A Christmas Story of the 1964 Flood

Flood in 1964 at Weott [Photo from the Humboldt Collection]

On the banks of the Eel River behind Miranda, two parents had their newest born child, the last of five–Pam, Keith, Linda, and Sherry. They were bringing the child home for the first time; it was me, Kenny. A boat was waiting on the beach to ferry across the river, the only access to Salmon Creek as the Christmas flood of 1955 had washed out the bridge across the Eel. That bridge was located north of the Salmon Creek exit, near what then was the Holmgren’s. You can still see the foundation on the Avenue of the Giants north of Cathey Road by the old fountain.

I cannot tell you what stage the river was at that time, I presume it was not the violent high water level the Eel can achieve, fast and dark, the color of chocolate milk, loud and churning with waves and debris, a river with the mind of it’s own. Violent torrents cutting into the banks that try to confine it. The river, like a large sea serpent or octopus as if it had arms or tentacles reaching out grabbing trees and bushes jerking them off their foundations to disappear. It was more likely the safe tranquil, beautiful ribbon of green emerald water, the color unique to the Eel, peacefully meandering like a large snake as it makes it way to the Pacific. Or it could have been crystal clear, exposing an array of assorted colors of brown, black and white rocks on the bottom.

This was a day in February, 1956. My mother, Priscilla, or Pat, my father was Conrad, as everyone knew him as Casey. She said there was a small incline on the bank leading down to the aluminum boat waiting. In the boat was some sort of mower, probably from my dad’s fields of hay. As they went to load the boat my mother remembered a large bag of oranges ripped open and rolling down the bank, some into the water. Back then people bought bags of oranges, or boxes of pears or apples individually wrapped in paper for better storage.

So here it was, my first day, one of many on the Eel. Across the river at the bottom of Sommerville Road, where the creek crosses the road was our destination. Our house and farm. It was a beautiful piece of property. This was before the freeway came through. The river then was lined on both sides by flats of rich, deep prime AG soil. The riparian habitat ran right to the river’s edge. Large redwood trees, willows, berry bushes, ferns and native grasses with a mix of large trees jutting up from the water that had fallen victim to the river’s wrath.

Our place ran from the same road where it is now to the river north to adjoin the Holmgren property at the Salmon Creek exit.

My father had large cultivated fields of alfalfa hay and grass that he watered with large metal pipes and a pump. I remember, kind of, him making a dam in the summer creating a small lake which you could put a boat on. There was also a place where Kenny Wallen could land his airplane. Above the fields was our house which sat in a field lined with a wooden white washed fence and cross fences of wire and wood. In the fields were some large redwood stumps as well as fruit trees, apples and apricots. There was a small cookhouse which sat next to a large red brick in ground barbeque pit which was about 8 foot wide, maybe 10 foot long, and about 8 foot deep or so. There was also a newer rental house on the property my father built. When the freeway came the head guy running the project rented that house.

Bowman’s barn before the 1964 Flood.

Then there was the barn. It was large, made of redwood. Bigger than the old junior high gym, about half the size of the South Fork gym. It had a full wood floor. On the road side there was a door accessed by a wooden ladder and tackle system to load hay. The rope went across the barn to the river side to the hay loft. Under the hay loft were stalls and at the end towards the house was a tack room. On the other end, on one side was a full bar, and behind the bar, shelving for placing booze. There was a basketball hoop on the large support beams, outside there was a two room male and female double hole outhouse. The barn was used for the annual Kiwanis barbeque and dance. I remember people came from all over. It was the “Reggae on the River” of the time. They would build a large wood fire in the barbeque pit to make coals. Then they would place large sections and full hams of beef in wet burlap gunny sacks and set them in the coals to cook. Also there was an above ground pit and coals where they would slow roast a large lamb which was rotated by hand, people talking turns turning the meat. I believe, either Ray Wright or Gil Wallen provided the lamb. After the barbeque there was a dance. We used to sneak up on the hay loft and watch the action. Drinking and dancing, and some fights and disagreements. They were loggers and ranchers, what could you expect!??

Our closest neighbors were the Klucks. Their house was located by the Salmon Creek Bridge, on the corner that now has the freeway bridge over it. They moved to the blue house in Miranda, across from the high school when the freeway forced them out. Life was good along the river. Lots of fish and things to do. Then the freeway came. It was a sad day. I can remember how sad my dad was when they took our property. He lobbied and argued and fought for them to put in an underpass or a really big culvert so he could still access his fields and the river. Instead all he got was an 8 foot culvert. He told them at the time it was not going to be big enough.

