On Saturday, March 22nd, 1913, folks in Northeast Ohio were paying special attention to the next day's weather forecast.

The next day was Easter Sunday.

On that Saturday, the local newspaper made a bold meteorological prediction.

- “Take notice ladies.

The weather man has relented, and you may bring forth your Easter finery for the annual display tomorrow.

It will be generally fair, but cool.” - No wonder, then, that on Easter Sunday across Northeast Ohio, tens of thousands of church-goers were surprised, if not angered, at what confronted them as they were leaving church.

A chilly, persistent rain was ruining bonnets, dresses, and suits.

The rain pelting down was part of a massive storm system crawling across half the country, wreaking havoc on the Midewest and South.

The blustery winds and heavy rains would continue unrelenting for four days.

By Wednesday night, March 26th, up to a foot of rain had fallen across the Ohio.

Rivers and streams had flooded.

Buildings had been battered or swept away.

People had died.

The storm was then and remains today, the worst weather disaster in the history of Ohio.

The southern part of Ohio took the brunt of the destruction and death.

But Northeast Ohio was not spared.

Two cities, Akron and Kent, reflect the experiences of dozens of other towns during those four days.

Akron was a developing urban center with a large scale manufacturing base and a growing population of 70,000.

Kent was smaller, more rural and focused on local businesses and small industries.

It had long been a railroad town and had a population of about 4,500.

Those two cities help tell the story of Northeast Ohio and the Great Flood of 1913.

It rained all day Easter Sunday.

By late that day, the weather forecasters “generally fair” had devolved into almost two inches of rain.

Winds howled.

Temperatures were raw.

On the day after Easter, Monday, March 24th, the local paper commented playfully on the previous day’s weather.

- “To print a truthful opinion of Easter weather would bar a newspaper from the mails.

The wrath of the winds was not more violent than the feelings of Akron’s womanhood on emerging from church yesterday morning, bedecked in Easter finery, to find the rain pouring down in the heaviest storm of the spring.” - Had Sunday's downpour been the end of the rain, there would have been a lot of water, but nothing particularly serious.

There had been that much rain in one day many times.

But the 1.85 inches of rain on Sunday was just the start.

And there had been already an enormous amount of precipitation in Ohio in the first few months of 1913.

Thus, the rain that fell on Easter Sunday simply had no place to go except into creeks, streams and rivers.

By Sunday night, those local rivers had begun to rise.

Not enough to worry about.

At least not yet.

The city of Akron sits on a geologic anomaly.

The St.

Lawrence Continental Divide horizontally bisects northern Ohio.

It meanders from the far northeast corner of the state west-south-west, passing near Akron on its way toward the Indiana state line.

To the north of the divide, rivers generally flow northward towards Cleveland, Lake Erie, and eventually the Atlantic Ocean.

Below the divide, water flows south toward the Ohio River and eventually, the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico.

The divide falls just south of Akron near Manchester Road, south of Waterloo, by Nesmith Lake.

Two major rivers were in play in 1913 for Akron and Kent: The Cuyahoga and its main tributary, the Little Cuyahoga.

The Cuyahoga rises near Burton in Geauga County.

It wiggles its way south and west down through Kent and Cuyahoga Falls and across the northern tier of Akron As it approaches the Continental Divide, it makes a dramatic turn to the right and heads back north toward Cleveland, a total run of about 85 miles.

The Little Cuyahoga rises east of Akron in Portage County and flows west towards the city.

In East Akron, the river runs roughly parallel to East Market Street.

Then it makes a hard right to follow North Case Avenue.

On its meandering 17 mile path to Akron, it makes more sharp turns before eventually joining the Cuyahoga on the northern edge of Akron.

Like every stream and river in Ohio, on Easter Sunday morning, the Cuyahoga and the Little Cuyahoga already were full and flowing freely.

And that was before the rain started.

Almost as important as the rivers to the development of Ohio towns were its canals.

During the 1913 flood, they were also just as dangerous.

The Ohio and Erie Canal was built in the early 19th century to get Ohio crops, grains, and goods to eastern and southern markets.

It ran from Lake Erie to the Ohio River.

The Akron to Cleveland leg of the canal was about 38 miles.

Some 44 locks were built to safely lower and raise canal boats the more than 300 feet difference between the two cities.

There were 16 locks in hilly Akron alone.

