VO: The Ohio River, early French explorers called it La Belle Riviere, the beautiful river.

Today, most of us look at the Ohio River as a source of commerce, recreation, or water supply, a source of personal enjoyment, of economic convenience and necessity.

But every once in a while, the Ohio, and the many tributaries flowing into it, on its 981 course from Pittsburgh to where it joins the Mississippi at Cairo, Illinois, reminds us of the natural might and power, the awesome and often devastating effect on human life and property of flood.

1884, 1907, 1913, 1926, 1927, 1936, years that stand out in the history of the Ohio and Mississippi River Valleys because of singularly destructive floods.

However, in January 1937 came a flood which struck less swiftly and not so broadly as 1936, and covered fewer square miles than the 1927 Mississippi flood.

But in terms of dollar property damage, the number of homeless, nearly one million refugees, and loss of human life, this Ohio River Valley flood, reaching the highest recorded flood stage ever, became the worst flood in American history.

The 1937 Flood is now 50 years old.

Many Greater Cincinnatians remember this period of crisis, perhaps the worst in Cincinnati history, as though it were yesterday.

Those who didn't live through it can look back now with those who recall vividly those 18 unforgettable days of the 1937 Flood.

♪ (music) ♪ ♪ You keep going your way ♪ ♪ I'll keep going my way ♪ ♪ River, stay away from my door ♪ ♪ I just got a cabin ♪ ♪ You don't need my cabin ♪ ♪ River, stay away from my door ♪ VO: Needing, like most great cities throughout history, to be built in close proximity to a major artery of water for reasons of transportation, commerce, irrigation, and drinking water, Cincinnati was founded in 1788 on the banks of the Ohio River.

Cincinnati's profitable relationship with the Ohio, owing primarily to its leading place in river commerce and in the development of the steamboat trade, made it one of 19th century America's major cities; The Queen City of the West.

And, like so many river cities, built in what is known as a floodplain, Cincinnati and its residents grew accustomed to the natural phenomenon of flooding.

In fact, before 1937, the Ohio had reached flood stage, 52 feet at Cincinnati, more than 40 times.

Most of these, however, were floods only in the sense that the Ohio had overflowed its banks less than 10 feet.

Nevertheless, long before Cincinnati had established accurate records of measuring flood levels, the area had experienced three great floods in the recorded history of the region.

In June 1773, James George and John Medfee, Virginia settlers exploring the Ohio Valley, described the river as full from bluff to bluff.

According to their letters and other contemporary records, the river may have reached 75 feet.

The writings of Judge John Cleves Symmes claimed the flood of 1789 to be higher than any since 1773.

Sketchy accounts place the mid-winter flood of 1832 as somewhere near 64 feet.

The river remained relatively peaceful for the next 51 years until 1883, when a sudden mid-winter thaw caused a flood, which on February 15 crested at 66 feet 4 inches, resulting in great property loss.

Nearly a year to the day of the 1883 flood crest, on February 14, 1884, the Ohio River broke all previous flood records at 71.1 feet.

The city's vital steamboat traffic was at a standstill.

In the bottoms, the low lying industrial and low income residential district along Cincinnati's riverfront, industrial plants collapsed.

This great flood came with little warning and caused great damage and property loss all along the Ohio River Valley.

On April 2nd, 1913, the Ohio River reached 69.2 feet at Cincinnati, causing widespread damage.

But the brunt of this flood was felt by Dayton and Hamilton, Ohio, on the Great Miami River.

The devastation in that area left more than $100 million in property damage and some 400 dead.

While the Cincinnati Times Star reported that Cincinnatians were more concerned that the ballpark was flooded just eight days prior to the Reds opening day, the residents of Dayton vowed never again to allow their city to fall victim to such a flood.

1936 brought the worst flood in the history of the Pittsburgh area upriver, but Greater Cincinnati, prepared for the worst, experienced a flood crest of only 60 feet and suffered more from a winter of bitter cold, blizzards, ice gorges on the river, and outbreaks of scarlet fever and spinal meningitis in northern Kentucky.

It was a winter area residents swore they would never forget, until 1937 made memories of 1936 pale in retrospect.

In an ironic reversal, the winter of 1936/37 in the Ohio River Valley was unusually warm, bringing heavy rains in late December and a significant rise in the waters of the Ohio River and its tributaries.

