The Johnstown Flood
A Private Dam, a Public Catastrophe
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- American History
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This account examines how the private fishing club that owned the dam neglected maintenance and safety warnings. Chapters cover the events leading up to the flood, survivor testimonies, and the investigation into what went wrong. The book explores legal battles over liability and the aftermath of the tragedy.
The story includes the Clara Barton relief effort and follows subsequent floods that occurred at the same location. Readers will find this essential for understanding how private negligence led to massive public loss. History buffs and those interested in American disasters will appreciate this detailed examination.
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The city of Johnstown, Pennsylvania began in 1800 when Swiss immigrant Joseph Johns, whose name was later anglicized from "Schantz," established a settlement at the point where the Stonycreek and Little Conemaugh rivers came together to form the Conemaugh River. The community started to grow after the Pennsylvania Main Line Canal was built in 1836.
The Pennsylvania Railroad and the Cambria Iron Works were built in the 1850s, bringing new industry to Johnstown and eventually leading to the end of the canal. By 1889, the town's growing industries had drawn many Welsh and German immigrants to work there. At that time, Johnstown had a population of about thirty thousand people and was known for making high-quality steel.
Johnstown sat in a narrow valley between steep hills and the Allegheny Mountains, which kept the city close to the river. The area regularly flooded because of heavy rain and snowmelt flowing through the region. The rivers ran through a large drainage basin, making flooding more likely. Steel mills dumped slag into the river to make room for buildings, which narrowed the riverbed. Developers had already made the river even more prone to flooding by cutting it down to support early industry.
Downstream from Johnstown, the Conemaugh River runs through a narrow valley flanked by tall mountains for about ten miles. A sign along Pennsylvania Route 56 marks this area as home to the deepest river gorge in North America east of the Rockies.
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High above the city, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania constructed the earthen South Fork Dam between 1838 and 1853 as part of a larger canal system called the Main Line of Public Works. Johnstown served as the eastern end of the Western Division Canal, which drew its water from Lake Conemaugh, the lake formed behind the dam.
As railroads began to replace canal barge transport, the Commonwealth gave up on the canal system and handed it over to the Pennsylvania Railroad. In that transaction, the dam and lake came along with the rest of the property. The railroad then sold those same dam and lake to private owners.
A group that included Benjamin Ruff and Henry Clay Frick, both connected to Pittsburgh's business elite, acquired the old reservoir. They altered its structure and transformed it into a private lake. The project was intended for wealthy associates, many of whom had links through commerce or social circles to Carnegie Steel.
The South Fork Dam, originally 72 feet high, was lowered by three feet to allow a road to pass over it. A fish screen was added to the spillway during this work. These changes made the dam weaker. The original dam had relief pipes and valves to lower water levels in emergencies, but those were sold for scrap and never replaced. Because of this, the club had no way to reduce the lake’s water level if there was a problem.
The Pittsburgh speculators created the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, a private retreat with cottages and a clubhouse. It attracted more than fifty wealthy industrialists involved in steel, coal, and railroad industries.
Lake Conemaugh sat at the club’s site, 450 feet above Johnstown. The lake stretched about two miles long, was roughly a mile wide, and reached sixty feet deep near the dam. The dam itself stood 69 feet high and stretched 931 feet across.
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On May 28, 1889, a low-pressure system formed over Nebraska and Kansas. Two days later, it reached western Pennsylvania, bringing the heaviest rainfall ever recorded in that part of the state. The U.S. Army Signal Corps estimated between six and ten inches of rain fell in just twenty-four hours. By the night of May 30, small creeks had turned into raging torrents, uprooting trees and carrying away debris. Telegraph lines went down, and train tracks were washed away. Before dawn, the Little Conemaugh River and Stoney Creek, which meet at Johnstown to form the main Conemaugh River, were swelling dangerously and threatening to overflow their banks.
On the morning of May 31, Elias Unger, president of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club, woke to find Lake Conemaugh swollen from heavy rain. He ran outside in the pouring rain to see that the water was nearly at the top of the dam. Unger gathered men to try to clear the spillway, which had become blocked by debris from the rising waterline. Others attempted to dig a ditch on the western end of the dam, hoping to let more water out and prevent the center from overtopping, but that effort failed. Most men stayed on top of the dam, some pushing earth to raise the crest and others piling mud and rock onto the eroding face.
John Parke, an engineer for the South Fork Club, considered cutting the dam near its abutments to create a new spillway, but decided against it after realizing it would cause the dam to fail faster. He sent a man on horseback twice to warn Johnstown, but the messages never reached local authorities. The warnings were ignored because past false alarms had made people skeptical of the danger. Parke, Unger, and the others worked until they could go no further, abandoning their efforts around 1:30 pm as the dam faced certain collapse. Unger ordered everyone to retreat to higher ground on both sides of the dam. Meanwhile, in Johnstown, water levels rose to ten feet in the streets, trapping people in their homes.
