American History Tellers - The Great Mississippi Flood | Dirty Water | 2

Episode Date: May 18, 2022

Early in the morning on April 22nd, 1927, flood waters from a break in the Mound Landing levee entered the town of Greenville, Mississippi. Within hours, the town was submerged in 10 feet of water. Thousands of residents fought to reach higher ground, desperately clinging to tree tops and floating houses.The flood inundated 27,000 square miles in seven states. Soon, President Calvin Coolidge appointed Commerce Secretary Herbert Hoover to manage relief efforts for the Red Cross. But Hoover’s decision to decentralize relief would have unintended consequences – especially in towns like Greenville, where thousands of Black sharecroppers were virtual prisoners, detained in brutally policed refugee camps.Listen ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App. https://wondery.app.link/historytellersPlease support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's April 23rd, 1927 in Greenville, Mississippi, or what's left of it. Most of the town is underwater, inundated by the worst flood you've ever seen. Rushing waters have lifted entire houses off their foundations. And today, you're out in your rowboat, desperately looking for survivors to ferry to dry land. Up ahead, you spot a small wooden house floating on the current. Hello! Is anyone there? You row closer, navigating past tree branches and a dead mule floating in

the current. As you near the house, you spot a young woman craning her neck out of a narrow window. I'm here! What's your name, miss? Virginia. My whole family. They're gone. I watched them drown. It was only a few hours ago. As you approach, you can see the terror in her eyes. You nod and give her a sympathetic smile. You're going to be just fine, Virginia. I'm here to help. I'm just going to get my boat into position. Then I'll reach up for you and you can climb on down. You row your boat up against the house and reach your arms up toward the window. Just climb out of the window. I'll catch you and help you into the boat.

Virginia shuts her eyes and shakes her head. I can't do it. It's too far down. I'll fall into the water. You can do it. It's only a couple of feet. The house keeps shifting in the current. You struggle to maneuver your rowboat so it remains in place underneath the window. You have to hurry, Virginia. The current is starting to push us apart.

Virginia steals herself and places her hands on the windowsill, ready to hoist herself up. But suddenly, a loud noise from under the water startles her, and she freezes. What was that? I think the house hit something. Probably just passed over a tree. Come on, quickly now. Then an even louder sound rips through the house, and you realize what's happening. The house is breaking apart. Hurry, Virginia. You realize what's happening. The house is breaking apart. Hurry, Virginia. You have to jump now. I can't do it.

To your horror, the entire house starts to tip away from you as Virginia crouches back down, shutting her eyes in fear. It's filling up with water. Never mind that. Just jump. This is your last chance.

She flings herself out the window. You reach up to catch her and set her in your rowboat. See? I told you you could do it. Don't worry. You're safe now. She gives you a weak smile as she finds her balance in the seat across from you. You watch the house tip over and sink into the current. Another home lost to the flood. Roof shingles bob in the water as you row on through the ruins of your hometown. You're relieved to have rescued this woman. If you keep thinking about all the other people you couldn't save, and how many more victims this flood will claim. From Wondery comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules.

Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app, or wherever you get your podcasts. I'm Saatchi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham,

and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. In April 1927, after record rainfall, the Mississippi River breached a levee and flooded the town of Greenville in the Mississippi Delta. Soon, water filled the streets, forcing residents to flee their homes and cling to rooftops and tree branches for safety. Volunteers went out in boats to make desperate rescue attempts. Thousands of survivors found themselves stranded, their lives washed away by the flood. And similar scenes played out in towns and communities up and down the lower Mississippi Valley. Soon the federal government sprang into action, enlisting Commerce Secretary Herbert Hoover and the Red Cross in the battle to bring relief to hundreds of thousands of refugees. And in Greenville, many of these refugees were black laborers.

