Spring storms of ‘97 paralyze region

In bold, black letters three inches tall, the April 12, 1997 Hillsboro Banner headline screamed the magnitude of that spring’s disasters: “April’s Power — Flood, Ice, Blizzard.”
One photograph showed a sandbag brigade standing in knee-deep floodwaters fortifying a dike around a home in Hillsboro Woodland’s Park April 4. After weeks of preparation, the floodgates had opened April 2 and 3. The rivers rose quickly but we were ready — or so we believed. 

A second photograph documented the damage of the April 5 ice storm that downed hundreds of powerlines up and down the valley. We weren’t prepared for this or what would happen the next day.
Another photograph, taken April 6, captured the untimely blizzard that delivered nearly a foot of snow driven by 50 mph winds.
“Wicked weather cripples region,” another headline announced.
“The past week’s events are overwhelming,” Banner editor Val Coit wrote in the present tense, conscious of the immediacy of the historic, coinciding disasters and recognizing that, indeed, it was not over yet.
“From sandbags to shelters, residents up and down the Red River Valley have gone from one disaster to the next. While fighting the rising Goose River, Traill County folks were dealt a devastating blow from Mother Nature.
“Saturday, April 5, brought strong winds, rain and sleet, layering everything with a thick coat of ice — paralyzing travel and bringing down power lines.”
“Sunday, April 6, followed with an April blizzard as strong as any peak winter storm. When the new seven to 12 inches of snow had finally settled, all of Traill County’s residents, like many of their fellow North Dakotans, were forced to deal with no electricity. Many were also left with no water and no phones.
“While city and county employees struggled to clear the icy, drift-laden roads, people abandoned their homes by the busload to seek warmth, water and food in local shelters.”
Most who stayed in their homes turned to generators to provide heat. Nearly a dozen people were treated for carbon monoxide poisoning after using fuel-burning appliances in confined spaces.
A coal-powered generator kept the American Crystal Sugar processing plant running continuously. Some workers were stranded at the plant north of Hillsboro for 48 hours or more and labored on as fellow workers couldn’t get to work.
When power failed, so did sump pumps keeping basements dry. The sandbagging wasn’t enough to keep the water out. Some homeowners lost the flood fight and were forced to abandon their homes for safer, drier ground.
Hillsboro was without power from late Saturday until Thursday.
Without power and heat, people sought shelter in the Hillsboro Elementary School, the high school and the HMC nursing home. A school bus drove around town picking up people who wanted help. The nursing home had a generator of its own and the National Guard delivered one for the school. About 150 people spent time at one shelter or the other.
Outlying areas, like Caledonia were without power for days, stretching into weeks. Electrical crews from other regions converged on the area in a feverish and successful attempt to restore power as quickly as possible. Early on dire predictions warned that some rural areas could be without electricity for two weeks.
As history would reveal, the struggle to persevere had only just begun . . .
A week later the April 19 headline trumpeted the ongoing disaster — “Flood rages on”
“The end seems to be nowhere in sight as the water just keeps on rising.”
Second crests were predicted for both the Red and Goose Rivers  — crests of historic proportions forecasters warned.
The Goose had already crested once on April 5 at 15.48 feet, still below the 1979 record crest of 16.8 feet. It would recede and crest again two weeks later at nearly the same height.
In the early days of April 1997, the Red at Halstad rose well above flood stage but didn’t pose the most serious threat. Overland flooding was expected to surround the city and cut off all roads in and out for a week or more.
That urgency intensified after the ice storm and blizzard. Sandbagging crews refocused their efforts east of Hillsboro along the raging Red a week after the blizzard. Fed by runoff from the south, the river rose higher and higher and eventually stretched 10 miles wide along Traill’s eastern border. The Red crested at a new record level, 40.74 feet on April 19. There were no bridges open across the Red from Fargo to Grand Forks as flood waters widened the border between North Dakota and Minnesota.
Volunteers were pushed to the limit and the fight would have been lost — officials conceded — if not for the faithfulness of volunteers, especially Hillsboro High School students, who tirelessly sandbagged every day.
Hillsboro’s fire hall was transformed into “command central” as officials coordinated flood fighting efforts from Main Street. Volunteers were fed and supplied with knee high rubber boots.
An airboat provided transportation where rural roads were impassable and where section after section of farmland was completely covered by floodwaters. Some residents were airlifted from their farmsteads which were surrounded by flood waters.
Some schools on the east side of the Red River were forced to close because of high water.
After two weeks of concentrating on the disaster within its midst, the community was called upon to look outside and “help our neighbors.”
Tragedy in Grand Forks — the forced evacuation of 60,000 people — scattered evacuees seeking shelter into communities across the region — including Hillsboro. On April 19, Hillsboro opened its doors. Nearly 250 evacuees fleeing the flood registered the first week, staying with friends and family and at the St. Rose Parish Center. Within days  more than 400 had registered, as officials tried to keep track of the flood of people escaping the disaster to the north.
The Salvation Army, the Red Cross and FEMA came to the rescue as “disaster relief” and “flood victims” became part of our everyday vocabulary.
The cleanup and repairs would take weeks, months and even years to complete.
The Flood of ‘97 changed the face of our community forever. Woodland Park is no longer home to any houses. The park now floods on what seems a regular schedule — but there is no sandbagging needed.  Houses have been moved out of harm’s way and the swimming pool is kept dry by a dike.
We persevered — in the face of disaster — we held our ground.
Those who lived through it were tested.
Those who lived through it suffered losses.
Those who lived through it will never forget.