The canals usually were anywhere from 40 to 100 feet wide at the top, 26 feet wide at the bottom, and 4 to 12 feet deep.

They were essentially, large ope air ditches.

Kent had a canal too, the Pennsylvania and Ohio.

In 1840, it ran 82 miles from western Pennsylvania to Akron, passing through Kent.

One lock had to be built in Kent, just south of the Main Street Bridge on the east side of the river.

With the growth of railroads after the Civil War, the canals became less important commercially.

But, even into the early 20th century, many, including the Ohio Canal, were still being used for moving goods and people within the state.

In 1913, those open air ditches became chutes of destruction.

Those open air trenches represented one way in which floodwaters could cause damage and destruction.

It was largely a function of volume and velocity.

In flat or gently sloping terrain, as rivers rose, there was little to hold the water in the river bed.

Rivers simply overflowed their banks.

Fields became massive lakes, destroying crops, livestock and homes.

On the other hand, when flood waters were constrained, as in the canals or rivers with steep banks, the issue of velocity presented itself.

Millions of gallons of water pushed millions of gallons of water in a tight space.

Floodwaters hurtled forward, picking up debris, branches, stones and speed.

Normal water flow in a river is about 3 to 6 miles per hour.

During a strong flood, those speeds rise to a devastating 9 to 15 miles per hour.

Even today, the National Weather Service warns drivers that just six inches of rushing water can knock over an adult.

12 inches of fast moving water can carry away an automobile.

And two feet of raging water can move a truck or severely damage a building.

During the 1913 flood, water often was deeper than that.

In the end, it probably didn't matter much to folks back then whether it was volume, velocity, or a combination of both.

There was real or potential loss either way.

If there was one rainy day of the four, Sunday through Wednesday, that broke the proverbial camel's back, it was Monday.

Easter Sunday’s showers became Monday's deluge.

Had Monday brought just a couple inches of rain, folks might have been inconvenienced a bit.

But, almost five inches of rain fell on Monday, adding to the 1.8 inches from Sunday.

The rain was constant.

It hammered down on roads, farm fields and houses.

Temperatures hovered in the low 40s.

In Kent, Akron and other Ohio towns, the rainfall simply overpowered rivers and canals.

In Kent, The Cuyahoga River flowed north to south.

It passed under an old stone arch bridge at Main Street and flowed over a ten foot high dam.

The bridge had opened in 1877.

On Monday, as the rain poured down and the river rose, Kent residents wondered if the old bridge would hold and if the Pennsylvania and Ohio Canal lock would survive.

Two tiers of railroad tracks hugged the east side of the river.

They also could be in danger if the river continued to rise.

By Monday night, low lying streets had become rivers.

Farm fields throughout Portage County were flooded.

Smaller, pedestrian bridges in Kent and throughout the county were starting to weaken.

But, even with the incessant rainfall, the bridge, lock and tracks in downtown Kent seemed secure.

At least for now.

12 miles to the southwest, Akron was not as fortunate.

The Little Cuyahoga and the Ohio Canal were gathering momentum.

By midnight, the city would record almost seven inches of rain in 36 hours, the most rain in its history.

By mid-Monday morning, trolleys and trains were forced to stop service as floodwaters covered up tracks.

In some places, tracks gave way and railroad cars tumbled to the side.

Electricity for businesses and homes was being lost.

Telephone and telegraph service were sporadic and would be out by nightfall.

By late afternoon, the Little Cuyahoga had passed flood level and was starting to rage.

By day's end, water in the Ohio Canal was ten feet higher than normal.

Bridges were being threatened.

Stores and factories were closing.

The Little Cuyahoga flowed literally right through the Goodyear Tire and Rubber complex on East Market Street.

The company required 16 million gallons of water every day to produce its rubber products.

The river provided that.

As Monday's downpour continued, the river quickly rose and flooded the entire first floor of the plant.

Water poured into the machine and engine rooms.

Workers clambered on top of machinery to safety.

The Goodyear complex had become an island.

When the river left the Goodyear plant, it roared towards two low-lying neighborhoods.

The first was East Akron, near East Market Street and North Case Avenue.

North Case was only about half a mile long.

It was full of bars, cheap hotels and older houses sliced up as rental units.

It was also the site of the busy Baltimore and Ohio Railroad depot.

The Little Cuyahoga left its bed and blasted through all of them.

