Tuesday, September 5, 1961 – A tropical storm forms off the coast of Honduras.
By the car on the first day of high school. Tish was in 5th grade.
Labor Day passed, the picnic baskets were put away, the sun set and rose, and the first day of school arrived. Always a celebration, but especially in September of 1961, my first year at Texas City High School. The heat lingered, but the mood shifted overnight. Time for new clothes, new classes, and football. September, glorious as summer, but busy instead of lazy, focused instead dreamy.
Sunshine pounded the treeless patio of TCHS, where I waited with my friend Carolyn for the first bell of the first day. We pretended to be nonchalant, complaining about the heat and the early hour, but excitement bubbled over into our conversation.
“Wow! Our high school has a patio! And a swimming pool! I couldn’t wait to get here, could you? You were up at 6 a.m.? Me, too! Who’s that over there? Judy’s wearing a darling skirt. All the cute Fry boys are here! When’s the first football game? Will anyone like me? Will I survive P.E. so early in the day? What about my hair? Oh gosh. Five minutes between classes! Where’s the annex? Which way is the band hall? Which way is the gym?”
Endless hallway at TCHS.
The school spread like an amoeba over six acres of flat prairie land in the middle of town, four long wings lined up like sandwich meat, held together by the auditorium and the gym complex, with mid-century modern touches – flat roofs, catwalks, and sprawling hallways. It opened in 1957, so it still smelled new, and we were proud of it.
Wednesday, September 6 – The tropical storm reaches hurricane strength as it moves north past the Yucatan peninsula. It’s christened Hurricane Carla.
By Wednesday at school I knew where all the restrooms were, and I had enough paperwork to read until I was a senior. Everything I could possibly want to know about classes, drills, gym clothes, pep rallies, PTA meetings, clubs, student parking and more. If it existed in the well-established world of public education in Texas City, I had a handout about it.
Thursday, September 7 – Hurricane Carla skims the Yucatan peninsula and enters the Gulf of Mexico.
My hair was, in female parlance, a mess, but I couldn’t help it. I heard Carolyn honking in her driveway next door. I was riding to school with her, so I had to go, and we made it on time. I only got turned around once that day in school, when I thought I was going toward the gym, but I ended up back at the patio.
Friday, September 8 – Hurricane watches are issued for the entire Texas coast.
By Friday I was a seasoned high school girl. Carolyn knew where to park. I knew I could sit in Rex’s car in the parking lot and still hear the first bell. I had to dash to get to class in five minutes, but it could be done. I felt smug and grown up. Come Monday, no doubt, I would walk around looking like the self-assured juniors and seniors. What could go wrong?
Carla looked something like this, though images from the time are of poor quality.
When there’s a storm in the Gulf, coastal dwellers watch and wait. My mother picked me up from school on Friday (saddle shoes were on sale at Penny’s), and after shopping we drove out on the dike, as a lot of others were doing. This storm, still 400 miles out to sea, already shoved the tide a foot above normal. The radio said it was big, too – gale force winds covering an area of 500 miles in diameter.
My mother shook her head as she looked at the water. “Too high.” She was a Texas City native. She had seen storms come and go, and she didn’t like it.
When we got home Aunt Jackie called. She didn’t like it, either. Tomorrow, Saturday, they were taking my cousin Beverly back to school at Sam Houston State College, which would also serve as their personal evacuation plan. Jackie suggested we come with them to Huntsville, in our own car. If we had to, we could make do and all stay in Bev’s dorm room overnight. It would probably blow over by Sunday at the latest.
Saturday, September 9 – The Texas and Louisiana coasts are under a hurricane warning. By 1 p.m. Carla picks Texas, but it’s a long coastline. Where? Tides are already two to three feet above normal. This hurricane’s a tease, too, stalling, starting, stalling again, but it’s expected to make landfall on Sunday, September 10.
My easy-going Uncle Raymond seldom made demands, but no matter where we were going or when, he always gently demanded we leave at 4 a.m., which made us crazy, but this time it saved us from chaos. By noon people were leaving the coast voluntarily, and later in the day, the authorities issued a formal evacuation order. Not that everyone complied – as usual, many didn’t. During the next two days half a million people evacuated the coastal areas, the largest coastal evacuation in U.S. history at the time.
Because of our 4 a.m. departure we avoided the traffic jams, but nevertheless, when we arrived in Huntsville it was full of returning students and others who thought they might as well go on up to Huntsville, just in case. No matter the warnings and predictions, no one expected a catastrophe until it couldn’t be denied. Our plans went south as the storm headed north. There was a mix-up, and Bev’s dorm wasn’t open for students yet, and every room in Huntsville was taken, every motel had a waiting list.
