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Ben
wanted to be a weatherman since he was in 4th grade.
Now, he has a graduate degree in meteorology, and is recognized nationally as an expert on the weather
of his home state. He has written three books on weather, the most recent, THE PENNSYLVANIA WEATHER BOOK, published
by Rutgers University Press. He has gained a large following because of the accuracy of his weather forecasting on a
television network affiliate in the Midwest. He has also written numerous weather articles for newspapers and science
magazines, including "Weatherwise" and the "Bulletin of the American Meteorological Society."
Most recently, he has won a much-coveted EMMY as weather anchor for his excellent forecasting and reporting work.
Hurricanes THE EAST COAST-
1955
The summer of 1955 was a scorcher. Weeks passed without rain in the Midwest and Northeast, leaving fields parched and wells
running dry. July,1955, was the hottest month on record in many mid-Atlantic cities, and much of the population suffered
oppressively humid conditions without benefit of air conditioning.
Then, in early August, forecasters began tracking Hurricane Connie in the western Atlantic.
Connie's winds strengthened to 145 mph as she drifted around the periphery of an unusually strong Burmuda ridge and headed
toward the United States. After making a feint toward Florida, Connie lurked off the Carolina coast for several days, prompting
the Pennsylvania Civil Defense Council to alert residents to prepare for the possibility of high winds. The weakening hurricane finally blew ashore
just after daybreak on August 12, 1955, near Cape Lookout, North Carolina, with a peak gust of 83 mph at Wilmington, Delaware.
An upper-level low-pressure trough drew Connie's remnants north, passing over the western part of the Chesapeake Bay and
central Pennsylvania before disintegrating over eastern Lake Erie on the 14th.
Squalls and torrential thunderstorms formed on Connie's eastern flank, dumping 8.72 inches of rain at Washington's
National Airport. A record 12.2 inches swamped New York City's La Guardia Airport. Flood emergencies were declared for
parts of the city and Long Island as many residents of Nassau County evacuated their homes. However, months of extreme drought had left inland streams at very low levels. A Pennsylvania
newspaper article on August 16th stated, "Farmers generally looked on the accompanying rains as a blessing."
ROUND TWO
As the clean-up from Connie
continued under a sweltering August sun, a fresh headline warned: "Pennsylvanians Cast Wary Eye on Hurricane." Hurricane
Diane had developed from a disturbance as it crossed the Atlantic and was quickly gathering strength southwest of Bermuda
while chugging steadily westward.
Fortunately, cooler waters
churned up by Connie days earlier, weakened Diane's formidable winds of 125 mph. The highest reported gust was 74 mph
at Wilmington as the storm made landfall early on August 18, 1955. However, Chief U.S. Weather Bureau forecaster Henry
P. Adams warned that heavy rain could fall on already saturated ground.
The soggy remains of Diane churned northwest across North Carolina and Virginia before the storm took a sudden right turn,
passing near Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia on the evening of August 18th. Near the fall line that separates the Coastal
Plain from rolling Piedmont farmland, a weak frontal boundary would provide added lift for moisture-laden tropical air ascending
the Appalachian foothills.
A low-pressure area over
Pennsylvania quickly absorbed the remnants of Diane. Intense tropical downpours unloaded up to eight inches of rain in six
hours on already sodden hillsides in east-central Pennsylvania. An observer near Mount Pocono reported a spectacular total
of 13.24 inches of rain in a little more than 24 hours, less than a week after Connie had dumped 10 inches of water on the
scenic Pocono Highlands.
Wall of Water
Brodhead Creek flowed past Camp Davis, where 47 vacationers spent the evening holed up in small
cottages. Concerned about the steadily rising waters and furious rain pelting cabin rooftops, campers retreated to the attic
to sing and pray, unaware of a dam failure upstream.
The Dam Failure
A steep gorge known as Devils Hole filled with water backing up from
a swollen creek and impounded by an elevated railroad bed. Above the ravine, a westbound train from Hoboken, New Jersey, carrying
250 passengers had been halted by a mudslide. The crew was unaware the tracks had just washed out and were dangling 40 feet
in the air.
