Cold Open

It’s a Sunday afternoon on May 30th, 1948 in Oregon.

Just north of Portland, an unusually large crowd grows atop a hill, their faces all somber, gathered here on higher ground, to escape the looming disaster below them.

Beyond the hill’s edge are the sloping roofs of the city of Vanport. The town was built six years ago to solve a wartime housing shortage, but it’s now Oregon’s second most populous city. Bordered by the Columbia River to the north, Vanport stands on a low-lying marsh and is bound by a series of dikes. Normally, they stop the river water from flooding at streets. But a high amount of snowmelt has made the river rise and, today, Vanport’s nearly 20,000 residents worry that its levees won’t hold.

Among the crowd of evacuees is eleven-year-old Ed Washington. Ed’s family was one of the first to leave Vanport.

Now, the young boy watches as droves of other residents make their way up the hill in cars and bikes.

But a shout of alarm shifts Ed's attention to the dike on Vanport’s western edge. The embankment there starts to fall apart, sending a wall of water into the city’s streets. All around Ed, people shout and point at the fractured embankment, but something else catches the young boy’s eye —  the desperately flailing limbs of the people below struggling to stay afloat in the murky water. Ed himself doesn’t know how to swim, and he trembles to think what would have happened had he been in Vanport right now.

But before he can even grasp the extent of the disaster, another wave crashes through the city. Panic rises in Ed’s chest as a fierce torrent of water hurtles toward a block of apartments and effortlessly sweeps them off its foundation.

For a moment, the apartment building's wooden roof ominously bobs up and down in the swirling waters. Then, the current slams the building against one of the drowning city’s radio towers, shattering it into pieces.

As he watches the splintered building disappear into the belly of the flood, a lump forms in Ed’s throat. Tearing his eyes away from the disaster, he glances down at the small suitcase his mother packed just before they left Vanport. Inside is a change of clothes, a set of important documents, and a few pictures — the only things Ed and his family will ever have left of their home.

In the span of just an hour, the city of Vanport will be washed away. The unforgiving flood will claim the lives of 15 people, and leave over 18,000 homeless. By its end, Vanport will be destroyed beyond repair by what will be one of the worst natural disasters in Oregon history on May 30th, 1948.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is May 30th, 1948: The Vanport Flood.

Act One

It’s December 12th, 1942 inside an apartment in Vanport; six years before the city will be drowned in a catastrophic flood.

A lean middle-aged man dressed in a suit sits on a straight-backed armchair with one leg crossed over the other. A book propped open on his lap, Lewis Larson is doing his best to look serious while a photographer snaps his picture. But, as the flash bulb goes off, Lewis can’t help but smile.

Today’s photoshoot marks the beginning of a new life for him and his family. Lewis, along with his wife and young daughter, are the first residents to move into the brand-new city of Vanport. Construction of the city is not yet complete, but there are now enough amenities for the apartments to be inhabited. And Larsons are the first to arrive. Now, as they sit inside their new home for the first time, a reporter snaps pictures of them for the local paper.

From his armchair in the corner of the room, Lewis surveys the apartment approvingly. This one-bedroom unit is already equipped with simple furniture and electrical fittings. Lewis looks around, proud and satisfied, his wife smiling at him, and his daughter happily playing, already adjusted to her new home. It’s clear that the entire Larson family is thrilled with their residence in the new shiny city of Vanport. And it’s all thanks to one person — American industrialist, Henry J. Kaiser.

At the start of the Second World War, Kaiser struck a deal with the British Navy to build warships. And a few years ago, he set up his first shipyard in Portland. After the United States joined the war, the demand for warships only increased. And by then, Kaiser was famous for making ships faster and cheaper than anyone else in the country. So, with the support of the American government, he set up two more shipyards along the Columbia River.

Kaiser published advertisements in newspapers around the country to recruit labor for his factories. He even arranged special trains to help workers relocate near to the shipyards. As a result, thousands of people moved to Portland with their families. And this was good for Kaiser, but there was a problem, the workers didn’t have any place to stay.

