Below its ridge the Ohio stretches for miles in every direction, blanketing all the familiar landmarks in nothingness. The river reigns, and we can only wait. Then come the volunteers, the large heart of America incarnated. They come with tetanus and diphtheria vaccine, rubber gloves, buckets and disinfectant, bottled water, power washers, and front-loader vehicles. Seven thousand offers of help swamp the Red Cross stations.
Money falls out of envelopes.
Emergency money, write two little boys. We had an emergency fund, and this flood is an emergency. Take this money, an old lady writes in offering her widow's mite. I wish I could give more, but this is all I have. We're driving down from Akron, says a man.