When I was a boy in Columbia, Tenn., we lived in a white frame house about 200 yards from the banks of the Duck River. Once every couple of years, the Duck would jump its banks and flood our neighborhood, Riverside.
The Nashville television crews would rush down and shoot video. This news coverage was nearly always followed by waves of sightseers. I would sit on our front porch — like some pitiful little Flood Boy — and wave back at the gawkers.
Our house was on a little rise, so it never completely flooded, but the waters often crept into our backyard, lapped at our back porch and flooded our cellar. Some of our neighbors, though, had to abandon their homes regularly.
I remember sleeping with my hand off the bed one time when I was 13 year old, hoping to feel the river before it engulfed my bedroom.
TVA wanted to build a dam on the Duck River to control the flooding but eventually abandoned the project to protect an endangered mussel species. By then, some people had already built lakefront homes. They were not amused.