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Signs of the Times
Mythissippi Parting the waters of conventional water wisdom. By Mike Mosedale | Illustration by Chris McAllister
T
he Mississippi River probably looms larger in the national consciousness than any other geographic feature of the continent. Its outsized influence stretches across history, from Henry Schoolcraft’s storied search for the Headwaters to the peopling of the bread basket to the great floods of the modern era. As a symbol, the river has been seen to represent freedom, lawlessness, civilization, the wild frontier, even the passage of time (see “Huckleberry Finn,” and scads of lesser story and song). Yet as befits the object of so much lore, misperceptions about the Father of Waters—or Misi-ziibi, as the Ojibwe called it—linger to this day. John O. Anfinson, author of “The River We Have Wrought: A History of the Upper Mississippi,” has spent much of his working life thinking about and studying the river. But as a student at the University of Minnesota, Anfinson says he knew little of the ribbon of water he passed over daily as he walked across the Washington Avenue Bridge to his classes. He recalls peering down at the waters and being puzzled that the levels seemed to remain relatively constant, despite the fluctuations in rainfall. Only later did Anfinson learn the reason: the Mississippi is not a natural river but, rather, “a highly engineered body of water” whose flows are regulated by a series of dams that begin not far from the headwaters at Itasca. Meanwhile, the once ungovernable contours of the wild river were tamed as the US Army Corps of Engineers built dams and levies and dredged navigation channels. Anfinson, who is now the chief resource officer for the Mississippi National River and Recreation Area (MNRRA), said many ordinary
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JOHN O. ANFINSON: “If you ask people, they’ll say it is a great river but I don’t think they know why anymore. They just point to Mark Twain.”
citizens know little about the highly controlled nature of the river. In fact the river is seen as merely a backdrop to people’s workaday lives; many Twin Cities residents don’t even know that the MNRRA, a National Park, is in their midst. “There’s a disconnection from the river,” said Anfinson. “If you ask people, they’ll say it is a great river but I don’t think they know why anymore. They just point to Mark Twain.” The Mississippi River is the largest river system in North America. Its watershed—or the land that flows into the river—drains all or part of 31 states. Whatever comes off the land goes into the river and its tributaries, sometimes with disastrous results. From the early 1890s to 1910, there were about 950 cases of typhoid per year in Minneapolis. Those epidemics were caused by raw sewage that drained into the Mississippi, which was also the source of the tap water. Naturally, this unwholesome arrangement fostered an acute public awareness about the river and its very real hazards. “You knew you were drinking Mississippi River water and you knew it could kill you,” said Anfinson. With the construction of the city’s first water filtration plant in 1913, those typhoid deaths receded in memory, as did much common understanding of the river. Today, Anfinson notes, many Twin Cities residents don’t realize that the water they cross on daily commutes is the same stuff that comes out of their taps. And as filtration technologies have improved, he says, a measure of hubris has evolved among some of those who do. “There’s a feeling that we can treat whatever is thrown at us,” he said. Whitney Clark, the executive director the Twin Cities-based Friends of the Mississippi River, said public perceptions about the water quality in the river vary widely and are often inaccurate. Older people who spent time on urban stretches of the Mississippi