqueduct was called the Cascades.  The pipe came from the north through a mountain at the northern most point of Los Angeles, and spilled through flood gates to the south.  Water, this expensive purloined water, tumbled down a channel into San Fernando Reservoir, a series of lakes that cradled the liquid gold Los Angeles craved.

a portion of the Los Angeles Aqueduct under construction, 1913

I grew up in the shadow of the aqueduct.  I have passed the Cascades thousands of times.  I have seen the barren Owens Valley.  I have tried to visualize it as it once was: a place of verdant growth and abundant agriculture before Los Angeles got hold of it.  Hardly a year in the last hundred has passed without some aspect of Los Angeles's water-related transgressions tied up in the courts.

On November 5, 1913, a triumphant Mulholland stood at the steel wheel that would release the water taken from the few, for the benefit of many.  As he turned the wheel, Mulholland said, "There it is.  Take it."   And it was done.  Los Angeles got what it wanted, thanks to William Mulholland.

the first drops of Owens Valley water arrive at the Cascades to slake thirst in Los Angeles, November 5, 1913



November 5, 1913: opening day at the Cascades, the southern terminus of the Los Angeles Aqueduct; Owens Valley water filled San Fernando Reservoir (not shown in photo), supplying LA with the water that further fueled its growth
(an interesting side note: Interstate 5 now runs horizontally where the long crowd of people is standing)



TOMORROW: "I Envy the Dead"

Sunday, November 23, 2014

The Hike From H-E-Double Toothpicks

a view of Muscat, Oman at the beginning of our hike

We are fairly experienced hikers, our family is.  We know better than to go thoughtlessly rambling through the wilderness, and we have learned the hard way not to tromp off on a hike without knowing where we are and where we want to end up.  We bring food, water, extra layers, emergency supplies, etc., just in case.  The only time I can recall ever being genuinely lost was one time in Forest Park about 20 years ago.  Craig and I had no idea where we were, and tried various trails until we found our way out.  Forest Park in Portland covers hundreds of square miles with scores of trails, and the sweet truth is, you're never going to spend the night there, unwillingly.  If you walk long enough you'll find your way out.  Not every trail system is that forgiving.

In January we went on several hikes in Oman.  Oman is a wonderful place for those who love exploring the outdoors.  Trails are rocky and rugged, and it's worth climbing high for the stunning views of mountain ridges, oceans, villages, and wadis.

We explored the paved corniche area of Muscat harbor, and rather than trudging back through the city to our car, we opted to take this several-mile hike over the mountains.  It would take us from the corniche area up and over the mountain to the colonial-era Portuguese fort that dominates the city.  Our car was parked below the fort.

The trail started out steep, going straight up the mountain.  We noted that the route was marked with Omani flags painted onto large rocks.  All good.

view of Muscat harbor behind us as we ascended the mountain


Omani flag marker

From the top of the mountain we had a breathtaking view of the harbor behind us, craggy peaks all around and the old fort ahead, which was our goal.

In retrospect, I think we were so enthralled with the panorama around us, that we didn't carefully examine the directions for proceeding down the mountain.  I recall that there were no more painted flags in view to direct us, and that we just assumed that the ravine heading down toward the fort was where we should go.

We weren't too far down the ravine when we questioned the trail.  Scree made our footing precarious.  Going back up would have been too hazardous.  Our progress was measured in inches as we strove to keep our balance and our footing.  Barking dogs on the bluff above yapped relentlessly at us.

serenaded by barking dogs

It was reassuring to see the view shown in the photo below.  There was our destination dead-ahead, the old Portuguese fort!  And we wondered out loud what that "thing" was.  The "thing" that looks like a wall across our gully.  It closely resembled a dam.  And yup, it was a dam.  Blocking our hiking path.

the old fort and the "dam" barrier

Mmmm.  We clambered up the side of the dam--that was not too hard.  The difficulty was coming down the other side which is pictured below.  It was slick and steep.  Below you can see me hanging on to the meager vegetation to prevent myself hurtling to the bottom.  I shortly gave that up and instead, cautiously scooted the rest of the way down on my rear end.


