The Man Who Flooded San Diego [VIDEO]
34:00 Share

Due to the nature of this story, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes discussions of death and natural disasters. Consider this when deciding how and when you'll listen. In January 1916, the deputy treasurer of San Diego clocks out early. Walking home that afternoon will be a challenge and a dangerous one. As he steps outside, he's pelted with rain and wind, making it hard to see the trolley he needs to catch.

The city is smack dab in the middle of the worst storm it has ever seen. After days of torrential rain, parts of downtown are under five feet of water. Tales of unthinkable destruction have filtered into the office all day. So the deputy treasurer takes the long way home, climbing to higher ground, where he can see the madness below him. Roiling water covering the city, houses floating untethered,

Families trying to pull one another to safety. It's difficult to comprehend, partly because nobody in San Diego can be 100% certain the storm is an act of God. Not after the city council hired a man to make it rain.

Welcome to Conspiracy Theories, a Spotify podcast. I'm Carter Roy. You can find us here every Wednesday. Be sure to check us out on Instagram at The Conspiracy Pod. And if you're listening in the Spotify app, you can watch a video version of this episode right in the app. Stay with us.

This episode is brought to you by Oli. Back to school means food changes, early breakfasts, school lunches, after school snacks, and let's not even talk about dinner. Oli's here to help you cover all the wellness spaces from daily multivitamins to belly balancing probiotics. Oli's got your fam covered. Buy three and get one free with code bundle24 at O-L-L-Y dot com. These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease.

This episode is brought to you by Vitamin Water. So much of what the world is obsessed with starts out in New York City. It's a place full of style and character that has something for everyone. With a range of flavors to meet any kind of taste, it's no wonder Vitamin Water was born there. Colorful, flavorful, anything but boring, Vitamin Water injects a daily dose of vibrancy into a watered-down life. Grab a Vitamin Water today. Vitamin Water is a registered trademark of Glasso.

- Bocas del Toro, Panama.

Scott Makeda's tropical haven becomes his personal hell. A serial killer pretending to be a therapist. A gringo mafia. A slaughtered family. Everybody knows I'm a monster. The law of the jungle is simple. Survive. I'm Candace DeLong. This is Natural Selection, Scott vs. Wild Bill. Available now wherever you get your podcasts.

In April 2024, the city of Dubai saw unprecedented rainfall over five and a half inches in just 24 hours. That's more than they usually get in an entire year.

It caused flooding, forced travel to a standstill, and elsewhere in the country led to four deaths. After such a rare event, people took to the internet, wondering if the storm was brought on by cloud seeding. That's the process where tiny particles of chemicals like silver iodide are dropped or even launched into clouds.

The idea is those chemicals help water molecules freeze and become heavier, then they fall to the ground, turning back into rain along the way. It's mainly used in places that don't get a lot of precipitation, like the United Arab Emirates. It was also used in Southern California in late 2023, a few months before a major rainstorm hit that area.

In fact, I have a detached studio that had water running across the floor and taking all the plaster off the walls. And Maggie, our producer, had to live in a hotel for months because of the floods. You know, because she likes living with walls. In LA, just like in Dubai, people wanted to know if cloud seeding was to blame for the storm's chaos. And these aren't new questions.

Just look at Project Cirrus, a government-backed program researching cloud seeding back in the 1940s. Only Project Cirrus wasn't just looking at making it rain.

On October 13th, 1947, a B-17 bomber flew along the edge of a hurricane. The storm had just wreaked havoc on Florida and now was moving off into the Atlantic Ocean. Once it was 350 miles from shore, the hurricane became a good candidate for a new experiment to see if they could weaken the storm by dropping dry ice into it. So that's exactly what they did.

dumping in more than 175 pounds of solid carbon dioxide. While absorbing the dry ice, the hurricane pulled a 180, tore backward, and made landfall in Savannah, Georgia. One life was lost and damage was extensive. At first, nobody could be sure what happened, but it looked like Project Cirrus had caused the hurricane to go haywire.

