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Rebounding In Cedar Rapids

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Kris DiGiovanni

The Tampa Tribune

Published: June 30, 2008

Cedar Rapids, Iowa, is my hometown. Although I haven't lived there since 1973, it's still "home" to me in the way that the places where we grow up stay fixed forever in our hearts. It's a genuine "Leave it to Beaver" kind of town where kids ride bikes along tree-lined streets, and people still go downtown to shop.

Because The Cedar Rapids Gazette has, through an absolutely heroic effort, kept putting out the daily paper and packing their Web site with photos and information, I've been able to watch in fascinated horror as the record flood waters approached, overwhelmed, then receded from the town. The story they have been telling is almost beyond belief.

The flood eclipsed the old record not just by a foot or two, but by 12 feet. The main business district, municipal buildings, and all homes and businesses within several blocks of the river were submerged. Even much farther away, in the so-called "500 year flood plain," water filled basements, turned yards into lakes, and destroyed the foundations and first floors of homes and stores.

So astounding was the level of flooding, that for a while, Cedar Rapids was on the national news. But as the water flowed out and on to the Mississippi, so did the reporters. It's too bad, because they missed the most important part of the story. The part about how a town filled mostly with people who work in one of the local factories, or the food and feed processing plants, has begun to start over again from scratch.

First they have to restore basic services such as electricity and water. It's an ongoing process. The main transformers in the business district are still mostly floating in their concrete vaults underwater, and there is no power downtown.

Next, they have to get rid of everything that has been rendered unusable. The Gazette reported the other day more than 400,000 cubic yards of garbage has been created by the flood. That's more stuff than the entire city normally throws out in an entire year. It's so much garbage that it would fill two football fields to a depth of 60 feet.

After clearing out, residents and business owners have to dry out and clean up. Many buildings require a respirator and haz-mat suit to enter. The EPA announced today that all flood water still remaining is heavily contaminated, and people with rashes, infected cuts, and other injuries are showing up at the emergency rooms. The health department is giving out free face masks to residents who ask. But the work of scooping up the mud and sweeping out the water has been going on almost from the first moment the water level started to drop.

Imagine trying to get the smell of raw sewage, chemicals, sludge, and dead fish out of everything you own. Then there's the mold issue. Not just stinky, but potentially toxic.

Once the nasty stuff is all gone, the rebuilding can begin. In some areas, that won't be possible. Houses beyond repair have been "purple tagged" and will be bulldozed. Many of the red- and yellow-tagged homes that could be saved with extensive work will also be lost, because the owners simply don't have the money to fix them.

In picturesque Czech Village, a main tourist attraction and a center for many of the early Czech settlers and their descendents, the City Council is deciding whether or not to permit rebuilding at all. The flood will also certainly mean the end of many small businesses whose budgets were already stretched to the limit by the downturn in the economy.

But bricks and wood are only part of the rebuilding process. Many families have lost everything they own. They will eventually acquire new bedding, clothes, and household items, but treasured family photographs, antiques, and other mementos are gone forever. Memories will have to serve in their place.

Before the flood came, Cedar Rapids leaders wisely met with representatives from a North Dakota town that had also experienced a catastrophic flood. They received a lot of good advice on how to begin the rebuilding process, and some warnings that the decisions they would have to make would be difficult and unpopular. The most devastating information was the timeline for recovery. They were told, "It took 10 years."

Kris DiGiovanni teaches in Pasco County, her second career after 15 years in information services. Kris DiGiovanni teaches in Pasco County, her second career after 15 years in information services.

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