By Saturday, January 16th, the Ohio crested at 51.66 feet, and by Sunday night was below 50 feet.

Newspaper reports declared that the menace of dangerous floods in the Ohio and Mississippi valleys had subsided in the face of an advancing cold wave that checked protracted rains.

The crisis, in most sections, had passed.

But the heavy rains throughout the Ohio Valley returned Sunday night.

On Monday, January 18th, the river passed the 52 foot flood stage and rains continued into the week.

By 2:00 p.m. Wednesday, January 20th, the river had reached 59.5 feet.

Hundreds of lowland residents along the Little Miami and Millcreek fled their homes.

And Walter G. Devereaux of the U.S.

Weather Bureau predicted light rain, with the river cresting at 61 feet by Thursday.

Upriver at Portsmouth, Ohio, where the Scioto River flows into the Ohio, men worked furiously at sandbagging the city's weakened $1 billion concrete flood wall, built to protect the city from a 60 foot crest, with the river already at 58 feet and rising.

The light rain predicted by Devereaux became an early morning deluge, bringing two inches of rain within a few hours.

By Thursday morning, the river was already at 63 feet, at 64 feet by noon, 65 feet at six p.m., and continued to rise.

Merchants in Cincinnati's bottoms, who had started to move merchandise to higher floors, were caught midway in their task by the sudden onslaught of the rising water.

The Little Miami River, for much of the year a pleasant stream, swelled, and unable to empty into the rapidly rising Ohio, backed up at an alarming rate.

By 10:00 a.m. the Beechmont Levee gave way, turning nearby Lunken Airport, Cincinnati's aviation center, into a lake, bringing air transportation to a halt.

Telephone cables in the levee were severed, cutting off easy communication with much of Mt.

Washington.

By 9:30 a.m. Friday, January 22nd, the river passed the 1913 record of 69.9 feet.

At 1:30 p.m., rain turned to snow and sleet.

The previous all time 71.1 foot record of 1884 was passed by 3:30 p.m. and Devereaux predicted a new record crest of 72 feet.

30,000 were already homeless in Cincinnati and northern Kentucky.

With the river still rising, it was reported that a shutdown of the Columbia and West End power plants was imminent, and if the river should reach 74 feet, the water works would cease operation.

One by one, the bridges crossing the Ohio River were closing down, suspending streetcar service, trains, and most vehicular traffic between Cincinnati and northern Kentucky.

With only the Dixie Highway open south to the rest of the state and limited traffic on the suspension bridge, cities of Campbell and Kenton counties in northern Kentucky were virtually isolated.

The Mill Creek overflowed its banks, cutting off access to the western communities.

Cumminsville and Northside were hampered by the flooding of ramps to the 8th Street, Western Hills and Ludlow viaducts.

♪ (music) We were ridin' ♪ ♪ around in the rain.

♪ ♪ I asked her for a kiss, ♪ ♪ She said she didn't kiss, ♪ ♪ We kept ridin' ♪ ♪ around in the rain.

♪ VO: Cincinnati's grand new Union Terminal, the city's railroad hub, sat isolated in the midst of a network of inundated tracks with all train service at a standstill ♪ (music) ♪ ♪ Riding around in the rain.

♪ VO: Winton Place was 15 feet under water.

Incoming trains stopped at stations in Norwood, Lockland and Oakley.

Cincinnati Bell switchboards, including the longest straight line board in the world, were congested and calls were soon restricted to all but emergencies.

The Post Office Annex on Liberty and Dalton streets, only a few years old, would suffer $50-100,000 worth of damage before the encroaching backwaters of the Millcreek retreated.

The Red Cross and other relief agencies were already at work, aiding more than 300,000 homeless in 12 states, with $10 million in damage already accounted for in Ohio alone.

In Cincinnati, the Red Cross was assisted by agencies as diverse as the Salvation Army, the Civilian Conservation Corps, the Boy Scouts, Sea Scouts, and the CYO, as well as civilian volunteer groups.

A trainload of Coast Guard Cutters arrived for flood relief, accompanied by Coast Guard personnel from New Jersey to man the boats.

It seemed clear that the Queen City would soon be or was already at the center of an unprecedented and disastrous flood crisis.

While the six inches of snow that fell on Saturday, January 23rd hampered traffic and aid to the homeless, it held back the river's rise eight tenths of a foot, from 72.2 to 73 feet for a 24 hour period.