Later, investigators showed there was almost zero chance the dry ice had any effect on the hurricane. The storm had apparently shifted its course before it was introduced, and then the hurricane actually followed known weather patterns. Not everyone was so sure, though, including one of the project's scientists, who was convinced they had caused the storm to change course.

Either way, it wasn't a good look, and research into cloud seeding was delayed for years. But it's come a long way since the 40s. Today, experts say it increases rainfall by 5 to 15 percent, which can help ease droughts. But the process doesn't create the kind of downpours we've seen in Dubai or Los Angeles. According to those experts, we don't have that much power over the weather.

Unless you believe an early 20th century rainmaker named Charles Hatfield, whose name will forever be tied to what's arguably the most catastrophic flood to ever hit San Diego. It's late 1915, and San Diego, California is trying to stay on the map as the nation's premier boomtown,

Practically everyone who lives and does business there wants to entice more people to head out west. The city had its real estate heyday in the 1880s, but 30 years later, things have slowed down a little bit. San Diego still has a lot of potential. There's plenty of land and housing. And the Panama, California exposition is about to enter its second year.

Basically a big world's fair, the exposition showcases the beauty and importance of San Diego as an emerging city. It's a place to see exhibitions, demonstrations, architecture, and to hear great lectures. It's already been a huge success, attracting tourists from all over, some of whom decide to stay in town and put down roots.

Then there's the city's weather, touted in the papers as the most nearly perfect climate in the United States, with almost perpetual sunshine. While visitors enjoy the sun, city officials have another thing on their minds. Water. More specifically, rainwater. The growing population also means a higher demand for water,

There are a few dams situated all over the city, but their reservoirs are nowhere near full. So they turn to Charles Hatfield. People call him a wizard, a professor, even a god. My personal favorite, Frankenstein of the air. His favorite, the moisture accelerator. Imagine that as a Marvel character.

He says he doesn't claim to make rain clouds suddenly appear in a clear blue sky. That would be ludicrous. Instead, he coaxes clouds that are already present to release any moisture they might be hoarding. To do this, he sits atop a tower where he releases chemical vapors into the air. What exactly these chemicals are...

Nobody knows. He fervently keeps his formula a secret under lock and key. He even buries the metal pans he uses for heating the chemicals so nobody can find them and steal his ideas. In December 1915, Charles strides into San Diego's City Hall...

He's already submitted his plan to bring rain to the city, and now he needs to seal the deal. He's already got a lot going for him. First, there's the long resume of mostly successful rain-making gigs.

Then there's his reputation. He's charming, confident, and a sharp dresser. Plus, he has years of experience as a sewing machine salesman, so he knows how to land a sale. He's not pushy. He's actually soft-spoken until you get him going on a subject he's passionate about. Then he talks circles around everyone.

He can get so intense and use such highfalutin terminology that it leaves people's heads spinning. And lastly, Charles pitches his services as a low-risk investment. He tells prospective clients, you don't pay me until I deliver the rain I promised. That's probably how he gets the San Diego City Council on board for his highest-paying gig yet ever.

The councilmen approve his proposal by a four to one vote. That means Charles will collect $10,000, roughly $300,000 today, but only if he can fill the Morena Reservoir to the very top over the course of a year.

The Morena Dam sits about 60 miles outside the city. It's an ideal place for Charles to set up. It's remote, so he won't get many looky-loos. Situated near the Laguna Mountains, the area is gorgeous. It's a nice bonus. Even so, a less confident person might not have taken the job. At this point, the dam is only one-third full.

Somehow, Charles needs to collect 10 billion more gallons of rain and water runoff from the mountains, so he's got his work cut out for him. It's a huge personal gamble for Charles, who has to put up his own money to carry out his plan, so he hustles. Technically, he's agreed to begin on January 1st, but he and his brother Paul spend New Year's Eve building their tower.

Charles' base of operations near Morena Dam. He unpacks his chemicals, he's brought twice as much as usual, and jumps in headfirst with his usual 17-hour workdays. As he does, a light rain falls here and there, then on January 10th, it pours. Heavy rains return a couple days later on January 13th. Right away, there's a problem.

