"Never prouder of our UI community than those three hours in the rain"

Mike Andreski, a 1983 pharmacy alumnus and current grad student, recounts sandbagging with his family:

"At 6 PM on Thursday, June 11, my family and I watched the KCRG news coverage of the impending flood crest. We saw that many of the volunteers sandbagging were reaching the point of exhaustion, and we made the decision that it was our turn.

We quickly changed into some work clothes, grabbed our shovels and drove over the Burlington Street bridge from our west side home to pitch in. We parked near the Alpha Chi Sigma house on Market Street and walked down the hill past the Chemistry Building, past the parking ramp, and then down to the IMU. As we were crossing Madison Street, we saw President Mason and her husband getting into their car to leave the area. Proceeding to the circle near the river, we were quickly put to work filling sand bags.

As a group of four, two of us shoveled sand while the other two held bags open for filling. The piles of sand were covered with several groups of people. From our conversations we found that the groups consisted of faculty, staff, undergraduate and graduate students, alumni, and others who wanted to help.

As the groups quickly transformed piles of sand and empty bags into pallets of filled bags, it started to rain, lightning and thunder. While we were tired, filthy, and wet, almost everyone moved to the growing wall of sand bags between Danforth Chapel and the loading dock of the IMU. As we passed the bags I told my son, an incoming freshman and third generation Hawkeye, how proud his departed grandfather, a UI College of Medicine graduate, would be of him. My thoughts were on the nearby Danforth Chapel where my first wife and I were married 24 years earlier, and I wondered how it would fare in the upcoming flood crest.

Once all the bags were stacked, we all wandered away from the IMU, tired, but hopeful that our efforts would be successful. While we were tired, filthy, and wet, we were energized by the cooperative spirit we had been a part of. My wife, a staff member, my older son, an incoming freshman, my younger son, another future Hawk, and myself, an alumnus and graduate student, were never prouder of our UI community than in those 3 hours in the rain."

"Community is the best way to deal with disaster"

Christopher Clark, a graduate student in political science displaced from Hawkeye Court Apartments, writes:

"The week of the flood, I had just returned from spending 12 days at home in Kansas City, Missouri. It is always nice to see family, but I missed having my own space.

Initially, I did not think that the flood would affect me. When I learned that I had to evacuate my apartment, the flood became personal, instead of being this abstract thing that was influencing the lives of thousands around me.

I called my pastor's family, and they graciously agreed to let me stay with them. I called my mother to get advice on what I should pack. I packed up my Social Security card, tax information, and bank statements. I took pictures of loved ones, my vast music and movie collection, and clothes to last me a couple of weeks. As I looked at all the material things around me, it occurred to me that what really matters in life is not the stuff that I have, but rather the relationships that I have. It is one of those moments that will remain with me for a long time.

Over the next few days, I sat with my pastor's family and watched as people's homes floated away. I saw the extensive damage to Cedar Rapids and I realized that thousands of people's lives would be forever changed by this natural disaster. We were able to grieve together through the flood, which I found to be the best way of dealing with that emotion.

Initially, I tried not to feel negatively about my situation. Nonetheless, as I talked more with people here in Iowa and with family at home, I realized that it was fine for me to be upset, frustrated, and irritated. I had been displaced because of the flood, so it was not abnormal for me to be bothered.

Through the flood, I was able to relate to how strangers in a new town must feel. I was out of my comfort zone. I was dependent on other people for my wellbeing. I was vulnerable. I could have been prideful and obstinate, choosing to sleep in my car instead of staying at my pastor's home. Instead, I chose to accept the hospitality, community, and love that were extended to me.

After this experience, I am going to extend myself to someone the next chance I have to do so. I know that my experience with this flood serves a greater purpose, and I think part of that is to learn to empathize with strangers.

This experience has taught me a number of things. The first is that we have little control over our lives. A second lesson is that material things are less important than relationships. Things do not define me. On the other hand, I need relationships with people, and those very much define me. A third lesson is that community is the best way to deal with disaster. There is inexplicable value in experiencing difficulty with other people—I could not imagine dealing with this alone.