The sun has shown that morning and brought the sunny prediction that the flood would crest near 73.5 feet and that the city's water and power supplies were safe.

It seemed that nature had taken a quick about-face and the worst was over.

Cincinnati Gas and Electric official Blackwell stated, "I am quite confident that we can operate right through the flood unless something unforeseen happens."

The unforeseen did happen.

The early morning hours of Sunday, January 24th brought a rain that fell hard and steadily throughout the day.

Before the day was over, 2.34 inches of rain turned the protective blanket of snow into slush.

The rain and melting snow flowed off the saturated ground into the rapidly rising river.

By midnight, the river was at an unheard of level: 77.4 feet.

The cold and murky waters crept closer and closer through the riverfront streets toward Cincinnati's business district.

But a four foot rise in the flood level was only the backdrop for what is known in Cincinnati history as Black Sunday.

In the Camp Washington section of the Mill Creek Valley, inundated by the backwaters of the Ohio and the swelling Mill Creek itself, storage tanks of The Standard Oil Company at Spring Grove Avenue and Arlington Street were upended from their foundations by the floodwaters, spilling nearly a million gallons of gasoline.

The potential for disaster hung ominously over Camp Washington.

PHIL UNDERWOOD: I had been watching the area there.

There was a -- west of our building out through the window there were six or eight huge tall poles, electric light poles.

And there were wires hanging down from them.

And one of them was into the water.

Now the problem was that on Spring Grove Avenue, just immediately west of our place, there were -- there had been eight huge 50,000 barrel gasoline tanks with the red gasoline.

And the floodwater coming up had risen to the point that these tanks turned over and spilled out that red gasoline, which was all over the area entirely surrounding the Crosley Building.

We were not allowed to smoke because that gasoline was all over, all the way around the building, and they were afraid of fire.

So, when I saw that wire hanging in the water and starting to spark, I thought, "Ut-oh, here we go."

And I wasn't wrong for very long because shortly somebody said, "There it goes."

And I kicked the door open and looked out, and again I saw that wire in the water.

But the fire was starting to grow in a big circle around those poles, so I expected the place was going to blow up.

But my job was to change networks at 10:30, and this was 10:28 a.m.

So looking out the window and seeing the fire start and smelling this gasoline and knowing [indiscernible] and, boy, here we go.

But I kicked the door open so I could get down the hall and reached in.

There was just one little switch that I would push one way for the red and one for the blue network.

So, I held my foot in the door and the moment the clock ticked up there, I threw the switch and away I went, heading east out of the building to a stairway going down.

VO: Thirty five fire companies, off duty and retired firemen and firefighters from cities as far away as Dayton and Columbus were called to the scene of the fire, which appeared to be hopelessly out of control.

The Crosley Radio Corporation warehouse, assembly plant, and mill working factory were gutted within a few hours.

Black and yellow smoke choked the air as tank after tank of inflammable liquids of The Standard Oil Plant exploded.

Sometime after 2pm that afternoon, the floodwaters passed 74 feet.

The Eastern Avenue pumping station was forced to shut down.

And in the midst of the battle against the Mill Creek fire, Cincinnati's water supply was cut off.

Staving off total disaster, Fire Marshal Sherwood ordered firefighters to have the intake hoses draw from the floodwater itself.

Some 32 buildings, including industrial plants and several blocks of homes abandoned by their occupants, were damaged or destroyed by the raging fire.

Miraculously, the $1.5 million fire was kept under control and there were only 7 minor injuries.

Elsewhere in the Millcreek Valley, home to many of Cincinnati's leading industries, employees had been struggling since January 18th to hold back the overflow.

On Spring Grove Avenue, Kahn's Meats, Cincinnati's leading meatpacking company, raced against time to move meats and livestock to higher floors while attempting to keep up with orders and deliveries.

Meat products were unloaded from second story windows into boats, stockyard ramps and railroad tracks were flooded, water completely covered the main entrance, flooded offices and stairwells, and came within inches of the second floor livestock pens.

Being directly in the path of the Black Sun conflagration, Kahn's very existence was threatened, but due to the firefighters efforts and a benevolent wind which checked the spread of the flames, the plant and stockyards were spared.