And the wealthy white planters that employed them were terrified that they would lose their workforce to the chaos of the disaster. Determined to protect their businesses, they fought to keep their sharecroppers and tenant farmers in the Delta by force if necessary. This is Episode 2, Dirty Water. In the early hours of April 22, 1927, powerful floodwaters cascaded over Greenville's northern border. The catastrophe had begun a day earlier with a levee breach at Mound Landing. A fire whistle rang out, warning residents of the coming flood. And in minutes, three feet of muddy water

covered Greenville's downtown area. But the water kept rising to five feet, eight feet, and finally ten feet. One woman remembered, I saw a glittering, slimy mass wriggling along the street like some horrid, merciless serpent, stifling the breath from the body of its victims.

As the water drew nearer, it ceased to glitter. It was horrid, dirty water, filled with bugs and crayfish and snakes and eels. Residents made desperate escapes. Families hacked holes in their roofs to climb up to safety and wait for rescue. And black families were affected the most. Few had telephones, so they had little warning of what was coming. And their neighborhoods were in the bottomlands of the town, lower in elevation than wealthier white neighborhoods, and directly in the path of the flood. Thousands of people ran from their homes and waded through the water, clutching babies and bundles of clothing.

Soon the only dry land was the narrow crown of Greenville's main levee, which had survived the flood intact. It stretched for miles along the river, but it was barely eight feet wide. Families fled there and huddled for warmth. They could see dead bodies floating past in the river's choppy waters. Thousands more packed the Greenville courthouse and the second floors of businesses and churches. Others were stranded on rooftops and in trees, waiting for boats to rescue them. Temperatures were cold, and many died from exposure. As the waters approached, one final train tried to escape Greenville, but the flood washed the railroad embankment right out from under the tracks, and the train derailed. Promin escape Greenville, but the flood washed the railroad embankment right out from under the tracks, and the train derailed. Prominent Greenville resident and wealthy planter Leroy Percy was at

home in his mansion. He had been up all night with his wife Camille and his 41-year-old son Will, dragging their furniture upstairs and filling bathtubs so they would have drinking water. The Percys lived on higher ground than black families closer to the levee, but by morning the water snaked down their street too. Leroy watched it flood his garden and tennis court. Leroy was 67 years old, and he had spent his life fighting for the improvement of Greenville. But now his final fight seemed like it would be for the survival of his community. He spent the rest of the day on the phone, locating food, supplies, and boats. He called the Mississippi governor's office to beg for assistance and solicited relief money and loans from banks in New York. The levee break at Mound Landing was front-page news across the country, the worst levee failure in Mississippi state history,

and it stoked fears that as the rain-swollen Mississippi River surged south, more levees would break too. Three hundred miles south of Greenville, New Orleans erupted in panic. New Orleans was the wealthiest city in the South, a major banking center and home to the nation's second-largest port, but it was vulnerable to flooding. Most of downtown sat below sea level, and it had only been a week since the Good Friday storm dumped 15 inches of rain on the city, flooding streets and temporarily disabling drainage pumps. So now, a week after the mound landing break, the bankers who controlled New Orleans scrambled to come up with a plan. They convinced the Louisiana governor to dynamite a

critical levee to create an emergency spillway. The spillway would flood two neighboring, less populated parishes, turning 10,000 people into refugees but diverting water away from New Orleans itself. Meanwhile, ten days after the mound's landing break, floodwaters turned the Mississippi Delta into an inland sea. One million acres were under 10 feet of brown, dirty water. Fields were completely submerged for sixty miles to the east and ninety miles to the south of the break. Tens of thousands of people were left homeless and demanded federal assistance. And since the storms and flooding began, the governors of six different states had begged President Calvin

Coolidge for help, but up until now he had refused to act. Known as Silent Cow, Coolidge was taciturn and frugal, and he was committed to his belief in small government. He thought the federal government should take a limited role in people's lives, even in the face of disaster. He preferred to leave most responsibilities to the states. But after Mound's landing, Mississippi Governor Dennis Murphy forced Coolidge's hand. Murphy wired the president, declaring, Unprecedented floods have created a national emergency. Highways covered, railroad operations suspended, beyond capacity of local and state agencies to relieve and control. It was plain