Raymond (who directed air traffic after the Disaster) had five females in his charge, my aunt and my cousin, my mother, my sister, and me, and that Texas City gentleman took this responsibility seriously. There were other men in the family, but my cousin Ray was away in the Army, and my stepfather, a towboat captain, was pushing barges up the Mississippi River.
After trying several motels, all full, all with waiting lists, Raymond got tactical. He smiled and nodded politely, and asked the manager if it would be OK to just sit and read the paper. After all, said Raymond, he had nowhere to go, and five women waiting in the car, one of them just a little girl. The manager shrugged. About an hour into it, someone checked out. Raymond got the room, waiting list or not. He didn’t threaten or bribe. He didn’t insist. He just found a way.
He was a hero to me, even though it was just one room with two beds and a small couch. Poor Raymond got the couch. Fatigue and worry did us all in, though, and after watching the bad news on TV for a while, exhaustion overtook us, and we slept uninterrupted, even by our nightmares, until early Sunday morning.
Sunday, September 10 – Hurricane Carla stalls, then begins to move and stall, move and stall, and by noon, the storm is 160 miles from Galveston.
Dan Rather in Galveston.
The next morning and throughout the day, the adults were glued to the TV. A crazy young reporter and former student at Sam Houston State College stood in the wind and rain in Galveston. In 1961 the image of Dan Rather in hurricane-force winds was new and riveting. He waded into the surf to deliver ominous news. Instead of moving inland and dissipating, Hurricane Carla had stalled. The storm by all predictions would move inland on Sunday, but it didn’t. Even with sophisticated weather techniques, hurricanes are ever unpredictable. When Carla decided to move again, it was by fits and starts.
Monday, September 11 – Hurricane Carla finally moves inland at Port O’Connor, 160 miles from Texas City and well within the 300-mile swath of the massive storm. Hurricane force winds and high tides pummel the coast, from Port Aransas near Corpus Christi to Sabine Pass on the Louisiana border.
Galveston, Sept 1961.
Bev and I woke up early to find the adults never went to bed, but stayed glued to the television all night. The storm had moved inland at last, so everyone assumed it would soon be over, at least, bad as it was. Dan Rather and other reporters spoke of 15 foot tides and 40 foot waves.
The storm dropped from Category 5 to Category 4, but to make up for it, it stalled again, pummeling the coast with 150 mile an hour winds and gusts up to 175 miles per hour. Carla danced in circles off the coast for three hours, and the damage multiplied, as if to send a message to all coastal dwellers:
There, said Carla, you like living on the coast? You like the water, the gulls, the beach, the fresh breeze? Well, there’s a price to pay, so pay up.
And pay up we did. Hurricane Carla did $2.5 billion worth of damage (in 2014 dollars). Forty-six people lost their lives.
Texas City, maybe Sept 12?
The rain had pushed inland ahead of the storm, and it was pounding outside our motel in Huntsville. The adults didn’t look up when Bev and I donned our plastic raincoats and left the room. We sat down on the soaking wet furniture by the pool and cried. Rain pocked the pool surface and ran down our plastic-covered arms. The hood on Bev’s raincoat had a tiny visor, and I can still see the drops falling off the visor onto her cheeks like a 60s love song – is it tears I see, or is it rain?
“That’s it,” she said, gathering her composure. “I’ll go home with y’all. I can’t register for school now. My parents will need the money.”
I had nothing to offer or give up, though I wanted to. She looked like a hero to me. She would do what she had to do.
We wandered back to the room, and Bev relayed her decision to her mother. Jackie listened, thanked her, and said what mattered was Bev’s education, more than carpet or furniture, more than the whole damned house, if it came to that. So Aunt Jackie was my hero, too, and Bev stayed in Huntsville.
Tuesday, September 12 – The storm loses its punch as it moves further inland, but still causes havoc across Texas into Oklahoma, up through Missouri, and Michigan, finally blowing itself out as stormy weather in Canada, ending its 13-day career as one of the all-time great and most destructive hurricanes in U.S. history.
We were all numb, and I don’t remember how long before we headed home. We followed Jackie and Raymond, but we became separated, and my next recollection is sitting outside at a burger joint in La Marque, not knowing where to go or what to do next. My mother spotted the only person she knew in La Marque. He was leaving the parking lot, and she ran after the car, arms waving, screaming “Bob! Bob! Stop! Stop!”