Floodwaters surrounded the Andrew Jergen's Co., overturned storage tanks and railroad cars and entered the building.

Employees raced to save valuable inventory.

JOHN GEHRUM: They had quite a lot of stock and it was consisted of the cream and lotions and soaps divisions, and so we had to move that stock from the basement to the first floor.

And then, as the water kept coming, why, we'd have to move it from the first floor to the second floor.

Naturally, the electric was off because of the water shutting the boilers off, so we had to form a human chain up the steps and pass the cases of stuff from one person to another until we got it to that part.

And then we'd have to restack it.

And figuring that after the first floor, that was it.

But then it kept on coming and the water got up to about a foot or so before it came coming into the second floor.

I'd say we had around 15, if I can remember correctly, the amount of fellows that stayed there for the whole week, night and day.

I know the company was really appreciative.

They left their salaries go right on for 24 hours.

VO: In early 1937, the Cincinnati based Drackett Company, makers of household products Windex and Drano, had just planned a new diversification into soybean food products and extracts.

Sandbag barriers built by Drackett work crews gave way as six feet of muddy Millcreek rushed into the Spring Grove facility, destroying 50 tons of soybeans.

Across Spring Grove Avenue from Drackett, most of Proctor and Gamble's Ivorydale was underwater.

Warehouse flood doors had been set up, as well as barriers of some 20,000 sandbags.

Siphons fought against seepage, while Ivory Soap, Crisco, oils and soap powders were moved to higher and drier locations.

CHESTER SHELL: They came down, then it -- Millcreek, it couldn't get out and, of course, it just kept backing up, backing up on Spring Grove Avenue that the picket fence there, that iron fence, it is seven feet, I guess, and it went up above that enough to we could -- we made a raft out of drums.

And we loaded Crisco and floated it right out over the fence, up to the railroad track on, you know, we're getting up in the edge of the City of St. Bernard there.

VO: On Black Sunday, Ivorydale's power supply failed, and employees aided only by flashlights, floated in rowboats or on improvised rafts throughout the darkened plant.

Their efforts saved seven boxcars of products before the Ivorydale tracks were flooded.

Two days earlier, on January 22nd, it was decided that the Cincinnati Waterworks main station on Eastern Avenue would be sandbagged at all entrances and openings and up to the level of the window sills, while basement water was eliminated by pumps operating at a rate of 87 million gallons of water a day.

By 5 p.m., the pumps stopped, service was discontinued, and at 5:30, the flood reached the window sills.

Official records, supplies, motors, and small equipment were removed to temporary facilities across Eastern Avenue and the plant was abandoned.

Similar decisions were made for the river station in California, flooded more than three feet above the engine room gallery, and the Western Hills station, where water was six inches below the engine room floor.

Appointed head of the city's Disaster Council by Mayor Russell Wilson, Cincinnati City Manager Clarence A. Dykstra immediately declared an emergency holiday.

Black Sunday, the bleakest day in Cincinnati history ended with one hopeful thought: the 1937 Flood will not be an unmitigated disaster if it convinces the federal government of the need for flood control projects.

On Monday, January 25th, electricity was cut off from residences with power maintained only to hospitals, banks, hotels and restaurants.

Now available only from reservoirs, water was rationed, available for use only between 6 and 7 p.m. Cincinnatians were urged not to waste a drop, not even to take a bath, and instructed to boil all drinking water 10 minutes.

All industry and business was suspended, except restaurants, food stores, banks and filling stations, liquor stores were closed and hard liquor by the glass was banned.

At the first meeting of the Disaster Council, Manager Dykstra was given absolute authority over the emergency in Cincinnati.

While martial law had already been declared in Kentucky and Southern Indiana flood zones, and despite Ohio Governor Martin L. Davies' opinion that it was unavoidable, Dykstra refused to activate these desperate measures in Cincinnati.

More than 1500 National Guardsmen arrived for emergency assistance.

Suspended streetcar service was replaced by limited bus service.

To keep the suspension bridge, the only route of transportation open between Ohio and northern Kentucky, Cincinnati and Covington approaches were sandbagged and elevated.

The Red Cross needed help.

$4 million in public contributions in caring for refugees still fleeing homes by the thousands throughout the Ohio River Valley.

With the Camp Washington Fire still burning, but under control, a new emergency, a 10 blow blaze at the Riverview Apartments on Hackberry Street in Walnut Hills broke out.

