In today’s Gazette, I talk to Roy Porterfield who found a Bible in the middle of First Avenue East in Cedar Rapids on that unlucky Friday, June 13, at the height of the flood. That’s when the Cedar River hit its crest, when it flowed through thousands of city homes and businesses sweeping whatever lay in its path out the door and down the street. That’s when people attempted to save what belongings they could, as fast as they could. That’s when people might have lost a valued treasure, thinking it was swept away by the flood when, in fact, it was only misplaced.

Have you lost something as a result of the flood, something that you have a feeling might be somewhere where someone else found it?

Have you found something as a result of the flood, something that just might be special and meaningful to the person who lost it?

I hope someone claims the Bible that Roy found.

And if I can bring other lost/found items to their owners, I’d like to help.

Let me know.

In today’s Ramblin’ column in The Gazette I mention that Linda Ferguson found ”Kilroy was here” graffiti behind a wall at her flood damaged northwest Cedar Rapids home.

I’ve always liked this little guy and knew that he evolved during World War II. But, I never really knew the story behind him.

If there’s anywhere to find out, it would be the Kilroy was here Web site.

The Web site discusses 9 legends about the little soldier who seemed to show up everywhere and gives some examples of where you can seen him, including the Seinfeld TV show where he appears as a magnet near the top of Jerry’s refrigerator in early episodes.

Here’s part of Legend #1:

This Legend of how “Kilroy was here” starts is with James J. Kilroy, a shipyard inspector during WWII. He chalked the words on bulkheads to show that he had been there and inspected the riveting in the newly constructed ship. To the troops in those ships, however, it was a complete mystery — all they knew for sure was that he had “been there first.” As a joke, they began placing the graffiti wherever they (the US forces) landed or went, claiming it was already there when they arrived.

Kilroy became the US super-GI who always got there first — wherever GI’s went. It became a challenge to place the logo in the most unlikely places. It was said to be atop Mt. Everest, the Statue of Liberty, the underside of the Arch de Triumphe, and scrawled in the dust on the moon. An outhouse was built for the exclusive use of Truman, Stalin, and Churchill who were there for the Potsdam conference. The first person to see it was Stalin. He emerged and asked his aide (in Russian), “Who is Kilroy?”

In 1946 the Transit Company of America held a contest offering a prize of a real trolley car to the person who could prove himself to be the “real” Kilroy. Almost forty men stepped forward to make that claim, but James Kilroy brought along officials from the shipyard and some of the riveters to help prove his authenticity. James Kilroy won the prize of the trolley car which he gave it to his nine children as a Christmas gift and set it up in their front yard for a playhouse.

When I check my blog statistics, I’m amazed to see that an old entry has become the most popular, moving past one about Ashton Kutcher making a surprise visit to Cedar Rapids. It’s the one about Lucille and Larry Pulvermacher’s pink house in Central City posted March 21, the day my column about them and their Royal Love with Cotton Candy trim home ran in The Gazette.

At first I wondered why. Then I realized folks are thinking about the pink houses project in New Orleans for Hurricane Katrina survivors.

Ah, yes. Those pink houses are really 150 hot pink tents moved in by movie star Brad Pitt who hopes to replace them with $150,000 homes for survivors in the Big Easy’s 9th Ward.

While you can find dozens of stories about Mr. Pitt’s pink house project including the official one at Make It Right. And there’s a fun question-answer story with Brad Pitt on the Newsweek Web site.

Maybe Mr. Pitt could bring his project to Iowa. Lord knows a lot of people would welcome a house of any color.

A handful of people have weighed in about my column in today’s Gazette about receiving a FEMA check for damage to my basement after my sump pump failed. They have called me names, said I have no right to accept such a check and tell me to give it to people who really need it.

I’m not surprised the column raised some peoples’ ire. The point was to let readers know that FEMA has been responding (my check arrived two weeks after the June 12 flooding), that you may be eligible no matter how much damage you received and that I know the damage I suffered isn’t nearly as bad as that of many flood victims.

To clarify for some of the respondents — I’d been monitoring my sump pump since it began running in April for the first time since I moved into my house in 2001, I thought my insurance would cover damage if the sump pump quit working, I’m not anywhere near a flood plain but am in one of the lower houses in my neighborhood and I’ve heard from other people including co-workers who have faced the same problem.

