THE GREAT FLOOD OF 54’

In 1953, my family lived in a house on the west side of Chicago. My grandmother owned the building. My Uncle Johnny and his wife lived with her on the first floor. My Aunt Frances and her family lived on the top floor, and my family lived in an adorable, English basement apartment. All three families lived there for about a year before I made my grand entrance into the world in June of 1954.

From what I have heard, this house was in reasonably good shape, and everyone seemed to be happy living in it. There was just one slight problem; the basement would feel dank with the air heavily laden with moisture whenever it rained. There was no visible water damage; it was more of an annoyance than anything else. My parents knew this wasn’t going to be our permanent home, so this minor irritation was tolerated. Then it happened.

It was a bright and sunny day in mid-September. My brother and sister were in school, and dad was at work, so mom decided to take me for a stroll in my baby carriage. Once I had been safely deposited in my carriage, mom collected her keys, purse, and a light-weight blanket for me. Just as she picked up the coverlet, she heard a clap of thunder and saw the flash of lightning through the living room window. Quickly, mom ran from room-to-room, checking and rechecking all the windows to make sure they were closed tight. Meanwhile, I had drifted off to sleep…that is until the roar of the thunder wakened me with a jolt, and I started crying.

Our House in 1954

As if out of nowhere, the sky opened up and the rain came down in sheets. Water suddenly began streaming down the basement steps and seeped beneath our front door and up through the drainage system built into the floor. The sudden onslaught of water was too much for the sump pump, not to mention my mother. Fortunately, Uncle Johnny was home. The water brigade, Mom, Johnny, and now Aunt Frances each grabbed a bucket and tried to bail as much of the water out as possible, but it was coming down too fast. Within a few minutes, we were already up to about six inches of standing water in our apartment. In the meantime, my mother realized I was no longer crying, which seemed odd given the amount of chaos all around me, and so she went checking. There I was in my baby carriage, sound asleep. It appears that with all the water rushing in, my carriage began floating sort of like a houseboat not tied to the pier. The gentle motion had rocked me back to sleep. It was time for all precious cargo, i.e., me, to be evacuated. Thankfully, Uncle Johnny was able to pick up the carriage with me in it. He carried both the pram and, more importantly, me out of the basement...delivering both safely upstairs to my grandmother.

50s Style Baby Carriage

The rain stopped almost as quickly as it started. Unfortunately, not fast enough to prevent the damage it left behind. When all was said and done…there was about a foot of murky water in our apartment. It would take several weeks to completely dry out everything… assess all the damage and clean up the mess. The flooding had caused water damage to some of the furniture and draperies and of course, the carpet was ruined. All of our belongings that could be salvaged were up on blocks and strategically placed in specific locations that had remained dry.

During this time, mom, dad, and I stayed upstairs with my grandmother, Uncle Johnny, and his wife, Olga. While my brother and sister stayed on the top floor with Aunt Frances and her family, these would be our living arrangements for the next few weeks. My baby carriage survived unscathed thanks to my uncle’s quick thinking and would serve as my bed during that time. Everyone else slept on sofas or shared beds.

Most importantly, no one was injured, and our spirits were left intact, given our new temporary, if not to mention, crowded lodgings. With no faith that another flood wasn’t imminent, we knew it was time to leave that cute little English basement apartment. We only lived in that house for a few more months while my parents looked for our new home. My grandmother never really trusted that there would be no repeat performance. so, once the damage to the basement was repaired, she sold the house and bought a new one a few miles away. Grandma, Johnny, Frances, and their respective families moved in in 1955.

While I was there for all the drama at 3-months old, I only have second-hand knowledge about any of it. I do remember first-hand the downhearted expression that seemed to overtake my mother’s face whenever she spoke about that day. I don’t know if it was the devastation to our house itself that promoted the sadness or if it was the loss and damage of some prized possessions. Whatever the case, that day in September will go down in my personal history as the great flood of 54’.