When cisterns ran out of water, Fire Chief Barney Houston ordered 5000 feet of hoses, stretched 300 feet down to the river and pumped back up the bluff with the aid of five pumpers.

Still, the water continued to rise.

Cincinnatians began to feel the full impact of the flood.

During the early hours of the morning, at 2:00 and again at 4:00 a.m., the river reached an awesome 79.99 feet.

Coney Island, Cincinnati's riverside summer playground, subjected to frequent flooding throughout its long history, suffered the river's worst rampage ever, becoming a ghostly, isolated image of itself.

Later, reports estimated $300,000 would be needed for repairs.

In the West End, Crosley Field, home of the Cincinnati Reds, became a lake with water over the centerfield fence, the scoreboard nearly completely submerged and home plate 20 feet underwater.

Farther north, the normally bustling business district of Knowltons Corner was silenced under 20 feet of muddy water.

The city was described in newspaper editorials as like a city in wartime with its dark and deserted streets, idle factories, darkened theaters, closed schools, shops and libraries, and rationed water.

And this in the middle of the worst depression this country had ever known.

With rationed water at a premium, Cincinnatians began to remember long forgotten springs and wells.

Men, women and children formed long lines with buckets, pots, pans, tubs, jugs, and any other container that would hold water.

There were now 550,000 homeless and 111 dead in 11 states., and the figures continued to mount.

With the first sunny day in more than two weeks and the river slowly falling from 79.99 feet, the worst seemed to be over.

Official statements assured residents that fuel and food supplies were adequate and the public health was unusually good, even for normal circumstances, let alone a flood emergency.

Rehabilitation plans were being made as city officials began a survey of the millions of dollars of property damage.

While 45 square miles of Hamilton County's 350 square miles were underwater with 11 inundated square miles within Cincinnati city limits, dispatches from cities up and down river and even directly across the river in northern Kentucky indicated that Cincinnati, despite its misfortunes, was spared the full devastation of the flood.

JACK SOGAR: So my dad said, "Oh my gosh," he says, "we've got to get out of here."

So he went -- actually he went to the basement, looked down, he said, "Let's see how much this water's rising."

So he put a mark on the wall, on the concrete block, and the more than he put the mark on, it'd be right away it was covered up.

He says, "We've got to move out of here."

So we had my sister and my brother, my mother and I, when we took everything and put it on the second floor, everything but our -- there was a piano and there was a sofa that we put on top of the piano and my mother's stove and there was a old Victrola that we had leave down there.

And that I remember one thing my dad did do that I thought was very sensible, at the time I didn't even think that about it.

He tore boards loose from the floors so the water would escape up through them, and when it went down it'd go out and it wouldn't swell.

So, before, it wasn't very too -- not too long afterwards, why we had to hurry up and get out the back door of our house and walk in water through an alley to get up to my uncle's house where we stayed.

And finally, we had to move from there to some good friends in Latonia that took the whole family in, which was very good and people were very good to you in them days.

VO: Nearby Lawrenceburg and Aurora, Indiana, were almost completely evacuated, each suffering at least $1 million in property damage.

There were already 230,000 homeless in Louisville, 93% underwater and plagued by drownings, fire, and disease.

Across the River, Jeffersonville and neighboring Indiana communities were 95% underwater.

Citizens of Paducah fled to safety in Illinois.

The Army Corps of Engineers dynamited a levee to relieve pressure of the Ohio on the Cairo, Illinois, seawall.

President Roosevelt promised $790 million in federal flood relief and cleanup to the devastated Ohio River Valley.

As the river fell to 78.62 feet, Cincinnatians adjusted to waiting out the flood, focusing their attention on caring for sick, the thousands of homeless flood victims, and to the restoration of public utilities and water service.

Many traveled north to Hamilton to dry land and hot baths.

MARY WOOD: Well, I was living in Clifton with my husband and I was pregnant with my daughter, Sally, which tells you how old Sally is.

And Clifton, we lived in the Metamora on Lorraine Avenue and all our water was cut off because -- I've forgotten exactly why.

But nobody had any water, which was terribly inconvenient, especially if you're pregnant.

And after a week and a half of not having a bath, a friend asked me to come to Hamilton and take a bath.

And I never enjoyed a bath more, and I don't think I ever will again.

