Letter from the Editor: After Texas floods, archives provide grim reminder of Oregon’s deadliest natural disaster

Last week, I dipped into The Oregonian/OregonLive’s

formidable archives

to refresh my knowledge of the deadliest natural disaster in recorded Oregon history: the

Heppner flood of 1903.

The devastating flash floods in the Texas Hill Country seem to have many parallels to the disaster that befell the parched Oregon town early last century.

The Oregonian’s archives are available online through a partnership with NewsBank at

oregonlive.com/oregonianarchives

. Browsing is free but there is a nominal fee for downloading articles. Holders of a Multnomah County Library card can access and download The Oregonian and The Oregon Journal archives for free at

multcolib.org

.

The articles from our founding in 1850 to current day are truly the first draft of history. When I look up decades-old materials, I am often impressed with the speed of information delivery — even in 1903, before telephones were in wide use in Oregon.

To recap the historic flood: On June 14, 1903, a Sunday, an unusual amount of rain fell on Heppner, which is in Morrow County, south of Hermiston. The cloudburst, as it was referred to, caused a flash flood in Willow Creek, which flows through Heppner, then home to an estimated 1,400 people.

The Morning Oregonian for June 16, 1903, carried initial reports. “The first authentic news from Heppner was received by The Oregonian yesterday afternoon at 2 o’clock. Mr. G.W. Phelps, Representative for Morrow County in the Legislature, dispatched a messenger to Echo, 40 miles distant, the nearest available telegraph station. The dispatch is: ‘Two-thirds of Heppner was swept away yesterday afternoon by a terrible flood. Fully 250 people were drowned.’”

Phelps’ message concluded: “Messenger will wait. Haste in sending help.”

That first report was quite accurate. Official accounts say between 238 and 251 people died. The

Columbus Day storm killed 57

in Oregon and Washington; the 2021 heat wave caused

the death of 123 people

in Oregon.

The Oregonian also carried a second dispatch, from travelers who brought word to Pendleton. Their account said that shortly before disaster struck, “The people were enjoying the cool evening breeze,” but little to no rain had fallen before “they were startled by heavy thunder and sharp lightning.

“This was followed by a terrific roar and rumbling, which they could not account for. The water came rushing down the river in bulk. Аs seen from the Palace Hotel, it appeared to be about six feet higher in the middle than on the edges. A very bank of water it was, carrying on its crest everything gathered in its path. The water struck Heppner about 5:20, and in less than three minutes the streets were rivers from five to six foot deep.

“The little stream, Willow Creek, which is ordinarily ten feet wide and six inches deep, was transformed into a raging torrent, 400 feet wide and 20 feet deep in about five minutes.”

One difference that really stands out is photography. We’ve all been moved by the horrific scenes from Texas, photographs showing widespread destruction and intimate portraits of grief as the toll of the dead and missing rose and rose again. In 1903, while photos existed of the aftermath, no images from Heppner appeared on The Oregonian’s front page in the days following the tragedy.

It’s hard not to feel proud of the plucky efforts of The Oregonian, working with other entities, to inform the public. The June 17, 1903, front page said, “Telegraphic communication with Heppner was opened with a patched wire last night. The lines had been in trouble all day, but by herculean labor on the part of the Western Union and the telephone company the damage was temporarily repaired, so that The Oregonian is able again to present full news accounts of the events and scenes following the disaster.”

“Valley of Ruin” was the front-page headline. The lead of the article gives a glimpse of how much news writing has changed over the decades: “Most tragedies агe made up of minor ones, and if Heppner is indeed tonight a town of lamentations, a city of the dead, it distracts but little from the pathos, the impressiveness and the weirdness of the scenes which dot the valley for twenty miles below the stricken city. The canyon of Willow Creek, if not the Valley of the Shadow of Death, truly is a vale of tears.”

I had to guess at the word “weirdness,” which was difficult to make out and looks like it was misspelled “wierdness.” Was it “wildness”? No, that’s the wrong number of letters.

The older archives suffer from legibility issues such as blurry type or curved pages cutting off words. In the same article, one line of type was even set upside down. Printers would have set each letter in lead type and then inserted each line back in the day.

Shortly, however, the correspondent got to the horrifying details of death and devastation: “To search the 18 miles of valley over which the dead may reasonably be expected to be found will necessitate the labors of many men for many days and weeks.”

Some things have not changed for journalists covering disasters. The most important thing is to get a reporter on the ground quickly to assess things with their own eyes. Then, get accurate facts out to the public as soon as possible so that help can be mobilized. And, always, at the appropriate time, ask the tough questions about whether lives could have – and should have — been saved.

Today, Willow Creek Dam stands sentinel over Heppner.

Reach me at

tbottomly@oregonian.com

.

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