The ground is already so saturated from the last deluge, the soil can't absorb much water. Water cascades into cellars. Puddles form as dirt turns to thick mud. The next day, it's more of the same, and people are getting sick of it. Whether or not anybody really believes Charles is doing all of this, he's the talk of the town.

And he'll stay on people's minds as over the next two weeks, it keeps raining, turning a welcome shower into a deadly disaster. One that's still, to this day, known as Hatfield's Flood. By 1905, Charles Hatfield was something of a local Los Angeles celebrity. He became a favorite subject for reporters, and Charles knew how to work the public.

He carefully cultivated his persona, a blend of charisma and confidence tempered by humility. Now a decade into his career, he's feverishly working away at Morena Dam. Up in the mountains outside San Diego, he has no clue just how bad things are getting in town. By January 16th, harsh rains have pummeled the city for four days straight.

Water creeps over the banks of the San Diego River. The flooding is a serious threat now, and the city can no longer call the outside world for help. Every telephone and telegraph line in town has gone out. Things get worse the next day. Landslides wash away entire homesteads. Roads and railroad tracks are submerged, cutting off access to and from the city.

And in the midst of it all, Charles Hatfield mans his station. Always one to accept full responsibility for the rains, he's happy with his progress. He's no longer tracking his gains in inches. The reservoir is rising at the rate of several feet per day. Cut off from the disaster unfolding in town, Charles places a call to the city's water department.

He tells a random employee who answers the phone, I just wanted to tell you that it is only sprinkling now. Then he suggests he will bring on a lot more rain soon, to which the befuddled employee responds, Are you joking? By January 19th, the city is going on a full week of heavy rain when an altogether new thunderstorm rolls in. Thundershoes

The local weather bureau has stopped issuing forecasts. They're scratching their heads as much as the next person. See the way the weather bureaus are set up in 1916? San Diego can easily be blindsided by storms coming in from the Pacific Ocean. There are no outposts there to warn them. Like everybody else in town, all the local weather bureau can do at this point is stay vigilant and wait.

Optimists try to keep their eyes on the prize. The city is now looking at years worth of water filling the various dams all around the county. Others don't have the privilege of optimism. The storm has claimed its first lives. Houses are washed away, catching people by surprise as they try to wait out the rain upstairs or on roofs. Some try to escape only to be caught in the water and debris.

And it's certainly not a great time for people who, rather than trusting their banks to hold their life savings, bury their money in the ground. Then, by January 21st, the storms finally clear. Up at Morena Dam, the amount of water in the reservoir has doubled. It's already over the 10 billion gallon mark.

Which means Charles has just $5 billion to go before payday. He wants to be sure he's getting proper credit. So he calls up the San Diego Union and says...

and that beats any similar record for the place that I have been able to find. While San Diego gets to work repairing roadways, tracks, and telephone wires, Charles takes a much-needed break to play some horseshoes.

And in town, the local weather bureau releases a forecast. It's now January 26th, and they're calling for rain again that night and the next day. But they tell the newspaper this storm won't be as bad. The problem is they only see one of the systems heading their way from the northeast. But there's another headed right for San Diego coming from farther south in the Pacific Ocean.

the Bureau's blind spot. Before dawn the next morning, alarms blare, jolting residents awake and warning them to evacuate to higher ground. One of the smaller dams in the area threatens to burst and will have to be dynamited to release some of its water before the whole thing collapses. The city superintendent is monitoring the dams as rains and high winds pelt the town again.

He's been keeping a close watch, and he's not so sure the lower Otay Dam is going to hold.

He orders his men to evacuate the families living in the valley below. Meanwhile, bridges and roads are washing out left and right. In some spots, it looks like the ocean simply stretches out across the city. As water rushes down to the beach, it carries along trees, homes, you name it. The sum of people's earthly treasures all washing away. Just after 5 p.m.,

The superintendent's fears are realized. All of the lower Otay Dam breaks, crumbling under the weight of 10 billion gallons of water. In just 48 minutes, it tears across the city. By some estimates, the wall of water reaches 40 feet high, ruining everything in its path. Down in the valley, some people never get the evacuation warning and others choose not to heed it.