to see that the scale of the disaster warranted federal intervention. So on the morning of April 22, a few hours after the floodwaters reached Greenville, Coolidge met with his cabinet. He asked five cabinet secretaries to lead a special committee that would manage rescue and relief efforts, and he placed Commerce Secretary Herbert Hoover in charge, authorizing him to give orders to the Army and Navy. Herbert Hoover had begun his career as an ambitious engineer and businessman. His Quaker upbringing ingrained in him a belief in self-reliance, hard work, and service, and few government officials rivaled his extensive

experience in managing previous relief efforts. During World War I, Hoover had won widespread praise for leading humanitarian work in German-occupied Belgium. He later served as the wartime Federal Food Administrator at home, then ran a program that fed millions of Europeans after the war. The press called him the great humanitarian and the great engineer. But Hoover took great care to cultivate this image in the press. Throughout his tenure as Commerce Secretary, he exploited new tools of mass media and public relations to his advantage, making sure that his work generated positive headlines. Hoover was ambitious and had his eye on a run for the White House.

So when Coolidge tapped Hoover to manage flood relief, he was determined to seize the opportunity to advance his own goals. Within two hours of Hoover taking charge of the emergency, he held a meeting in his office with the rest of the flood committee. There was no Federal Disaster Relief Agency, and the government had never taken a major role in aiding victims of previous natural disasters. So Hoover's committee partnered with the American Red Cross, a non-profit disaster relief organization founded in 1881. The Red Cross vice chairman joined the cabinet secretaries in Hoover's office as the Secretary of War briefed the room on the latest updates from the Army Corps of Engineers. The news was bleak. Army engineers

insisted that nothing further could be done to prevent more levee breaks. The flood was unstoppable, so the committee quickly turned their focus to the problem of aiding victims in the flood zone. But the president refused to spend tax dollars on relief, so the committee agreed to set up a fundraising goal, asking Americans to donate $5 million to the Red Cross. If the government was going to help survivors of the flood, it would be up to ordinary citizens to fund the effort. Soon, Hoover joined Red Cross officials and a team of reporters on a special train bound for Memphis. He was heading for the flood zone, where he would put his plans into action. Imagine it's early in the morning of

April 25th, 1927. You're in Tennessee on a train bound for Memphis. You're the relief director for the Memphis branch of the Red Cross, and you're sitting in a cabin with Herbert Hoover and other Red Cross officials. Everyone is anxious to get to the flood zone and get to work. Hoover taps his fingers on the table and checks his watch. My watch is never right. How much longer? We shouldn't be more than 20 minutes out of the city. Once we arrive, Mayor Payne will meet us at the station for a quick photo. Then we'll head to breakfast at the Peabody Hotel. Hoover nods and stares out the window at the rain-soaked fields.

Secretary, we have a big job on our hands. We need to evacuate refugees, get them shelter and food, and most importantly, we'll need to help them rebuild their lives once the water recedes. It's a logistical nightmare. The Red Cross could really use government money. I'm afraid that's out of the question. But surely the United States is rich enough to do this for its people. Hoover gives you a wry smile.

You are correct that we have some serious challenges on our hands, but I can't get federal dollars. We'll have to rely on private donations, which means the Red Cross will have to be creative. You're disappointed by Hoover's response, but not surprised. You know his reputation for frugality and Washington's reluctance to spend federal money on disaster relief. You give the Commerce Secretary a tight-lipped smile. I understand. If that's the case, we'll have to do this differently. You pull a map of the lower Mississippi Valley out of your briefcase and spread it out over the table.

Picking up a pencil, you draw a rough outline of a flood zone, stretching from Illinois in the north to Louisiana in the south. Look here. Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas face the worst of it. Thousands of square miles are underwater. It's far too big an area for us to manage from the top. I recommend that we decentralize relief. Hoover looks up from the map and raises an eyebrow. What do you have in mind? Let each Red Cross chapter administer its own area. We'll save money and time because chapters already exist in most counties in the flood zone.

I like it. Each county will know what its people need better than the national organization ever could. And there's an added benefit. If anything goes wrong, responsibility will be squarely on the local community, not the national organization or federal government. Hoover nods.