The fourth and final lesson is that any one of us, at any time, could become the stranger who needs assistance. Instead of a self-centered and cynical approach to human suffering, we ought to extend ourselves to them and do whatever is within our power to ameliorate their plight."

"To ones deserving more than thanks"

UI senior Alexandra Khoshaba writes:

"I used to think that natural disasters were merely spectacles separated by thousands of miles, and that they were only as real as the pictures that you see on television. Everyone heard about Hurricane Katrina, the tsunami in Thailand, and the earthquake in China, but only the people that lived through them can actually feel the magnitude of such a catastrophe. Whoever came up with the term 'Seeing Is Believing' is far more intelligent than anyone I’ve ever known, and it is only when a person becomes a part of something much bigger than themselves can they actually start to look at the world and themselves as a piece of it, a bit differently.

Over the past three weeks I’ve seen thousands of UI students, faculty, and members of the community sandbag the homes and buildings that once contained the sacred artifacts that defined our education. I’ve donated supplies, and we have all made honest attempts at bringing normalcy back to our city. Above all, the most powerful and surprising force present in our community is not the water, but the inherent goodness of the members of our community. Sandbagging, gathering supplies, and contributing money have all been the most publicized form of support, but there is something else that our community needs to know.

So many of us have already spent tireless hours preparing for the flood, but our efforts cannot stop there. Yes the river has crested, class has resumed, and the Ped Mall is full, but there are still people out there that need help. Over the past week I’ve had the pleasure of visiting the courageous residents of Normandy Drive, here in Iowa City, and they have all been more than willing to let a UI student into their crumbling world. Many of the residents of Normandy Drive are professors, retired faculty, and elderly persons who are too kind to ask anyone for help. Take it from me…they need it. I know of a woman who had a heart attack trying to clean out her basement. I also know of a professor who is selflessly continuing on with summer class despite losing the place that her children have called home for their entire lives. Finally, I know that these residents are not getting much needed help and support from various recovery agencies, and are on the verge of losing everything.

Having spent four years at the UI, I know how many professors, business owners, and members of our community have changed my life. I know they have also changed the lives of thousands of others as well. It is not uncommon at The University of Iowa to hear students thanking their professors as they hand in their final exams, but how often do we, as students, actually have a chance to show them that we really mean it? All that you need to enter their secret world is a pair of rubber boots, a tetanus shot, and a big smile. It may sound completely ridiculous to just 'show up ready to work,' but give it five minutes and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

The sights, sounds, and smells lingering on Normandy Drive are absolutely heart-wrenching and the entire area provides a bit of a culture shock. The spirit, motivation, determination, and heart of the neighborhood far outweighs everything else. Unrequited love truly is an amazing gift, but what is more astonishing is returning that very same compassion to the people who deserve more than just a 'Thank You'."

"Hold on to hope"

Recent UI grad Kimn Swenson Gollnick writes:

"As a nontraditional adult student, I managed to graduate from the University of Iowa last month just a week before my son graduated from high school and just three weeks before this historic flood swallowed eastern Iowa. The flood made us breathless with the incomprehensible level of rising rivers that left such devastation in their wake. Since I live in Marion with my family, I worried not only about Cedar Rapids but about the condition of the UI campus, particularly the EPB and Adler Journalism buildings where I spent so much time these past two years.

Just as I prepared to help with sandbagging efforts, officials closed I-380, cutting off access between Cedar Rapids and Iowa City. I never felt so helpless. So I called a volunteer line—if I couldn't help in Iowa City, I certainly could help in Cedar Rapids. I now have a Tuesday route for Meals-on-Wheels delivering hot lunches to the needy. My husband and I delivered snacks and drinks to the police department when officers were working 16-hour shifts. I helped sort, fold and distribute donated clothing and shoes at Mission of Hope. I helped with the Red Cross distribution at the Sam's Club parking lot on Blairs Ferry Road, loading victims' cars with water, clean-up kits, spray sanitizer and boxes of masks. Many of these weary souls smiled through the numbness.

