One of the signature events of Hurricane Katrina in August 2005 was the failure of the levees of New Orleans. Seemingly impregnable earthen walls surmounted by concrete barricades turned out to be no match for the surging flood waters that turned Lake Pontchartrain into a force that devastated one of the nation's major cities.
From the earliest years of the city's establishment several feet below sea level, New Orleans has been at risk of catastrophic flooding. And yet the city's vital location at the mouth of the Mississippi River, taking in raw materials and finished goods and distributing them to the world, was too strong an economic force to be turned away. The threat of water inundation was nothing that good engineering and a few pumps could not overcome.
But some of the largest drainage pumps in the world were rendered useless on the morning of August 30th when some eighty percent of New Orleans became a part of Lake Pontchartrain. The great pump houses stood silent beneath many feet of flood water. The city that depended upon strong walls and the pumps behind them in order to stay dry had encountered a force of nature unlike anything it had experienced before: a large, strong hurricane sweeping vast quantities of ocean water into the lake at high tide.
Geological studies would later reveal that some of the earthen levees of New Orleans had been built on soft, peaty soils and that many of the concrete flood walls that topped the levees were poorly anchored. Several of these levees and their walls were undercut and then destroyed by the ponderous weight and power of the lake water.
To acknowledge the key role of the levees and walls in the flooding of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina, the Smithsonian selected several decorative chunks of concrete from the damaged floodwall along the London Avenue Canal at Mirabeau Street.
This floodwall's attractive concrete ribbing faced houses that stood within several feet of the canal, houses later destroyed by waters the levee intended to keep at bay.
This fall evening event held by the young lady workers of Amoskeag Mill number 3 may have marked the need to use artificial light in the mills during the winter as the days got shorter. The artificial lighting elongated the workday, increasing owner profitability, but open flames created more dangerous conditions for workers.
Few aspects of the harm done to New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina in August 2005 are more poignant than the losses suffered by the musical community. The New Orleans jazz scene was especially vulnerable, since many jazz performers lived in areas inundated by the flood waters. One such performer was Dr. Michael White.
White's house on Pratt Drive filled with eight feet of water when the London Avenue Canal levee failed behind his neighborhood. That water sat for several weeks before pumps could drain the area, destroying White's furniture, his rooms, his priceless collection of jazz sheet music, his recordings, and a lifetime's collection of jazz clarinets. Over sixty rare wood and metal clarinets, some from the 19th century, were lost. One of them, this 1930s marching band clarinet from Elkhart, Indiana, found its way from White's devastated house to the Smithsonian to acknowledge the hit taken by the New Orleans musical community but also the resilience of this community in the face of setbacks and hardship. Katrina has given new meaning to the blues. The struggle to overcome this loss adds a powerful chapter to this city's storied record of musical achievement.
This long-handled, iron basket, called a torch or fire basket, was used to help 19th century river pilots navigate in shallow waters at night. Filled with burning fuel and suspended off the side of a steamboat, the torch basket illuminated the shoreline, as well as snags or debris in the water that could damage the vessel. Steamboat crew also used torch baskets for lighting up the ship’s deck, the landing, or a levee during deliveries of cargo after dark.
Although the torch basket was invaluable for steamboats operating at night, the device sometimes proved disastrous. Typically the fuel consisted of oil-soaked scraps and "lightwood" or Southern pine covered in resinous sap, which could easily send off sparks. So as not to obstruct the light, these buckets of flames rarely had any sort of protective covering. But because steamboats were often loaded with highly flammable cargoes, such as cotton and lumber, it is not surprising that one stray spark could destroy an entire vessel. That may have been the fate for this torch basket, which was found by a net fisherman near Clinton, Iowa. It was pulled up from 30 feet of water in the Mississippi River.
By the early 20th century, torch baskets were becoming obsolete, replaced by electric lamps and incandescent light bulbs used to illuminate steamboats as well as the landings they served. Although the phasing-out of the torch basket lowered the risk of steamboat fires, some steamboat enthusiasts lamented the lost romance of waterways flickering with flame.