That's it. That's the grassroots spirit I like to see. And a forward-thinking publicity strategy. It's settled. You crane your neck toward the window, searching for a glimpse of the Mississippi in the distance. For the first time in days, you're feeling optimistic about the work ahead.

This is a problem that can be solved. On April 25th, Hoover rode to Memphis alongside Henry Baker, the relief director for the Memphis chapter of the Red Cross. Baker convinced Hoover to decentralize relief efforts, putting each local chapter in control of distributing resources and aid. While the headquarters in Memphis would create a cohesive policy and coordinate state and national agencies, the actual execution of relief would be left up to local people on the ground. At 7 a.m., the train pulled into Memphis on the banks of the Mississippi River. Almost as soon as Hoover arrived, he went to work

mobilizing boats, airplanes, National Guardsmen, and volunteers. He convinced railroads to provide free transportation from the flood zone and cut rates on freight. Soon, he would order the Army, Navy, and National Guard to round up refugees and place them in dozens of camps set up by the Red Cross. Hoover would spend the next several weeks in the flood zone, sleeping on boats and trains as he traveled up and down the lower Mississippi Valley, from Cairo to New Orleans. The devastation he saw was immense, and hoping to appeal to public sympathy to meet his fundraising goals, Hoover ordered Red Cross officials to seek publicity opportunities. He declared,

in the course of the next few weeks, many representatives of magazines and newspapers will be in the flood area. Give these riders every possible cooperation. Over the next few weeks, the Red Cross would successfully feed, house, and clothe hundreds of thousands of Americans. But the decision to decentralize relief had unforeseen consequences, especially in Greenville, where the choice of the person to lead relief efforts would soon prove disastrous. I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman.

So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies, and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast series essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time,

only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. Richard Bandler revolutionized the world of self-help all thanks to an approach he developed called neurolinguistic programming. Even though NLP worked for some, its methods have been criticized for being dangerous in the wrong hands. Throw in Richard's dark past as a cocaine addict and murder suspect, and you can't help but wonder what his true intentions were. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the hosts of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims,

and what's left once the facade falls away. We recently dove into the story of the godfather of modern mental manipulation, Richard Bandler, whose methods inspired some of the most toxic and criminal self-help movements of the last two decades. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid and Kill List early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. In April 1927, Will Percy was 41 years old, but he still lived in the shadow of his commanding father, Leroy. Will was blonde and blue-eyed, with handsome, boyish features. But from a young age,

he felt like a misfit in his family. He was smaller in stature than his father. He was quiet and introspective, preferring poetry to hunting and fishing. Will worshipped his father, Leroy, but he was plagued by a gnawing sense that he would never meet his father's expectations. He reflected, it was hard having such a dazzling father. He could do everything well. He was the best pistol shot and the best bird shot. He made the best speeches. He was the fairest thinker and the wisest. But Will's adoration was not reciprocated. He blamed himself for his father's distance, saying, I must have been a hard child to get close to. Even so, Will tried hard to live up to the family name. He earned a law degree at Harvard, then joined Hoover's relief efforts in

Belgium in 1916. When the United States entered the war the following year, Will served in the U.S. Army in France. After the war, he moved back to his parents' home and dutifully joined his father at his Greenville law practice, even if poetry and writing remained his true passion. But when the flood reached Greenville in the spring of 1927, Will finally had a chance to prove himself to his father and the community. On April 22nd, with Leroy's blessing, Greenville Mayor John Cannon named Will as the head of a special flood relief committee. The appointment seemed a natural fit. Will was already the chair of the Washington County branch of the Red Cross. Now, his two positions put him in charge of the care of 50,000 people in the Delta,

a region where thousands of homes and buildings had been swept away. But even as Will and the relief committee began searching for boats and supplies, local residents had already sprung into action. Volunteers who owned rowboats and motorboats led early rescue efforts. Even local bootleggers lent their vessels to the search. A black lumberyard worker named Will Moore formed a committee with his friends and built new boats to look for survivors. An older Cajun resident named Herman Callouet installed a Model T Ford engine on his 22-foot boat and rescued 150 people over the course of three days.