It was greatest bath the world has ever known for me.

VO: A Central Red Cross headquarters was established in the Union Central Building and from that point issued directives to relief stations throughout the city.

City officials warned that drastic measures would be taken to keep sightseers away from the downtown flood area, which now hovered at the south side of 3rd Street.

However, for 25 cents, a commanding view of the entire flood area could be had from atop the Carew Tower, proceeds going to Red Cross relief.

Plans for a citywide reconstruction program were being formulated, while city officials still concentrated on the immediate problems of water rationing, fire, traffic control, and transportation, and flood refugee relief.

Although the river had fallen only to 77.17 feet, a more rapid descent was foreseen for the weekend.

Suburban stores and shops were allowed to open if light and water restrictions were observed.

Downtown businesses were still on holiday emergency.

Thousands of gallons of water were still being shipped into the city in beer trucks, cement mixers, tank cars, and some in sprinkler trucks from as far away as Columbus.

Updated statistics stated that rainfall between January 1st and 24th stood at 13.52 inches, breaking all previous records for any month in the region's history.

Flood damage was now estimated at $10-$15 million in the Tri-State area, $400 million in all the stricken states.

These estimates were in depression dollars, equivalent to approximately eight times that amount in 1980s dollars, at a time when personal average income was around one third of today's.

There were 1,035,000 homeless and 330 dead.

To offset the possibility of diphtheria and typhoid, inoculations for all citizens were urged.

As floodwaters receded from the pumping stations and power plants, the return of electricity and running drinkable water seemed imminent.

Still, CG&E officials urged domestic use of only one light bulb, a radio, and except between 4 and 10 p.m., a refrigerator.

By midnight, the river had fallen nearly two feet to 74.8 feet in 24 hours.

A week after Black Sunday, Cincinnati still sat in the midst of a major flood emergency.

With traffic restricted within city limits, rationed water and electricity, and all sources of public activity and entertainment closed, there was little to do but stay home and listen to the radio.

In fact, most Cincinnatians lived by the radio.

Commercial radio stations were joined by university and college stations, shortwave and ham radio operators to supply the flood stricken communities and the nation with uninterrupted flood information.

The careers of two Cincinnati broadcasting legends, Peter Grant on WLW and Ruth Lyons on WKRC were catapulted by their service during the crisis.

RUTH LYONS: We slept on desks.

We used telephone books for pillows.

We realized that this was the greatest crisis that Cincinnati had ever faced, and we felt that this was the thing we must do because, of course, that was the great time when radio became a real power.

We were broadcasting for funds for the Red Cross.

We had a very loyal, fine group of people who listened to us, and they brought into that studio there in two days, $56,000 to the Red Cross.

VO: The water receded to slightly below 71 feet on February 1st, and work crews waited eagerly to begin restoring water and power stations to normal working conditions.

When the river fell below 67 feet on February 2nd, an official bulletin stated downtown stores would be allowed to reopen on a limited telephone and delivery service basis starting the following day.

Merchants returned to their businesses on February 3rd following the resumption of water service.

Aided by the utility companies of other cities, limited use of electricity was allowed, but still restricted, while crews worked day and night to repair and restore power plants and area power lines to normal operating standards.

Complete evacuation of damaged housing in the flood areas was proposed as part of increasingly vociferous flood control plans.

On Thursday, February 4th, flood stage was at 55.43 feet and Mayor Russell Wilson issued a statement that Cincinnati had returned to a normal condition so far as general operations are concerned.

Streetcar service resumed and Union Terminal anticipated the return of its usual number of incoming trains.

On Friday, February 5th, the Ohio River fell below flood stage of 52 feet for the first time in 18 days.

A flood weary Cincinnati welcomed the promise of a return to life as usual.

Throughout the flood's duration, the morale of Cincinnati had remained high.

The crisis was met and conquered by patience, cooperation, and courage.

But weeks, months, even years would be needed to clean up the damage of water, mud, fire, freezing, exposure, oil and grease, to rebuild and provide future protection for personal property, housing, and public utilities, and time for the entire Ohio River Valley to overcome and recover from the devastation and trauma that left more than one million homeless, 400 dead, and over $400 million in property damage.

One thing remained clear: beyond the massive rehabilitation of the Ohio River Valley, necessitated by the ravages of the 1937 Flood, a strong and immediate flood control program was mandatory.

