Do you know the story of Sam Tucker, an African-American Memphis District retiree, and a hero of the Great Mississippi River Flood of 1927? His act of heroism is recounted in three published books:
“When the Levee Breaks: Memphis and the Mississippi Valley Flood of 1927,” by Patrick O'Daniel.
“Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America,” by John M. Barry.
“A Century on the Mississippi: A History of the Memphis District, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, 1876-1981,” by Floyd M. Clay.
Raging currents caused by a levee break sank the work-boat Pelican with 21 men aboard. Witnessing the event, Sam Tucker jumped into an unpowered skiff, braved raging currents, found and saved the only two aboard the Pelican who didn’t immediately drown. Pulling against heavy current and near impossible weather, the return trip back to safety took Sam Tucker over three hours.
Below are excerpts from, “A Century on the Mississippi: A History of the Memphis District, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, 1876-1981,” that tell the full story:
Every national crisis will have its related stories of personal heroism, and the Flood of 1927 was no exception. One such unknown story is the story of Sam Tucker, now retired from the Memphis District. Tucker had been working on the levee just above Laconia Circle, and on the evening of April 21 he and his exhausted levee crew had been returned to the quarter boat for food and rest. One of the major developments of the day had been the Knowlton's Landing levee crevasse. The quarter boat had been located just above the break in order that the crew could be on hand the next day to try to contain the crevasse.
A few miles below the crevasse the government work-boat Pelican picked up another exhausted levee crew and headed upriver for the quarter boat. The Pelican was a metal hulled, open cockpit vessel, sometimes called "the bathtub".
Mr. Cooper (pilot of the Pelican) finally spotted the lights of the quarter boat, but as he headed his vessel for those lights he first heard and then saw the crevasse before him. He started to reverse the engines but, underpowered, the boat was unable to buck the current of the crevasse.
Cooper tried to avert the disaster by putting the nose of the Pelican into the bank just below the crevasse, but the impact only widened the crevasse, and the Pelican was swept into the vortex. The rear of the boat swung around rapidly, causing it to hang on the levee briefly, but also assuring that the full brunt of the current would slam against the side of the vessel. The Pelican was then smashed through the opening, tum bling over and over as it was carried along with the relentless current.
Of the 21 men on board, 19 including Cooper and his assistants, were drowned immediately. Those who had witnessed the disaster from the deck of the quarter boat and on the deck of the steamer Wabash could not believe that any had survived such a tragedy.
No one was willing to brave the crevasse and storm to initiate an unlikely search for survivors. No one, that is, except Sam Tucker.
Tucker unhesitatingly jumped into a skiff and took that skiff directly into the crevasse. Rowing with the expertise of one who had been raised on the river, as indeed he had, he shot through the crevasse, stabilized the boat, and then began drifting down current on the other side of the levee, dodging obstacles and listening for any sounds of survival. At about three-quarters of a mile down current he heard two voices weakly calling out in unison, and - directed by their voices - he found the only two survivors of the tragedy. Julius Elder, with his two life-jackets, and Oscar Clemmons, who had clung to Elder, had been washed into a thicket of willows, and had clung tenaciously against wind and current. Sam pulled them into the skiff, where they collapsed in exhaustion.
In their utter fatigue both Elder and Clemmons went into deep sleep while Sam undertook the most exhausting part of the mission, the rowing up current in the dark and uncertain night. That return "pull" is one that Sam will never forget, and to this day he proudly displays the distended muscles of his sinewy arms, evidence of the strain of that sustained effort. Pulling against heavy current and near impossible weather, the return trip took over three hours.