Beyond the Byline: The day Plymouth’s hills were flooded

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On July 3, 2011, the hills of my hometown, Plymouth, were flooded.

It’s still bizarre to even write that sentence, but it actually happened.

Yes, 13 years ago this week, when six inches of rain fell in less than one hour, Coal Creek overflowed and wreaked havoc on the good people of Coal Street. Homes and properties were severely damaged and the road and two bridges were weakened or washed away, isolating several families.

Growing up on “the hill” in Plymouth, we never worried about flooding. If the Susquehanna River was ever to rise to where we lived, the world would be ending.

So we thought — until July 3, 2011.

Mother Nature flexed her muscle in the region once again, causing devastation along Coal Creek — just a few streets over from where I grew up on Reynolds Street.

One of the homeowners on Smith Row returned home that day to find six inches of water in his basement and a large tree across his lawn.

“It was like a tidal wave went through there,” he said back then. “We found a woman pinned against her garage. A car was on its roof, homes were off their foundations and the road was gone.”

Phones were down and one family was landlocked because the road was unnavigable.

Damage was estimated at $5 to $6 million and when elected officials visited the Coal Creek area, they were “stunned” at the amount of devastation because the area sits so up high in the hills of Plymouth.

This same area was high and dry during the 1972 Agnes Flood.

It took a while, but the creek bed was restored and retaining walls were built to alleviate the erosion of property along the creek. The street was repaired and the bridges were replaced or restored.

Then-Sen. John Yudichak told me the entire scene was difficult to comprehend.

He remembered getting a call from his father — Joe Yudichak, Sr., who at the time was a Plymouth Township supervisor.

“Son I’m not calling as your dad — I am calling as a Township Supervisor and you better get your butt up to Coal Creek because all hell has broken lose,” Sen. Yudichak recalled.

Back then, residents were angry for a long time because of the delays in getting them assistance, but their resiliency was critical to the comeback effort.

This event occurred just two months before Hurricane Lee came through and caused millions of dollars of damage to unprotected areas along the Susquehanna River.

When I think about the July 11, 2011, flooding on Coal Street, I’m still amazed. When we were kids, we played on those hills, never worrying for a second that the creeks that flowed down those hills would ever overflow and cause so much damage.

There was a small creek behind my house on Reynolds Street. It’s still there. When we were kids, we would escape high temperature and walk along that creek in the shade of tall trees and cool water. It was a welcome relief from the blazing sun and high humidity.

And we would also head to the creek after we played basketball or Whiffle ball in my backyard, or stocking ball on the street.

My point is that creek was our sanctuary, our get-away spot from the hotness of summer.

So when Coal Creek overflowed in July of 2011, it took many of us back to the summer of 1972 when Agnes blasted through our front doors, taking everything we valued with it.

I will always cherish the memories of growing up on the hill in Plymouth. We just had way too much fun every single day, and we will never let memories of that bizarre day in July of 2011 wash them away.

How can we forget gathering at the corner of Second Street and Reynolds Street to decide what we would do on any particular day. We would arrive on our bicycles, with baseball cards in the spokes of our tires, and we would formulate a plan of fun.

And we never failed. Fun was what we were really good at, no matter what we decided to do. Being outside was always the first option, but if it was raining or snowing hard, we had an “interior” plan as well.

We would gather on my front porch and play games, or flip cards, or even watch TV. I still recall Jim Bunning of the Phillies throwing a perfect game on June 21, 1964 — Father’s Day. My pals and I watched that game on our black and white TV that we managed to hook up on my porch. We pulled all the shades down around the porch and we sat back and enjoyed the historical game.

Some rainy days, we played basketball in out spare room — we used a rubber ball and our basket was a Quaker Oats box cut in half and taped above the doorway.

The point is, we always had options and we certainly were creative.

Like I said, no flood could ever wash away the memories we have of our childhood.

Never.