Between 2:50 and 2:55 pm the South Fork Dam broke apart. Lidar studies show the lake had 14.55 million cubic meters of water when it collapsed. Witnesses said the lake emptied in about forty-five minutes, though newer models suggest it took closer to an hour and a half. The first town hit was South Fork, right downstream. Most people escaped by running up nearby hills when they saw the water spill over. Twenty to thirty homes were destroyed or carried away, and four people died.
The flood continued downstream toward Johnstown, gathering debris like trees, houses, and animals along the way. At the Conemaugh Viaduct, a stone railroad bridge nearly stopped the rush when floodwater jammed against its arch. But within seven minutes, the structure collapsed, sending the flood back on its path. This delay gave the water renewed power, creating a stronger wave that hit places downstream harder than it might have otherwise. Mineral Point, just one mile below, was the first town struck by this surge. About thirty families lived there, on a single street. After the flood, nothing remained—no buildings, no soil, just bedrock. Sixteen people died. Studies done in 2009 found that the flood’s flow rate through the valley exceeded 420,000 cubic feet per second, as fast as the Mississippi River at its delta.
The village of East Conemaugh was next to fall to the flood. A witness on high ground near the town said the water looked like "a huge hill rolling over and over" because it was so full of debris. Engineer John Hess, who was idling his locomotive in the town’s railyard, heard and felt the rumbling of the approaching flood. He threw his train into reverse and raced toward East Conemaugh, blowing the whistle the whole way. His warning saved many people who made it to higher ground. When the flood hit, it lifted the moving locomotive off the tracks and floated it aside. Hess himself escaped, but the disaster claimed at least fifty lives, about twenty-five of them passengers trapped on trains in the village.
Just before the flood reached Johnstown's main area, the surge struck the Cambria Iron Works in the nearby town of Woodvale. The force of water swept up railroad tracks and carried them along with other debris. This was part of the larger disaster that would soon overwhelm the community. The flood waters moved fast and with terrible power, sweeping through the region.
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Attorney James M. Walters of Walnut Street survived the flood by riding his own house down the street until it hit Alma Hall, sending him crashing into his second-floor office. There, he found about 200 people huddled in the upper floors, taking shelter in the darkness. Walters was chosen president of the group, while Dr. Matthews tended to the injured on the upper levels, even though he had broken several ribs from falling timber. Two women gave birth during the night, and Walters said that by the next day, some women and children had died from exhaustion and fear.
In the aftermath of the flood, William Varner lost six of his children while trying to save an eighteen-month-old infant, just three weeks after his wife had died. An elderly German couple and their five daughters were among the victims; the parents floated on their house to a point below Ninevah, clinging to a tree for twenty-four hours before being rescued. One young woman was pulled from the Conemaugh River, her clothing nearly gone, holding a baby boy tightly to her chest with the child’s face pressed to her lips as if in a final kiss. The family of George J. Leas of Iron Street survived when their floating house ran aground at the stone bridge after nearly half an hour adrift, allowing all eight people on board to escape.
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The Johnstown flood took 2,209 lives, marking it as the deadliest civilian disaster in U.S. history at the time. That figure later became 2,208 after Leroy Temple, believed dead, returned to Johnstown eleven years after the tragedy. He told people he had pulled himself free from the debris near the Stone Bridge, made his way out of the valley, and settled in Beverly, Massachusetts. Historian David McCullough pointed out that Temple’s reappearance led to the revised death toll, since his survival meant one fewer recorded fatality.
Bodies from the Johnstown flood reached as far as Cincinnati, Ohio, and weren’t recovered until 1911. Ninety-nine families were wiped out entirely, with 396 children among the dead. Alongside them, 124 women and 198 men lost their lives, leaving behind widows and orphans. Nearly a hundred children were left without parents, and one-third of the victims—777 people—were never identified. Their remains were laid to rest in Grandview Cemetery in Johnstown.
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Five days after the disaster, on June 5, 1889, the American Society of Civil Engineers formed a four-member team to determine what caused the flood. The group was headed by James B. Francis, a respected hydraulic engineer known for his work on canals, flood control, turbine design, and dam building. Francis had also been president of the ASCE from November 1880 to January 1882. The committee traveled to the South Fork Dam site, examined its original engineering plans and any modifications made during repairs, interviewed survivors, conducted a topographic survey of the remains, and carried out hydrologic calculations.
The ASCE committee concluded their investigation on January 15, 1890, but kept the findings secret from both the society and the public. At the group’s June 1890 convention, member Max Becker said they would “hardly publish our investigation report this session, unless pressed to do so, as we do not want to become involved in any litigation.” The report didn’t appear in the society’s transactions until June 1891, two years after the flood. William Shinn, who became ASCE president in January 1890, gave the report to Becker, who then chose when to release it. He waited until the convention in Chattanooga, Tennessee, that same year, where James Francis finally presented it. The investigation had been led by William Worthen, Alphonse Fteley, and Max Becker, yet none of them were present.
In its final report, the ASCE committee said the dam would have failed even if kept up to original design standards, with a higher crest and five large pipes at the base—a claim disputed by a 2016 hydraulic study showing the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club's changes made the dam much weaker during storms. They lowered the dam three feet and didn't replace removed pipes, cutting its safe discharge capacity in half. The main spillway lost much of its ability to handle water, and the emergency spillway on the western side—first noted by Walter Frank in a 1988 ASCE report—was nearly eliminated. Topographic maps from 1889 show abutment was already one foot lower than the dam's crest, even after the club had lowered it three feet. When added to the main spillway's width, this matched the capacity planned in William Morris's 1847 design.
