Note to Atta et al, no doubt dogpaddling in hell and bobbing in sulferous feces for nail-studded raisins: a lovely day in September reminds me that I'm alive, and you're not.---Lileks

Last night we were back in the room in time for me to see most of the beginning of The Forsyte Saga. I'm not quite as much in love with this Soames as I was with Eric whassisname, but it's going to be good. I also saw most of Moulin Rouge as I fell asleep. Very odd, and not at all what I'd thought.

Nothing's open in Pittsburgh on Monday, so today had to be the Shanksville/Johnstown day. A day for disasters.

Conversation #1: "I think its about 20 miles." (consult map) "Yeah, 20 miles."
*beat*
"Am I going to be on this road a long time?"

Honestly, I don't know why I bother.

Rot in Hell, Osama.

We got off the Pennsylvania Turnpike at Somerset and drove around on these little tiny roads, circling like sharks ever closer to Shanksville, and yes, there was a sign on the road pointing to the "temporary memorial." I expected to see the memorial stone that says "let's roll" on it and a few flags and flowers. Instead there's a huge wall, writing, dolls, rosaries, flags, flowers, angels, benches, posters. I cried. I also thought maybe we'd drive up and someone else would be there, and maybe someone would come up as we left. Instead, on an October Monday, there always five or more other groups. It's very solemn and very impressive. The only thing to be seen at the actual crash site is a huge flag. I especially liked the "93" flag with the circle of stars around it. I would fly one if I could find one.

Rich was griping about going to see a "hole in the ground" but I think he was more impressed than he admitted.

We saw the covered Glassner Bridge, built in 1881.

Then we got to Johnstown and found the Johnstown Flood museum. This is in the olde Carnegie library that he built for the town after their other one was flooded out. (It was the least he could do, actually. He belonged to/helped found the hunting and fishing club that didn't maintain the dam.)

The earthen dam, 12 miles up the Conemaugh River, was originally built to be part of the canal system. When the railroads displaced the canals, the dam fell into disrepair. The hunting and fishing club made some changes, too, like lowering the center of the dam and putting a screen across the spillway to keep the fish in. May 30-31, 1889, it rained and rained, and June 1 water overtopped the dam. Then it was all over.

We saw a stereo slide show. Stereo photography was just coming into its own and this was a great incident to film. Tourists were the bane of the town after the flood. I was struck by the different descriptions of the wall of water: "a forest coming our way," "a mountain," "the blackest smoke I ever saw," "a great wall of water." "I was through the [Civil] war but never in my life had I seen a sight as Friday night." One survivor told of her house being bound securely with telegraph and electric light wires.

The debris got piled up at the Stone Bridge and then the oil-soaked wood caught fire, probably from hot coals in boilers (trains were picked up and tossed like child's toys.) Many people, trapped in the wreckage, some tangled in barbed wire from a wire factory, died in the fire. How ironic.

2209 people died. Was this the biggest one-day disaster prior to 9/11? 99 entire families were eliminated.

12 books were written about the flood in 6 months! I thought this instant press was a new thing.

We were coming back down from the slide show when Rich realized he'd locked the keys into the car. He tried calling Alamo but they were not much help and it would have cost him, so then he called AAA. I, meanwhile, finished the exhibit. Prefab "Oklahoma houses" were slapped up for the survivors. (Oklahoma was opened for settlement right around then, too.) Clara Barton was 67 and came to help. The New York Times' front page hasn't changed much. The flood was featured in a 1926 silent movie and a 1946 Mighty Mouse cartoon. This is where "head for the hills, the dam is busted!" came from. There's a Frank & Ernest cartoon: F&E are angels and say "before you talk about your experiences durning the Johnstown flood, you should know that Noah is in the audience."

I, like the people of the time, was very impressed by the Schultz house, penetrated by a tree and dumped on its side yet all 6 family members survived.

There were genuine Amish people in the museum!

Then while Rich waited with the car, I walked a few blocks to the visitor's center. I note their congresscritter is Edward P. Woznoroski, Sr. Proper Polish name! As I got to the visitor's center, a guy tried to shoehorn his pickup into a too-small place, and the car behind started whooping and hollering. The guy drove off. How embarrassing! The man at the visitor's center was very helpful. Then on the way back I stopped to note something and this homeless-looking guy said something. Turned out he wasn't panhandling, just excusing himself.

I took Rich a burger, and then the AAA guy came up, rescued us, no time, no charge. Rich felt terrible, and I kept pointing out that if *I* had done it, he'd have forgiven me, just pretend it was me. No time, no money, the only pain is a bit to the pride, and at our age, that's not a mortal wound.

We went on to the old dam site where the National Memorial is. (They have a leaflet on Flight 93, too: I see another National Memorial in the future!) The visitor's center has a huge diarama of the flood and this guy clinging to the roof. He was taped telling the story of his survival. We went on down to look at the dam abutment and the spillway. The lake weighed 20 million tons. On the other side, we looked at the old mansions of the club members.

We started back at 3:30 and got to the house at 5:40. I saw weird cows... black in front and back with a white middle. There's a billboard that says "Happiness is never having to see your airbag." Dinner was good again. Rich's mother puts it into the oven when the kids tell her to, and this seems to work well.

I was trying to say something, and kept getting shouted over and shouted over, and finally I'm into it and Rich interrupts. I put my hand over his mouth. But honestly, I don't know why I bother.

The networks didn't carry the President's speech, grumble, so my bro-in-law watched the King of Queens. Then back at the motel, I note the phone directory has "Yarnot" on the page separations.

Conversation #2: Me on the Internet: "The Giants are leading the Braves 2-0 in the 5th."
"Do you suppose it's on the tv?"
"Yes, we flipped past it at the house."
*looks*
"Oh, it's TWO to nothing. In the FIFTH."

I'm through bothering, at least for the day. I didn't say another word to him all evening. Of course he didn't notice.

Oh, it's Torchy this and Torchy that...