That hurdle behind us, we looked ahead to see an entire Omani family perched on their balcony watching us, taking great interest in our escapade.  Slow day in Muscat??  Apparently so.  Or, perhaps we were the first people to ever make this error and come down the gully, up and over the flood control dam, and then hike through the city dump.  That's right.  They had a front row view of the dump, and the wacky Americans gingerly picking their way through it.

Back at the car we puzzled out our mistake at the top of the mountain.  We obviously erred in our decision to follow a non-trail down the mountain.  Next time we'll look diligently for an Omani flag painted on a rock!


a happier hike in Oman on Jebel Akhdar, 2014









Saturday, November 22, 2014

Messy Rooms

I don't make a habit of taking photos of messes in my house.  Just ran across these pictures, and apparently I do (make a habit of taking photos of messes).  With only 3 of us living here now, the house doesn't get messy anymore.  Or, what passes for a mess now takes a minute to clean up, then we're done.

The people who owned these rooms back in the day shall remain nameless.  One day I emptied this dresser, removed it from the room, and gave this person under-the-bed baskets to put their clothes into.  Obviously drawers were too high a level for she/he.  Later I ripped out the carpet on an impulse one day.  It was so disgusting that mealy moths were making a living and raising posterity in it.




Same room after dresser removed.






2 different rooms, above and below.  Stuff really weighs a person down.  It takes space, it requires care, it clutters the brain.  Less is definitely more.   How many clothes can we wear at a time?   How many knick-knacks are too many?  Stuffed animals?  Back in the day one sufficed.  Some years ago I was assisting a poor family who lived in an apartment without a washer/dryer.  The woman was convinced that each of her family members needed 7 more pairs of jeans each, 7 more shirts, 7 more of every clothing item, in addition to what they already had, so that she didn't have to go to the laundromat so often.  I pointed out to her that in their tiny apartment, they would be tripping over clothing all the day long, and that when she did do laundry it would cost a fortune, and take days to get through it, blah blah blah.  I knew what I said was the truth.  She acted like I was trying to sabotage her life or something.  She didn't get the extra clothing.  I sort of saved her from having to spend her life managing stuff.


It feels really good to have a stripped down house.  I could be more ruthless though and dispose of more material goods.   Last year I decided we should get rid of 10% of what we owned, and we did about that much.  It made a liberating difference.








Friday, November 21, 2014

Dad in His Early Years

I have never seen a photo of my Dad that is earlier than this one when he was 10.

age 10 in 1931, Star Junction Pennsylvania



age 13 in 1934, Star Junction, Pennsylvania



Dad is in the back row, far right, about age 15 or 16, Perryopolis, PA




1944, age 23, USS Missouri


wedding day, October 1953 in NYC
Dad was 32, Mom was 27

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Mom in Her Early Years

I've posted a few photos of my Mom just for fun today.  I was told my entire life that I looked just like my her.  I knew it must be true because in 1989 I attended a family funeral in Mom's hometown.  Several people I did not know said to me, "You must be Jean Ashe's daughter."

About 10 years ago I began to see a little bit of my Dad's looks in myself.


Mom and brothers James and Robert, 1931, Holyoke, Massachusetts


Mom and her friend Miriam, NYC 1940-ish


 Mom's high school graduation photo, class of 1942 (age 16), George Washington High in NYC
I see a bit of Bridget in this photograph


Mom and her friend Miriam, NYC late 1940s 


1953: Miriam Kerans, Mom, Cousin Peggy Sullivan, Marie Hannify




TOMORROW: Dad

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Kindergarten Through 6th Grade, Individual Photos

Lazy post--just an extension of yesterday's--but it's all I had time to do last night!

 Kindergarten
      1st grade

   2nd grade  
    3rd grade

4th grade
5th grade

6th grade