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History See other History Articles Title: Flood of Memories Flood of memories Our readers remember March 11, 1992 March 11, 2007 Jerry Kreitzer of Rutland was a member of the Vermont House in 1992: I woke up that morning and couldn't take my car to the Statehouse, so we had to walk down. We had to come in through the back, from the park side, to get into the building. We were watching the flooding come right down Main Street, from the front steps of the Statehouse. Then we heard that the Vermont Historical Society building was losing files, so we all headed there to move the boxes and try to get them to higher ground so we didn't lose our historical records. We were knee deep in water getting the boxes out to a higher level. I remember people coming in boats down State Street — it was amazing to see that. It was surrealistic to watch that, to be part of that. We just didn't get out for a while; we stayed there and worked all day. What was neat was that people really pulled together. When you have things like that happen, people said, 'How can I be helpful?' It was neat to watch all the legislators digging through the water and trying to save as many documents as we could. Some didn't get saved, as I remember. Victoria Taylor is now an investigator with the U.S. Food and Drug Administration in Stockton, Calif.: Boy, do I remember the flood! My daughters and I were living on Ridge Street in Montpelier and I worked for the state in Waterbury at the time. I dropped my oldest daughter off at the Main Street Middle School and headed off to work — down Main Street, to State Street, and then onto the Taylor Street bridge. I went through really deep water on State Street and thought the storm drains were just clogged. The water was up to the bottom of the doors of my car. When I got on the Taylor Street bridge, I saw the railing holding back huge chunks of ice, and water flowing over the bridge, but like the dedicated state worker that I was, I figured if I could just get to the interstate I'd be fine. I never thought that I wouldn't be able to get back INTO Montpelier! Right after I passed the Middlesex exit of the highway, I heard that Main Street Middle School had been dismissed. I had no cell phone at the time, so I hurried to the Waterbury exit, raced to work, and called my neighbor who was watching my then-fourth-grader until our daughters walked to school together. I told her I was on my way home. I left Waterbury and heard that all the bridges into town were closed, so I drove to the Barre exit, came down Benjamin Falls hill and over to Gallison Hill Road. I figured I could get to Ridge Street the back way — via Towne Hill Road. There were two state troopers where the creek flows under the beginning of Gallison Hill Road, right off Route 2, who told me they wouldn't let me through, the water was too deep. The water had just started going over the road. … I told them that the middle school had just turned the kids out onto the street and my daughter was home alone and it was fine if they didn't let me pass — but they needed to go get my daughters and bring them to me. Needless to say, they let me through and there was no problem getting through the water. When I reached the house, I saw someone chopping the ice from around my canoe in the back yard. It turned out to be my neighbor, Mason Singer, and Fred Wilbur from Buch Spieler music store. Fred was trying to save audio equipment from the basement of the store. We had no idea how high the water was at that point. I told him to take the canoe and bring it back when he could. Unfortunately, he was unable to save a lot of things, but there are pictures of Fred in my canoe paddling up State Street. Luckily, my daughter made it home from the middle school and my youngest daughter was at the neighbor's house, so everything turned out well for us. We all went down the hill into town later in the day to see what was going on. It was so strange to see propane tanks floating down Main Street. My friends still laugh about me pushing on to work through 10 inches of water and not thinking about how I'd get back to Montpelier. I chalk it up to not having a second cup of coffee that morning! I can't believe it's been 15 years already. Sue Steinberg lives in Montpelier: Memories of the flood still give me chills. My son, Michael Orrick, was in eighth grade, my daughter, Sara, in fifth grade. Sara was at home sick that day. It was clear while driving from our home up the hill from Montpelier High School to Main Street Middle School that life was different. As I drove, Michael reported on trees falling, water rising. I recall parents, students, other staff members standing in the school hallway waiting for direction. The announcement came from Principal Becky Tarrant that school was closed. This was before cell phones, so the line of kids to call home was long. I offered as many rides as my car would fit. I was anxious to get home to Sara but soon heard I couldn't get home through town. I followed Liz Rome through Middlesex to my home. En route, we stopped any car we saw to share information. Michael and I dropped off neighborhood kids we had picked up. Their parents had no idea where they had been and were in tears. We ended up housing four of his friends who couldn't get home. I remember standing with Sara and Michael on the bottom of Bailey Avenue — the whitecaps in the water, parents frantically asking if we had seen their kids, people watching their cars on the other side of the flood. Of course the days, weeks after is the memory of the smell and the garbage. Shirley S. Harrington, formerly of Barre Town, is a retired 31-year state employee. She now lives in Zephyrhills, Fla.: I was at my desk that morning manning the phones, taking and giving messages via our two-way radio communications system to maintenance employees. I don't remember why now, but for some reason that morning I parked my car on the upper level of Baldwin Street, then walked down to the next level on Governor Aiken Avenue to my office. This was before 7:30 a.m., and before the next hour had passed I looked outside on the west side of this particular office building and saw boats (both motor and paddle) going up and down State Street! It was not until that moment that I was horrified and scared – believing that along with many others, I was marooned and worried that I would not be able to leave Montpelier and soon we would have no power, heat, communication, etc. I remember following a certain pickup, along with about four other cars containing Department of Buildings employees, across the capitol lawn, up through Hubbard Park and out of Montpelier the back way through muddy roads. Finally we came out in East Montpelier and I was safely on my way home – to my three children and husband. Along the way, somewhere that day, I remembered my mom telling me in years past about the 1928 flood in Montpelier, where she lived at that time. I was thinking how history repeats itself, remembering she had been spared and so would I be. The guy upstairs was looking out for us. However tragic and large the many losses were, we were among the blessed.
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