From the beginning of settlement in the Ohio River Valley in the 18th century, the Ohio River proved an ideal, if rather unpredictable and obstreperous waterway to the West.

The width and depth of a navigable channel was extremely variable, high in winter and spring, impassably low in summer and fall, and always difficult and hazardous due to the natural obstructions of snags, sandbars, rocks, even ice, and the so-called Falls of the Ohio below Louisville, a two mile stretch of rapids dropping some 26 feet at low water and navigable only at high water.

Improvement of Ohio River navigation was begun by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers in 1825, with dredging of sandbars and removal of snags.

A set of three locks to bypass the falls was built by private interests and opened in 1830.

Despite Corps channel dredging and clearing improvements, year round navigation was still subject to natural fluctuations.

In the 1880s, Congress authorized construction of a series of locks and dams to provide a year round navigable channel of nine feet, and the first of these was built in 1885.

By 1929, the canalization was completed with 50 lock and dam structures in operation between Pittsburgh and Cairo, Illinois.

Since 1929, all but two of these dams of the wooden wicket type that were raised to hold back water during periods of low water and dropped to the river bottom during high water have been replaced by modern concrete structures.

It is a popular misconception that these dams, such as the Markland Locks and Dam below Cincinnati at Warsaw, Kentucky, are flood control dams.

There are no flood control dams on the Ohio River.

These dams exist only for purposes of unhampered year round navigation, and in a few cases, hydroelectric power generation.

Flood control dams in the Ohio River Valley have a much more recent history.

Following the flood of March 1913, damage to Ohio cities along the Great Miami River, amounting to more than $100 million and resulting in the loss of some 400 lives, led to a movement centered in Dayton to ensure permanent flood protection in the Miami Valley.

The Conservancy Act of Ohio of March 1914 provided Ohio with the most comprehensive legal means in the United States for dealing with flood control and water conservation.

The Miami Conservancy District was created in 1915, and from these beginnings, a system of combined dams, levees and channel improvements developed that effectively protected the Miami Valley in Ohio from the ravages of subsequent floods, including 1937.

The U.S. Congress was rather slow to authorize federal funds for flood control, even after the massive Mississippi Valley flood of 1927.

By 1935 however, the need for increased federal flood control assistance, including the construction of large dams and reservoirs, was recognized.

These potentially large scale public works projects seemed more attractive as work relief programs in the midst of The Great Depression.

The disastrous spring floods of 1936, such as those in the Pittsburgh area, helped push public and congressional opinion in support of flood control.

On June 22nd, 1936, President Roosevelt signed the Flood Control Act of 1936, the first to recognize flood control on navigable waters or their tributaries as a proper activity of the federal government in cooperation with the states in the interest of the general welfare.

The Flood Control Act of 1936 came too late to protect the Ohio River Valley from the 1937 Flood.

But following that crisis, large scale protection projects were begun in earnest.

The Corps of Engineers began the construction of numerous dam and reservoir projects on all the tributaries of the Ohio River, throughout the extensive Ohio River Basin, over portions of 14 states.

Many of these projects are completed and in operation.

In the Cincinnati area, these include Caesar Creek Lake in the Little Miami River Basin, Cave Run Lake in the Licking River Basin, and the Barrier Dam near the mouth of the Mill Creek.

Openings in the Barrier Dam walls permit the Mill Creek to flow into the Ohio during non-flood periods, and during flood periods, the outlets are closed by gates protecting the Mill Creek Valley against Ohio River backwater to a level as great as the 1937 Flood.

Completed by the Corps of Engineers in 1948, the dam was handed over to the City of Cincinnati for maintenance and operation.

Typical of the beneficial effects of such projects, and justifying its cost of $11.5 million, The Barrier Dam has protected and reduced flood damages in this 3000 acre area of Cincinnati by more than $50 million.

Assisted by the Corps of Engineers, local flood protection projects undertaken by state or city governments, and even private citizens, have been built along the banks of the Ohio River.

In northern Kentucky, opposite Cincinnati, for example, earthen and concrete flood walls have been built to protect Dayton, Bellevue, Newport, and Covington from floods equal to the 1937 level, plus three feet.

RON YATES: The '37 Flood is the standard of design for Ohio River protection projects.