They're swept away in the Russian waters. A few are able to swim with the tide until they grab hold of tree branches or hillsides. But not everyone makes it out alive. By January 30th, the skies have finally cleared.

Looters raid piles of personal belongings that collect on the beaches. Rescue missions recover victims' broken bodies. For now, with the ground so oversaturated, they can't even be buried. The official report by the U.S. Geological Survey sets the death toll at 22. Damages within San Diego County are estimated at $3.7 million, or $111 million today.

Up above the city, Charles Hatfield's work is done. Less than a month since he began, the Morena Dam now holds over 15 billion gallons of water. It might have even burst too if it weren't for the heroic efforts of the dam keeper, who'd spent the previous night rowing across the choppy reservoir to engage the dam's release valves. It's unclear if Charles is aware of any of this.

What he does know is he's fulfilled his agreement with the city council. So he's probably a little surprised when he gets an angry anonymous phone call. The dam keeper's wife relays the message. Someone's on their way up here to lynch you. Days after the rain stops, Charles Hatfield hightails it away from Morena Dam on foot. Apparently he's taking the lynching threats seriously.

He walks for two days straight, hiding or using a fake name when he encounters other people. Meanwhile, San Diego is already bouncing back. In fact, now they're worried that reports are actually blowing the floods out of proportion, and that could hurt their chances as a boomtown. Even schoolchildren are directed to write letters saying, "Hey, we're doing fine. Things aren't all that bad."

It's against this backdrop that Charles steps forward into the public eye. He hasn't seen anybody wielding pitchforks or calling for his head on a pike, so he's ready to claim responsibility and collect his $10,000. Only, the city attorney of San Diego isn't going to make that easy for him. For Terrence Cosgrove, this isn't merely a matter of $10,000.

That's because people have threatened to sue the city after the dam collapsed. Ultimately, two of those lawsuits are filed.

Cosgrove knows if City Hall pays out a single dime to Charles, that opens them up to liability. The way he sees it, the only way San Diego wriggles out of those suits is to prove that the destruction and the rain were purely an act of God. Paying the rainmaker makes it look like San Diego was responsible.

At least, in a court of law. When Charles learns about this hang-up, he's incensed. He says he's put up $3,000 of his own money so far. But Cosgrove has a huge leg up on him, because Charles never got a written contract. He assumed the city council vote solidified their agreement.

A couple of the councilmen actually agree with the Rainmaker. They implore Cosgrove to just let them pay the man so he can leave San Diego and they can forget the whole thing. In the end, though, they resolve to leave it up to Cosgrove, and he knows they could be on the hook for millions, so he decides to go head-to-head with Charles.

He asked the rainmaker to submit a report citing evidence that he was directly responsible for the rain. It's a hard thing to prove. And by now, it's clear that the storms were not localized over San Diego, but had actually hit the entire West Coast. Which only helps Cosgrove's argument that Charles had nothing to do with the rains.

But Charles maintains, and will until his dying day, that he increased San Diego's rainfall. As he'd always said, his method is to increase rain, not conjure it out of nothing. He insists that he harness the full power of the storm clouds that would typically pass over the city. Perhaps knowing he's backed into a corner, Charles offers to settle. Cosgrove won't hear of it.

He gives the Rainmaker one option. We'll give you the $10,000 if you sign a document absolving San Diego of any responsibility for the damages, Charles refuses. That could leave him on the hook for millions of dollars. He's kind of already guilty in the court of public opinion, but to take responsibility in a real court could ruin his career. The $10,000 wouldn't be worth it.

Charles files his own suit against the city, but it's eventually taken off the books years later without going anywhere. The Rainmaker isn't all washed up yet, though. Clients turn to him throughout the 1920s, hopeful he can break their droughts. And he has a few more career-making successes, including a torrential downpour near the Mojave Desert in the dead of summer.

Then the rainmaking profession as a whole pretty much dries up during the Great Depression, and Charles goes back to selling sewing machines. So, what of his so-called rainmaking abilities? A lot of people believe he was a con artist at some level. I mean, there's his background as a savvy salesman who could close even the toughest deals, and

and his tendency to talk circles around people until they were too confused to object or ask questions. These could be qualities of a gifted scammer. If so, that still doesn't explain how he pulled off so many jobs successfully.

