In Time of Need

Perhaps it was because it happened out there in the sparsely populated range country, where the frontier spirit lingers and distance, paradoxically, draws people together. Whatever the reason, something remarkable has taken place in Rapid City, S. Dak., since the Black Hills town of 44,000 was devastated by flash floods. In the disaster caused by torrential rains and the collapse of Canyon Lake Dam, more than 200 died, another 500 remained missing and some 1,000 houses were destroyed. The damage passed $ 100 million.

The ravaged town's needs were tremendous. About 80 blocks of paving had been ripped up by the flood, mud covered a fifth of the city, drinking water was polluted, telephones and electricity were out and thousands were homeless, hungry or in need of clothing. The search for bodies was difficult. Rescue workers expect to find bodies as far away as 50 miles downstream from Rapid City. Others may never be discovered. Flying over the scene last week, TIME Correspondent William Friedman saw stranded victims waving scarves, stones placed to spell out SOS, white sheets stretched to form huge Xs on the ground.

But massive help arrived swiftly, as much from individuals responding spontaneously to the crisis as from relief agencies. "We all live so far apart that we have to rely on each other to get along," explained Pat Dixon, a Rapid City banker. Leland Thayer and his 13-year-old son Gary drove all night from Gillette, Wyo., so their radioequipped truck could be used in the rescue effort. Coming even farther from the east, a Huron man who refused to give his name ("the credit should go to the whole town") sped through the night to deliver a truckload of clothing. A chicken farmer donated his 16,000 birds to help feed the city. From up to 250 miles away, farmers with wells carried tanks of water to the town. Charles Russell, a volunteer fireman from Mud Butte, S. Dak., repeatedly drove a water-filled fire truck from Sturgis into Rapid City. "I've seen every kind of container ever made," he said of the various means that residents used to take the water home, "even little kids' potties."

After working for more than 40 hours in charge of an aid station at the city's Central High School, Mrs. Jean Gatch wept at the donation of clothing from an Indian woman, who explained that the garments had belonged to the baby she had lost in the flood. Harold Pirnes, a Rapid City post office employee, and his wife returned from a vacation in North Carolina, driving nonstop for 26 hours, to get back and help.

The town of Belle Fourche, S. Dak., donated 20,000 pounds of beef that was about to be barbecued as part of a civic celebration. At least 50 construction companies dispatched crews and heavy equipment to help clear away the debris. An all-night radio marathon in Sioux Falls, S. Dak., raised $25,000. The Boeing Airplane Co., which has construction under way at nearby missile sites, gave $10,000, and Boeing employees donated $50,000. About 50 morticians from up to 100 miles away worked together on the grim task of preparing bodies for burial. The First National Bank of the Black Hills's computer was used to coordinate the names of the dead and missing, and to eliminate duplications.

The 50 members of a Red Cross disaster task force helped the homeless families find housing, dispatched food by horseback to volunteers working on threatened dams in the hills, and scouted campsites where some 4,000 people had been vacationing. The Salvation Army set up three food lines to serve more than 10,000 meals a day. Some 2,500 South Dakota National Guardsmen pitched into the rescue and cleanup operation. Airmen from Ellsworth Air Force Base directed traffic and drove emergency vehicles. Boy Scouts helped clean the main streets, picking up litter. The entire staff of South Dakota Governor Richard Kneip moved into the city to help. Indian tribes from as far away as California contributed aid to residents of Rapid City's Red ghetto along the Rapid Creek. The Mennonites dispatched a special disaster team.

There was only one discordant note as much of the nation's northern plains area expressed its concern for the stricken community by lending highly practical aid. A controversy developed over two cloud-seeding experiments conducted by researchers at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology just before some ten inches of rain fell in four hours. Governor Kneip ordered an investigation into whether these tests might have contributed to the flooding, although most experts blamed the downpour on unusual atmospheric conditions. But to a gratifying degree, the people of Rapid City and their neighbors forged new human bonds in a time of great need. "It's amazing how this brought people together," observed Mrs. Virginia Tanner, who took in a widowed mother's family of seven even though her house was already filled by her own family of five.

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