But not all his attempts were successful. Callouet was haunted by his efforts to rescue one family of seven stranded in a floating house. He watched helplessly as the house hit something and splintered, causing the entire family to drown. And as the days passed, rescue operations became more organized. Boats followed power lines to search for survivors in rural homes, and planes flew above, acting as spotters. Will Percy later wrote about the frenzied aftermath of the flood. He remembered, for 36 hours the delta was in turmoil,

in movement, in terror. Then the waters covered everything. The turmoil ceased, and a great quiet settled down. Over everything was silence, deadlier because of the strange cold sound of the currents gnawing at foundations, hissing against walls, clawing over obstacles. The flood had finished cutting its path of destruction, but now the county faced a massive refugee crisis. Survivors from all over the countryside were deposited on the highest ground in Greenville, the eight-foot-wide crown of the levee that ran adjacent to downtown. The levee was now a long, narrow island, with a river on one side and a sea of brown, fetid water on the other. Several thousand refugees, most of them black, packed the levee in a line that stretched for five miles. For shelter, they fashioned makeshift tents out of blankets. Cows, mules, horses, and pigs joined the families, adding to the chaos. And even though thousands of white residents had already fled Greenville,

the growing influx of refugees from the countryside pushed the town's population from 15,000 to 25,000. Every hour, rescue boats left hundreds more people on the levee. The Associated Press reported on the grim conditions in Greenville, declaring, The situation here, with the water supply gone, most of the food destroyed, and 10,000 camping on the levee, is desperate. And as head of local relief efforts,

Will faced a series of daunting challenges. He needed to secure boats, food, clean drinking water, a sanitation system, and police. Rail tracks had been washed away, cutting the town off from supplies. There was a high risk of an epidemic of cholera or typhoid because contaminated water could spread disease. Fearing the threat of sickness, starvation, and death, Will believed the best option would be to evacuate the refugees to safer ground downriver to a camp the Red Cross was setting up in Vicksburg, Mississippi, 80 miles away. He called a meeting with the

Greenville Relief Committee and proposed an evacuation order. The other members believed he was speaking on his father's behalf and reluctantly agreed to his plan. But local planters had their own ideas about what was best for the Delta's labor force, and when word of Will's plan reached them, they were not pleased. Imagine it's April 25th, 1927. You're a cotton planter in Greenville, Mississippi. It's been three days since floodwaters inundated the town, and steamboats are waiting on the river to evacuate thousands of refugees to a Red Cross camp in Vicksburg. But those refugees include your sharecroppers,

and you have no intention of letting them go anywhere. You and a group of fellow planters march into the office of the local relief committee to confront the man in charge. Across the room, you spot Will Percy, his blonde head buried in a stack of paperwork. Percy! What's this about an evacuation order? Who approved this? Percy sighs and leans back in his chair. The committee agreed it was the best plan. Have you seen what's happening on the levee? There are thousands of people out there.

They're hungry and cold, slipping on the ground. We still don't have a single proper tent for them. Soon enough, illness and disease will spread. This is a humanitarian disaster. It's obvious that evacuation is the only solution. That's our labor force you're talking about. If they leave, they may never come back. Once the floodwaters recede, we'll need them to replant our cotton crops.

But Percy shakes his head and looks at you with disgust. You men are prioritizing your pocketbooks over the safety and well-being of these people. Since when are you an expert on the well-being of our workers? This isn't Harvard or Paris. This is the Delta, and no one knows what's best for the Delta better than us. Will stands up behind his desk and throws his shoulders back. His defiant posture reminds you of his father, Leroy. But unlike Leroy, there's a glimmer of fear and uncertainty in his eyes. Now look, I won't be bullied. This is the right thing to do. Don't you get it, Percy? We've already lost too much. If we lose our labor force, we'll never recover. Do you want to be responsible for the collapse of our economy?

Of everything our fathers and grandfathers built? Your father and grandfather too? Will pounds his fist on the desk. My father taught me about honor, and this is the only honorable thing to do. We must get these people out and make sure they're safe. I can't in good conscience take any other course. Now leave me be. I have work to do. Fine.

