In the next two columns, you may read an airman's description of the Ohio river flood, written from an airplane flying a circuit of more than 500 miles--from Warsaw to Cincinnati, Ohio, Covington, Ky., south and west through the valley to Madison, Ind., Milton, Ky., and Hanover college, then north toward home.

Sunday 5:59 a.m.
Flames of early dawn are licking at the eastern horizon. Clouds which resemble royal-purple sausages float in the morning sky. Bob Hogue and I point the nose of our airplane southeast out of Rochester.

It is comfortable in the plexiglass cabin of the Ercoupe. Different from all other coupes, this one is painted bright yellow, trimmed in blue. We are a spring bird, alright, matching the glorious morning. Packed around us are cameras, binoculars and my typewriter resting on my lap.

More than 200 miles to the south we are going to study one of the terrible inconsistencies of nature. As our wings flash brightly in the rising sun an interesting thought occurs to me this Sunday morning.

How can the same all-powerful Deity create such beauty as we now see from aloft and with the other hand wreak havoc such as we expect to see today in the Ohio river valley? Man's brain cannot long tolerate the thought. God knows what Hi is doing, I guess, for He has been running this great show for a long time. So much for philosophy.

Sunday, 6:30 a.m.
We have been in touch with Indianapolis weather radio and have discovered an interesting phenomena. We are boring into a headwind 4,000 feet high, making tough going. The operator says we can find just the opposite--a tailwind higher up, so here we go, up, up to 8,000 feet.

Sunday, 6:55 a.m.
Eight thousand feet below spreads a panorama which includes some 900 square miles of Hoosierland. We are still flying steadily southeast. Anderson is behind and to our right. New Castle is just below to the west. We are immediately over Hagerstown, moving at 100 miles per hour. Twin cities of Cambridge and Dublin are accented by a cluster of white gasoline storage tanks, glistening in the sunlight. Bob is looking over my shoulder as I write and comments: "I graduated from high school in Dublin." Personally I wished he'd stick to flying this airplane. (He grins.)

Sunday, 7:05 a.m.
My ears are "popping" a little as we start a long let-down toward the prominent triangle of the Richmond airport to take on a full load of gas before heading into the flooded area. We are passing through a layer of bluish haze which seems to hang close to the ground this morning. We've touch wheels to this runway so gently that my fingers never stopped typing. Let's stretch!

Sunday, 7:47 a.m.
Richmond, quite literally, is falling away behind us. Good thing we stopped for gas. Delta Airlines back there on the airport, maintains a teletype. It was clacking out the dope that big Lunken airport at Cincinnati was under water and all planes had been evacuated. They were very nice to us.

Sunday, 8:20 a.m.
Beneath us is the sprawling metropolis of Cincinnati on the river. The muddy line of its swollen path is quite clear from here. We are at 4,000 feet just east of the city. The river comes around a bend and sweeps down upon the blackness of the city. Where the two meet, a huge bubble of coffee-colored water has spread like a sunspot. As a hunk of bubble-gum, the waters have pushed their way through the levees, back up over thousands of acres south and east of the city proper. We are now over huge Lunken field where the airlines ply their trade. We had difficulty finding it. bob has just pointed out the hangars. Those tremendous buildings which can swallow a DC-3 or 4, have only the black curve of their roof-tops projecting above the water. That stuff must be twenty feet deep over the airport area.

Blocks of Covington, Kentucky, across the river, have only the upper stories of buildings showing, with the brown river water swirling slowly around them. These roof-tops make a neat pattern and you can readily tell where streets should be, but aren't!

We are now over Covington, looking northwest at Cincinnati to get a better view. I can see the tops of what appear to be big flour mills on the waterfront. They look like lighthouses today.

Gasoline storage tanks, make white islands in this flooded picture. Nearly every warehouse along the entire river front is inundated.

A light yellow airplane is flying several thousand feet below us, up and down the river. to our right is a tall skyscraper as we head down river. Straight south of this prominent building, the river has really lapped up the industrial section. In the middle of this scene of chaos, a tremendous crane rears above the flood. Only its neck is visible above the flood-level. It really resembles the live bird for which it is named.

Sunday 8:45 a.m.
Airplanes are getting thick as flies around here and we have dropped to 3,000 feet for a better look. We are drifting south and west with the boiling water. It is keeping us quite busy, flying, typing and watching for other Sunday drivers in the sky.

The Licking river, coming up from the south has flooded as much territory on the Kentucky side as the vaunted Ohio. A prominent highway which follows the river westerly from Covington is under water in most of the place. We have our eye on the dry patches for a place to land in case of trouble.

Now we see where the Miami river makes an indefinite union with the Ohio in the flooded picture. The Miami is found today in many places where it shouldn't be. A powerhouse near here is surrounded by water, but smoke still pours from its three busy stacks.

Sunday 9 a.m.
Between lawrenceburg and Aurora, the single-track railroad is barely keeping its head above water. Only an inch or so of track sticks above the flood water. The road-bed, ties and country side are completely lost in view. A freight train is picking its way gingerly over this track and reminds us of a string of freight barges. About a city block ahead of the train is a big wrecker and engine, pushing a flat car loaded with scrap. It goes a little way, then stops to see if the bed will hold. Boats of all description are floating upon the flood.

Freight barges, passenger boats, power boats, ducks, rowboats and a great deal of miscellaneous stuff and things we can't identify, even through the binoculars.

Sunday 9:15 a.m.
Aura below, has really taken a beating. Let's circle this a while Bob.

(Down the river to Madison and Hanover college in the next column, then home north across the length of Indiana)

Warsaw Daily Times Mon. Apr. 19, 1948