|
|
Buyer Beware. This column is memoir, not exploration of 61 oddities. The ties to Highway 61 are thin—the author lives here and we do have flooding. Just ask the Lutsen Resorts two pedestrian bridges.
On a 1966 summer day in the rococo Executive Office Building, my phone rings. An aide to Domestic Affairs Advisor Joe Califano says he wants to be briefed on the flood plain management order President Johnson has signed. The call got to a lowly, 25-year-old, GS-9 budget examiner, me because my boss, his boss, and his boss’ boss are all at a meeting at the Water Resources Council (WRC).
Our Resources and Civil Works Division handled the bureaucratic, as opposed to Congressional, distribution of acceptable public works pork. The call got to me because I was the staff assigned to flood plain management, a Bureau of the Budget Priority because it is smarter and cheaper to move people away from the rivers than to try to keep the rivers from people living too close to them. I must find someone senior enough to brief Califano.
Dialing the WRC, I overcame the Secretary-in-Charge-of-Preventing-Meeting-Interruptions. My Unit Chief, Jack Roose, GS-13 Engineer, finally came to the phone; I explained Califano’s request. In minor panic mode, we agreed he would run across Lafayette Square to meet me in the West Wing.
As I waited, Jack came into the anteroom puffing from his unbureaucratic sprint. Shortly we were ushered into the biggest office of my short life. Three TV sets, just like the President’s, were tuned to the three major networks (only three–this was the 60’s). With Jack there, my job was to watch him brief Califano, speaking only when spoken to.
When Jack finished, Califano said, “Take the White House press briefing today on your Executive Order the President has signed.” Califano had served as Special Assistant for Civil Works to the Army Secretary; he knew the subject and wanted to signal strong Presidential support for better ways to deal with water flowing inconveniently for people. Jack went out to brief the press. I went back to my office down the hall from Vice President Humphrey’s—relieved I wasn’t on the spot–but a little sad that Jack had made it.
Later that year, Jim Goddard had me attend a two-day seminar in Denver to show the White House flag to a group of new flood plain management leaders. District Engineers were known for their desire to build rather than manage. Goddard was the TVA’s father of flood plain management.
He told me, “To change a big organization like the Corps of Engineers it like lighting a fire to soggy newsprint—it takes plenty of heat and systematic aeration.” The Denver meeting was to let the newbies air their reluctances while applying heat.
Having seen the power of laws—official words on a page—I decided on law school and went back to Minnesota. There I authored an obscure Law Review Note. The 1966 work came to fruition in the early 1990’s when the mother of all floods hit the Mississippi. We saw whole towns being relocated up the hill rather than rebuilt in the flooded valley.
There are now 10,000+ Certified Flood Plain Managers, flood insurance is a standard part of our real estate business. I have tiny satisfaction for my tiny part affecting history. An example of how good government takes time to occur.
Steve Aldrich is a retired Hennepin County lawyer, judge, and mediator, serving as judge from 1997-2010. He and his wife moved here in 2016. He likes to remember that he was a Minnesota Super Family Lawyer before being elected to the bench. Now he is among the most vulnerable to viruses. Steve really enjoys doing weddings, the one thing a retired judge can do without appointment by the Chief Justice. He writes this column to learn more about his new home area and to share his learnings with others—and to indulge his curiosities and now, his memories. He is old. Bouquets and brickbats to the editor or stevealdrich41@gmail.com. Copyright Stephen C. Aldrich, 2017 and News Herald, 2022.
Leave a Reply