Denver's Dam

To Denverites the 41-year-old Castlewood Dam, 30 mi. back in the hills above the city, has been a blessing and a menace. It provided a huge irrigation reservoir three miles square. It checked the occasional rampages of Cherry Creek, the historic stream which sluices between concrete embankments through the heart of the city to empty into the South Platte. Ever since the dam was pronounced unsafe by engineers, Denver has feared that its walls might one day crumble and a torrent of water go racing down Cherry Creek into the city. Not long ago the dam sprang a leak. One night last week a smashing summer cloudburst occurred over the reservoir. At 1:20 a. m. the mossy old dam burst.

Ten miles below, at Parker, Telephone Operator Nettie Driscoll snapped into action. Frantically she plugged the Denver exchange, got through to the police station. A flood was roaring into town, she cried; it was tremendous; it was headed down Cherry Creek toward Denver. "I haven't got time to answer any questions.'' she shouted. "I can hear the roar of the water and I'm getting out of here!"

Thundering like a mountain on the move, the wall of water surged through Parker, tumbled down Cherry Creek toward suburban Denver. Logs, tree-trunks, tons of debris were swept along as the billion-gallon deluge widened out to more than a mile. Cherry Creek was a battering-ram of water, boiling over its embankments. At 7 o'clock it burst into Denver, ripped out six bridges in swift succession. Just ahead of it were police cars and fire engines, sirens a-scream, racing the residents to safety. A stampede of 5,000, many clad in night clothes, fled from the lowlands. In the yard back of his house, Tom Casey, So, fell into a hole, could not pull himself out. The torrent surged over him, stilling his screams. Power lines were destroyed, houses canted. The flood poured into store basements, soaking tons of merchandise. The Market Street produce centre was buried in three feet of water. The City Auditorium, fire and police headquarters, the city jail were flooded. The floor of Union Station was covered six inches deep, a log came bumping into the waiting room.

At 8 o'clock the torrent began to dr,am away. By afternoon it was quiet. Because of the warnings flashed out by Operator Nettie Driscoll and by Hugh Paine, caretaker of the dam, thousands of slumbering Denverites had escaped death. Only two were killed, five reported missing. Property damage exceeded $1,000,000, would have been greater but for the city ordinance that requires all Denver houses to be built of stone, brick, tile or concrete.

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