Time - Man of the Year/Time_Man_of_the_Year_Compact_Publishing_3YX-Disc-1_Compact_Publishing_1993.iso/moy/012092/0120106.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 5KB | 105 lines

                                                                                NATION, Page 24

TEXAS

Come Hell or High Water


A deluge shows how overbuilding at the edge of floodplains can
put thousands of people at risk

RICHARD WOODBURY/BAILEY'S PRAIRIE


    Inching her Chevy van across water-covered roads and mud
flats last week, Mayor Jo Mapel of Bailey's Prairie, Texas,
couldn't begin to guess how huge the damage bill would be. Most
of the ranching hamlet (pop. 634) near the Gulf Coast lay
submerged under the dark red waters of the Brazos River and
adjoining creeks. Said Mapel: "Nobody's escaping without big
problems. This mess is going to be with us for months."

    Across southeast Texas, the Brazos, Trinity and Colorado
rivers, swelled by nearly 9 in. of rain that pelted their
headwaters last month, overflowed their banks for miles,
sweeping away buildings and vehicles. With losses in the tens
of millions of dollars and 15 dead, 25 counties were designated
as disaster areas by President Bush. Lamented James Phillips,
chief administrator in Brazoria County: "Nobody expected this
in a hundred years. We were practically defenseless."

    The onslaught may be only a forerunner of more destructive
flooding to come in Texas and other flat, low-lying sections of
the country. Helter-skelter population growth along some rivers
and the mushrooming of commercial construction at the edge of
floodplains are putting thousands of people in disaster's path.
The danger zones, some 50 miles or more wide, are so vast that
newcomers are often unaware of their potential peril. Warnings
to evacuate frequently go unheeded, as they did along parts of
the Brazos.

    The rampant paving of the countryside -- from parking lots
to malls and office complexes -- has made deluges more
dangerous by robbing the terrain of its natural ability to
absorb rainwater. Water racing across concrete or asphalt
travels up to 10 times as fast as it does across a meadow. Often
it is funneled into streams and creeks too narrow, shallow and
winding to accommodate the rushing runoff.

    The changing topography is befuddling flood-control
planners and straining the complex system of dams, reservoirs
and levees along major waterways like the Brazos. The Texas
floods were inevitable because of the size of the downpour that
fell on an already soaked region. But their destructiveness was
multiplied when runoffs from unexpected points turned quiet
creeks into torrents. In Brazoria County, Oyster Creek flooded
and combined with the Brazos to create a lake nine miles wide
and up to 50 ft. deep.

    Like other recent deluges, this one raised questions about
the value of flood-control measures. Some experts believe that
straightening small tributaries and lining them with concrete
for stability only compounds flood problems by moving water
faster. "The water down below doesn't get a chance to get out
of the way before the other water is there on top of it,"
observes Fred Liscum, a hydrologist with the U.S. Geological
Survey. Levees built to protect towns can also restrict river
flow, which in turn can force the waterway to crest and wash out
the barriers on either bank. Says Robert Cox, Louisiana
floodplain administrator: "You don't get rid of the water; you
just pass it on downstream to the next guy."

    More and more experts now think that additional
construction should be discouraged. The Federal Emergency
Management Agency imposes building and development codes as a
prerequisite for communities to qualify for subsidized flood
insurance. In Bailey's Prairie many newer homes were spared
serious damage because they were built on higher ground. The
trouble is, says Arthur Storey, executive director of the Harris
County Flood Control District, "regulations look at worst-case
scenarios, but those are always exceeded by nature's storms."
And hundreds of thousands of other structures erected before the
mid-1970s are not covered by the rules and are vulnerable.

    Most distressing, only 17% of those living in flood-prone
areas buy flood insurance, which typically costs $300 yearly for
$80,000 coverage. Explains FEMA insurance administrator Bud
Schauerte: "Some people think they're covered by homeowners'
insurance. Others think the government will come to their
rescue. But that's wrong; they may not get anything but a hotel
room for a few days."

    Such warnings have only limited effect. Under dark skies
that threatened cloudbursts, evacuees at a Red Cross shelter in
Angleton talked eagerly of returning to rebuild near the Brazos.
"I prayed the water would never get too high," said Mike Horn,
32, an electrician who fled with creek waters lapping at his
lawn. "But I don't care. I'm going home."