And then there’s the big question: Isn’t one of government’s major roles to be there to help citizens when they need it? I mean, I’ve been paying taxes for almost 40 years. We’ve had the rainiest first six months of a year in the history of keeping records, meaning the soil has been super saturated. The nearly $1,500 I received doesn’t cover the $2,500 this episode will cost me. That $1,500 isn’t even a drop in the bucket compared to the billions of dollars that will be headed Iowa’s way.

I’ve seen enough damage in the last few weeks to last a lifetime. I hope everyone in Iowa who suffered flood damage receives the assistance they need.

Jenny Hayes, 50, has now survived a flood as well as a tornado.

Jenny was in fourth grade back in 1968 when a tornado roared through Oelwein. Her parents’ house was a rock she told me as we chatted at the shelter set up at New Creation United Methodist Church in Cedar Rapids. The staircase in the middle provided excellent shelter and saved the family.

On June 11 she was evacuated from her house at 1015 10th Street SW. She had been back in it when I talked to her. Even though she feared the worst, she hoped for the best.

“When it floods, you just have to go with the flow,” she said.

My Gazette columns about flood damage gawkers that ran Wednesday (June 25) and Friday (June 27) hit a nerve. In the first, I talked to flood victims who resent people driving by to look at and photograph their homes and the damage rather than getting out to help. They feel a loss of privacy. In the second, I talked to people who drive through the neighborhoods as an educational experience, to see how former homes have fared, to gain a historical perspective and, sometimes, to get out and help. 

There are always two sides to every story. But I think both sides pretty much agree that gawkers who race through the neighborhoods just to take pictures and get in the way of cleanup are not wanted. Those are the people I had in mind. They are the same people who exploit others and rubber neck when driving past an accident scene.

In doing my job, reporting on events like this, I often feel guilty that I may be in the way or am imposing on people when I ask them to tell me their stories. Then again, I can provide a window into events so more people aren’t in the way.

The publication of today’s column at Gazetteonline has generated plenty of comments. I’ve also received phone calls and e-mails regarding both columns. Some e-mail excerpts:

Dave, thanks for the story about gawkers not being welcome in the flood zone.  I’ve talked with too many people who have driven down to the flood area “to show it to their kids.”  Or they say, “I have to experience it to really understand what happened.”  In reality they are just satisfying the human need to stare at disaster.  I can do it just fine reading the Gazette or GazetteOnline. Deb

I can certainly understand that people with flooded damaged homes are tired of the people driving by to see the damage but I think it is natural that people want to do that.  I haven’t ventured out other that to drive through F AVE NW to get to downtown and I don’t consider myself a gawker but I did look at the devastation while I was driving on those streets.  It is hard not to look. They should consider that not all of these people are gawkers.  They could be on their way to help someone. Some might even be news people. Dan

I understand why today’s Ramblin’ article (June 25) is written, but what about the other side of the story?  The point of view of the people featured absolutely infuriates me!  I have donated money and volunteered at the Red Cross and I cannot go see what’s going on in MY city that I love?????  How do those people know every person driving by hasn’t done the same thing?  Next time I’d like to see a giant cardboard sign that says, ‘Thank you fellow Cedar Rapidians for all of your support.’  I may not have lost my home (which I cannot imagine going through) but we are in this together. Brandy

Hi, Dave, I simply had to respond to the man who said we flood victims need thicker skins. Here is what is wrong with that: We lost our homes, our security, our histories. In many cases, you don’t miss the sofa you have to drag to the curb, but the memory of the people who shared it with you. You look up in what should be a private moment of grieving and someone is driving by in their air conditioned car, observing history. …We had a hard time getting ready for the sadly underestimated flood crest because of the gawkers. They want to ride by and don’t care that you or people who are helping you are struggling to get through streets narrowed by extra cars and the gawkers. … I lived in my house through more than a half-dozen flood crests. Every time streets were closed, I would have drivers racing past my house to demonstrate their anger that they couldn’t drive to see the damage.  Not one of them got out of their car to walk. That would have brought them into contact with the heat and humidity, maybe made the reality a little uncomfortable for them. Suzanne

I was glad to see your column this morning (June 27) offering another viewpoint on gawkers.When I read the first one, I had not seen any of the destruction first hand, and was totally sympathetic to the victims. Then yesterday I had to drive my son to the West side to a baseball game at Stoney Point YMCA. We took First Avenue to 16th on the way there, and took 380 on the way home and exited at Diagonal Drive. Starting out on the trip, I wasn’t thinking that we’d be passing any destruction, just concentrating on getting there on time. Then we hit First Avenue near the U.S. Cellular Center and I told the kids-” Oh my gosh, we’re going to see where the flood hit.” As we drove I could not help but look, and feel sick and sad. … Pictures in the paper and on the news do not have the same impact. You think you are stunned when you see the pictures, but in person it is real and raw and heart wrenching. Tears welled in my eyes as we came down the Diagonal Drive exit and saw the homes there. I felt guilty for looking, guilty that my home was high and dry on the far Southeast side. … now I feel more for them than I already did, now I am even more eager to answer our church’s requests to help (which I already was doing). Denise

