It was 7 AM, November 25th, 1950, a Saturday and it was my day to open Feller’s Garage and Dealership at 10th Street and Blair Avenue. I was a senior in high school. I left my home on 11th Street for the two-block walk to the garage. It was much colder that last evening and I had learned it rained all night. Ice was everywhere. The electrical wires and phone lines were three times their normal size, sagging low as were all the limbs on the trees. Many were cracking and falling onto the streets.
Turning the corner at Bald Eagle Avenue, the roaring of the Bald Eagle branch of the Juniata River rushing under the 11th Street bridge gave me more chills than the 29-degree weather. Approaching the 10th Street bridge, I saw water splashing against the fencing. Walking onto the bridge I saw a build-up of limbs, trees, thick brush and even a gate ripped from someone’s fence jammed against the bridge. I felt the bridge vibrating — I was scared.
Save the new cars
Arriving, I unlocked the garage office and started the routine of opening up. I powered up the pump island and placed the oil rack in its proper location when the first customer drove in for gas. We both remarked about the river and agreed that this could get really bad. Little did I know that he was the first and last customer of the weekend. Thinking what to do, I felt in case it all floods, the boss would want me to get the new cars to safety.
There were five new cars there — two Packards and one Hudson in the adjoining showroom and two Hudsons in the bays that just arrived from Pittsburgh that Thanksgiving weekend. All five cars were 1951 models. My helper, Bob, from Grazierville, was to arrive at 8 AM, so I called him to come in right away explaining what was happening. He arrived in five minutes and I was in the process of jogging the second car from the showroom. I told him to follow me to Woodland Avenue and shuttle me back and forth in his truck. The water was now spilling over everywhere and the last two cars were treading water all the way down 10th Street.
Leaving the building open and vulnerable, we removed all the cars to high ground and locked them there. Returning down 11th Street I had Bob stop at my home so I could get Daddy’s hip boots out of the fruit cellar. It was then that that horrible sounding fire whistle from the paper mill blew and didn’t stop for 30 minutes.
The water hits the desktop
Arriving back at the garage, two customers were in the office moving stuff up the narrow stairs to the second floor above the office. The steam boiler in the basement popped all the furnace doors and dampers open and water was entering the basement. I forced my size ten feet into Daddy’s size eight boots when the phone rang — it was Ted Feller, the boss, asking what was going on.
A sound I’ll never forget was when the water went over the west barrier of the river and in a matter of two minutes the basement was full, and the office, bays, and showroom were thigh deep. My boots were not pulled up all the way. The phone rang again and it was the secretary Betty saying she heard on WTRN radio there was flooding downtown and asked if she should come in. I told her that the water was at the top of her desk now. Dozens of cans of oil, wax, and polish were literally sucked out of the office joining the debris rushing down 10th Street. It was too late to save anything left floating in the office.
Ted arrived in high boots deeply concerned about his business, but very grateful the new cars were saved. Other employees, Frank, Tom, and Jimmy began arriving also. There was little we could do but wait for the flood to run its course and the firemen to pump out the basement of the building.
A box of groceries and a sister carried home
I called Momma and told her the situation and she said there wasn’t any water at the house. Before leaving the garage, I learned from Frank that Aults & Crain were packing boxes of emergency groceries so I waded to the store on West 10th Street and charged a box to Daddy’s account. I learned later the food was free. The water was knee deep in the store and rising, but all the food was saved. I then carried it to Betty’s house six blocks from the store on Washington Avenue. There was no flood water just past Epworth Manor, but all of Park Avenue was flooded.
Turning the corner at Washington Avenue and 10th Street, fire trucks were parked at several stores including McCrory’s, the 5 & 10, plus two adjacent stores. I suddenly remembered my sister, Glenna, worked there so I waded in the store with thigh-deep water, a total mess with the aisles floating in all kinds of merchandise. The clerks were all gathered at the rear of the store, including my sister, soaking wet and awaiting the manager to order the store closed. Then they had to find a way home. My sister was ready to leave, but the water was knee deep in the alley behind the store. I told her I could carry her to dry ground so I picked her up. We then waded to behind the Post Office, to 11th street, across Pennsylvania and Blair Avenues, across the dangerous 11th Street bridge and put her down at Willard Hickes’ home at 11th Street and Bald Eagle Avenue. We then walked a block to our home. There was no water east of the still raging river. My sister slowly pulled my boots off showing spots of blood on my socks and then the feet showing several colors of the rainbow and some raw meat. I was done for the day and what a day it was.
The boiler, and the Woolrich
Sunday, showed the river returning to its banks but still a serious threat to villages downstream and much of Huntingdon county. Water receded slowly and fire pumpers from all around Tyrone and towns miles away arrived and started pumping basements. Arriving at the garage about noon, with two very sore feet, I saw Ted paying money from his soaked safe all over the desk with two electric heaters drying them out. He told me not to open the office door to the bays — a 55-gallon drum of oil had upset in the grease pit and the oil is all over the top of the water. He said in a few hours we’ll be able to clean the fire box of the boiler to get the fire going and some steam up to heat at least the office, did I want the job? I told him yes so I went home for warmer clothes.
Just then two others showed up to help. Bob took me home in his truck and loaded a few buckets of coal from our coal bin along with some scrap wood while I changed into my brother’s brand new Woolrich hunting outfit. We returned to the garage which seemed much colder inside and I helped in the office until the pumpers sucked out the water and the oil had settled down on top of everything.
Rigging up a drag light to see in the fire box, it was clear this would not be an hour job. To get all the ashes and muck out, I literally crawled to my waist inside the boiler scooping the mess out onto the soaked floor. Finally, I managed to get a small warm fire going with wood and coal from home and babied it into a larger fire. After more than two hours the heat started to register on the steam pressure gauge. Ted and the others upstairs yelled “Keep it coming.” Can you imagine what my brother’s Woolrich looked like now?
When I got home, unfortunately, my brother was there. For the second time this weekend I was scared. I thought I created a good head of steam at the garage but the head of steam on my brother’s face when he saw his Woolrich, was in the red zone ready to blow a gasket — and he did. You see the next day was opening day of deer season. I didn’t think this was a good time to complain to him that the pants to his new outfit were too big around my waist.
For the next 20 minutes I thought it was open season on little brothers. It was the first time that I know of that my Dad saved my life. That was a very bad call on my part and I deserved all that I got and more, but all I could think of was getting heat in the garage. The Woolrich outfit ended up at the cleaners and so did I. I felt the outfit was ruined and Puritan Cleaners agreed. It took me almost to the next hunting season to pay for it.
Monday, school was canceled, all five cars were returned to the garage and lined up outside the showroom driveway. The massive clean-up in the business district began. The Villa Restaurant across the street was nearly destroyed. I will never forget that cold November weekend at the garage and also the heat I generated at home. The garage and showroom were now a very damp but a toasty 53 degrees. And that’s the way it was in Tyrone, November 25th, 1950.
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