Wyoming Valley West's `public Service' Awards Were Anything But 
The Actions Of The Wyoming Valley West School Board Continue To Astound Me 
With Their Utter Contempt Of The Voting Public.

Alyce Leonard 
January 16, 1997 
Alyce E. Leonard, Formerly Of Boulevard Towers, Pittston, Died Thursday At The 
Highland Manor Nursing Home, Exeter.

Sunday, January 19, 1997 &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Page: 1A 





Mercy gets a new life &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 After careful consideration, Jim Siracuse made the painful decision that
would upend the lives of an estimated 100,000 people: Evacuate the Wyoming
ValleyFaced with flooding creeks and a rising river on Jan. 19, 1996, the
county's Emergency Management Agency director saw no other option. For the
next 36 hours, thousands of residents watched, worried and waited. Although
the river did not top the dikes, flooding throughout the county caused an
estimated $100 million in damage. The Times Leader begins a special report
today to mark the one-year anniversary of the Flood of '96. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; By CECE TODD &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Times Leader Staff Writer &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 WILKES-BARRE -- Musty air hung in the halls of Mercy Hospital as carpenter
Art DalSanto strolled its dim and lifeless corridors. The only sound came from
a broken elevator door that continued to open and close, open and close. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "It was a very strange and eerie feeling," DalSanto recalls of that night
one year ago. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 The night when melting snow and torrential rain forced 160 patients and
about 900 employees to flee Mercy. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 DalSanto was one of two people who remained behind to watch over the
deserted Wilkes-Barre hospital, where hours earlier, the debris-filled
Solomon's Creek gushed through the garage and ground floor of the outpatient
center and the hospital basement. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 In a building usually bustling with people, there was dead silence. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "The hospital had never been so silent," DalSanto says. "It was like an old
Western ghost town." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 But the weekend of Jan. 19, 1996, didn't start out that way. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 *** &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Susan Martin thought it was going to be "an ordinary rainy day, any day, a
go-in-and-have-a-baby kind of day." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Arriving at Mercy Hospital that Friday morning, the Hanover Township woman
looked forward to the birth of her fourth child, just hours away. She was
grateful it wasn't snowing. A couple of weeks earlier, a blizzard pounded the
Wyoming Valley. But this day, temperatures rose to the 50s and 60s. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Husband, Walter, 41, wanted to park on one of the residential streets that
surround the hospital. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "But I wanted to park close so I wouldn't have to walk in the rain," Susan,
34, remembers. So they parked in the lower level of the Mercy garage. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Inside the sound-proof, blinds-drawn maternity ward, Susan labored through
one contraction after another, unaware of anything except the pain, the hope,
and her husband's support. Then, about 2:30 p.m., she asked a nurse to open
the blinds so she could look out the window. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Her eyes widened in shock. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "Is that a boat?" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 *** &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Flood sirens wailed. Ambulances and fire trucks raced through the streets.
People -- old, young, confused, scared -- rushed out of their homes and sought
shelter at nearby Meyers High School. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 And the rain continued to fall. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 As Solomon's Creek overflowed its banks, South Wilkes-Barre looked like a
war zone. Ground zero: Mercy Hospital. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Police loaded stranded residents into rescue boats and ferried them down
Church Street past Mercy, where water poured through the automatic doors.
Inside, murky waters were swallowing the ground floor, missing the first floor
by several feet. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 And on the third floor, Susan Martin was giving birth. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "We weren't worried about the flooding," she says. "We live on top of a
hill." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Instead, she focused on her baby, and at 4:57 p.m., Brandon was born. As
the parents admired their newborn son, the doctor told them his car had been
flooded -- in the lower level of the garage. Susan's husband raced from the
room. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 When he didn't return right away, his wife turned on the television and saw
Pete Yaksick and his microphone in Walter's face. Like about 14 other cars,
her husband's car was submerged too. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "I'm tickled to death about the boy," he told the Channel 28 reporter with
a smile. "I've forgotten all about the car." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 But his wife hadn't forgotten. She remembers thinking, "Oh, no, I made him
