The LuLac Edition #5, 720, July 22nd 2026

 

WRITE ON

WEDNESDAY

Our “Write on Wednesday” logo.

 

This week we’d like to share a brilliant piece from Luzerne County Councilperson Brittany Stephenson who has something to say about  where we were as a community a half century ago and where we need to stand now. United in purpose, not divided  in misunderstanding and and self interest.  

WHO WE BECOME — AFTER THE WATER RECEDES

Some places are remembered for the buildings they raised. Others are remembered for the battles they fought. After the past two weeks, I have come to believe that the Wyoming Valley — that Luzerne County — is remembered for something else entirely.

It is remembered for the way ordinary people have always found extraordinary ways to carry one another when life becomes too heavy to bear. It is remembered for how neighbors see one another, how communities respond in moments of uncertainty, and what people choose to remember about who they were when it mattered most.

I’ve lived in Luzerne County for as long as I can remember. Growing up, I would hear older folks and the parents and grandparents of my friends sharing stories of the Great Flood of ‘72. Unfortunately, many people who are my age, who have grown up in the Wyoming Valley over the years, have never felt the gravity of this tragedy in its entirety. They have not been educated on one of the most powerful pieces of this community’s history. Two weeks ago, I had the opportunity to attend the showing of ‘Agnes’ for its 54th anniversary at the Kirby Center.

I sat in those theater seats as devastation rained across the big screen, watching Wilkes-Barre and other towns we love be demolished by Hurricane Agnes. There were many moments when tears filled my eyes as I witnessed homes destroyed, families losing everything, and people crying out for help. In those moments, my questions were: What kind of people were we after experiencing this disaster as a community? What made Luzerne County worth calling home again?

This was the first time I had ever truly seen and fully experienced the visual history of Agnes’ severity. Until then, I had never fully conceptualized the enormity of rebuilding Wilkes-Barre, nor the rest of the Wyoming Valley.

More than 10,000 people came together to answer then-Luzerne County Civil Defense Coordinator Frank Townend’s broadcast request for volunteers to bag dirt and reinforce the dikes. People came together from all corners of Luzerne County, all walks of life, regardless of their age, gender, political party, race, religion, sexual orientation, or background, to protect their friends, their families, and all they had. Hand to hand. Bag after bag. The people formed a human chain, packing and stacking as much as they could. But at 11 a.m. on June 23, 1972, they heard the famous words of David DeCosmo: “Get out. Get out now.” The levees had broken. Hurricane Agnes had risen 15 feet above flood stage, and the labor of love to protect their community as a collective had begun to wash away.

Hurricane Agnes was ruthless in her wake; she held no compassion. The floodwaters attempted to erase everything in their path. The waters crossed every boundary we had ever imagined mattered. Property lines disappeared. Neighborhoods became one. Politics didn’t matter. Wealth didn’t matter. Last names didn’t matter. After Agnes was gone, all that remained were the people left to pick up the pieces of their broken homes. What mattered was how those people would lend a hand to one another in such a difficult time.

Agnes revealed something deeply true about our community. That we, the people of Luzerne County, were powerful beyond measure and could overcome what seemed impossible together. It revealed our resilience, our interdependence, and our generosity. The character of this community isn’t measured in ordinary times, but in times of adversity. Through such tragedy, this community has always been made up of the kind of people who understand that another person’s hardship was never theirs alone to carry. The greatest thing Luzerne County ever built wasn’t a bridge; it was a culture. Where neighbors carried and supported their neighbors despite their differences. When the water receded, it wasn’t the government that first walked through every neighborhood. It was the neighbors. It was church groups. It was single mothers. It was the nurses. It was firefighters, veterans, and children carrying shovels to dig through the muddy remains the river had left behind.

Seeing this film, so many thoughts refused to leave my mind. As we know, the mud was cleaned up from the streets… Buildings were rebuilt. Time passed. Politics and resources changed, and the valley was never the same. But the question Hurricane Agnes answered for us has never disappeared and was essential to this community’s growth. What kind of people are we when our neighbors need us most? Perhaps that is why the conversations happening in Luzerne County today have stayed with me, in parallel to this documentary about Agnes. Although the circumstances are very different, underneath it all, we are being asked to answer that very same question once again.

More than 50 years have passed. Our challenges as a community look different. They don’t always arrive as rushing waters. Sometimes they arrive quietly—someone wondering whether they will be treated equally, someone being judged before they are known, or someone afraid to ask for fairness because doing so might make them a target.

Our parents and grandparents answered those questions with sandbags, shovels, soaked work boots, and blistered hands. They answered them by refusing to let their neighbors rebuild alone. They handed that answer to us. Our generation doesn’t have to face the river like they did. But every generation is given its own trial, and every generation inherits its own moment of decision. Every generation is asked whether the morals and values that carried us yesterday still guide us today. For me, this is what the conversation surrounding the Luzerne County Non-Discrimination Ordinance has ultimately become.

Not simply a debate over policy or rhetoric. But a question about whether we still believe what   our parents and grandparents demonstrated more than fifty years ago—that the strength of this community has never been measured by who we exclude, but by who we refuse to leave behind.

Although our trial may not be a flood at this time, it is about whether we still recognize one another as neighbors. Whether we still believe another person’s hardship is not theirs alone to carry. Whether we are willing to choose one another before we choose fear.

Luzerne County is moving forward, and we must ask ourselves, who have we always been?

When someone in this community is vulnerable, who do we decide to be?

Who will we become again when it matters most?

If Hurricane Agnes taught us anything, it is that the strength of Luzerne County has never been found in the waters that divided us, but in the people who refused to let one another stand alone. May we continue to be the kind of community those of the past believed we could become.

I share this reflection with you today, as a friend, and because I believe it reminds us of who we were, who we are, and who we still have the opportunity to become.

Not simply a community that remembers its history.

But one that lives by it.

One that understands that protecting the dignity and humanity of our neighbors is never someone’s responsibility alone.

It belongs to all of us.