But you're making a big mistake. You and the other planters turn to walk out of the office. You're furious at Will's obstinance, but you're not going to let him stand in your way. You'll just go to the man whose authority really matters, Will's father, Leroy. Powerful local planters were furious when they discovered Will's plan to evacuate the refugees camped along the levee.

Many of those refugees were their labor force, and the planters were afraid that if those workers were evacuated, they might never come back. So they stormed the office of the local relief committee, demanding that Will take back the evacuation order. When Will refused, the planters went to Leroy for help. Will had neglected to seek his father's approval for the plan. Leroy was still busy spending countless hours on the phone with banks in New Orleans, St. Louis, and New York. But after speaking with the planters, he went looking for his son. Leroy found Will at the levee. The father and son walked through the mud, weaving their way through the crowds. All around them, refugees both black and white boarded barges and steamboats to be carried to safety. Leroy agreed that Will should not let

the planters intimidate him, but he also said, if we depopulate the delta of its labor, we will be doing it a grave disservice. Will stood firm in his belief that he was prioritizing the welfare of the black laborers. He knew he could not provide an adequate camp for the refugees, insisting there was no choice but to evacuate. He said, I will not be bullied by a few blockhead planters into doing something I know to be wrong. In their debate, neither father nor son thought to consult the black residents of Washington County. Will later reflected, none of us was influenced by what the Negroes themselves wanted. They had no capacity to plan for their own welfare. Planning for them was another one of our burdens. But while Will kept arguing for evacuation, Leroy and the planters refused to

jeopardize the cornerstone of Greenville's plantation economy. They would go to any length to keep their black labor force from leaving. And while Leroy Percy had spent his life fighting to improve conditions for black families. Through it all, his top motivation was to protect his business, even if that meant betraying his son. Leroy encouraged Will to consult with the relief committee again, then went behind his back and persuaded the committee members to oppose Will's evacuation plan. When Will met with the committee that evening, he was horrified to discover that they had reversed their decision. He argued with them for two hours. Finally, the other members wore him down, and Will reluctantly gave in. He returned to the levee to tell the steamer captains that the black refugees would be staying. Soon, one boat, capable of carrying thousands, left with just 33 white women and

children. The next day, April 26th, Herbert Hoover traveled downriver from Memphis to meet with Will on the levee. Hoover had already approved the evacuation plan, but with that plan now dashed, Will came up with a new strategy. He proposed that Hoover designate Greenville as a Red Cross distribution hub.

All the food, clothing, and tents intended for 50,000 people across Washington County would be shipped to Greenville. He told Hoover that black men at the levee camp could serve as workers to unload and move the supplies. And Hoover agreed to Will's plan. Later that day, Will issued a public announcement urging all white women and children to leave the city. He allowed white men to leave as well, though he reminded them that there was still a need for them to stay. But Will demanded that black men stay in Greenville and establish a relief camp at the levee. These men were effectively held against their will and

exploited for labor. In most cases, their families stayed with them too, denied any opportunity to evacuate. Will's efforts to protect the Black community had given way to his determination to restore order in the wake of the catastrophe. And the only option he could see for saving Greenville was to give the white planters what they wanted and let them keep their grip on workers, profits, and power. Are you in trouble with the law?

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his body that would come to the surface in the days that followed. It soon emerged that Robert's business was on the brink of collapse, and behind his facade of wealth and success was a litany of bad investments, mounting debt, and multi-million dollar fraud. Hi, I'm Lindsey Graham, the host of Wondery Show Business Movers. We tell the true stories of business leaders who risked it all, the critical moments that define their journey, and the ideas that transform the way we live our lives. In our latest series, a young refugee fleeing the Nazis arrives in Britain determined to make something of his life. Taking the name Robert Maxwell, he builds a publishing and newspaper empire that spans the globe. But The Flood listen ad-free on the Amazon Music or Wondery app. A week after the flood hit Greenville, Mississippi, there was a stark difference in life for white and black refugees. A few hundred white residents who lived on higher ground, including the

