WHEELING — What was seen nine decades ago this week in the city of Wheeling has never been seen within its boundaries since – and Wheeling’s residents would love to keep it that way.

On March 19, 1936, Wheeling saw the worst recorded flood in its history. A combination of heavy snow and rain led the Ohio River to rise to record-breaking levels. At its highest, the river crested at a ghastly 55.2 feet.

For perspective, that height is nearly a full 4 feet higher than the second-highest recorded crest – 51.5 feet on New Year’s Eve 1942. The highest crest before 1936 was a full 4 feet lower, at 51.2 feet on March 28, 1913.

The flood that soaked Wheeling Island and other parts of the city in 2024? That crested at “just” 41.49 feet. And the flooding from Hurricane Ivan in 2004? A paltry 45.3 feet.

Sixteen people died in that 1936 flood, while so many others worried they would face the same fate. Rissa Shrodes, then a 60-year-old grandmother who lived on South Broadway Street, said that was her fear as the floodwaters began rising around her home.

“I stood in pouring rain on a housetop this morning,” Shrodes told a Wheeling News-Register reporter in the newspaper’s March 19, 1936 edition, “watched muddy waters swirling around me and waited for a boat or death.”

That roof was atop the house of a neighbor, Herman Helfer, she said. They started on the house’s first floor, moved to the second floor as the waters continued to rise,standing on chairs and beds.

As the waters kept rising, they all climbed onto the roof.

Shrodes’ husband C.D. Shrodes and son Warren Wright finally arrived to rescue them. They swung off of the Helfers’ roof into C.D.’s boat, Shrodes said. She counted herself among the lucky ones.

“As I stood on the roof, I could hear people screaming for help all over the Island,” she told the News-Register. “It was terrible. We were rowed in that boat over muddy waters of death through streets of pity, terror, horror.

“I saw women standing in second story windows with babies in their arms, screaming and crying.”

That edition of the News-Register was actually a “handbill” — set by hand and printed under “unprecedented handicaps,” the newspaper reported.

“This paper went through with every bit of power, every source of communication cut off,” the paper said. “Presses, linotype machines were down.”

The regular power plant went out of commission the night before, the News-Register reported. Gas engines were put into service, and then they went down in the middle of the Intelligencer’s press run that morning. At 9 a.m. March 19, all telephone communication at the News-Register stopped. The United Press machines stopped working minutes later.

“When it became apparent this afternoon that gas service would not be restored in time for publication today, the job printing shop was invaded, the essential authentic news of the flood hurriedly assembled and set by hand.”

That edition was put together with water “three feet from the second floor,” the newspaper reported. Reporters went through the flood-stricken neighborhoods in motorboats and on skiffs.

Photos from that day showed several groups traveling through – or rather above – Wheeling’s streets by boat, traveling at eye level of the signs hanging above the front doors of several downtown businesses.

The Steel and Suspension Bridges, which linked Wheeling Island to downtown Wheeling, both were closed, with worries that both could go out during the flood. The Market Auditorium, which stood on Market Street between 10th and 11th streets at the time, was converted into a makeshift hospital. The region suffered millions of dollars in damage. The Red Cross immediately appealed for $50,000 – nearly $1.2 million in today’s dollars.

The News-Register made its own appeals to those not hurt by the flood, for them to assist their neighbors in their time of their greatest need.

“It is the duty of every person in Wheeling who is not afflicted to render every assistance in his power,” the newspaper wrote. “Heroic service has already been given. Police, firemen and thousands of volunteers have been on duty for 24 hours.”

After 90 years, there are few memories remaining of that flood that don’t exist in library archives or weathered photos. One that does sits on Wheeling Island, a flood memorial wall that has stood for decades and recently repainted. Near the top of the structure is a wavy line with the number 55.5 painted there. Underneath it is a phrase: “The Big One.”

Ninety years later, it remains the biggest.

Yet, as devastating as that natural disaster was, Wheeling built back. Recovery was arduous, but began quickly and was aided by many who lived in Wheeling neighborhoods spared from the flood and those from around the region.

In notes given to the Rev. Frederick W. Cropp of First Presbyterian Church, who served as co-chairman of the disaster committee, it showed that aid came from all over. Liberty Dairy in Elm Grove offered a fleet of their trucks to move refugees from the flood-stricken areas to Elm Grove. The town of Wainwright, Ohio, brought trucks of food and clothing. A Freeport, Ohio, man had a truckload of 1,500 sandwiches at the ready. Churches, furniture stores and clothing stores around Wheeling all offered items to those in need.

That, said local historian Margaret Brennan, was a shining example of the resiliency of Wheeling’s people and their determination to rebuild from the flood and continue to thrive as a city. Some cities might have thrown in the towel following such a catastrophic event, but that just wasn’t how Wheeling was built.

“One of the things that I think is a hallmark of Wheeling is people looking out for each other, the community picking up the pieces together and helping each other,” she said. “I think crises sometimes bring out the best in people. Wheeling had never had a flood – nor did anybody else along the Ohio River – like this. People had never seen anything like it.

“And it was like, ‘What do we do now?'” Brennan added. “And people rise to the occasion. And I definitely think the city rose to the occasion.”