Musing: Hurricane Hugo Memories

Thirty-five years ago today, people in this region warily watched a massive hurricane approach the South Carolina coast. Few imagined the breadth of devastation that would be wrought in the coming day, not just along the coast but far inland. Anyone living through it can share their Hurricane Hugo memories.

The coastal onslaught

In the middle of the night, residents of tiny McClellanville, South Carolina, just north of Charleston, felt relief as the eye of the hurricane passed over them. They had survived hours of howling winds and had safely made it to the half-way point.

What they didn’t know was that a massive 20-foot storm surge would come ashore with the back of the eye wall. Within minutes, terror replaced their calm as water rose inside their houses. Many didn’t have time to reach ladders and resorted to breaking holes in their ceilings to access their attics. They perched on rafters with their families in the darkness as water rose above the tops of doors below them.

At nearby Lincoln High School, hundreds of people huddled in the safety of the official evacuation center. According to official maps, the school stood at a 20 foot elevation, high enough to withstand even the unimaginable wave coming ashore. Only after the storm did officials discover the maps were wrong. The building was only 10 feet above sea level, no match for the water that inundated the structure.

In the darkness, paramedic George Metts, stationed with his partner at the high school, heard water rushing into the building. They gathered their gear, but George found himself with water to nearly his shoulders in mere minutes. Everyone scrambled on top of desks, tables, and filing cabinets. Children were lifted onto the shoulders of adults. Only a few feet of air remained below the ceiling.

Through the windows, they saw a horrible sight. Water was two-feet deeper outside than in. If it broke through, few would survive, and no one knew how much more water was coming.

A few desperate men scrambled onto the roof, but that was little better. They couldn’t reach those below them to bring them higher. Worse, they were now totally exposed to the howling winds and flying debris.

Hours later, when the water finally receded, people were amazed to discover everyone in the high school survived. Few, though, had homes to return to. The town’s primary industry, fishing and shrimping, was destroyed. Boats were later located a half-mile inland.

In those early hours, though, they only wanted food and dry clothes. Coast guard helicopters spotted them and sent rescuers to evacuate the town. But evacuate to where?

North of McClellanville, the Myrtle Beach area fared little better. Few buildings survived unscathed. People flooded into emergency shelters faster than food and dry clothing could arrive.

To the south in Charleston, water had poured over the seawall, flooding the first floors of the historic homes. Nearly every roof was damaged by winds.

With so much devastation, emergency resources struggled to get through. Those with homes welcomed others to join them. Churches, schools, and businesses opened their doors to offer what comfort they could. People literally shared the shirts off their backs to shivering flood victims.

The inland impact

Far inland in Charlotte, we suffered nothing comparable, but we didn’t know how bad they had it. TV and radio stations struggled to broadcast as many had lost their transmission towers. Those who could broadcast had to scramble to separate fact from fiction with the sparse information available.

What we didn’t know that morning was that Hugo was still a Category 1 hurricane as it passed over the city of Charlotte. It’s the only time in my life when I stood outside in the eye of a hurricane. As strange as this sounds, I didn’t know a hurricane surrounded us. We had no communications to find out. We thought the storm had passed, only to be surprised when the wind and rain returned. Only later, when we found batteries for an old radio, did we glean what little news was available. It would take a week before we had electricity again (though our old rotary dial phone never failed us).

I remember standing on an empty five-lane road staring at a traffic light stretched across the pavement. The confusion was that we didn’t have a traffic light at the entrance to our apartment complex. The nearest ones were a quarter mile in either direction.

Only later would I discover that virtually all the traffic lights in the city were destroyed, quite the challenge for a city that prides itself in its traffic. Trees and telephone poles lay across roads, effectively blocking any movement. Not that we had anywhere to go—windows were shattered in the office towers downtown.

The indomitable human spirit

Of all the destruction and horror stories, though, my best memories of that time come from the unbelievable kindness of strangers. On the evening of September 22, the severity of our situation settled in. We would be without basic services for days.

Rather than panic, people throughout our apartment complex rolled grills into the parking lot. They cooked whatever they had stored in their silent refrigerators and freezers and shared it freely with those who had nothing. We sat outside, meeting neighbors for the very first time, and watched a police helicopter circle. (Only later did we learn looters rampaged through a nearby mall. Ignorance, sometimes, is bliss.)

The next day, when we finally could get out, a neighboring Mexican restaurant had a hand-painted sign in front of their building. An all-you-can-eat buffet for $5. Inside, we ate by candlelight—not for atmosphere, but because they had no power. They cooked with propane.

I overheard a woman explain to the manager that she had no cash because the ATMs weren’t working. He seated her and her children and they enjoyed a much-needed meal.

Yes, Hurricane Hugo memories flood over us on this anniversary. While I hope to never experience that devastation again, I welcome more of the humanity and kindness reaching out to others in their time of need.

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Thank You For Reading

Hope you enjoyed today’s story. Please let me know your memories of Hurricane Hugo if you shared that experience. I’d love to hear about it.