Railroad tracks were bent and tossed to the side.

Al Fassnacht’s combination bar, pool hall and stag hotel was flooded.

Tommy Naughton's bar and house across the street were destroyed.

The second area was a residential section known as Elizabeth Park near East North Street in the valley north of downtown Akron.

Only the previous year, a large, beautiful park had been built in the neighborhood.

The flood blew through that area too.

By Monday afternoon, waters had risen enough that families in both East Akron and Elizabeth Park had to be rescued from their homes, surrounded by water.

Dozens of canoes and small fishing boats began to appear, as rescuers ferried residents to higher ground.

By late Monday night, the Little Cuyahoga had grown powerful enough in both neighborhoods to move buildings.

More than 15 houses were pushed off their foundations or overturned.

More would follow.

The Akron Beacon Journal summed up the exhausting, destructive day.

- “Following a long period of downpours, The Little Cuyahoga River started on a rampage.

Roads were washed away, bridges rendered unsafe, factory buildings flooded.

Heavy boxcars tossed about like toys.

Houses overturned and washed away.” - And it was still raining.

Tuesday morning dawned with a tease.

The rain suddenly stopped.

Residents cheered.

Raging rivers waned a bit.

The sun actually tried to peek through the overcast.

Perhaps, folks thought, the worst is behind us.

Maybe it's over.

It wasn't.

A heavy rain started again.

Almost another two inches would fall before midnight.

Millions of gallons of water rocketed through rivers and canals.

All the problems from Monday, far from being over, were simply compounded.

In Kent, the small town was now fully flooded.

The angry Cuyahoga was beating against the 36 year old Stone Arch bridge, the dam, and the Pennsylvania and Ohio Canal lock.

The river was so high that it now seriously threatened the railroad tracks.

Train traffic was halted, though not before one brave engineer made a daring run through the water covered tracks.

On the higher tracks, Erie Railroad trains were halted short of the bridge.

Some 120 passengers on one Erie train spent two days stranded in Kent.

Streets became rivers, threatening people, property and animals.

- “Several houses, barns and outbuildings were surrounded.

Chickens were drowned and horses were rescued with difficulty.

Men in boats and canoes wrote about giving a Venice like appearance.” —The Kent Courier.

- Throughout the county, small bridges were swept away and farmland was inundated.

Families were forced to move away from creeks and streams to higher ground.

In Akron, the floodwaters were causing serious destruction and despair.

There were problems all over town.

The busy North Howard Street Bridge was closed, for fear it would be washed away.

A homeless shelter set up at the East Akron Fire Station was packed with 40 families.

The busy depot of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad on North Case Avenue was hit hard.

Tracks were covered and bent out of shape.

There and across Northeast Ohio, railroad cars were pushed off the track, tumbling down hillsides in some places.

Canal locks became clogged with debris.

Doors on several of the locks had to be dynamited, which sent even more water and rubble shooting through the system.

A building in the Alexander Block on Market Street tumbled into the canal.

More houses were being damaged or swept away by the Little Cuyahoga River.

Store proprietors tried to salvage their stock.

The destruction involved not just buildings, streets and railroad tracks.

Tuesday also saw two flood related deaths.

40 year old Edward Newman lived near a flood swollen creek in nearby Barberton.

For some reason, he decided to leave his house and walk near the overflowing tributary.

He slipped, fell into the turbulent waters and drowned.

Newman left a wife and two children.

And then there was 19 year old John Kenealy.

He had spent the first years at the St.

Anne's Children's Asylum and the St.

Vincent Orphanage in Cleveland.

In 1907, when John Kenealy was 14, he was released to a foster family in Barberton.

We don't know why he was in East Akron six years later on March 24th, 1913.

What is clear is that young Kenealy became a hero.

Throughout most of that night, he had worked to save multiple lives.

News reports disagree on how he died.

Even disagreed on his name, calling him Kanely or Kenaary.

It wasn't until later that the Cleveland Plain Dealer finally correctly identified him.

The papers death notice was short and poignant.

- “John Kenealy, 19, had not known the care of a father or mother since babyhood.

His struggle with the world after he left St.

Vincent's orphanage in Cleveland half a dozen years ago ended yesterday when he drowned in Akron after saving people who face death in a flood-torn house.” - The fourth and final day of the storm brought another 1.2 inches of rain to northeast Ohio.