A local fire inspector, alarmed by the water surrounding
his home near Devils Hole, spotted the parked train. After consulting with the engineer, he located the conductor who was
surveying the tracks and urged him to pull his train back to the nearby Cresco station.
Soon after the train departed,the embankment gave way, sending torrents of
water into the Paradise watershed that fed into Brodhead Creek. Other small dam failures added to the increasing volume of
water moving downstream.
Around 11 p.m., a wall of
water 12 feet high, filled with boulders and uprooted trees, tore through the nearby village of Analomink. Camp Davis survivors
would vividly describe the swift and horrifying collapse of their cottages in the swirling waters. One young woman managed
to cling to a tree for nine hours before help arrived. Another was carried for a mile downstream before being plucked out
of the water hours later by a military helicopter. Tragically, 37 young campers drowned in the flash flood.
The tumultuous wall of water, now 30 feet tall, surged through the
twin boroughs of Stroudsburg and East Stroudsburg five miles below, tearing homes from their foundtions and killing scores
of residents who had no warning that a disasterous flood was imminent. Local residents still recall harrowing tales of being
in the last car to cross one of dozens of bridges that cumbled in the rampaging waters. Others swam through lower-floor
windows of homes and shops, waiting and praying to be rescued as water reached the second floor of some dwellings.
Another tragedy was narrowly averted where the Brodhead and Binnekill
creeks emptied into the Delaware River from opposite directions. William Shank's Great Floods of Pennsylvania
described how a massive wall of water formed, creating a dam that momentarily reversed and smoothed the flow long enough for
trapped residents on Shawnee Island to escape by boat.
But Diane wasn't quite finished. The hurricane's remnants made a second landfall over Long Island early on August
19th before heading out to sea. Bands of torrential rain triggered another flooding disaster in southern New England, where
Hartford, Connecticut, was swamped with 12.5 inches of rain. Floods in that state reulted in the loss of 70 lives. At Westfield,
Massachusetts, there was a record rainfall of 19.75 inches in little more than 24 hours.
THE RECKONING
Floods spawned by Diane in
the Delaware Valley led to the loss of 99 lives. Some bodies were never recovered. Another 82 storm-related fatalities
were reported in New England. Diane was deemed the first "billion-dollar storm" by the Weather Bureau ( $4.2 billion
in present-day dollars). President Eisenhower declared Pennsylvania and portions of southern New England federal disaster
areas. Flood relief poured in from as far away as Australia as news of the tragedy spread around the world.
PREVENTING FUTURE DISASTERS
The hurrican floods of 1955 raised flood awareness, causing the Weather Bureau to re-examine and upgrade warning systems.
Levees and other flood protection measures were put in place in communities devastated by Connie an Diane.
As a result of lessons learned in August, 1955, widespread flooding
in the same area by the remnants of Frances and Ivan in September, 2004, and the spring floods of April, 2005, did not result
in the loss of life experienced in eastern Pennsylvania in August, 1955.
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FEATURE ARTICLE
FROM THE NEW YORK
TIMES
Ben Franklin on Global Warming
By BEN GELBER
Published: November 17, 2009
Correction
Appended
Columbus, Ohio
BEN FRANKLIN and GLOBAL WARMING
FEW would argue
that the debate on global warming engenders a lot of emotion. What else are we to make of comments that “within the
last 40 or 50 years there has been a very great observable change of climate,” that “a change in our climate ...
is taking place very sensibly” and that “men are led into numberless errors by drawing general conclusions from
particular facts”?
