The Tribune-Democrat
BY MIKE FAHER
July 13, 2007 11:32 pm
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Latest in a series on the 1977 Johnstown Flood
Mick McGinnis was a fresh-faced young pastor just out of seminary when he arrived at Albright United Methodist Church in June 1977.
A month later, he and his wife, Sally, found themselves in a place that challenged even the strongest faith.
Flood waters spared the church but leveled much of the West Taylor Township neighborhood of Tanneryville, which the McGinnises served.
Suddenly, the young pastor and his wife had a new mission: Providing aid and some comfort to those who had lost everything but their own lives.
“A lot of folks wanted to blame God for the flood,” Mick said. “And what we were trying to say is, the presence of trouble does not mean the absence of God.”
The couple’s first month at Albright had gone well. They were overwhelmed but also excited, and the assignment provided a change of scenery for Mick, who hailed from the Pittsburgh suburbs, and Sally, who grew up in Washington, D.C.
Everything changed the night of July 19, when storms pounded the Johnstown area. The McGinnises turned off their television and went outside to try and divert traffic from flooded roads.
“It was like standing under a waterfall. That’s how hard the rain was coming down,” Mick recalled.
“And the lightning was flashing. At times, there would be several bolts at the same time and the sky was so bright you had to close your eyes. And then, in a moment, it would be pitch black.”
By the early hours of July 20, flood waters had left Tanneryville in complete devastation – and isolated.
But somehow, Albright church and its parsonage stayed relatively dry.
Travelers began showing up at the McGinnises’ home, and the couple spent that sleepless night with a mix of stranded passers-by and Tanneryville residents who could not get to their homes.
“Nobody really had any idea what was happening anywhere else in the world,” Mick said.
Sunrise drew back the curtain on a scene of mass destruction. Above the valley, Laurel Run Dam had broken and sent a wall of water through Tanneryville, smashing homes and sweeping away their helpless occupants.
Sally’s mother had given her some old linens. Those now came in handy, as men including Mick McGinnis began sifting through piles of debris. They searched for survivors or, more likely, bodies.
“How surreal it was for a group of guys with a litter of old linens to be carrying a body up the road and into the basement of the church,” Mick said. “It was vividly real and yet seemed unreal.”
Albright church and its parsonage immediately became a disaster-relief headquarters.
The home was served by bottled gas, so Sally McGinnis was one of the few local residents who could provide anyone with sustenance – a fact recognized by a neighbor who showed up at the back door.
“She handed me this huge turkey,” Sally said, “and she said, ‘Here, cook this. There are going to be a lot of hungry people, and you’re the only one that can cook anything.’”
Aside from food, the minister and his wife also provided shelter for recovery crews that soon descended on the neighborhood. Their home became caked with flood mud and had no running water, but what mattered is that it still had four walls and a roof.
One visitor labeled the parsonage the “Tanneryville Hilton.”
Throughout weeks and months of chaos, the McGinnises did not forget their religious duties. But they also recognized that preaching would take a back seat to listening, praying and burying the dead.
“I think the ministry that we were involved in for the next two years and couple of months was about being there – just the ministry of presence,” Mick said.
“We couldn’t bring anybody back to life. We couldn’t put things back the way they were. We couldn’t fix the economy, work out the insurance issues,” he said. “We could try to connect with other people.”
Sometimes, they had to face the fact that there was little they could do.
One man returned from work to find his home and family gone.
“He just sat with his head in his hands on our steps for hours, and it was like, what do you say?” Sally recalled. “You could sit with him every now and then and just hug him, but there was nothing to say.”
Church services at Albright continued.
But with travel limited by flood damage, gatherings attracted people from many denominations who shared one trait: They lived in Tanneryville.
“It was like people just wanted to be together,” Sally said.
While acknowledging some self-doubt, the McGinnises say they never allowed the flood and its grisly, grueling aftermath to shake their faith.
And they believe they witnessed more than a few miracles.
Some were relatively small. The couple still marvel that two Sani-Dairy trucks were stranded on Cooper Avenue outside their home when the heavy rains hit, providing residents with much-needed milk and other refreshments.
Others carried more significance. Mick McGinnis said he was able to look around the decimated community and see the grace of God, believing that many more people could have perished in the ferocious flood.
“That anybody would live through that was absolutely amazing,” he said.
Most miraculous, the McGinnises say, was the outpouring of assistance that followed the disaster. Water, food and helping hands seemed to appear when they were needed, courtesy of residents, churches and businesses that were pitching in throughout Johnstown.
Sally recalls singing the traditional hymn “How Firm A Foundation” on the night when her neighborhood was inundated by water. Its lyrics reflect the couple’s strong conviction that there was more than human kindness at work in the wake of the flood.
“When through the deep waters I call thee to go / The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow / For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless / And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.”
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