In Kent, the city was dark.

Electricity and gas were shut off.

Furnaces in basements had been snuffed out by the floodwaters.

The only light came from oil lamps.

For two days, residents had wondered if the old bridge, dam and canal lock would withstand the fierce waters of the Cuyahoga.

On Wednesday, they got their answers.

- “Hundreds rushed to the river at noon Wednesday where the lock weakened and began to topple.

Old, young, infirmed all wanted a glimpse of the highest water Kent has ever known.” — The Kent Courier.

- The 1877 stone arch bridge withstood the powerful floodwaters.

The lock did not.

It was literally, blown away.

Concrete, wood and steel were blasted into and down the river, as the waters pushed through and over the lock.

A man standing on the bridge remembered: - “She broke all at once with a roar.

The water then settled down to a steady rush through the break.

There was an awful lot of water in the river that day.” - Right next to the lock, the floodwaters also damaged several hundred feet of the B&O railroad tracks.

The flood washed away the ground under the tracks, leaving them impassable.

Just downstream from the Stone Arch bridge, the smaller Stow Street Bridge, today called the Summit Street Birdge, was taking a horrible pounding.

The floodwaters rose so high they touched the bottom of the bridge and rattled its foundation.

Workers, though, dumped 60 loads of stone to reinforce the foundation of the bridge.

It survived.

On the other hand, the bridge across nearby Plum Creek, along with bridges in Brimfield and Aurora, were among some 70 throughout Portage County that were lost.

Kent druggist and amateur photographer, Art Trory, was one of scores of amateur camera enthusiasts in Ohio who took hundreds of photos of the flood and the devastation it left behind.

Many of those remarkable images taken by Trory and others are used in this program.

In Akron, even though the rain continued for most of Wednesday, streams and rivers began to recover slightly.

The Cuyahoga River in north Akron dropped five feet by late afternoon.

Flood waters in the Little Cuyahoga and the Ohio Canal also slackened, though they still were dangerous and causing damage.

Partial railroad and streetcar service were slowly being restored.

So was telephone and telegraph service.

Electrical power was gradually returning.

Water on the bottom level of the Goodyear plant had dropped about four feet.

And, on Wednesday the bodies of Edward Newman and John Kenealy were recovered.

By that night, the rain had stopped.

Temperatures fell and a light snow began to fall.

In the hardest hit areas of Akron, most of the victims were poor.

Many were immigrants.

Most lived with extended family in old, rented houses.

Many were unemployed or were scratching out a living through low paying manual labor.

They didn't have many possessions.

No one had insurance.

If they were lucky, they moved in with relatives or friends.

One can only imagine the hopelessness they must have felt.

Amid the destruction and despair, there were a few happier or lighter moments.

Several barrels of whiskey from a destroyed saloon on Case Avenue were pulled from the river and opened by local residents.

A newspaper reported, the police found the whole party in a very hilarious state of mind.

In Elizabeth Park, a blind father and his two small children were pulled from their damaged house seconds before it collapsed and fell into the river.

A small black cat was able to escape serious injury.

It was perched on a house floating down the little Cuyahoga, about to smash into a bridge.

The Beacon Journal reported: - “The Pussycat saw a chance to save one of its nine lives and with a quick spring, it landed on the bridge.

Without stopping, the cat went up North Hill at a speed that broke all feline records.” - In northeast Ohio and throughout the state, the four day downpour had brought damage and heartache.

Throughout the state, the minimum damages were fairly universal.

Washed out roads and train tracks.

Battered houses, shuttered businesses, damaged bridges, farmland underwater, livestock and pets drowned.

In Cleveland, the Cuyahoga River swelled to record levels.

Timbers from nearby lumber yards rammed bridges and threatened shipping.

In Canton and Massillon, business districts and homes were under water.

At Marietta, the Ohio River crested at almost 59 feet and swept away 120 homes.

The Mahoning River by Youngstown and Warren rose to 23 feet above normal.

Some cities experienced fires, explosions, sewer collapses, food and water shortages.

And in some places, there were flood related deaths.

The exact death count from the massive storm will never be known.

Initial estimates by newspapers were frightening and wildly inaccurate.

Headlines screamed of thousands of people drowning.

And, although the numbers dropped dramatically as the transportation and communication networks were repaired, there still was a massive loss of life.

