Dam Breaks Sending Wall Of Water Into Austin

Austinites packed the opera house on March 1, 1890 to debate the pros and cons of the most ambitious public-works project in the history of the state capital – turning the Colorado River into a source of cheap electricity.    Austinites packed the opera house on March 1, 1890 to debate the pros and cons of the most ambitious public-works project in the history of the state capital – turning the Colorado River into a source of cheap electricity.

    The bright idea of damming the Colorado originated with Alexander P. Wooldridge, a New Orleans native who moved to Austin to practice law and jumped feet-first in the affairs of his adopted hometown.

    “What is to be done to establish permanent prosperity in an overdone and rather poor capital city without commerce and manufactures? Wooldridge asked in a New Year’s Day 1888 letter to The Daily Statesman.  His solution, the diversion of the muddy Colorado to generate power and to irrigate cropland, attracted little interest at the time.

    A scaled-down version of the grand undertaking unveiled the next year was enthusiastically endorsed by the newspaper, which had turned thumbs down on the original proposal.  Cynics suggested that Wooldridge’s promotion to president of The Daily Statesman may have had something to do with the abrupt about-face.

    A contractor mounted a single-issue challenge to the incumbent mayor, who faced reelection in December 1889.  John McDonald presented the dam as the magical elixir for all that ailed Austin, but his opponent refused to take a position on the red-hot issue.

    During the heated campaign, the city engineer filed glowing first-hand reports from New England on the wonders of water power.  Austin could follow in the footsteps of Lowell and Lawrence, Massachusetts and become a major textile center.

    Writing to The Statesman editor, a venerable ex-governor picked the plan to pieces.  Oran Roberts expressed grave doubts any man-made structure could contain the rain-swollen Colorado or that the dam could be built for a mere $100,000.  He also warned of the detrimental effects of industrialization maintaining that he for one had no desire to live in a smoke-shrouded mill town.

    The Daily Statesman delayed publication of Gov. Roberts’ letter until election day in order to minimize the impact of his sobering perspective.  A rising tide of pro-dam excitement swept McDonald and a slate of like-minded councilmen into office.

    The victory moved one voter to angry eloquence.  “The North has reviled and spurned us, has cursed, abused and kicked us,” he fumed.  “Now we can rise up and assert our manhood, and shake our fists at the cold and selfish fanatics of the North.  God is just.”

    The public meeting at the opera house in March 1890 proved to be just a formality.  Few in attendance seemed to mind that the dam had nearly doubled in size or that the estimated cost had soared to a million and a half dollars.  Five weeks later, the issuance of the necessary bonds received 96-percent approval at the polls.

    Construction was completed in three years despite the mayor’s feud with the head engineer, who quit in disgust, sluggish bond sales and the embarrassing failure to lure a single new factory to town.  Even persistent rumors of corruption and the use of alarmingly inferior materials did not erode public confidence.

    “Austin’s darling hope is now accomplished!” The Daily Statesman rejoiced in May 1893.  “The dam is finished, and the lake is full.  Critics and backbiters will please now go off and die.”

    However, as a source of cheap and dependable electricity, the McDonald Dam was an absolute flop.  For weeks at a stretch in the annual dry season, the generators stood high, dry and idle.  Recently installed street lamps in the downtown district were nothing more than expensive decorations.

    Heavy spring rains put the dam to the test in 1900.  By Saturday morning, Aprril 7, swirling floodwaters 11 feet deep surged over the granite barrier loosening its grip on the soft river bottom.  The cylindrical dam finally broke under the strain, and giant chunks were rolled downstream by the swift current.

    Five men and three boys, including the chief engineer’s two sons, were caught in the generator room of the power house.  None made it out of the deathtrap alive.

    A woman and her two little girls standing on the bank below the power house were swept away by the torrent.  Their bodies were never recovered.     

    The Montopolis Bridge barely survived the onslaught, and an alert policeman saved dozens of lives by clearing the Congress Avenue span of sightseers.  Sheer luck spared the stricken city further fatalities, but widespread damage could not be averted as block after block was buried in knee-deep mud.

    The disaster left Austin without electricity until a coal-burning steam plant arrived by rail the next week.  The bonds that funded the defunct dam took far longer to pay off and for years to come were a financial millstone around the taxpayers’ necks.

    The disastrous demise of his dream did not diminish the faith of A.P. Wooldridge.  Twenty years later, he was quoted as saying, “That project at the present time is somewhat discredited, but in my opinion it will yet prove a great boon to our people.”

    Bartee Haile welcomes your comments, questions and suggestions at haile@pdq.net or P.O. Box 152, Friendswood, TX 77549.  And come on by www.twith.com for a visit!