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After the flood, some survivors pointed fingers at the members of the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. They said the club had changed the dam in ways that lowered its level and slowly blocked the spillway. The club was also accused of not keeping the dam in good shape, which meant it couldn’t handle the extra water from the heavy rain.
The firm of Knox and Reed, which would later become known as Reed Smith LLP, represented the club in court. Philander Knox and James Hay Reed, both members of the club, made their case arguing that the dam’s collapse was a natural disaster—an Act of God. Because of this defense, the survivors of the flood never received any legal compensation.
The lack of legal consequences for the club and its members after the disaster left many people feeling that justice had not been served. This sense of unfairness played a role in how future cases were decided. Later on, courts began to accept a new understanding of liability known as "strict, joint, and several liability." Under this rule, even someone who wasn’t at fault could still be held responsible if their actions involved an unnatural use of land that led to harm.
After the flood, people from the South Fork Club, including co-founder Henry Clay Frick, helped with the recovery efforts. Frick gave thousands of dollars to relief work. Andrew Carnegie later built the town a new library. Some members of the club contributed to rebuilding Johnstown, and about half of them joined in the aid.
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The flood that struck Johnstown was the deadliest natural disaster in Pennsylvania's history, and among the worst of the 19th century in the United States. It leveled 1,600 homes and caused damage estimated at $17 million—about $536 million today. Four square miles of downtown were utterly destroyed, and debris from the Stone Bridge spread across thirty acres. Cleanup took years. The Cambria Iron and Steel company suffered heavy losses but restarted full operations just eighteen months later.
After seven days and nights of work, railroad crews built a wooden trestle bridge to replace the destroyed Conemaugh Viaduct. By June 2, the Pennsylvania Railroad had restored service to Pittsburgh, 55 miles away. Relief supplies arrived by train—food, clothing, medicine—and morticians came by rail too. Johnstown’s first request for help asked specifically for coffins and undertakers. A man named "Dynamite Bill" Flinn led a crew of 900 to clear the wreckage at the Stone Bridge. They removed debris, handed out food, and built temporary shelter. At its height, the relief effort involved about 7,000 workers.
Clara Barton came to Johnstown on June 5, 1889, leading the American Red Cross in its first major disaster relief effort. She remained for more than five months, directing the response to the flood. People from across the United States and eighteen countries donated money, including Russia, France, Germany, Great Britain, Australia, and the Ottoman Empire. The total collected for the relief effort reached $3,742,818.78.
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Johnstown has faced flooding repeatedly over the years, with major events in 1894, 1907, 1924, 1936, and 1977. The most severe flood during the first half of the twentieth century occurred on St. Patrick’s Day in March 1936. That flood affected not only Johnstown but also Pittsburgh, where it became known as the Pittsburgh Flood of 1936. In response, the United States Army Corps of Engineers took action by dredging the Conemaugh River and constructing concrete river walls. The work created a channel nearly twenty feet deep. Once completed, the Corps declared that Johnstown was now “flood free.”
On 19 July 1977, a severe thunderstorm dumped 11 inches of rain in eight hours on the watershed above Johnstown, causing rivers to rise quickly. By dawn, the city was submerged, with water reaching as high as 8 feet. Seven counties were declared disaster areas, and $200 million in property damage was reported. Seventy-eight people died in the flood, including 40 who were killed by the failure of the Laurel Run Dam. Some 50,000 more were left homeless by what was called a "100-year flood." Markers at City Hall on Main Street show the water levels from the 1889, 1936, and 1977 floods.
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At Point Park in Johnstown, where the Stonycreek and Little Conemaugh rivers meet, a flame burns eternal in honor of those lost to the flood.
The Carnegie Library in Johnstown now serves as the Johnstown Flood Museum, operated by the Johnstown Area Heritage Association. The building has been adapted to tell the story of the disaster that struck the city in 1889. Visitors can explore exhibits that honor the victims and examine the events leading up to the catastrophe. The museum stands as a reminder of what happened and how the community remembers it.
The Stone Bridge, part of the site where the Johnstown Flood occurred, is now included in the Johnstown Flood National Memorial. This memorial was established in 1969 and is managed by the National Park Service. In 2008, a restoration project brought new lighting to the bridge as part of commemorative activities marking the flood.
Supporters of the memorial wanted to take control of the remaining buildings and property from the old South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club. They believed this was necessary to fully tell the story of what happened there. In 1986, the area and its buildings were named a National Historic Landmark District. The site was also added to the National Register of Historic Places. Today, the National Park Service manages it.
The Johnstown Flood sparked nationwide concern about dam safety, and this attention continued after the Walnut Grove Dam failed less than a year later. That second disaster helped bring the issue into the public eye, showing how vital it was to address the risks that dams posed to communities. The events together highlighted the need for better oversight and regulation of such structures across the country.
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