Over the past two weeks I have met dozens of people who I know only by first names but for whom I feel a great and glorious bond. In retrospect, I experienced Mount St. Helens when it blew in Washington state and it pulled the citizens together. Now I am in Iowa, working alongside my neighbors, students, professors and friends, fellow citizens all. Hold on to hope and we will get through this horrific event together."

"I hope we all stay together like this"

From Kajari Ghosh Dastidar, a UI graduate student in computer science:

"Slowly and steadily the bad news started to pour in. Roads were getting closed and many people were evacuating from their homes. The news became a big reality to me when I heard one of my friends was forced to evacuate from the Hawkeye Court apartments. I was ready to host her, but she luckily got an empty room in a friend's apartment.

Fortunately, my apartment was saved from the flood, and I never had any problem. But I wanted to do something to help my community, and was not sure how to proceed with that. It is good that I was following the news closely, and regularly checking the University website. Everyone was calling for sand baggers, and I immediately went to the Main Library parking lot to join hands with others. It was an amazing site! Hundreds of students, faculty, staff and citizens were working like close friends in harmony. Everyone had the concern on their face, but at the same time they were energetic and happy.

I was there for hours like everyone else. It seemed nobody is getting tired! Everyone wanted to do more and never stop! What an amazing community spirit! I again went for sand bagging the next day on Madison street. Even my friend who was evacuated from her apartment had come. She said 'I don't want to see any more people forced to leave their houses.' We worked there till 3 pm when a University staff member came and told us to stop working, as a storm was brewing by then. We were all happy when he said the volunteers have surpassed the day's quota, and we have lots of extra sand bags to distribute to the community. It was an incredible feeling. Everybody started clapping, and we were shouting GO HAWKS! We wanted to work more and more and more, and save our beloved city from the flood waters.

We are going through a rough time. But, this showed how strong our community is! I hope we all stay together like this, joining hands, and very soon, we will be able to leave it behind as a bad past."

"The spirit of the original endures"

Ron McClellan, art design director for Hancher Auditorium, began posting accounts on his Hancher blog as the waters started to rise. Today he writes about hearing that water had infiltrated the auditorium itself, adding:

"I was reading an article today about the famous American woodworker and furniture maker George Nakashima. His philosophy had to do with giving trees a second life when he used the wood to make furniture by understanding how the wood grew and when cut how to make it the most beautiful. He said that "we must consistently remember the eternal in all that we do"---that the form may change but the spirit endures.

You know how when you are in the middle of something and it seems like everything you see relates to what you are experiencing? I read this and it seemed like it did relate to this current moment. We have a new form of our work at hand and the spirit of the original endures."

"The river that divided us will unite us"

UI alumnus Andrew Shaffer (’04 BA, ’08 MBA) provided this account of flood preparations in Iowa City:

"I was part of a volunteer crew sandbagging water department facilities near the dog park. When we thought we were finished with the effort, new estimates and calculations forced us to stack sandbags higher and wider. As we shoveled the sand, we tossed around terms like 'cfs' and 'outflow' like amateur hydrologists. I don’t think anyone fully comprehended what a 'crest of 716.8 feet' really meant, however, until the pictures of downtown Cedar Rapids started to make the rounds. Even though we were under siege from a different river than our brothers and sisters up north, it was clear that Iowa City was next.

With reported road and bridge closures streaming in hourly, Iowa City became a city geographically divided. One evening, I called Iowa City’s 'flood hotline' for directions to the temporary pet shelter at the Johnson County Fairgrounds. The operator suggested taking Riverside Drive south of Highway One. 'I’m there, and it’s flooded now,' I said, exasperated. 'What am I going to do with a trunk full of dog food? I don’t even have a dog!' Thankfully an alternate route on Highway 218 proved to be the ticket.

Just like with Iowa City’s tornado of 2006, we were lucky to once again escape disaster with a minimal loss of life in our state. The economic impact, of course, will be felt for some time. But always remember how lucky we were: As I type this, AP reports are surfacing about a flood in Guangdong, China that has killed at least 50. This comes after an earthquake killed 70,000 in China little more than a month ago.