A disproportionate number of Kaiser’s prospective workers were black. And although the state of Oregon had outlawed slavery, discriminatory housing practices are still widespread in Portland, a city well-known for its deep-seated racism and prejudices. Historically, the town’s Black population has been confined to a single district just two miles long and one mile wide. There was simply not enough space in this neighborhood to house the influx of Kaiser’s employees.

And afraid that Black workers would stay in the city even after the war ended, Portland’s racist housing authorities refused to properly address the problem. After dragging their feet for months, they built temporary housing facilities, but they were inadequate. And Kaiser’s patience finally ran out. With the help of the federal government, he decided to build his own city — Vanport.

So over the next year, more families join the Larsons in the newly-erected development. By August of 1943, Vanport has nearly 10,000 apartment units spread over 650 acres of land. And it soon becomes the largest wartime housing project in the country and Oregon’s second-largest city. At the height of the war in 1944, the city is home to over 40,000 people — a quarter of whom are Black, making Vanport the state’s most racially diverse city too. Born out of a national crisis, Vanport nonetheless becomes a symbol of hope and opportunities for many.

But life in the new city still has its downfalls. Most of its residents take turns working day and night shifts and the town’s thin-walled buildings too little to block out the noise of the shipyards. Its location on the Columbia floodplain also leaves its inhabitants frequently slogging through mud. But for many, especially its residents of color, Vanport feels more like home than Portland ever could.

Discrimination is still common now. Black residents for often given the least desirable housing units, leading to a kind of unofficial segregation. But Vanport’s schools, childcare, and recreational facilities are all integrated and the residents mostly live in peace.

Things start to change though when the war ends and the shipyards shutter. Thousands of out of work residents leave Vanport. But thousands also stay, many of them the Black residents who are still unwelcome in much of the surrounding area. They try to make do in the houses and apartments that have grown increasingly dilapidated. But as the community grows more impoverished, crime increases, and what was once an example of American innovation turns into an undesirable slum.

Many of Portland’s predominantly white residents will view the neighboring city with growing disdain, musing upon ways to drive out its nearly 20,000 lingering residents. But they will fail to come up with any actionable ideas — until nature intervenes, and just six years after its construction, the life of the once vibrant city will meet an abrupt end.

Act Two

It’s late afternoon on May 30th, 1948 in Vanport; minutes after water from the Columbia River began to inundate the city.

As the streets begin to fill with water, thousands of residents rush to escape from a flood larger than any of them expected.

A winter of unusually heavy snowfall, followed by a warm summer, has led water levels in the Columbia River to rise. In the past month, there has been speculation that the dikes built around Vanport will not hold against the swollen river. But authorities assured the alarmed residents that they would be safe. Just this morning, Vanport woke up to a flier from Portland’s Housing Authority reading: “Remember, dikes are safe at present. You will be warned if necessary. You will have time to leave. Don’t get excited.”

But the dikes were not safe. And minutes ago, they broke and what started as a small hole has expanded into a 500-foot gap. Now, Vanport’s residents are trying to flee the water destroying their town.

Glen Varnado’s face creases with worry as he struggles to keep the sleeping baby in his arms dry. With every passing second, the water around him rises, and Glen knows he needs to find a way for his family to reach higher ground.

But they’re not the only ones trying to get out. A long line of honking cars already jams the single road running out of Vanport, slowing traffic to a crawl. Glen and his family rush to where the last few buses are leaving the town. And by a stroke of luck, he finds enough space on one for him, his wife, and their child.

As he takes his seat, Glen breathes a sigh of relief. Soon, he hopes, they will all be safe. But this is wishful thinking. Before the bus can make it out of town, a powerful wave catches up to it. As the water eddies and churns, it gathers enough force to lift the bus off the road and send it spinning.