The City of Louisville is protected by a levee and floodwall that would withstand the '37 Flood height, likewise, for the City of Paducah and for other areas where the '37 Flood is the flood of record.

It is a standard of design for Ohio River protection in the area from Cincinnati on down.

VO: In today's Cincinnati, the bottoms are gone, replaced by Riverfront Stadium, Riverfront Coliseum, the Serpentine Wall and Fort Washington Way.

Much of this new Cincinnati Riverfront, redesigned as a result of the 1948 Master Plan, is itself, in essence, a floodwall.

JOHN SHEBLESSY: I could see what influence that flood had on Central Riverfront Planning, because there was a lot of concern about protection of that riverfront area, which was full of merchants.

And so that led to different concepts, of which one was a flood wall.

And one of the early plans had shown a flood wall from the Mill Creek all the way over to Eggleston Avenue.

That led to a great debate then, because it would have been a high wall and an obstacle to the view of the river.

So after considerable planning activity, that wall was brought back, or another plan evolved, which had a much shorter wall from the Mill Creek over to where it is built now.

But that early plan had laid down some concepts, which then appeared in the Master Plan Central Riverfront Plan, namely some recreation areas and a stadium, not the elaborate professional stadium now that we have now, but a smaller one.

But at least it laid down the concept so that all of these elements then were revised and eventually led to the 1948 Master Plan of the Central Riverfront, which in itself was revised because that riverfront had the stadium on the west side of the Suspension Bridge and later on it was decided to put it on the east side of the Suspension Bridge where it is now.

But most of those elements down there now, the housing over there around Lytle Park, that was a part of the Master Plan, which evolved as a result of the flood.

VO: The water pumping stations and power plants situated in the Ohio River flood plain and flooded in 1937 remain, but they are now protected against a similar crisis.

As early as 1938, a design for protecting the main station on Eastern Avenue and the river station in California, Ohio, was conceived.

Both are now surrounded by a continuous wall of interlocking steel piling and reinforced concrete eight feet above ground of the river station and 10 to 13 feet at the main station, which protect the sites from a flood equal to the 1937 Flood level, plus three feet, or 83 feet.

The protective walls themselves are in turn protected against impact from floating objects in time of flood by octagonal shaped buffer, piles of steel piling and reinforced concrete, with means of lacing steel cable between them.

Flood control and protection is a constant concern, even for a contemporary modern city like Cincinnati.

Plans for local protection project improvement in the Greater Cincinnati area have been authorized, and some are currently underway, such as the continuing Mill Creek channel improvement in the still industrially rich Mill Creek Valley.

Effective flood control and protection projects notwithstanding, it is impossible to predict or prevent devastating floods in the near or distant future.

Since 1937, the Greater Cincinnati area has experienced several major floods.

None were as great as 1937, but its recurrence, though highly improbable, is not impossible.

RON YATES: Some of the reservoirs might be filled up, depending on, you know, where the precipitation fell, and there would be damage there, you know, because it would be a catastrophe.

It could still occur.

You can't get around, the probabilities are there.

At Cincinnati, the '37 Flood was -- had a recurrence interval of about 1 in every 200 or so years.

Because of the protection provided by the reservoirs, the recurrence interval would be much greater, but it still could occur.

There's no doubt it could occur, and hopefully it won't in my lifetime.

VO: We live on an everyday basis in close association with the Ohio River.

We have learned to regulate its flow, utilizing it for the transportation of hundreds of millions of tons of commercial freight yearly, to harness its power for energy, to purify its water for drinking, to transform it and portions of its tributaries into an extensive network of recreational lakes, to appreciate it for its scenic beauty, and to a remarkable extent, control its potential for devastating floods.

But can we totally tame the Ohio River?

Most probably not.

But from a crisis of the magnitude of the 1937 Flood, we have learned to respect the Ohio River for its awesome power and to use it for its seemingly endless promise.

Not surprisingly, Cincinnati has chosen a day each year to celebrate the Ohio, La Belle Riviere, the beautiful river.

(music) Once we walked alone, Down by the river, All the world our own, Down by the river.

Maybe the river Made our love song dtart, Full was the river, Yet more full my heart!

So I love you too, You and the river; I'll be there for you, I and the river.

You will remember when you hear my song, Down where the river rolls along.

Captions: Maverick Captioning, CIN OH maverickcaptioning.com