That was especially true in the southern part of the state.

Flood related deaths in Ohio have been estimated to be anywhere from 367 to around 500.

Most historians today believe those numbers are far too low.

The U.S.

Geological Survey estimated the damage in Ohio at $143 million, about $4.5 billion in today's money.

Nationally, the enormous storm lingered for days and impacted 15 states in the Midwest, south and east.

More than a quarter million people were left homeless.

Throughout the affected states there was a fear of disease In the aftermath of the flood, there were carcasses of dead animals everywhere.

Massive pools of stagnant water.

Damaged sewer systems.

Mounds of trash and debris.

Polluted water supplies.

In Akron, officials brought in chloride of lime to use as a disinfectant.

By Wednesday night, across Ohio, the storm was over and headed the east.

Recovery operations would now begin in earnest.

And there was so much to do.

Cleanup and recovery operations presented enormous and depressing challenges.

And they all were pretty much local efforts.

At the national level, newly inaugurated President Woodrow Wilson was sympathetic to the plight of millions of Americans across the 15 affected states.

But in 1913, his powers were limited.

Probably the most important thing Wilson did was to name the still young American Red Cross as the official disaster relief organization.

Red Cross workers and nurses came to Ohio to help the injured and to serve as a focal point for contributions.

At the state level, Governor James Cox and the Ohio Legislature provided $250,000 in emergency funds, about $8 million today.

But it was largely local government, local businesses and local people that confronted the massive tasks of cleaning up, fighting disease and restoring some semblance of normal life.

And the list of tasks was foreboding.

Electric and gas had to be restored.

Dams had to be fixed.

Houses carried away by floodwaters had to be torn down and moved.

Roads, train tracks and bridges had to be repaired or rebuilt.

Overturned railroad cars had to be righted and put back on the tracks.

Locally, the Akron City Council authorized $25,000 for bridge and road repair.

Rotting carcasses of dead animals had to be removed and disposed of.

City governments and businesses hired extra workers to clean up the mountains of debris left behind by the floods.

In Kent, groups of working men rushed to repair the B&O tracks and to clear littered streets.

There were major efforts from local charitable and service organizations.

All pitched in to collect money, clothing and household goods.

Private individuals and companies gave generously to a variety of relief funds.

In three weeks, the Akron Welfare League collected almost $10,000.

And money came from unusual places.

Residents in Nome, Alaska gave $690.

The Italian citizens of Chicago donated $5,000.

Even newspaper publishing magnate William Randolph Hearst chipped in with $1,000 from his palatial home in California.

Recovery efforts started while the floodwaters were receding and continued long afterward In cities with minimal to moderate damage, “normalcy” often returned within several months.

In Dayton, Columbus, and other Hard-Hit cities, recovery took years because of the greater loss of life and the enormous amounts of destruction.

The devastating flood brought about two significant changes.

First, the Ohio Canal system was all but ended by the 1913 flood.

Locks had been blown out, side walls had been compromised.

Over the ensuing years, many sections of the canal were filled in.

Other stretches, especially in cities, were left open to weeds, stagnant water and bad odors.

But, in the 1970s, communities along the path of the old Ohio and Erie Canal began recognizing its historical importance and its potential for developing recreation and entertainment venues.

Over the next 50 plus years, major changes were made.

In Akron, lands near old canal locks in and north of the city became beautiful trails, rest areas and entertainment spaces.

Canal Park, home of a minor league team of the Cleveland Indians, now Guardians, was open next to the canal.

Between Akron and Cleveland, the Ohio and Erie Canal Towpath Trail was developed, providing a hiking/biking experience.

Throughout Ohio, communities and organizations worked to keep alive the history of the old Canal.

A second major change had to do with protecting people and property from future large scale flooding.

A year after the flood, the state legislature passed the Ohio Conservancy Act.

The landmark bill provided for establishing watershed districts throughout the state to handle water management issues.

Through a system of dams, floodwalls, redirection and reshaping of rivers, and development of major recreational facilities, the Conservancy Act went a long way toward solving major flood issues in the state.

There had been serious floods in Ohio before, of course.

And there have been severe floods since.

But, none of them has been on the scale of the massive four day rampage that devastated northeast Ohio and the rest of the state in 1913.

That incessant rain, wind and destructive flooding is still called more than a century later, the worst weather disaster in the history of Ohio.