Heavy rains fell over Southern Alabama and West Florida during the second week in March until a downpour unequalled in that locality by any other on record was experienced. The rising of the rivers was watched with anxiety, as the tragic experience of 1928 were still fresh in the minds of all the inhabitants. The acting commandant of the Naval Air Station, Commander W. G. Child, who had gone through that period and the far more strenuous experience of the Mississippi Flood of 1927, was standing by awaiting the call that he knew would very likely come to naval aviation for help.
At eleven o’clock Thursday night, March 14, the telephone bell in the commandant’s quarters rang vigorously. “The governor of Alabama is on the wire, sir,” said the operator. The commandant roused slowly from that deep slumber which is prescribed for all good aviators six nights in the week, but brought all his energy into wide-awake action as he caught the earnest anxiety of Governor Bibb Graves’s voice when he said: “The Pea River has overflown its banks and is rising rapidly. It is reported that eighteen hundred souls at Elba will be lost unless you can relieve them by seaplanes and boats tomorrow morning. Can you help them?” “We will do everything that can possibly be done,” replied Commander Child.
And he meant it, although, as he explained to the governor, it would be impossible to rescue the people of Elba either by boat or seaplane from the Naval Air Station. The speed boats and motor boats could not make the trip down the coast to the mouth of the Pea River and upstream against the swift current of the swollen river; such a trip was beyond their capacity; they were not built for that kind of work. The station tug, Allegheny, was too large to steam up the river.
A glance at one of the illustrations of a flooded town will convince even those who know little about seaplanes how impracticable it would have been for a plane to have landed among the roofs, trees, telephone wires, and other obstructions—it just is not done in the best aviation circles by planes that hope to retain their status on the Navy’s active list. Our aviators do many wonderful things, but there are certain miracles that even they do not perform. The fact that it would have been impracticable, with the limited fuel and passenger capacity of the training planes, to have evacuated the population of a town of eighteen hundred people did not matter very much as the planes could not get to the people nor the people into the planes.
As he hung up the receiver at the close of his conversation with Governor Graves, Commander Child began to convert the air station into a relief organization to help the flood victims as much as possible. Orders were given to secure all training activities equipped with planes suitable for flood relief work and to have all those planes ready early Friday morning under stand-by orders for instant action as opportunities developed for usefulness in the emergency.
Fortunately, the situation at daybreak, desperate though it was, was not quite as perilous as the first reports received by the governor had indicated. Individuals here and there were caught in the rush of water and were drowned, but nowhere was there such wholesale destruction of people as was feared for Elba, Thursday night. But short of that, the devastation was overwhelming. The Conecuh, Yellow, Pea, and Choctawatchee Rivers are rivulets compared with the mighty Mississippi, but in proportion, they flooded their valleys with a destructive violence comparable to that of the Father of Waters in his utmost fury. As the illustrations show, whole towns were engulfed and people were driven to the garrets and roofs of their houses and, in some cases, to the first high ground they could reach regardless of such incidentals as houses. Roads and railroads were covered with water and washed out; bridges were carried away or cut off by the washing away of approaches; telegraph and telephone wires were down in all directions. On the morning of Friday, and until Sunday afternoon, Pensacola was as completely cut off from the surrounding communities as at any time in its history— except by air.
The first call Friday morning was for planes to carry messages of warning to Geneva, Alabama, at the junction of the Pea and Choctawatchee Rivers, and to Caryville, Florida, farther down the Choctawatchee, that the floods which had submerged Elba would soon overwhelm them. It was feared that these towns might not be prepared for the unprecedented volume of water that was threatening them. The low-hanging clouds and the heavy rain to the east of Pensacola made it impracticable to reach the threatened communities during the morning, but in the afternoon two planes carried the warnings to them, returning to the air station just at sundown.
Meanwhile word was received of the plight of the citizens of Flomaton, fifty miles north of the air station on the Alabama line, and of Brewton, Alabama, fifteen miles northeast of Flomaton. At noon five planes, loaded with sacks of bread furnished by the people of Pensacola, took off from Corry Field. As no landing fields were available, the best that could be done was to resort to “bombing.” Dropping the sacks of bread on tiny isolated dry spots where people were huddled required nicety of flying and skill in bombing, especially as some of the spots were roofs of houses and of trains. Of course, not all shots were direct hits, in fact some were quite “wet.” But bread cast upon those waters came to its own, not “after many days,” but within a few seconds as eager hands rescued the manna that fell, at least part way, from heaven. A second flight of ten planes carried more bread and later in the afternoon a third flight, also of ten planes, delivered all that remained of the day’s supply. On Friday the water was higher at Brewton that at Flomaton. Seven passenger trains blocked at Brewton increased the population of that town, so the bread was divided evenly between the two places.