That these comments were actually tossed around back in the late 18th century by the Pennsylvania
doctor Hugh Williamson, Thomas Jefferson and Noah Webster reminds us that history has a tendency to repeat itself. (One can
imagine what television talk shows would have been like then. Would Jefferson have promoted “An Inconvenient Treatise”
only to be acrimoniously contradicted by Webster on “Hard Quoits,” assuming either could get a word in amid the
jabbering of the host?) In the 1780s, Thomas Jefferson opined in his “Notes on Virginia” that “both
heats and colds are become much more moderate within the memory even of the middle-aged,” expressing views articulated
as early as 1721 by Cotton Mather: “Our cold is much moderated since the opening and clearing of our woods, and the
winds do not blow roughly as in the days of our fathers, when water, cast up into the air, would commonly be turned into ice
before it came to the ground.”
The weather historian James R. Fleming has noted that the vexing scientific
challenge in the climate debate has always been “the response of a large, complex, potentially chaotic system to small
changes in forcing factors.” Benjamin Franklin understood climatic forcing factors better than anyone, surmising in
a 1763 letter to Ezra Stiles that “cleared land absorbs more heat and melts snow quicker.” Franklin, our meteorologist
emeritus for his seminal work on everything from lightning to northeasters, later surmised (correctly) that a prevailing haze
over parts of North America and northern Europe was associated with the eruption of the Laki volcano in Iceland in June 1783,
and was possibly the source for the exceptional chill experienced in the winter of 1783-84 in the new United States.
On the other side of the developing weather controversy in the late 18th century, Webster quarreled with Jefferson, insisting
that he relied too heavily on the memories of “elderly and middle-aged people” for his observation that the climate
had moderated. While Webster conceded an anthropogenic influence might still be at work, he argued that it caused something
less than climate change: “All the alterations in a country, in consequence of clearing and cultivation, result only
in making a different distribution of heat and cold, moisture and dry weather, among the several seasons.”
Hugh Williamson, astute in his understanding of the hydrological cycle, a key component in any climate change debate, wrote,
“The vapors that arise from the forests are soon converted into rain, and that rain becomes the subject of future evaporation,
by which the earth is further cooled.” A century and a half later, land-use studies would confirm quantifiable relationships
between clearing trees for extensive farmland and changes in soil temperature, moisture distribution and local and regional
climate responses, as well as the urban heat-island effect. In our time, we have learned that tropical deforestation is linked
to as much as 15 percent of the world’s global warming pollution, largely due to the release of carbon dioxide, one
of several “greenhouse gases” that trap and re-radiate terrestrial heat.
But the primary goal of Jefferson
and other colonials in the national climate discussion was to scuttle the European notion that the New World’s climate
was too harsh and deleterious for settlement. From Mather to Williamson and Jefferson and many others, the debate was a reaction
to European attitudes regarding the presumed rigorous and unhealthful climate of North America.
Instead, early
American writers painted a far more favorable picture of the American climate and fauna. The notion took hold that manmade
climate change, specifically clearing untamed land for cultivation, would prove beneficial, ameliorating health problems by
draining standing water and wetlands thought to breed disease and lethargy.
Not until the middle of the 19th
century would the debate on North American climate change finally be put to rest by early climatologists who had cranked out
numbers by hand from sparse and slowly accumulating weather observations and phenological data.
The clearing
and cultivation climate-change debate of Jefferson’s era was driven by literary and anecdotal evidence in the absence
of solid data. Now we have satellites monitoring high-latitude snow cover, thinning sea ice and deep-layered atmospheric temperature
increases, coupled with ground observations revealing the disappearing snows of Kilimanjaro (85 percent ice loss since 1912) and many other glaciers.
The wealth of data now at our disposal,
enhanced by high-resolution computer models that pioneer climatologists would have craved, has, curiously, not turned down
the thermostat on the centuries-old global climate change debate, quite likely because the stakes are so much higher.
Ben Gelber is a meteorologist at WCMH-TV in Columbus, Ohio, and the author of “The Pennsylvania
Weather Book.”
Correction: November 19, 2009
An Op-Ed article on Wednesday, about the founders’ debates about climate, misstated the status of
the United States in the winter of 1783. It was an independent country, not a collection of colonies.
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