The freeway was a major project. One of the largest construction companies in the world got the contract–Morrison and Knudsen out of Idaho. Our section was a cut and fill operation. They would take dirt cut out of the mountain north of the Salmon Creek exit and south of the Miranda exit and move it to essentially build a large dike from Maple Hills off ramp to the Salmon Creek exit. They used the largest machines at the time. Tires taller than men. Trucks, scrapers, bulldozers running non-stop 24 hours a day. As the work progressed one load at a time, one inch, one foot after another. Higher and higher it went until one day we could no longer see the river.

Miranda Post Office [Photo from the Humboldt Collection]

 Life in Miranda was pretty much the same as now. The old Miranda Market was the store, back then it had a meat shop. There were two gas stations, one is where the coffee shop is. The Miranda Cafe was called the Chuck Wagon, with a beautiful large neon sign in the shape of a covered wagon. My mother, later on ran it for years. Where the post office is now was John Eck’s hardware store. It had standard stuff. Clothes, paint, sewing materials, gun rack and shells, and a small toy section. Puzzles, games, etc. Some sporting items. When you went to town you always went along to check things out and to see if there was anything new. Some stuff never sold. I remember one day with friends, we were looking around. There was this old football. It had been there a long time and was partly deflated and lost part of the color due to fading. I remember my friends and me joking and commenting, “how would you like that for Christmas, or who is going to get stuck with that thing?” You know how kids joke around!Most shopping at the time was done in Eureka. It took one and half hours to get to Eureka back then. Mostly 2 lanes.In December of 1964 it started to rain. It always rained more back than it does now. It rained and it rained. Then around December 18th, it got serious. This is what I remember. My uncle had come over from Grass Valley. My dad used to gripe when he showed up, but I know he really liked it. We used to make him show us his butt because he backed up against the wood stove one time and got the stove name branded on his ass.I think it was the 20th of December and the rain had not stopped. We could still walk over the freeway to see the river. It was high but nothing to worry about. Later that day at dark we went to the culvert. The water was all the way to the top and there was a whirlpool like a flushing toilet at its entrance. That night my sister came home with her future husband, John VanMeter. She came in the house and said the water was blocking the turnaround below the house. We went to bed. It rained hard all night. The next morning my father and uncle were going to go to Myers Flat to get some bacon. We didn’t know that Myers Flat was already flooding, I got in the backseat. We left the house and got only about a quarter mile, and our progress was stopped by a small creek running across the road with gravel. We tried to cross and got stuck. Right then we looked to the right and we could see the river “Oh Shit” it was like a lake, water as far as you could see.

Car stuck in the ’64 Flood. [Photo from the Humboldt Collection]

They tried to get unstuck, and then under my feet water started to come in the car on the floorboards. We abandoned the car and started to walk back to the house. As we rounded the corner near the house we heard this loud noise. “What was that?” As we got closer we saw that the creek in front of the house had overflowed its banks. It was as massive amount of water, mud and gravel. It was amazing. Hard to describe, like you see floods on the weather channel. The creek started to spread in all directions. It was pouring down rain. Trees were cracking.The noise from the creek was incredible. The creek jumped its bank and headed towards the house. In a short matter of time it covered the top lawn then it covered the bottom lawn. At the same time the water below the house was rising and had spread over the field toward the barn. The rest of the day is a blur. My father, with just a shovel, and my uncle tried to fight off the approaching onslaught of mud and gravel. As he forced it one direction, it would go another. At some point in time, Art Holmgren showed up with a track loader but it was hard to keep up. The look on my dad’s face I will not forget. It hard to describe. Desperation, sadness, urgency, despair, and the look of someone losing everything, all at the same time cussing. There was nowhere for anything to go. The freeway was like a dam. He would cuss…”I told those mother ‘fers this was going to happen”. As the day went on we watched the water rise inch by inch. It was still raining and still rising. The water at the barn got to be 8-10 feet deep. Then out of the water at one corner of the barn, one of the support beams shot out of the water like a missile, or a whale, upward, then slapping back down into the water. Then as we watched another beam shot out of the water. Then another, and another, then one corner of the barn caved in. Then another corner of the barn caved in. Then the barn collapsed. Our beautiful barn destroyed. My dad loved that barn.You could see as he watched part of his life slipped away. Eventually the choice had to be made in order to save the house. My dad had to divert the gravel flow away towards the rental. At the time Mike and Shirley Foster, two teachers at South Fork High, they had already loaded what they could into their truck. As time went on the rental was buried. Back in our house the water had risen to the front door. We shoved towels around the doors. We stacked the furniture and other stuff as high as we could. The water started to come in the house. Inch by inch. At this time my mom, my sisters and I were standing on the large brick fireplace and base. I was 8 years old, scared, tired and cold. As darkness approached it was time to leave. When we left the water was about a foot deep in the house. We grabbed some clothes, and waded through the water to the Boyle’s house at the base of Sommerville Road where we spent the night. My mom, dad, brother and uncle stayed behind.