The driver screams before jumping out of the vehicle, the door slamming behind him. Handing his baby to his wife, Glen shoots to his feet and races to the front of the bus. He pushes against the door, but it won’t budge. Dread fills him as he realizes that it’s stuck shut, trapping him and the rest of the passengers inside. 

Glen continues though, kicking the door with all his might, but it doesn’t give way. He tries again with both his feet. This time, the door swings open. And immediately, Glen gathers his family and they flee the bus, forced to wade through swiftly mounting waters.

But as they try to find their footing, a woman cries out to them. Glen looks up to see one of the passengers still on the bus holding her baby out the window. She doesn’t think she can carry her young child and contend with the currents, and as the water pushes the vehicle forward, she begs Glen to save her child.

Glen rushes over, taking the baby wrapped in a blanket, and holding the child as high above water as he can. He fights against the raging flood, determined to keep his wife and the two babies afloat. Even taking a single step forward is a challenge, Glen and his wife persist.

After some time, they finally make it to the higher ground at the top of a levee. Exhausted, Glen look down at the loss and destruction caused by the flood. The thousands of housing units that once stood have mostly all been knocked off their foundations and swept away, including his own. Glenn shakes his head in astonishment. He can hardly believe that the home he woke up in just this morning no longer even exists.

As he stares at the devastation in a daze, a woman runs up to Glen. He recognizes her as the mother who handed him the baby on the bus. Tears of happiness stream down her face as she takes the child from Glen’s arms, relieved to have lost only her house today.

While Glen and most of Vanport’s almost 20,000 residents will make it out safely, many will not. The window for evacuation will be short and soon twenty feet of water will swallow the city. Those who were not able to outrun the water will feverishly crawl onto whatever roof they can, forced to wait with their lives on the line until help will finally arrive.

Act Three

It’s late evening on May 30th, 1948 just north of Portland; a few hours after Vanport began to flood.

A young girl wearing her Sunday best sits in the front seat of a car driving down the interstate. Fourteen-year-old Lorraine Spring and her father are heading home after attending church in Portland. But their journey is quickly disrupted by an unexpected crowd of pedestrians. Lorraine stares out the window, her eyes glued to the hordes of people walking in the middle of the highway, many of them clutching small suitcases and crying.

Curious to find out what happened, Lorraine’s father drives into a nearby town to get answers. After learning of the flood, Lorraine’s father drives straight to Vanport where they are met with a disturbing sight. Amid the water, atop the roofs of abandoned cars and homes, are people crying out for help.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Lorraine’s father takes off his jacket and wades into the water. Lorraine watches nervously as he bends forward and grabs an exhausted and drowning little boy out of the water, and then he returns trying to help whomever else he can.

A photo of the rescued boy looking over Lorraine’s father’s shoulder will become an iconic image of the Vanport flood. For a time, Lorraine's family’s eagerness to help will be shared by the wider community. The deluge will leave the city utterly destroyed, killing 15 people, leaving over 18,000 without a roof over their heads. The city of Portland will launch a campaign to care for the displaced victims, coordinating with the Red Cross to provide food and shelter. Many of its residents will even take the evacuees into their own homes.

But, eventually, the city’s racial lines will be redrawn. In Portland, survivors will be relocated based on skin color. Blacks will be relegated to neighborhoods in the inner north-east section of the city, areas that will continue to be the center of Portland’s black community even decades later.

But the area on which Vanport itself stood will lie vacant for several years, until 1959, when Portland will buy the land from the federal government and build a racetrack and golf course. Today, very little remains to remind people of the bustling city that once stood there, but the event lives on in the memories of Vanport’s surviving residents, who will never forget the flood in which they lost everything on May 30th, 1948.

Outro

Next on History Daily. May 31st, 1859. After 13 years of construction, the Great Clock of Westminster, also known as Big Ben, begins operation.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Mischa Stanton.

Music by Lindsay Graham.

This episode is written and researched by Rhea Purohit.

Produced by Alexandra Currie-Buckner.

Executive Producers are Steven Walters for Airship, and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.