If you live in Central Texas, flash flood warnings are part of life. Nowhere is that truer than the 150-mile stretch of land that sits on the banks of the Guadalupe River. Warnings happen often. Floods themselves are rare.
But on July 4 at 3 a.m., four months’ worth of rain fell within hours, rapidly saturating the dry Hill Country soil and swelling creeks into violent torrents.
The Guadalupe River that snakes through downtown Kerrville averages a depth of just 1.65 feet. But between 5:15 a.m. and 6:45 a.m. that day, it surged from two feet to 34 feet, becoming a literal wall of water that swept through Kerr County communities.
As of this morning, the flash floods have claimed more than 100 lives. Hundreds of families spent Independence Day searching through debris for missing loved ones. Among the dead is Jeff Wilson, a teacher at my hometown school district, Humble ISD. (His wife, Amber, and son, Shiloh, are still missing.)
The dead include 27 children from Camp Mystic, a storied girls’ Christian summer camp.
It’s impossible to look at the pictures of these girls, or to read of children like Brooke and Blair Harber. The sisters—11 and 13 years old—were found with their hands locked together.
I am the father of a young daughter. The pain is unimaginable.
Alongside the heartbreak was the kind of heroism that embodies the best of Texas.
At Camp La Junta, a boys’ summer camp in the small town of Hunt, college-age camp counselors leaped into action to wake the boys and rush them up the hillside to higher ground as flood waters rushed in. By that afternoon, Camp La Junta announced that every camper and staff member was safe and accounted for. Not a single life was lost at La Junta.
Camp Mystic, the historic girls’ camp downriver, bore the worst of the flood. As floodwaters engulfed the camp, its beloved owner and director, 73-year-old Dick Eastland, raced to the Bubble Inn, a cabin just 150 feet from the river, to save the girls in his care. Searchers later found Eastland downriver alongside three young campers. His grandson, George, said this about him: “If he wasn’t going to die of natural causes, this was the only other way, saving the girls that he so loved and cared for.”
Emma Foltz, a counselor at Camp Mystic, is a name every American should know. Foltz, a rising senior at Louisiana Tech, didn’t hesitate and guided 14 young campers from rising waters to high ground. We often think of our younger generations as fragile and afraid. How wrong that caricature can be. It was Americans in their late teens and early 20s who answered the call after 9/11, who stormed the beaches of Normandy, and who fought the British in 1775. Like them, Emma Foltz should be remembered for the same heroic public service.
Nearby, on the same stretch of river, in the Bumble Bee Hills neighborhood, Erin Burgess and her 19‑year‑old son were swept away until they found a tree to cling to for an hour before the water receded. When asked how she survived, Erin credited her teenage son’s strength and tenacity. “Thankfully, he’s over six feet tall. That’s the only thing that saved me, was hanging on to him.”
In the small town of Ingram, 27-year-old Julian Ryan fought to get his fiancée, their two young children, and his mother onto the roof. He punched out a window to give them an exit, a desperate action that severed the artery in his arm. Before the slashed artery rendered him unconscious, he refused to quit and made sure his whole family was safe on top of their roof. He looked at his loved ones, told them he loved them, and apologized that he “wasn’t going to make it.” His body was taken by the river and found hours later, after the water receded.
Our first responders also showed incredible heroism. Petty Officer Scott Ruskan, 26, of the U.S. Coast Guard, was on the first rescue mission of his career when he plunged into the floodwaters. Ruskan personally rescued 165 people stranded by the high water—an astonishing number of lives saved by one man. He was also the lone triage coordinator on the scene, tending to the injured in between helicopter operations to hoist survivors to safety. “I’m just doing a job,” Ruskan said when asked by the New York Post about his heroism. “This is what I signed up for. If anyone else had been on duty that day, they would’ve done the same thing.”
The Texas National Guard and local emergency responders continue their work as of this writing. Guard helicopter crews and high-water rescue teams have been saving families from rooftops and submerged cars without rest. In total, roughly 850 people have been rescued across Central Texas in this disaster—a testament to the tireless work of these men and women. These citizen-soldiers and first responders are showing us all what service truly means.
It is perhaps fitting that these stories of heroism occurred on Independence Day, of all days. It is what Independence Day is really about: heroism, self-sacrifice, courage, and love of community. These are the values we cherish as Americans and as Texans, and they were on full display in Central Texas this weekend.
One never knows if they will be a hero when the time comes. Only a test of tragedy will be the judge. Many think they will act with courage, but fail. Many think they will lack the courage, but instead become the hero we need. Neighbors saved neighbors. Ordinary people became heroes. That is the spirit of Texas. No flood can ever wash it away.
Continue to pray for the victims and their families. Pray for the good people of my beloved state.
This article by Congressman Dan Crenshaw was originally published in The Free Press on July 7, 2025
