- Johnstown Pennsylvania was once a community like so many others in Gilded Age America, an industrial hub known for its thriving iron works.

The mountain city east of Pittsburgh embraced the modern marvels of technology and transportation, yet miles up river, a lake built as a playground for wealthy elites was held back by a long neglected dam, an earthen wall that was about to become a ticking time bomb.

As residents prepared for Memorial Day 1889, little could they have imagined the violence on the horizon.

(funky upbeat music) The disaster known as the Johnstown Flood was decades in the making.

The root of the tragedy rested in years of indifference and mismanagement on the part of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, located 14 miles above Johnstown.

The property was a deluxe pastoral retreat for the likes of Henry Clay Frick and Andrew Mellon.

Powerful robber barons, who sought respite from the soot and cinders of industrialized Pittsburgh.

The centerpiece of this rustic getaway was Lake Conemaugh, an impressive artificial lake.

The environment served as a splendid setting for romantic strolls, row boating and fishing.

Even so, the club committed little energy to preserving the structural integrity of the dirt dam that held back nearly 4 billion gallons of water.

In fact, the dam was lowered to widen the road atop it.

All the while, nets were placed at the spillways to prevent the escape of game fish and the dam's various discharge pipes were scrapped.

These fateful actions set into motion an irreversible chain of events.

May 30th, 1889, 4:00 p.m.

Following Memorial Day festivities, the rain began to fall.

The ominous clouds above were part of a low pressure system that ushered in massive amounts of moisture from the Gulf of Mexico.

The watershed in the Johnstown vicinity was pounded with an overwhelming level of rainfall.

Over eight inches inundated the area on that day alone.

Additionally, the month had been the wettest so far that year.

Johnstown was both blessed and cursed by its position at the confluence of the Stonycreek and Conemaugh rivers.

The town spread across one of the very few relatively flat floodplains and that very hilly part of Pennsylvania.

The rivers had provided water for the area's steel mills.

These valleys and waterways also allowed for commercial transportation to broader markets.

But now the geography that had made Johnstown so prosperous would ultimately bring about its ruin.

On the morning of May 31st at 7:44 a.m., Hettie Ogle, dispatcher for Western Union in Johnstown sent out a message indicating that the water had risen 12 feet in 24 hours.

Meanwhile, more than a dozen miles up South Fork Creek amidst the rain, John Parke, a new resident engineer toiled with his team of laborers in a vain attempt to patch the dam's many serious leaks.

He noticed that the creek below the dam was now a swollen torrent of brown water and debris.

Parke's efforts were too late.

The engineer rode a horse to nearby South Fork to send a warning message to Johnstown.

At 2:45 p.m., one final dispatch was sent.

The note declared, the dam is becoming dangerous and may possibly go.

This alert was sent by telegraph and telephone.

Switchboard operator Hettie Ogle received the message and forwarded it.

Her words were generally ignored.

Ever since the 1860s, false alarms about the dam breaking had been numerous.

This was just another bogus warning, or so many believed.

By 3:15, Parke's workers continued throwing mud and rock over the sprouting holes in the dam's wall.

Suddenly, a thunderous rumbling was heard from within the wall itself.

With a deafening roar, the impounded water broke through a 420-foot gap in one giant rush.

With the force of Niagara Falls, the rapid wall of water first barreled into the village of South Fork.

One of the first to see the wave was Pennsylvania railroad telegraph operator, Emma Ehrenfeld, who said in later testimony, it just seemed like a mountain coming.

Debris and geography created a downward violent surf as the flood gained momentum.

Water moved with such incredible force that a gust of wind preceded it.

The vast dark wave picked up houses, destroyed a large stone viaduct, uprooted thick trees, and lifted entire trains off the tracks.

Victims helplessly swirled amongst the wreckage being crushed, stabbed, and drowned in the process It took less than an hour for the wall of water to flow from the ruptured dam to the heart of Johnstown.

The wave swept into the community at perhaps 40 miles per hour and 60 feet high.

The seemingly relentless tide carrying hundreds of tons of debris sped westward until it slammed into the imposing Westmont Hill.

The impact split the wave and created a furious backwash.

The wall repetitively bounced off the surrounding mountainsides, facilitating a violent vortex that, for many, proved inescapable.

This watery cyclone of death and destruction annihilated the center of the city in only 10 minutes.

Upon witnessing the approach of the 40-foot wave, telegrapher Hettie Ogle transmitted the words, "This is my last message."

The wall of water then ripped her office from its foundations.

Her remains were never recovered.

Only her keys were found in the rubble.

One can see these grim artifacts on display today at the Johnstown Flood Museum.

At Johnstown's stone Pennsylvania railroad bridge, 100 tons of debris clogged under the impressive archways, damning up the murky filth.

Soon, the wreckage caught fire and presented an apocalyptic scene of terror.

Trapped within the congested fiery rubble, many survivors at the bridge were unable to free themselves.

An eerie orange glow shimmered over the ravaged landscape as their helpless screams echoed throughout the night.

In one Johnstown law office that uncertain evening, 52 residents waited in huddled fear until daylight.

There and elsewhere, citizens pondered the fate of friends and loved ones.

What new challenges would await the survivors the coming day?

morning brought little consolation.

As the waters receded and the smoke cleared, the frightened masses emerged from the piles of wooden brick.

The level of devastation was unbelievable.

The survivors initially wandered aimlessly searching for their homes.

Nothing looked familiar.

To make a desperate situation even more perilous, survivors were left without medicine, food, clothing, tools, or housing in the immediate wake of the disaster.

Nearly 500 would die from contaminated water and typhoid fever during the harsh aftermath.

All the while, looters pillaged the dead for jewelry and valuables leading to a backlash of vigilante justice and the eventual incorporation of martial law.

Over time, the entire nation responded to the calamity with an outpouring of donations.

Among the best known recovery agencies was the American Red Cross, headed by Clara Barton.

This organization established a three-story hospital, supply warehouses, and survivor accommodations.

The Johnstown Flood, like many disasters reveals the best and worst of human nature.

On the one hand, the event demonstrates how society can come together to rebuild in the face of adversity.

On the other hand, the tragedy reveals the cruelties of the Gilded Age, a time when the extremes of economic disparity showcased widespread injustice and a lack of accountability.

Nobody associated with the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club was ever held liable for their lethal apathy regarding the dilapidated dam.

One general who responded to the catastrophe commented, "It was a piece of carelessness.

I might say, criminal negligence."

Despite such widespread public sentiments the flood was ultimately judged a freakish act of God to which no human could be held accountable.

Much like the sinking of the Titanic, those powerful individuals most responsible for widespread death evaded liability.

All the while, it was the marginalized segments of society who suffered the most because of ambivalence.

(gentle solemn music) Over 2,200 people lost their lives in the Johnstown Flood, many of whom were never found.

755 of those discovered were too badly decomposed or mangled to be identified.

Most of these lost souls rest together in the anonymous graves of Grandview Cemetery overlooking Johnstown.

The episode remains the second deadliest natural disaster in American history.

Today, one can visit this burial ground as well as the Johnstown Flood National Memorial, the former location of the infamous dam.

When exploring these landmarks, we must ever ask the question, what lessons will we learn from the dead?

For additional insight on this turbulent moment of Pennsylvania history, check out "The Johnstown Flood" by the late great David McCullough.

This gripping narrative reads like a novel and you won't be disappointed.

Until we see you next time on "Past PA," stay curious.

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