park there." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 *** &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 That night, relieved to hear Solomon's Creek was receding, Mike Elias went
home. Exhausted from dealing with the flash flood, the Mercy vice president
for support services just wanted to relax. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 That quickly changed once he turned on the TV. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "Friday was such an emotional rollercoaster," he remembers. "When the day
began, the issue for us was Solomon's Creek. We dealt with that ... but then,
the issue became the river . &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 When he heard the Susquehanna was rising to dangerous levels, Elias
traveled back to 1972, to Agnes, to the flood that wiped out the Wyoming
Valley when he was a kid. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "I just thought, `Oh, God,"' he says. "Things are different now than they
were in 1972. You have flood insurance. But trauma is trauma." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Living just a few blocks from the raging river, Elias sent his family to a
relative's home on higher, safer ground. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Then he returned to Mercy -- where 160 sick and injured people awaited
evacuation. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 *** &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Mercy officials knew they could count on sister hospitals in Scranton and
Nanticoke to take some of their patients. The support of other, competing
hospitals in Luzerne County was a welcome surprise. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "This was the one time in health care when all patients were taken in, no
questions asked," says Gail Blaum, Mercy vice president for operations. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Some Mercy nurses reported for duty at the other hospitals to help with the
influx. Others helped with the evacuation, while countless volunteers manned
phones to handle calls from worried families of patients. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Command posts were set up in the lobby, cafeteria and emergency room, where
patients exited under the careful watch of Dr. Jack Consalvo. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Outside the hospital, about 15 ambulances, many of them from volunteer
companies, waited to transport. At least $1 million worth of equipment
followed the most critically ill, some of whom were on respirators and
ventilators. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "I almost cried when I saw all the ambulances lined up to take the
patients," Blaum says. "We didn't have to ask. They just showed up." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 And the patients handled the move remarkably well. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "There they were, on the litters, bundled up, but they were more concerned
about the staff that was staying behind," Blaum says. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Susan, Walter and baby Brandon were taken to Geisinger Wyoming Valley
Medical Center in Plains Township. The family, still bewildered by the day's
bizarre events, was greeted by a crowd cheering, "Here comes the flood baby!" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 *** &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Mercy prepared for the worst, but the worst never happened. Hours after the
last patient left, the Wyoming Valley was given a reprieve by the receding
Susquehanna. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 There was still, however, much work to be done. Employees worked around the
clock, shoveling mud, cleaning floors, moving equipment -- and the hospital
reopened at 7 a.m., Monday, Jan. 22. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 About 50 to 60 patients returned, and 46 new patients were admitted. Mercy
was back in business. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Officials say the 99-year-old hospital sustained $250,000 in damages, all
since repaired. Their contingency disaster plans, unused for years, served
them well. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 The only change: someone from security now checks Solomon's Creek during
heavy downpours. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Inside the hospital, no signs remain of the water and muck that forced an
unexpected evacuation. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 When carpenter DalSanto strolls the halls of Mercy, the air is clean and
filled with the sounds of health care: beeping monitors, radio dispatch,
elevator bells and voices. Lots of voices. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "It's just full of life again," he says. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Last week, one of those lives smiled and toddled all over the main lobby.
Susan Martin brought Brandon, who turns 1 today, back for a visit. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 "He likes to dance," his mother says. "He loves dogs and he loves `Wheel of
Fortune."' &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 And yes, he likes to play in water too. His nickname: Flood Bud. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 
 Tomorrow: Despite millions of dollars in aid, some local residents affected
by last January's flood cannot yet to return to their homes. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

Mercy Gets A New Life 
After Careful Consideration, Jim Siracuse Made The Painful Decision That Would 
Upend The Lives Of An Estimated 100,000 People: Evacuate The Wyoming Valley.

Mercy Gets A New Life After Careful Consideration, Jim Siracuse Made The Painful Decision That Would Upend The Lives Of An Estimated 100,000 People: Evacuate The Wyoming Valley.