Hurricane Hugo

Hurricane Hugo

The evening before, the skies were blue and the sunset was a dazzling mixture of yellows and pinks.  It was so beautiful that our teenage son was making a film with the video camera he had received a few months earlier for his birthday.  It felt so calm; it seemed impossible that the predicted storm would be that fierce. Nevertheless, we folded the lawn chairs and stored them in the shed, then reluctantly left the sunset to have dinner.

As we were eating our meatballs and spaghetti, we could hear the wind pick up a little. After cleaning up the kitchen and watching Family Matters, we were all in bed by 10:30.

Around 3 o’clock in the morning, my husband wakes me out of a sound sleep. I am irritated to be dragged out of bed, but after hearing that a tree had hit the roof over one of the boys’ bedrooms, I am persuaded that we should do something. The four of us, sleepy but somberly aware of the danger, sit around the kitchen table and try to decide what we should do. We can hear the storm howling outside, and agree that we need to protect ourselves. Our older boy points out that because we are right next to a large bay window, this might not be the optimal place to sit. We decide to shelter in our very small cellar, only large enough for our standup freezer and several chairs. We are lucky to have any cellar at all, since most houses in Charlotte don’t have them.

We can hear the storm raging around us. Our younger son asks how long we’ll be safe in the cellar. My husband and I look at each other. I detect a look of uncertainty in his eyes, and he must see the same in mine.  I suddenly think about journalists on TV reporting on victims of storms and natural disasters. I was always critical of those who refused to leave their homes, but now I feel a glimmer of compassion. It’s warm and relatively comfortable in our cellar now, but if something were to happen, where would we go? What would we take with us? 

After a big storm, you see photos of floods and rising waters and rescuers trying to save people by boat. Many of those rescued were wild eyed and desperate.  They were cold and hungry and because they had been warned to evacuate, I felt little sympathy for them. I swore in my heart that if I were told it was dangerous to stay, I would leave. 

I hear myself saying “That’s a good question. We should probably be thinking about what we would take with us if we have to leave.”

Three sets of eyes turn to look at me, their faces reflecting fear, horror and finally uncertainty. What would we take? What would I take? My thoughts turn to valuables, my jewelry, my silver, my favorite dishes that were wedding presents. But the silver and crockery would be too heavy, and I know the jewelry can be replaced. What can’t be replaced?   I think about documents and tax returns and recognize that there are too many, they are too heavy, and it would be difficult to gather them quickly. Then it occurs to me: photographs! This was a time before everyone kept their pictures on the cloud. But I remember that we never got around to organizing all the photos that we have. Well, we could take our wedding album.

Our older son said he would take his video camera. The younger one wanted to get the cleats he had just purchased. My husband was perplexed. He first thought of important documents, but recognized that the most important ones were in a safe at the bank. Then he thought about work, and the research he was doing. It was all on his computer, the desktop in his office upstairs. How he wished he had bought a laptop! How could he take his desktop computer with us?

Time passed sluggishly. Our younger son crept up the steps twice, returning each time to report that it was still raining. The third time he called down that the rain had stopped. We climbed the stairs to find that the storm had passed, but left destruction in its path.  We go up to our son’s bedroom where the tree had fallen on the roof. We look out, and see that our teenage son has only to slide down the tree to escape our supervision. The ceiling in the room is untouched, which is a relief.

 Looking out the windows back downstairs, we could see that there was debris everywhere. Tree branches littered the ground and blocked our driveway. We turned on the lights only to discover that power was out. No power meant no hot water, no stove, no lights, no television or radio. My husband picked up the phone and swore, then told us that the telephone was dead. We decided to bundle up and get into the car to see if we could listen to the radio. We turned on WBT and heard what we already knew: that Charlotte had endured a hurricane and suffered trees crashing into buildings and homes. Over a loud cacophony of buzzing, we learned what we hadn’t known: the control tower at Douglas Airport had monitored a wind gust of 99 miles per hour and had to be evacuated, and windows were blown out of uptown buildings.

We found out what the buzzing noises were when we left the car: neighbors next door and across the street were out with their chainsaws, clearing their driveways and cleaning up the debris. The boys went over to help our eighty-year-old neighbor clear his front lawn, as we tried to figure out how best to clear ours. When he discovered we didn’t own a chainsaw, he offered to use his to cut up the branches that were blocking our car, and we gratefully accepted. We were tidying up our yard, moving the bigger branches to the front by the street where it would be picked up eventually, and bagging the smaller bits of wood in a huge plastic bag. In addition to the wood, there was also plenty of trash to clear that had been transported by the wind. Our sons were helping our neighbor do the same. 

By noon we were all exhausted. It was late September and chilly, and my husband and I longed for a hot coffee. We bundled up and got in the car to see what we could find. What we found was that the traffic lights were out, since there was no electricity in our neighborhood, perhaps in the whole city. It was difficult to get through intersections where we were on a small street and the cars on the main street kept coming through, undeterred by the blinking yellow lights. Eventually we managed to arrive at a convenience store where the boys got hot chocolates, and we got wretched but satisfyingly hot coffee.

We were without power for a week, and without telephone service for two weeks, which was well before cell phones were available. Hot meals were out of the question, and we ate what we could of anything we could find. Cold cereal with milk, cottage cheese and yogurt, hard cheeses and bread, cans of tuna fish. The first time our teenage son complained, his dad reminded him that we could be living in a shelter and he agreed that we were lucky.

Showers, unless you were willing to take a cold one, became a luxury.  Friends of ours whose power was back on invited us to their home for showers. I’ve rarely enjoyed a shower as much as I enjoyed the one in their house, my first in three days. It didn’t occur to me to suggest to our teenage son to curtail the length of his shower, and I was mortified that he spent three quarters of an hour in their bathroom. Thankfully, these were good friends who had a sense of humor and were very gracious. We also appreciated the steaks they served us for dinner.

After we had electricity and phone service, we felt a camaraderie with our neighbors and friends who had survived Hurricane Hugo along with us. For at least a while, we truly appreciated the privileges we enjoyed. And I, for one, had a different attitude toward those who are forced to survive a disaster.