One of Diagonal's great stories concerns the attempted burial of the wife of the late Frank Hooker. The deceased had been prepared for burial and was lying in repose somewhere in Diagonal. Unfortunately a great flood was sweeping down the Grand River and any crossing was out of the realm of possibility. In order that the burial take place on the third day, Mr. Hooker, riding a stout horse and carrying the coffin in his arms, reached a point near the house which was once owned by a Mr. Talbot, and was about to attempt a crossing of the swift current.

Fortunately, a group of men, headed by my father, the late Henry Todd, stopped the old gentleman and persuaded him to abandon the attempt. Had he entered the flood waters, he would probably have lost the coffin containing the remains of his spouse, the horse would have become entangled in some wire fence and the felt boots which Mr. Hooker habitually wore were heavy enough to drown Hercules himself.

From the R. R. bridge at Knowlton to the Spencer bridge south of Diagonal there were twenty-six bends in the old river and almost every time it rained the rapid run-off from the steep hills and large drainage area precipitated a crisis on the bottom land. During a long dry spell the river stopped running and became very low. Muskrats were left high and dry, weeds grew in the river bed and frogs and turtles buried themselves in the mud.

About when the corn began to grow up the skimmer handle came the drought-breaking rain. It always seemed to happen at night that we were awakened by the crash and fury of the storms. After the storm had subsided we stood on the porch and listened to the wild yells of the Spencer boys and the hoarse shouts of Frank Hooker as they drove their stock up from the bottom land and away from the flood that was sure to come.

The oft-mentioned swinging bridge was built by Ervin Morrow and Bruce Tallman and was finished shortly after Halley's Comet had scared the pants off many of us.

About when the Centurion-like tales of Bill Williams were shattering the nerves of the small-fry and being looked upon by some of the oldsters as being pure fabrication, came the awful proof. From out of the northeast came the great luminous wedge of Halley's Comet [1910]. Night after night this monster moved steadily southwestward until it could be seen in broad daylight. Many were certain the last days were upon us, an ominous silence settled on the country side, men went about their work fearing there might be no tomorrow, meanwhile thinking of their own status in the hereafter. After some time the great comet disappeared behind the four tall trees that marked the site of Goshen and things returned to normal.

And now back to the bridge. It was made of woven hog wire, was about 60 feet long and 3 ft. wide. Supported by two stout trees on each bank of the river, the bridge sagged about 5 feet in mid-span. It had a wood floor and the hog wire on each side was about 4 feet high to prevent pedestrians from tumbling into the water. On each river bank a cleated wooden ramp led up to the bridge ends which were several feet above ground.

So far as I can remember, the overflow of nineteen-nine was the granddaddy of floods. Pilings, caps and stringers were torn from the Burlington trestle, leaving the rails and ties hanging in mid-air. This flood was a hill to hill affair, was fast and deep and the roar of the rushing water could be heard for quite some distance. On the river bottom land the devastation was complete and several men nearly drowned as they attempted to rescue cattle and horses.

About nineteen-fifteen or sixteen the river overflowed the bottom land twenty-two times in one summer. As George Graham once remarked, "These gully washers and trash-movers just about cleaned the renters out."

Transcription by Sharon R. Becker, May of 2017