Voices from the Flood: When Cheyenne’s “Impossible” Disaster Struck
By Leslie Waggener
“It was like somebody opened a faucet right above our city and kept it open at ultra-high pressure.” — Mayor Don Erickson
The evening of August 1, 1985, started like many others in Cheyenne. Frontier Days had wrapped up, and the city was settling back into its usual rhythm. But what began as ordinary-looking storm clouds would become something no one could have imagined—a “once in 500 years” storm that claimed twelve lives and caused more than $61 million in damage.
The statistics tell us what happened, but they don’t capture what it felt like. The real story lives in the voices of ordinary people who found themselves in an extraordinary—and terrifying—situation.
That Uneasy Feeling
Sometimes you just know something’s not right. Police officer Bob Bradshaw felt it that evening. “It was obvious watching out our living room windows that things were about to turn south,” he remembered. He didn’t wait to be called—he suited up and headed into what would become an unprecedented disaster for Cheyenne.
Dave Gill, the emergency management director, had an even stronger premonition. His wife commented on it: “You’re uneasy tonight.” His response? “Well, I just got a feeling that things are going to be different tonight.”
When Normal Became Nightmare
What made this storm so devastating was how quickly it escalated. Anyone who’s lived in Cheyenne knows the drill—afternoon thunderstorms drop some rain, maybe hail, then move on. Fifteen minutes and you’re back to your evening.
This storm had other plans.
One West 32nd Street resident described watching his street transform: “We saw a river of water with hail floating on top rushing past and heading toward downtown Cheyenne. We watched the river rise outside the front door, getting closer to the top of the porch.”
Jan Jensen found words for what many felt: “It looked like they were shooting fire hoses through all our windows.”
The hail was unlike anything residents had ever seen—stones up to two inches across, piling ten feet deep in places. The city deployed snowplows in August, an unprecedented sight that underscored how extraordinary the night had become.
When Safety Became Danger
One of the cruelest ironies was that heading to basements during tornado warnings—exactly what people were supposed to do—became a death trap for some families.
The Lujan family did everything right when tornado sirens sounded. But then floodwater poured in. “When the last person got to the top of the stairs, the windows and door broke,” Cathy Lujan recalled. “In 20 minutes, the house was filled up to here”—she gestured to about four feet high.
Kay Hansen had a similar experience with a terrifying twist. Hail started pouring through their basement window like a frozen waterfall. “I just stood there,” she remembered. “I was stunned and thought, ‘I’ve got to get out of here or I’m not going to get out.’” Her husband pulled her to safety just as their basement filled to the ceiling—8¼ feet of hail and water.
A Hero’s Last Act
Deputy Sheriff Robert Van Alyne wasn’t even on duty, but he drove around in his pickup truck, checking on people door-to-door.
Around 10:15 p.m., he found the Hernandez family—a mother and three children trapped in their stalled car near flooded Windmill and Dell Range. Van Alyne rigged up a rescue line with ropes from a local scoutmaster and got two people out safely.
Then he went back for 6-year-old Kristi Hernandez. He put her on his back and started working hand-over-hand along the rope. But before they could reach safety, a massive surge swept them away. Both perished. Van Alyne was 33, the father of an eight-year-old son.
Sheriff’s Captain Walt Vanatta knew Van Alyne well: “That’s just the way he was. He would get involved and do the best he could do to keep somebody from getting hurt.”
When Everything Failed at Once
The flood exposed a terrifying reality: when disaster strikes, critical systems can fail all at once. The 911 lines went down. Fire broke out at police headquarters. The emergency management office flooded.
Dave Guille, the emergency management director, described the cascade of failures: “It was like the world came to an end, as far as [the] coordination we’ve been working on for years. It failed because we had a flood through the entire network.”
Even the tornado sirens created confusion. When they sounded again for flooding, many people stayed in their basements because they didn’t realize they needed to turn on a radio to learn what the warning was actually for.
Neighbors Helping Neighbors
But disasters also bring out the best in people. Police Chief Byron Rookstool saw it firsthand: “Cheyenne was like an ant hill that had been kicked. The citizens literally swarmed out after the flood, not just to look, but to help put their city back together.”
In east Cheyenne, six men chained themselves together and tied themselves to a front-end loader to swim out and rescue people. Neighbors set up a makeshift hospital in someone’s garage, complete with beds and heating pads.
Remembering the Lost
At Ridge Road and Dell Range Boulevard, a bronze heron stands next to a plaque with twelve names—from 3-year-old Alanja White to 73-year-old Alice Paulson, who died in her basement with her pet dog.
Their stories remind us that disasters aren’t just about infrastructure and emergency planning—they're about human beings caught in circumstances beyond their control, and other human beings who risk everything to help.
The voices from that night continue to shape Cheyenne today, ensuring that August 1, 1985, will never be just another date in the city’s history.
To see contemporary news coverage from KYCU-TV’s 5:30 News on August 1, 1985, documenting the flood and its effects, go to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvsNYDsdjW4
For more detailed information about the meteorological conditions, rescue operations, and long-term impacts of the 1985 flood, read the complete account in The Great Cheyenne Flood of 1985.