Chapter 6 – The Great Ohio Flood Of 1937

The winter of 1937 was especially severe over the entire nation. Unusual snows fell in the Northwest and blanketed the country for many days. But it was in the East that tragedy really struck. Heavy and protracted rains fell steadily for weeks, feeding the many tributaries that flow into the great Ohio River which drains the large area west of the Appalachians. Gradually the level of the river passed the flood stage. Large populations living on the banks of the Ohio noted this with no little apprehension and alarm, yet they saw no sign of abatement in the flood of water that sought outlet down the valley. Day by day the waters continued to rise. Dikes and levees were strengthened, but the people knew that a break-through need occur at only one point to allow the water to fan out and flood the vast areas of farmland and even the cities that had been built along the river.

On the north bank of the Ohio, opposite Louisville, Kentucky, is the city of Jeffersonville, Indiana. Of all who lived in the city, to none perhaps did the ominous threat of a flood appear at a more inopportune time, than to William Branham. His wife had contracted a serious lung infection while shopping across the river at Louisville. Because of this circumstance, his whole attention and interest was centered on her recovery. But now news reached them, as well as the other inhabitants of the town, that the crest of the flood was slowly moving downstream, and to all appearances the softened levees could not take much more. It appeared that Jeffersonville was doomed; still many of the people stayed on.

As night fell, William Branham was on duty, working with the rescue squad as they patrolled the angry waters of the rising river. At midnight their worst fears were realized. The whistles began to blow, warning everyone to leave the city. Sirens at the fire stations screamed out into the night. The Branham family, and thousands of others were forced to flee for their lives. The wife, being seriously ill and in no condition to be taken out into the storm, had to be removed to a temporary hospital set up by the government, which was located on higher ground. The exposure resulted in both of their babies becoming seriously ill with pneumonia. The father took them to the hospital also, where they were taken care of on hastily improvised beds, where scores of other victims were awaiting the attention of the overworked staff. It was a terribly poor place for a hospital, and to make matters worse the doors kept swinging back and forth; people were rushing in and out, crying hysterically, their homes having been swept away in the strong current.

Much as he wanted to stay by his loved ones, the young minister realized that he had a responsibility to go back and assist the rescue squad which had been working frantically night and day. Tragedy was being enacted at many points as the waters relentlessly poured through the city and out over the countryside. He was told to go to a certain street where the water had shaken the houses from their foundations. Maneuvering his boat down through the raging waters of this area, the young minister’s attention was diverted to a pitiful scene. A mother and her children, standing on the upstairs porch of a house, were waving frantically, and calling to him for help. At this dramatic moment in the narrative, we shall let Brother Branham describe in his own words the things which happened:

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I heard someone screaming, and looking up, saw a mother with her children standing on the upstairs porch of a teetering house, the big waves dashing against it. I had lived on the river practically all my life, and I thought perhaps I could help rescue the woman, even if it meant risking my own life for her and her little children, so I started toward the house. After I finally got them all into the boat, the lady almost fainted… She kept moaning something about her baby and I thought maybe she had left her baby in the house. So after I had gotten them safely on high ground, I tried to go back. But it was too late; the water was coming too fast now, and I was caught in the current. Oh, I’ll never forget how I felt then. So many things passed through my mind; how I tried to live a good Christian life, preach the word, do the best I knew how, but it seemed that everything was against me now.

When I finally got my boat under control and landed it, I tried to make my way to the government hospital (it had been four hours since I had left), but upon arriving found that the water had broken in behind there and all the people had to be evacuated. I didn’t know where my wife was and no one could tell me. Oh, how sad I was in that hour. I kept inquiring and was finally told by an officer that they had been sent out on a train that was going toward Charlestown, a city about 12 miles above Jeffersonville, where I rushed quickly to see if I could get to them. A little creek just above us had overflowed its banks, making about five miles of swift rushing water between there and Charlestown; washing the farmers’ homes away, and I knew that the train would have to go right through this territory. I had no way of knowing whether it had gotten through before the water broke or whether it had been washed off the track…

For quite some time I was able to learn nothing, but then I heard that the train made it through. I got a speedboat and tried to go against the waters, but it was just too much. The water pinned me in and I was marooned in a place called Fort Fulton with several friends for almost two weeks. Our food supply was very low and I was still in the dark about my wife and babies.

As soon as the waters went down enough for me to get my truck through, I went out to look for her. I didn’t know whether my wife, babies, mother and brother were dead or alive. There God kept talking to my heart, and I could just imagine what it must be for those that have no hope in such an hour. The next day I crossed the waters and began my search in Charlestown. No one there knew anything about a train coming in, or had heard of anyone by the name of Branham. Despondently as I walked down the street, I met an old friend, Mr. Hay. He threw his arms around me and said, “Billy, we’ll find them somewhere!” I went down to the office of the dispatcher and inquired when the train had come through, and where it had gone; but he was no help either. It had been two weeks before, and there had been more and more washouts, and he thought it went farther up in Indiana somewhere. An engineer standing nearby spoke up and said, “Oh, I remember that case. A mother with two little sick babies. We put them off at Columbus.” He said, “Young man, you can’t possibly get up there, as the waters have all trains cut off.” So there was more sad news.

But I was going to find her anyway. I just started walking down the road, crying, with my hat in my hands. Oh, my! This brings back memories again to think of it. Soon a car pulled up beside me, and the voice of a good friend exclaimed, “Billy Branham! Get in. I know whom you’re hunting, your wife and babies!” I answered, “Yes.” He said, “They’re at Columbus in the hospital. Your wife’s nearly dead. “Is there any way we can get there?” I inquired frantically. He answered, “I can take you there; I have found a secret way through some lanes, by-passing the water.” We got to Columbus that night.

Doctor Gives Up Hope
I rushed down to the Baptist Church, which was being used for a hospital, screaming her name. I found her. Oh, my! She was almost gone! I asked about the babies; they were both very low, being kept at my mother-in-law’s home. I knelt down by the side of the cot where Hope was lying. Dark eyes, expressive of intense suffering, looked up at me as I took her pale, thin hand in mine and prayed the best I knew how. But seemingly to no effect; there was no answer somehow. She got worse. An intern asked me, “Aren’t you a friend of Dr. Sam Adair?” “Yes.” “I must tell you, Reverend; your wife is going.” I pleaded, “Surely not.” “Yes,” he answered gravely, and turned away.