Wednesday was a difficult day for The American Independent News Network, which is the larger entity that operates The Iowa Independent. Our chief executive and founder announced two of our sister sites would close and their content would be moved to The American Independent.
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Nearly six months has passed since I stood on the top of the 1st Street Parkade in downtown Cedar Rapids, feeling the fury of the Cedar River as it battered the concrete pillars of the structure below, and snapped photographs of the flood that surrounded me. To be honest, there are days now when I can almost forget the damage that has happened in Cedar Rapids, Linn County and in other parts of Iowa — almost.
Every week since the river has receded, I’ve made a journey into the parts of Cedar Rapids that were damaged. At first I went into the flood zone to help friends as they mucked out basements and created piles of ruined furniture and other debris on their curbs. As the same friends have graduated to specialized contractors for their rebuilding, my services of general labor are needed less and less.
Saturday morning, after covering Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal’s speech at a breakfast, I drove into the flooded areas in hopes of catching the visiting dignitaries touring the damage. I was not successful in that goal, but I decided that I would walk a few neighborhoods and take photographs for a flood recovery update.
I wasn’t looking for any particular shots — for instance, I wasn’t on the lookout for crews of workers, or homeowners closing up homes for the winter. It wasn’t until I returned home and downloaded the pictures that I saw something I had not noticed before: American flags. In nearly every photograph I took, even in the deepest areas of flood damage, property owners had displayed a flag.
I don’t know the reasoning the owners had for placing these flags, and I don’t wish to speculate on their behalf. As I worked with the pictures — those of flags on porches, those with flags peeking through grimy windows, and those with barely visible flags on far river banks — I gravitated between incredible sadness and overwhelming pride. Some of the flags, so badly beaten and torn by the elements, bring to mind the long-forgotten images of soldiers on a battlefield, individuals steps away from their own demise. Others seem to signal a blunt defiance of circumstance — a shout amid an otherwise eerily quiet neighborhood that if such a thing as this had to happen, then thank God it happened in a country like America.
The pictures also reminded me of a story I did the day many residents were allowed back into their homes. That report also featured a photograph of an American flag, proudly flying above piles of discarded and ruined debris.
Dan Lacey, a home owner in the flood affected area, points to the pile of ruined furniture, appliances, DVDs and other assorted household belongings that now rest on the curb in front of his home.
“Welcome to our garage sale,” he jokes. “Today, everything is half price!”
As he and a friend take a break from clean up, he tells the story of the soiled American flag that flies from his porch.
“Dirty or not, that’s where it needs to be,” he said. “I took it down when we had to evacuate, but putting that flag out was the first thing I did when we were able to get back in here.”
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