The summer of 1955 brought drought to Branchville and Sussex County. It was not a new experience, but that year the had been worse than usual. By July 15th there was scarcely a blade of green grass to be seen.

What was being overlooked in the preoccupation with withering crops was the old dam that had formerly supplied water power for the electric current generator in the mill building. State inspection had warned town officials some twenty years earlier that the dam was a threat because of its decaying earth and log construction. In 1937 an emergency arose when heavy rains put extra pressure on the dam and sand bags had to be rushed to reinforce it. At that time, Mrs. Irene McNellie, daughter of Charles Crisman who had built the dam, consented to keeping the sluice gates open. Thereafter, the dam filled up only when feed waters exceeded the capacity of the drain. Thus, the occasional filling and emptying of the pond above the dam allowed the log formation to go through cycles of swelling and shrinking.

Brief showers temporarily moistened the parched ground on July 18th and 24th, with the first real rain coming in the late afternoon of August 6th. One shower led to another. Farmers became hopeful that their crops might still be rescued. No one, apparently, suspected that disaster was waiting for its cue.

The Sussex County Farm and Horse Show opened for its annual "Five Big Days And Nights" on August 9th. That was a clear day. Lawns had begun to grow. The drought was broked. But August 10th brought a resumption of downpours, until by August 12th, the Fair, sodden and sorrowful gave up its battle against the elements and closed. That night winds ripped tents and exhibits to shreds. The entire Eastern Seaboard had become involved in floods. August 18th saw rains of firehose force deluge a wide spread region.

Just who finally thought about the dam will probaly never be known, but by early evening the hazard was recognized. However, there were still those citizens who felt confident that "nothing would happen", so no official warnings were given to residents and business houses that would be in the path of destruction were the dam to break.

When, about 1:00 a.m. on August 19th the fire siren screamed its hideous blast, most people who heard it thought of fire. Very few persons were aware that it was sounded because the dam was about to let go!

The Fire Department began evacuating families directly in the obvious course of the water. William Grippenburg, propietor of the once stylish Park Place Hotel, by then converted into a tavern, took a doomed attitude since his establishment was a potential target. He began giving away bottles of liquor free to his customers. Water was already flooding Mill Street to a depth of two feet. A block away on Broad Street, families watched the water beginning to invade their floors.

The first suggestion of daylight was forcing its way through the dense storm clouds when the earth bulged to the bursting point at the dam, and minutes later, amidst the shriek of the siren and the horrifying crunch of aged timbers splitting and rocks wrenching from their sockets of earth, a wall of water eight feet high gushed forth, crashing onto buildings, parked cars, and concrete foundations! Paving heaved. Walls were splintered. Orie Fields, operator of a general store, was trapped in his automobile as the car careened and headed toward a deep basin in the ground near Garris' Garage. As his car struck a tree, Fields saw a figure clinging to its branches. He later learned that the figure was Charles Culver whose fingers were crushed in the impact. Fields reached out of the car window, grasped a tractor in passing, and pulled himself out just before the car sank.

Merchandise belonging to Howe's Five and Ten Cent Store was swept into the wild stream when a storage barn was caught in the full blow of the water. The garage opposite Dave's Bar and Grill was assailed, torn loose and shattered. Automobiles stored in the structure hurtled into the cascade along with ton-weight slabs of the concrete flooring. Field's General Store and other buildings along Mill Street received the full brunt of the wall of water and were left with roofs dangling over smashed side walls and beams. Fortified by the rocks, automobiles, trees and general wreckage, the flood dashed into a lower dam, taking out its concrete abutments as though they were sugar wafers. Onward rushed the massive collection of debris and water until struck the lumber yard of Hoos and Fletcher and from there with the railroad embankment. Soon rails and ties were left in mid-air, finally sagging onto every sort of demolished material carried by the waters. Further on, the water, trying to follow the course of the town brook, tore its sides in a widening pattern and, reaching the highway bridge under which the railroad ran beside the brook, undermined that structure causing the roadbed of Route 206 to dip beyond passage.

All this time, torrents of rain continued to drench stunned spectators, many of whom had rushed from their homes bewildered by the uncontrollable violence of water on rampage. Other streams not affected by the breaking of the dams had swollen on their own, gushing into streets and houses, weakening bridges, and adding to the disaster picture.

The McNellie home lay in the direct path of the second dam. The water rushed into one end of the house and carried furnishings out the other end. Narrow escapes from drowning were reported, but miraculously, no lives were lost, no fires started from broken wires, and no serious injuries were reported. Branchville was declared a disaster area, isolated from through highways because nine of its bridges over streams had been destroyed, leaving only one bridge and a circuitous route for passage through Branchville. State guards were brought in to avoid pilfering. Everyone entered into salvage work. All food stuffs caught in stores and restaurants were condemned. Power was quickly restored to most sections and potable water was provided by milk trucks pressed into service. The railroad had lost one half mile of track, and the total damage was estimated at over one million dollars. Mocking the situation, the sun came out bright and clear by noon that August 19th. A further alarm was spread when it was believed that Culver's Lake was about to break its bounds and add further flooding, but mercifully, no such onslaught occurred even though a general alarm had sent many citizens to "high ground" as ordered by loud speakers that were run through town mounted on trucks. Remarkably enough, Branchville was back to normal in about one week, minus a few building. Train service was not restored for over a month.

The most graphic description of the flood, if not the most tasteful, was given by one eye witness who said on seeing all the shattered materials rushing along in the raging waters, "It was like someone flushed a toilet."

For days after the flood, Mayor Willard Decker sat in front on the fire house, which was the center of salvage operations, in a state of shock. Mr. Decker had sponsored the publishing of a booklet "The Borough Beautiful" just three years earlier, indicating his pride in Branchville. Seeing the ravages of a disaster that could have been avoided hastened his death which occurred shortly thereafter.