A survey of the flooded area by Lieutenant Commander C. P. Mason and a representative of the press in an observation plane showed that much more relief work by air would be necessary before help could be given by boat, automobile or rail. From Mobile, Alabama, to Apalachicola, Florida, and inland for from eighty to one hundred miles, the country was cut off from the outside world, except by air—and radio, but you can’t send bread by radio (not yet).
On Saturday, March 16, twenty training planes continued the “constructive bombing” of the isolated communities. Potatoes and canned goods were added to the bread. They also added to the danger of the refugees, as a thirty-pound sack of canned goods dropped from a plane is pretty hot to handle without gloves. All supplies brought to Corry Field that day were sent to the hungry as soon as practicable. Clear skies made possible a wider survey, which showed that Elba and Caryville were in a position to receive supplies from nearby towns on high ground, but that Geneva was almost completely cut off.
Sunday morning four observation planes with 950 pounds of canned goods went to the help of Geneva. Falling waters early that morning disclosed the roofs of houses midway between Flomaton and Brewton. The submerged town proved to be Pollard, Alabama, whose inhabitants were marooned on a neighboring hilltop. Within a little more than two hours of their discovery, supplies were dropped to them and were very evidently received with much appreciation. Two administrative flights were made to Tallahassee and to Bonifay to carry relief organizers for the flooded area. As great anxiety was shown by local authorities at Andelusia concerning the condition of the dam at that place, a fast combat plane was immediately dispatched to investigate. Lieutenant E. C. Ewen landed near the dam, ascertained the facts, and returned with word that the dam had broken Thursday night. As the demand for bread had exhausted the supply of yeast in Pensacola, an NY (training plane) and an F-5-L (boat-type plane), flew to Mobile and returned with 700 pounds of yeast, sufficient to supply the bakers who were working day and night to provide their precious product.
On Monday and Tuesday training planes continued to carry food to Flomaton, Pollard, and Brewton, and added blankets, clothing, and medical stores as contents of the bombs.
By Tuesday evening the waters had subsided to such an extent that people were returning to their homes and relief work was being handled locally as Army and National Guard units, Coast Guard, American Legion, Red Cross, and Salvation Army organizations reached the flooded communities by boat and automobile, so that the need for relief by air ceased.
Wednesday morning, March 20, a new need for air service arose as hurry calls for typhoid serum came. A supply that had been forwarded by plane from Virginia was lost en route when the plane met with disaster. The small amount of serum remaining in Pensacola was hurried to Caryville in an observation plane and, carefully wrapped in cotton and excelsior, was dropped with a small parachute attached. The serum supplied by the medical officer at the air station was taken to Flomaton. When further calls came early in the afternoon, a chief petty officer who heard of the need at the Red Cross office provided fifty dollars to purchase a supply in New Orleans. A Hawk was detailed for a late afternoon flight. A Parke Davis man was waiting with the package at the New Orleans airport, and the plane retuned to -the air station at dusk.
During the whole period daily trips by an F-5-L, carrying 500 pounds of mail each way to and from Mobile, provided the only mail service for Pensacola and the air station. Five thousand pounds of first-class mail and one million dollars worth of registered mail were carried on these mail ships.
The only planes that could be used for the general relief work were the two-seated training and observation planes, which were capable of carrying only comparatively small loads. One hundred and thirteen flights were made, covering a total distance of about 15,000 miles. Three thousand loaves of bread, sixty cases of canned goods, twenty bushels of potatoes, one hundred blankets, twenty-five bundles of children’s clothing, medical supplies, and newspapers were carried to those in need.
While the Navy planes were bringing aid from the south, the National Guard squadron at Montgomery was performing similar relief work from the north.
The people of the flooded areas were very grateful for the help given by our fliers. This relief work emphasized one of the unique values of aviation, as no other help could have reached these people during the several days that the waters were at their height.