According to one theory, he was just really good at forecasting the weather. Before he carried out a single experiment, Charles devoted himself to studying meteorology. He poured over years and years worth of weather reports. Even back then, people who knew Charles and worked with him thought he was extremely talented at forecasting weather.

Around this time, the US Weather Bureau didn't have the greatest track record of predicting severe weather. Partly because of limitations they had no control over — they didn't have satellites and radar yet — and partly because of some disastrous mistakes. The public probably hadn't forgotten the deadly hurricane that hit Galveston, Texas just 15 years earlier.

The National Weather Bureau hadn't taken it seriously enough early on to evacuate the city in time. About 8,000 people were killed.

Maybe Charles just excelled at forecasting rain in a way that few did at that time. Like he was in a league of his own as a weatherman, and he used that to his advantage. Others say he wasn't a weatherman, he was just a gambler. He studied hard, sure, but it came down to knowing when the odds were in his favor. He could figure out which months usually saw the most precipitation and how much to expect.

So he knew how to drop a smart contract that gave him a high probability of success. One thing I can't quite figure out, though. It seems like Charles' biggest believer was himself. However he was pulling it off, people say he was really buying his own story, hook, line, and sinker. Or he was just so good at pretending that nobody ever saw through the facade.

When Charles Hatfield dies in 1958, his brother takes over the secret of the Rainmaker's chemical formula. As far as we can tell, when he passes away in 1974, the secret dies with him. We still don't know what was in that chemical mix, and we probably never will. So we can't completely rule out this possibility that he was a forerunner to what we now call cloud seeding.

There are modern-day cloud seeding operations that are ground-based, much like Charles' setup. However, experts have no way of pulling off what he claims he did. At least not at the level of what San Diego saw back in 1916.

As for the storms in Dubai and Los Angeles, researchers say there are a number of factors that could be increasing rain. For one thing, neither Dubai's nor LA's infrastructure is built to take on that much water that quickly. Most of the time, they don't need to. And both events happen during El Nino, the weather pattern that warms the surface of the Pacific Ocean.

Warmer temperatures create more moisture in the air, which can mean more severe rains, stretching from Los Angeles to Dubai. That said, 1916 was not an El Nino year, according to the National Weather Service, so the San Diego flood has no easy answers. Natural disasters are scary. They're unpredictable, deadly, costly. At best, we get a few days to prepare for them,

Sometimes it's only a few seconds. Some may respond to that by wanting to find a logical explanation that we have some control over, while others will keep trying to make nature bend to their will. Like Charles Hatfield, the Frankenstein of the air. Thank you for listening to Conspiracy Theories, a Spotify podcast. We're here with a new episode every Wednesday.

Be sure to check us out on Instagram at The Conspiracy Pod. If you're listening on the Spotify app, you can watch a video version of this episode right in the app. Amongst the many sources we used, we found The Wizard of Sun City by Gary Jenkins and the article Hatfield the Rainmaker by Thomas W. Patterson for the Journal of San Diego History, extremely helpful to our research. Until next time, remember, the truth isn't always the best story.

And the official story isn't always the truth. This episode was written and researched by Mickey Taylor, edited by Maggie Admire and Connor Sampson, fact-checked by Laurie Siegel, video production by Spencer Howard, and sound designed by Alex Button. A special thanks goes to Chelsea Wood. Our head of programming is Julian Boirot. Our head of production is Nick Johnson, and Spencer Howard is our post-production supervisor.

I'm your host, Carter Roy. This episode is brought to you by Hills Pet Nutrition. When you feed your pet Hills, you help feed a shelter pet, providing dogs and cats in need with science-led nutrition that helps make them happy, healthy, and ready to be adopted.

It's an initiative that Hills has supported since 2002. And since then, the Food, Shelter and Love program has helped more than 14 million pets find new homes, changing their life forever so they can change yours. Science did that. Learn more at hillspet.com slash podcast.