Some numbers stick with you. For me, they are 6/9/1972, a date, and 238, the number of deaths.
On June 9, 1972, in western South Dakota, it started to rain. My only memory of that evening is standing outside under our covered front entryway while my father smoked. As I watched him, I noticed that the raindrops were the biggest I had ever seen. When I mentioned this to my dad, he suggested we go back inside because it was bedtime.
On the evening of June 9, 1972, our family went to bed early. When we awoke the next morning, we were unaware of the tragic events that had occurred overnight. Persistent clouds over the Black Hills resulted in severe flash flooding that devastated the Rapid City area. By the morning of June 10, there were 238 fatalities, and more than 1,300 homes had been destroyed.
My father was a medical doctor in our community. That morning, my mother received a call from the hospital asking if my dad would be coming into work. She was surprised by the question because she was unaware of what had happened. The hospital explained that there had been a severe storm that caused significant damage, and his services were urgently needed.
In the days, weeks, months, and years following the flood, I began to hear more stories. I learned about a classmate and friend who lost his father and two brothers, one of whom was never found. I heard about a friend of my sister’s who survived in an air pocket inside a submerged vehicle while her brothers slowly succumbed. I listened to the accounts of the screams that echoed during the disaster. I witnessed the devastation firsthand.
Our house and family were on high ground, so we were safe from the flooding. However, some friends of ours lost everything and had to stay with us until they could find a new place to live. My preschool was destroyed. While I’m not sure, I believe my father’s office was flooded but did not sustain permanent damage.
It has been over 50 years, but I still vividly remember many events from the time of the flood. Growing up, I encountered haunting reminders of the devastation: driveways where homes once stood, streets that are now vacant and abandoned, and buildings bearing the names of those who perished. Many of these reminders are still visible today if you know where to look (see picture at top of steps from a house washed away in the flood still present). Ironically, much of this is located along a beautiful greenway and bike trail that were created in the aftermath of the destruction.
In recent years, on this anniversary, I have taken the time to read through a list of the names of those who lost their lives. I reflect on friends who were affected by the flood and how suddenly life can change. This reminds me of what Marcus Aurelius wrote over 2000 years ago: “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do, say, and think.” Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 2, Section 11.
This is dedicated to all who were affected by the 1972 flood but more specifically to Shirley, Steve, Sarah, Andy, Lisa, Mike, and JoAnn.
Sireadh Toileachas 
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