I too drove into the flooded area to see first hand what it looked like and smelled like, not as a gawker, but as one who truly cares. I wanted to see how the Time-Check rec center fared. We have square danced there for years. I wanted to see the homes of some people I know. And like so many others, I already planned to help as much as I could, but was even more moved to do so after seeing the devastation, and smelling the stench the flood waters left behind. Sandy

Aloha Dave, I read your article on the gawkers in this morning’s paper and couldn’t agree more with them.  I’m from Hawaii and spent the first week of the flood glued to the TV and internet - watching all that I could. Seeing the destruction of my hometown, I packed up my bags and kids and came to Cedar Rapids for my annual visit to my parents home - knowing I would be doing more volunteering rather than vacationing. I brought several new t-shirts and shorts (PE uniforms) from the private school I work at  - hoping to help out some families. I never thought I’d be in the thick of things gutting out homes until I took the drive through the destruction. After seeing house after house along Ellis Blvd and the lower SW side, I knew that was were I needed to be. I grabbed boots and a kit from the Red Cross and off I went to find people to help. I’ve cleaned, scrubbed, ripped apart walls and hauled load after load from sewer caked basements. I don’t know these people, but seeing first hand what happened made me want to help these people. … If I didn’t drive through and look, I wouldn’t have been there helping! Much Aloha to the strong resilient people of Cedar Rapids. Missy

Two weeks ago today Cedar Rapids received more than an inch of rain, the Cedar River rushed to its crest of more than 31 feet and the word “flood” took on new meaning for 25,000 people evacuated from their homes.

After I returned to work the following Monday after a week of vacation, I ran out to the Animal Health Technology Center at Kirkwood Community College where more than 500 domestic animals had been gathered. While some came from the flooded animal shelter, most were pets who had been separated from their owners, usually because emergency shelters didn’t allow animals.

One exception was the New Creation United Methodist Church on 33rd Ave. SW. The chairs in the sanctuary had been moved to one wall, replaced by inflatable beds for humans and animal carriers for their beloved pets.

“Carefree communal living,” joked Ramona Potts, 51, who had been displaced from her home on K Avenue NW.

I didn’t have room to tell Ramona’s story in my Ramblin’ column in The Gazette, but wanted to add excerpts here.

She and her mother, Dorothy Jensen, who lived on H Ave. NW, didn’t want to leave their pets behind. So, when they were evacuated from the house that Wednesday (June 11), they slept in their car on higher ground at the Ambroz Recreation Center along Mount Vernon Road SE. Joining them were poodle Lilly Mae and Sheltie, Dyno.

“I had no fear,” Ramona said. “The Bible says do not fret, do not worry about tomorrow. The Lord will provide.”

The church shelter opened. Ramona and her mother felt welcome and safe.

“This flood,” Ramona said. “I think there’s a reason for it. I think it’ll bring the entire community together.”

With the recent comparison of the 2008 flood in Cedar Rapids and the 1997 flood in Grand Forks, ND, I can’t resist running this Ramblin’ column I wrote for the April 29, 1997, Gazette. It ran with the headline “Cedar’s serenity a welcome contrast to raging Red River”

The Cedar River is a whisper to the Red River’s roar. It seems to be in a good mood, compared to the raging madness folks in Grand Forks, N.D., have endured. It shimmers in the sunlight, babbles over sunken logs, laps lazily against a rocky shore.

Aren’t we lucky?

“We sure are,” says Matt Hutchins, 26, of Marion.

Matt, who wears shorts and a T-shirt, has stretched out on a lawn chair. He reads the book “Skeleton Keys” (about the rock band The Grateful Dead) and listens to the soundtrack of “Good Morning Vietnam” on his little red truck’s tape deck to relax.

At a little before 2 p.m. on a 65-degree afternoon, with a breeze tickling the hair on his bare legs, Matt can’t imagine any better place to be.

“We enjoy it while we can,” he says.

In a few minutes he will head off to his job at LinkUSA, where he works the telemarketing floor as a coordinator.