U. S. Army Engineer Division, North Central Corps of Engineers
ID Number
2006.0103.03
accession number
2006.0103
catalog number
2006.0103.03
Description
This book of navigation charts for the Upper Mississippi River was published in 1972 by the U.S. Army Engineer Division, North Central Corps of Engineers, in Chicago. It was owned and used by Capt. Jack Libbey, a river pilot from Lansing, Iowa, who steered tows on the Mississippi for over 25 years. He piloted many types of tows, but among the largest he handled on a routine basis were those made up of 15 barges, each measuring 200’ long, 35’ wide, and carrying about 1600 tons of cargo. Overall, these tows measured 1200’ long and 105’ wide, and took a great deal of skill and knowledge to pilot safely.
The chart book reflects Libbey’s working knowledge of the Mississippi River, still the nation’s major conduit for transporting grain and other bulk commodities. To become a pilot, Libbey was trained, tested, and licensed by the U.S. Coast Guard. But like virtually all river pilots (including Mark Twain in the 1850s), he learned the ways of the river and the skills of the pilot from his elders and from experience.
That experience is revealed on these worn and weathered charts. Virtually every page has Libbey’s own markings and notations. In bold, red ink, he meticulously printed the names of major aids to navigation on both sides of the river, as well as the distance in miles from each marker to Cairo Point, the confluence of the Ohio and the Mississippi Rivers. Libbey’s handwriting stands out from the official markings and mapmakers’ symbols, and suggests the complex history of life along the river. Names like Winnebago, Muscatine, Maquoketa Levee, Zollicoffer, Pomme de Terre, and Wabasha reflect the region’s many cultural layers.
Captain Libbey also made navigational notes on the pages as a way of reminding himself to take special care in tricky situations. Steering under bridges in the shallow waters separating Iowa and Illinois inspired a number of notes, such as this one from December 10, 1975, concerning the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway and Highway Bridge near Fort Madison, Iowa: “SB [Steering bridge] Keep stern on light and head on tank. When pilot house passes black bouy [sic] bring jackstaff around to 3rd pier out from channel span. Hold until red bouy below bridge opens up ½ way. Keep jackstaff on red bouy and stern 100 yds over from first Miss stacks. Slow ahead until lined up.”
Captain Libbey discussed being a pilot in an interview for the Smithsonian’s Festival of American Folklife in 1996. He said, “ . . . you’re moving at a pretty good clip, you have all this momentum, and you can’t just steer it on a dime. And what we do, we send the deckhands out to talk us through the bridge . . . . That’s why you have marks also, so you know, you can kind of double check what they’re saying to you. Very, very important. And that’s what makes a good pilot . . . is being able to get through the bridges.”
No sooner had Katrina departed New Orleans in August 2005 than waves of hurricane clean-up signs went up in neighborhoods hard-hit by the storm, offering house-gutting services, mold removal, drywall replacement, and even building removal. The work was hazardous, involving the mucking out of homes and the handling of mountains of demolition debris and sodden household belongings. Many homeowners undertook their own clean-up, but much was performed by immigrant laborers attracted to the region by the promise of hard work and good wages.
The scrubbing away of the tell-tale oily high-water mark was one of the most visible challenges of the clean-up effort. Some property owners regarded this mark as a badge of survival and protect it as evidence of what they endured in 2005. Most, however, opted for the cleansing away of this stain, a bitter reminder of the terrible tide that rose in New Orleans when the levees fell.
No sooner had Katrina departed New Orleans in August 2005 than waves of hurricane clean-up signs went up in neighborhoods hard-hit by the storm, offering house-gutting services, mold removal, drywall replacement, and even building removal. The work was hazardous, involving the mucking out of homes and the handling of mountains of demolition debris and sodden household belongings. Many homeowners undertook their own clean-up, but much was performed by immigrant laborers attracted to the region by the promise of hard work and good wages.
The scrubbing away of the tell-tale oily high-water mark was one of the most visible challenges of the clean-up effort. Some property owners regarded this mark as a badge of survival and protect it as evidence of what they endured in 2005. Most, however, opted for the cleansing away of this stain, a bitter reminder of the terrible tide that rose in New Orleans when the levees fell.