For now, the sandbagging has stopped and the storms have passed. The water level is slowly dropping from its crest of 717 feet above sea level. I have hope that, as a community, we will come together for the recovery efforts just as we did during the height of the flood. Could anyone have foreseen the hundreds of students and residents working side-by-side to save the city? I believe that the river that divided us will unite us for the long road ahead."

“The visceral, physical effort of saving books"

Teresa Mangum, associate professor of English, joined colleagues in moving library materials out of harm's way:

"As a member of the English Department, I was not surprised to find many of my colleagues—both faculty members and graduate students—in the UI Library 'book brigade.' In my line alone, I saw Mike Chaucer, Corey Creekmur, Eric Gidal, Loren Glass, Rob Latham, Laura Rigal, and Phil Round. Many of us had been working in the sandbagging lines during the week, but I suspect we felt especially grateful for the visceral, physical effort of saving books—the words, ideas, conversations, and knowledge at the heart of university life that we treasure deeply.

Being reminded that we share those values with the hundreds of students, staff, community members, and faculty from across the University who showed up to volunteer at the library was a heartening gift during a tough week. But we are, after all, ourselves—English professors. To great general amusement, everytime a lull fell, most of the book brigade grabbed snacks or bottles of water. Not the members of the English department. Given two minutes to rest, we opened whatever books we found in our hands...and started reading. Heartfelt thanks to the library staff members for your efforts and for letting us play a small part in preserving our library."

Arts campus slideshow

Eric Dean, director of the Office of Visual Materials for the School of Art and Art History, has documented flood preparations and evolving conditions around the Art Building West. You'll find his slideshow here.

"Writing from the Hillcrest Courtyard"

Graduate student Marta Holliday and other residents of Hawkeye Court apartments evacuated as the flood loomed. She wrote the following poem from her temporary home at Hillcrest Residence Hall:

Writing in the Hillcrest Courtyard
I come, prepared with my notebooks,
To the stone bench post thunderstorm
To write a story like I have been meaning to remember it.
And I take it in—
How normal we are.
We.
Who come into unexpectedness 48 hours ago,
Running between the U Hauls and the emptying apartments.
We.
Who salvage our food and baby formula,
Our photographs and our king mattresses,
To be transformed into an unlikely collaboration
Amid lofted beds and community showers.
I marvel—
Tonight, parents walk their kids outside to play and scream. While grandmothers
In saris stroll.
We do laundry or read. We eat chocolate cookie Twix
As we curl on the obtuse angle lounge chairs.
And walk unashamed—
In robes to the bathrooms.
I am surprised at the handshakes of faces I never stopped
To recognize before, in the normative isolation of the one bedroom apartment.
The commiserated smiles and first names exchanged.
I recognize faces from the bus during the school year, who tonight
Eat cafeteria macaroni and cheese,
And all the while we marvel at
How perversely beautiful the river seems right now,
Even as it erodes trees,
And lakes metastazsize
Where the English parking lot should be.
It is a surreal weekend of camping, and making friends
While outside rainbows burst from the thunderstorms.

"What an amazing sense of community!"

Tim Paschkewitz, a UI graduate student in chemistry, was among the thousands of volunteers who turned out to protect the campus:

"On one sandbagging occasion Saturday (June 14) morning, I had the pleasure of meeting people from many areas around eastern Iowa—Solon, Iowa City, Coralville, Williamsburg, North Liberty, and Riverside. I was just taken aback at how when the cities or University needed help, people came...In a dire situation, the volunteers were cheerfully giving their best. I met up with many students and staff members between the Library and Adler and it didn’t matter where they work, what program they were in…everyone was determined to prevent complete devastation of University buildings along the river.

It could have been easy for the volunteers to be cynical and sarcastic regarding our efforts, but I never heard such a remark even once. Even after we were told to leave on Saturday due to approaching thunderstorms, you could see it in people’s faces…they wanted to keep going. I have never been so proud to be a transplanted Iowan in all my life as I was this past week watching and working with people from all over Eastern Iowa scramble wither utter determination to save Iowa City, Coralville, and the University. What an amazing sense of community!"