But, this is now. While the river’s water doesn’t wait for anyone, the river itself is always there. And, in the spring, when the river behaves, it seems magical.

A woman walks two dogs at once along the west side levy across the river from Quaker Oats.

An older couple relax on an Ellis Park picnic table, sitting so the table itself provides back support. The man looks extremely comfortable, his elbows stretched behind his back so they rest on the table top.

Three people tend the beginnings of their gardens in the park, the soil just perfectly moist as the river stays in its banks.

A woman and three children toss sticks into the river and watch them drift away to who-knows-where.

Before it is time for work, Matt picks up a couple of rocks and skips them across the river’s glassy surface.
How different this is than 1993. Then, flooding rivers ravaged Iowa just as they are doing this year in North Dakota. Then, the snowmelt and heavy rain caused residents to shiver in their basements. Then, Matt filled sandbags in Des Moines as a member of the National Guard.

“It was nice to actually help in the community,” Matt says. But, he wouldn’t care to have to do it again.

The old river is much friendlier now. He is a gentleman to complement Mother Nature’s ladylike behavior.

“I love it,” Matt says. “I come out here all the time.”

Your mood can become a reflection of the river. If you’re a Type A person, stopping at the river long enough to soak in the tranquillity can turn you into a Type Zzzzz.

If you’re a jogger in a hurry, slowing to a simple stroll along the shore can offer rewards greater than a gold medal.

If you’re a walker, you can stop and bend down and study the pebbles and moss and little fish beside the bank.

On the river’s east side, along a twisting concrete sidewalk between the Third Avenue bridge and the one at Eighth Avenue, the afternoon hum at Penford Products is just loud enough to drown out bridge traffic. Yet, you can hear the river talking as it leaps over a submerged log.

To different people, it most certainly says different things. On the opposite shore the new police station stands guard. At this end of May’s Island, the river helps keep prisoners secure in the jail. At a restaurant and a tele-services company and a furniture store and in all of those other buildings nearby, employees can undoubtedly feel the river tug on their wandering minds.

Anyone affected by the Flood of ‘93 in Iowa, by the Flood of ‘97 in North Dakota, by any flood anywhere, might have trouble forgiving the rivers and their tempers. But, most of the time, in most places, the rivers act civilized.

The Cedar River - thanks to its levees and flood walls and dams - has been a model citizen in Cedar Rapids.

Aren’t we lucky?

Let’s hope we can return to those days.

If it hasn’t been high winds, it seems to be high waters that are plaguing Iowans this year. Certainly a spring for the ages, bringing back memories of tornadoes that hit Oelwein and Charles City 40 years ago and the floods that swept through river communities 15 years ago.

Having been been to Charles City after the 1968 tornado - my grandfather there had two large trees taken out while a lawn chair between then remained exactly where it had been - and having spent a week driving along the Mississippi River in 1993 as recovery from flooding progressed, I am amazed at the fascinating tales and the resilience of Iowans.

My trip to Parkersburg last week (See today’s Rambin’ column in The Gazette) was no different. I heard the stories — a refrigerator destroyed, yet a dozen eggs sat intact on the nearby counter; the five little dogs owned by James and Courtney Frey turned loose when winds blew open the back door of the house only to show to survive in the neighborhood; photographs volunteer Dianne McDermott found of a one-year-old girl found safe and dry.

Yes, those stories go on and on. But, so much more impressive are the stories of volunteers who come out of the woodwork, the assistance they render to complete strangers because they know any of us could become victims, that the disaster could affect them.

There are many great reasons to live in Iowa. Tornadoes and floods are not among them. The people are.

The Dewey Decimators of the Coralville Public Library, featured in today’s Ramblin’ column in The Gazette, may not have an original name but they were certainly original by featuring numbers from the Dewey Decimal System on the backs of their softball team T-shirts. The numbers coincide with the wearer’s favorite reading topic. Other Dewey Decimators teams: 

• Daniel Boone Regional Library has the Dewey Decimators library cart drill team on YouTube.

• The University of Illinois Archives has records of a Dewey Decimators softball team that played from 1988 to 1995.

• Dewey Decimators/Double Decimation are softball team names for Vancouver softball teams.

• New Mexico State University in Las Cruces, NW., had Dewey Decimators softball team in 1999.

• Toronto Public Library Foundation had Dewey Decimators dragon boat team.

• Dewey Decimators at the Missouri River Regional Library in Jefferson City, Mo. wear bright red shirts with regular numbers.