The next morning it was calm. We walked down to see what was left. I cannot explain to you what I saw. It was complete destruction. As far as you could see was just mud and gravel surrounded by debris. The rental was buried. The barn was sticking out of the mud and water, like the Statue of Liberty, like at the end on the movie, Planet of the Apes. The water had already started to recede. Later in the day someone came to check on us. Rodney Maher or Roger Maher, I can’t remember, was waiting in a car at the high spot where the freeway and Salmon Creek Road come together, just north of Salmon Creek. We drove down the freeway to the current Miranda Bridge. When we approached the bridge it did not look right. It was slightly tilted, there was mud on the surface, and it was kind of moving. At the far end it had dropped about 6 inched where it was connected. As we drove across the bridge to our right the water was right there still banging on the side of the bridge. When we got to the other side what a relief. We went to our friends the Klucks. It was the 23” or 24th of December. It had rained 22 inches in 2 days. The water crested at 46 feet at Miranda.

We had Christmas with the Klucks. My parents had not got much in the way of presents before the flood. They had gotten a few things, but we did not we did not expect much. While we opened presents with the Klucks they shared some of their presents with us. I remember Larry got some kind of space rocket thing and Ricky got a cool 007 camera that converted to a gun. It is amazing what you remember some 55 years later. When it came to me I was handed a present. When I opened it, there it was. The partially deflated football. I will never forget that. I might have been disappointed but I think and know my parents were probably more disappointed to only have that to give me. I didn’t care. I went and hugged them knowing the best gift ever was that we were still together and safe and that was the best they could do. I got more and nicer footballs later in my life but that particular football had incredible meaning, and·I think I still have it somewhere.

My parents found a rental down River Road. The same house Rip Kirby raised his family in until we rebuilt. Myers Flat School was destroyed so school was relocated to the junior high. On my 9th birthday in February, I came home. My dad said “Come here I’ve got something for you. I know Christmas sucked but look what I have for you. There was a brand new shiny bike. It was called a “Vroom” bike. It was a Stingray model with high handle bars and a banana seat, made to look like a motorcycle. It was red and had a silver fuel tank with flames, and a plastic motor to resemble a real motorcycle motor you put batteries in that made a motorbike sound. My brothers and sisters used to kid me, here come Kenny, Vroom-Vroom. I would walk to school every day, the trail led me past the 7th day Adventist school. At the same place on the trail I would meet a kid that rode the bus and then walked to the 7th day Adventist School. He was kind of lanky and skinny with freckles and a flat top haircut, which made his floppy ears stand out. He always held his metal lunch box in both hands and would bounce it off his knees as he walked. We never did talk, just nodded. One-day John VanMeter said how would you like to meet my brother for a sleep over. I will pick you up after school tomorrow. The next day while walking home, at the church, here comes that kid riding my Vroom bike. It was Tim. We were best friends thereafter. We did everything together growing up. Some things I can’t, or shouldn’t talk about. He was in Donna and my wedding.

Sometime later on, I do not know exactly when, the house was repaired and it was time to move back in. I remember this day. I was in the back of the pickup with the tail gate down, sitting in some kind of recliner chair. I can remember driving on the road by the CAMP pad. I do remember what it was like that day. It really wouldn’t have mattered what kind of day it was, but it was sunny and warm and I was going home. It wasn’t going to be the way we left it and it never will be. But, as they say “There is No Place Like Home”.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
Love the Bowmans.