Percys, remained in their homes. Another 4,000 white people found shelter in upper stories of hotels and office buildings. Some 5,000 black residents crammed into warehouses, stores, and oil mills. And since the water remained several feet high, a boardwalk was constructed to help people move about town. Some businesses reopened. But another 13,000 black refugees remained on the narrow strip of the levee, only eight feet wide in a camp

that now stretched for eight miles. Barges on the river served as latrines. Red cross tents arrived, but there were no cots, so refugees slept on wet ground. They endured the overpowering stench of dead livestock and polluted water. And when it came to food rations, white refugees were served first. Black families were given enough to subsist, but luxuries like canned peaches and beef were reserved for whites only. Will Percy moved forward with his plan to make the levee camp a Red Cross distribution center with black men acting as laborers. Every day, boats traveling downriver arrived at the levee,

and black refugees were forced to unload food, water, and supplies that were then distributed across the county. The refugees on the levee also prepared food, repaired water supply systems, built boardwalks, and fed livestock. There was so much work that it demanded constant, round-the-clock shifts. And soon, Black workers found that the levee had become something other than just a refuge.

It had also become a prison. Imagine it's May 1927 in Greenville, Mississippi. You and your family are living in the Red Cross camp on the local levee. You didn't have much to begin with, but you've lost almost everything to the flood. You heard there's a black market operating out of a local hotel, and you're walking toward the entrance of the camp, hoping to go into town for food and supplies. You there! Not so fast.

You turn to see a guard walking towards you, pointing a rifle with a fixed bayonet. You stop in your tracks. Oh, I'm just heading out on an errand, sir. Not without a pass, you aren't. You'll need permission if you want to leave camp. A pass? I've seen plenty of people come and go as they please.

Just yesterday, the cook was telling me he went shopping in town. That's different. The cook's white. Colored folks need a pass. Sir, my daughter is hungry. She's just a baby. I haven't been able to get enough food in the camp. None of us have. The guard shrugs and looks down at your chest, narrowing his gaze. You hold out the small piece of paper pinned to your chest that indicates you've been vaccinated. Not that tag. Don't you

people hear the news? All the laborers housed in this camp need a numbered tag. Helps us keep track. We're trying to keep everything orderly. I don't understand. What for? The guard rolls his eyes in frustration. So we know you're a laborer. New Order came down from the top. Starting today, if you want food rations, you're gonna have to work. What kind of work? Everyone needs to do their part. Barges are coming in with supplies

and we need all hands on deck to unload the cargo. Now come with me and we'll get you tagged. Guard pulls you by your elbow, but you stand firm. Please, sir, if I could just leave camp for an hour. Out of the question. If you know what's good for you, you'll get to work so your kid can get her rations.

You hesitate and stare down the guard. You can tell by the look in his eyes that you're about to get a rifle butt in the face or worse. So you relent and follow him toward a nearby tent where other black workers are already lining up to get their work tags. It's clear you're out of options. It's a choice between working or letting your family starve.

All along the Greenville Levee, armed National Guardsmen patrolled the camp perimeter. Refugees were forced to wear numbered tags for identification and needed a pass to enter or leave. The guards sometimes abused their power, subjecting the refugees to outright violence. A black man named Percy McRaney remembered, the colored people caught tough times around Greenville. Whites were kicking coloreds and beating them and knocking them around like dogs. Conditions in the camp were a direct result of Will's leadership over the Washington County Red Cross, which gave him absolute power over the lives of

thousands of refugees. He later reflected, of necessity, I became a dictator. The responsibility didn't daunt me, but the consciousness that my judgments were often wrong was a continuing nightmare. If I had to be a despot, I was very anxious to be a beneficent one. Despite Will's good intentions, the monumental task of managing relief efforts overwhelmed him. Every night he slept in the relief headquarters for just three or four hours. During the day, he found himself besieged by a constant onslaught of problems to address. He reflected, We lived in bedlam. It fell to my lot as chairman to make hundreds of decisions each day,

