Return to Lincoln Drive
By Laura McCallum
May 23, 1997

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For more about the experiences of Lincoln Drive residents, including photos, see
Remembering and Rebuilding

One month ago, President Clinton told Grand Forks flood evacuees their hardest days were still ahead, as the reality of the devastation sinks in. In that crowd were three residents of the Lincoln Drive area, which was one of the first neighborhoods to flood. Before the President's speech they talked to MPR about their experiences, and we wanted to check in with them again. Since the president's visit, two neighbors have begun the messy clean-up process; the third knows her home will likely be condemned, because Lincoln Drive will probably be on the wrong side of a proposed new dike. Minnesota Public Radio's Laura McCallum reports.

Only the wind chime breaks the eerie silence outside Pat Moen's home, right next to the dike that didn't hold back the flood waters. Most Grand Forks streets are busy with people, and lined with trashed furniture and appliances thrown out by residents. But Lincoln Drive is virtually deserted, yards still strewn with sheds and picnic tables scattered by the force of the water. Most of these homeowners haven't begun to clean up - they know there's little to salvage. Water reached the rafters of Moen's two-story home; other houses nearby sit crooked - knocked off their foundations. At a restaurant on the other side of town, Moen talks about the neighborhood she loves.

I LOOK MY NEIGHBORS' HOUSES AND I CRY. IT'S HARD.

Moen's only been back to her home three times - her asthma is triggered by the musty, fishy smell permeating the house. The floors have buckled and her kitchen counters are covered by a layer of peeling mud. She says it's not worth cleaning - the city will have to go in and knock down homes in her neighborhood. So Moen spends her days dealing with FEMA, SBA, and insurance agents, trying to get some answers about disaster assistance. She and her husband, a Grand Forks police officer, have moved from staying with his mother to staying with her mother in a two-bedroom trailer. It's been a long month.

AND I THINK, YOU KNOW, NOT PUTTING HURRICANES DOWN A PEG OR WHATEVER, BUT I THINK WITH HURRICANES AND TORNADOES, THE NEXT DAY YOU CAN GO BACK. YOU CAN PICK UP PIECES AND START OVER. HERE IT'S BEEN, WHAT - SINCE APRIL 18? AND WE'RE STILL NOT ANYWHERE NEAR GETTING BACK TO NORMAL.

A few blocks up the street, Susan Cutshall uses a crowbar to pry open the warped bottom drawer of a cupboard - she's trying to salvage slides from trips to Europe, and pictures of her four children. Cutshall's home sits on higher ground - they had about a foot of water on the main floor, but the second story stayed dry, packed with encyclopedias and end tables from the basement. They've moved from the shelter at the Grand Forks Air Force Base to Rochester to Fargo and now to a trailer in nearby Emerado, but still aren't sure what their future holds.

MY HUSBAND GOES, WHERE ARE WE GONNA STAY? WHAT ARE WE GONNA HAPPEN? WHAT IS - YOU KNOW, YOU REALLY DON'T KNOW FROM DAY TO DAY. YOU GOTTA TAKE ONE DAY AT A TIME.

Cutshall loves their 100-year-old home, but it might be on the wrong side of the dike planned to protect the city from future floods. And she says it costs $175 an hour to move a house.

Several blocks away, John Little's house is on the right side of the dike, and he knows he was lucky - the water didn't reach his main floor, and his basement isn't finished. Still, Little is only partway through a big clean-up job.

In Little's small, dark basement, a brick wall caved in, and he spent five days pumping out floodwater. At that point, Little's home had no heat, no running water, and no electricity.

THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE WORST WEEKS OF MY LIFE. WORKING IN THAT DUNGEON, WITH THAT MUCK. AND THERE'S NO EASY WAY - NO WAY TO GLAMORIZE WHAT IT WAS LIKE IN THAT BASEMENT. YOU KNOW, I HAD A COLEMAN LANTERN AND A FLASHLIGHT AND A SQUEEGIE BOARD AND A PUSH BROOM AND A 5-GALLON BUCKET SO THAT YOU WERE JUST HAULING THAT MUCK OUT OF THERE.

Little will spend the summer cleaning up and working on his novel - he's an English professor at the University of North Dakota. He's eligible for retirement but plans to teach a few more years, although Little admits he did question that decision this past month. It actually wasn't the flood that made him consider leaving the area, but the fact that he didn't apply soon enough to get any of the so-called "Angel" money - a no-strings attached grant of up to $2000.

EVERYTHING THAT THE CITY SAID LED ME TO BELIEVE - AND THAT I HEARD THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE LED ME TO BELIEVE THAT YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO RUSH TO GET THE MONEY. I THOUGHT IT WAS KIND OF GUARANTEED. SO I FELT LIKE THEY HAD MISLED ME, AND IT MADE ME BITTER ENOUGH - I'M ASHAMED TO SAY - THAT I THOUGHT, I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE ANY MORE. BUT I'VE SINCE BACKED OFF OF THAT, NOW THAT YOU HAVE TIME TO THINK ABOUT IT.

There's no way to predict how many Grand Forks residents will make the opposite choice and leave town, but for those who stay, the next few months will not be easy. Many homeowners are making mortgage payments on homes they can't live in, and rental housing is scarce. Both Pat Moen and Susan Cutshall say they might leave Grand Forks - the Moen's may retire to North Carolina, where their daughter lives, and the Cutshall's talk about returning to their hometown of Rochester. Many residents like Pat Moen are relying on faith and inner strength to keep them going.

WELL I GREW UP WITH A SAYING THAT GOD ONLY GIVES YOU WHAT YOU CAN HANDLE, AND SOMETIMES YOU QUESTION IT. THAT, AND MY DAD ALWAYS USED TO SAY WHEN THINGS GET TOUGH THE TOUGH GET GOING, THERE'S A LOT OF HURT, BUT I HAVE TO BE STRONG FOR MY HUSBAND - HE HAS GOT A JOB TO DO. HE CAN'T WORRY ABOUT ME - HE'S GOT 50,000 OTHER PEOPLE HE'S GOTTA WORRY ABOUT. AND MY DAY WILL COME WHERE I REALLY BREAK DOWN AND CRY. AND THAT'S ALL I CAN DO.

I'm Laura McCallum, MPR News.

Go to Flood of 1997.