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At 2:30 on an unseasonably cool, partly cloudy afternoon in late September 1911, the cement dam located a mile above the mill town of Austin, Pennsylvania, gave way, unleashing a wall of water cascading down the narrow valley toward the town and sweeping away everything in its path with the explosive power of a nuclear bomb. Lulled by the assurance of engineering experts that the dam would forever withstand the pressure of the pent-up waters above the town, three thousand unsuspecting residents of Austin went about their slow-paced Saturday routines. Some floundered and drowned in the raging waters that consumed the town, some were battered to death by logs and debris swept up by the torrent...
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Behind every face is a name, and every name has a story. They don’t all command headlines, but each of them matters. Their stories differ. Some are long; others are short. They move in all directions, at different speeds and intensities. Inevitably, they crisscross, intersect and collide. “Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around, he leaves an awful hole.” Is it chance that the right people are at the right place at the right time when we need them? Or does an unseen hand number our days and order our steps?