and the impossibility of investigation or second thought made every decision a snap judgment. In his desperation to control the chaos, Will chose to exploit black labor, with little regard for the human lives at stake. Under his watch, conditions in the Greenville camp were worse than any other Red Cross camp across the entire flood zone. There and the other camps, laborers earned wages. Will ordered the Greenville laborers to only be compensated in food. And in early May, Will issued another order, declaring, no able-bodied Negro is entitled to be fed at all unless he is tagged as a laborer. That rule meant that if men did not work, their families would be

denied rations. And free labor was offered up for the taking to private Greenville residents. A sign posted in town proclaimed, Refugee labor is free to all white men. Racial discrimination in the flooded regions was not unique to Greenville. Hoover had decided to decentralize relief efforts, ceding control of the Red Cross camps to local white leaders. Will Percy was just one of many local white Red Cross officials who had almost total autonomy over flood survivors, the majority of whom were black. Throughout the flood zone, white elites used their control over Red Cross supplies to prioritize the well-being of white families. They also used the camps to keep tabs on the

laborers and sharecroppers they would need to rebuild and replant after the floodwaters receded. One white planter said, I was glad that they had soldiers at the camp to keep our Negroes there. Still, black refugees did not simply accept their circumstances. Many disobeyed orders or tried to run away from the camps, risking brutal punishment. On May 1st, a National Guardsman caught a black man named Marshall Dunbar trying to flee a camp in Vicksburg. He struck the soldier with a tent pin, and in return, the soldier shot him in the stomach. A black woman named Matilda Heslip refused a National Guardsman order to return to work in the camp kitchen. For her defiance, the soldier beat her with a stick. And in Greenville, a young black boy named Sheffield Collins refused to box another child

to entertain the soldiers. As punishment, he was accused of stealing oranges and whipped with a belt. But despite the harsh conditions in many camps, newspapers across America circulated Red Cross success stories and championed Hoover's leadership. For weeks, Hoover's name was splashed across the nation's newspaper headlines, and his voice dominated radio waves. On April 30th, he delivered a nationwide radio address on behalf of the Red Cross, one of the first national addresses of its kind. Hoover praised the fortitude, industry, courage, and resolution of the people of the South. He would ultimately raise and distribute $50 million in private aid money, the equivalent of $800 million today. And under his direction, the Red Cross set up more than 150 tent camps in seven states, housing more than 300,000 Americans. The organization was

also providing assistance to an equal number outside the camps. The mainstream press painted Hoover as a hero, responsible for feeding the hungry and housing the homeless. But in May, black newspapers across the country began to challenge this narrative, reporting stories of abuse and forced labor that resembled slavery. A headline in the Pittsburgh Courier declared, Conscript labor gangs keep flood refugees in legal bondage. These reports had the potential to tarnish Hoover's image and jeopardize his dreams of the presidency. His reputation was at stake, and he was determined to get a handle on the situation.

But time was running out. Because back in Greenville, the river was rising again. Upriver, heavy rainfall continued. The river rose six feet at Cairo, Illinois, and tens of thousands across Washington County were still refugees at the mercy of the Red Cross, the National Guard, and Will Percy. Soon, Black laborers stranded at the Greenville Levee Camp reached their breaking point. From Wondery, this is Episode 2 of The Great Mississippi Flood

from American History Tellers. On the next episode, determined to protect his political fortunes, Herbert Hoover asks black activists to investigate abuse in the Red Cross camps. And in Greenville, a fatal shooting sends tensions between white elites and Black laborers to a fever pitch. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. If you'd like to learn more about the Great Mississippi Flood, we recommend Rising Tide, The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927, and How It Changed America by John M. Berry. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me,

Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Molly Bach. Sound design by Derek Behrens. Music by Lindsey Graham. Voice acting by Ace Anderson and Cat Peoples. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton, edited by Dorian Marina. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marshall are you from wondering? Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes. Even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula is that not only is it this wonderful snapshot of the 19th century, but it also has so much resonance today. The vampire doesn't cast a reflection in a mirror. So when we look in the mirror, the only thing we see is our own monstrous abilities.

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