Many roads looked like this when we snuck back into TC.
I thought I would perish with embarrassment – Butterfly’s aren’t meant to run – but I didn’t understand what a break this was for us. No rooms were available anywhere, and Bob never hesitated. He and his wife put us up for days, fed us, and made us feel welcome, and we hardly knew them. They were heroes.
The authorities blocked the main arteries into Texas City, but everyone knew the back way and went home as soon as they could, even though it was terrible judgment. Hazards littered the town, downed trees, mud slicks, twisted wires, even boats gone loose from their moorings and resting in streets and yards. We got home and it was bad. Bad for our us and for all our 17th Avenue neighbors, like Mike Peveto, Melba Bradshaw, and Jim Bell.
Mike, Class of ’64.
Our house was built three feet off the ground, but it was blocks from open water. Four feet of water and mud swirled through our house for days. Every bit of furniture was piled against the walls in the direction of the mighty water, and I couldn’t believe the power of such a thing. Nothing upholstered was salvageable. No water or electricity. The water receded leaving four inches of mud behind. We heard slimy things. The Butterfly broke down. I got to work.
Melba, Class of ’64.
The water supply was contaminated, and it gushed muddy and brown when I turned on the hose and washed the muck from the garage. We found usable candles, lit them with my mother’s cigarette lighter, and sitting on damp lawn chairs in the shelter of the garage, we ate beans out of a can. We did what we could, and went back to Bob’s house, swinging over to 21st Avenue to see about Jackie and Raymond. We found them side by side on the floor of their home, scooping up mud and debris. There wasn’t much to say.
Boats broke their moorings and ended up on beaches and in front yards.
We came back every day, and it felt beyond peculiar to stand in my living room wielding a garden hose. I don’t remember how long the power was out, but it was weeks, and we worked on without it. We put furniture in the sun to dry or stacked it at the curb. I was strong, but I had never done that kind of physical labor, dawn until dusk. Our neighbors had their hands full. My mother and Cody spoke using Bob’s telephone and agreed he should stay on the river. We were going to need his paycheck. Almost all our furniture was gone, including the appliances – washing machine, stove, refrigerator.
Typical scene for weeks in TC after Carla. Photo courtesy of Al Mitchell, Class of ’65.
We ate at a Salvation Army soup kitchen with everyone else. We got fresh water off trucks going up and down the streets. My mother managed to have mattresses delivered, and as soon as they came, we were home to stay, as damp and damaged as it was. The piles of soggy belongings at the curb grew higher all along the street and all over town, and we worked and worked. I was the organizer, my sister, who was only ten, did what she could, and my mother got over the shock of seeing so much of her life destroyed. There was nothing left of our family photographs but soup.
TC after Carla. This may be a Chelsea duplex? Photo courtesy of Al Mitchell.
The Williams’ family next door had returned, and so had the sun. There followed a period of spectacular weather, sunny, warm, and dry. Carolyn and I sat on the porch and shared what there was to eat, then we went back to work, she with hers, me with mine. Every day there was progress, but for months we walked on wooden floors that felt like old-fashioned wash boards. The dampness dissipated some with the sunny weather, but the smell of pluff mud and dead fish lingered clear into spring.
Faye (RIP), Class of ’64.
We heard incredible stories from those who didn’t evacuate. Faye Pinte’s stubborn father refused to leave, subjecting himself and his wife and daughter to a terrifying ordeal. They spent the hours during the hurricane in a boat in their garage. The water lifted the boat to the rafters, and as the wind howled, they weren’t sure the roof would hold. Faye thought they were going to die.
Bill (RIP), Class of ’63.
Bill Haire came by in a pick-up truck, looking for ways to help. His home was among the lucky few that didn’t flood. He asked what he could do, and my mother assigned him the worst task there could be, which he did willingly and with his wide smile in place. He cleaned out our freezer full of rotten, liquefied meat, closed up in the heat for days. Bill was a hero that day.
High water forces snakes into places they shouldn’t be. No. 3 is a Water Moccasin (Cottonmouth).
Dennis Black’s home near Third Avenue and Third Street was dry, but many of his friends had a foot of slimy mud in their homes. He remembers following meandering trails in the silt and finding water moccasins holed up in a closet. He shot at them with a .22 rifle. I don’t know what’s scariest about that – the snakes, the gun, the mud or Dennis. Or Dennis with a gun in the mud.
When there are TV shows about the most dangerous hurricanes in history, sometimes Carla is mentioned, sometimes not. After going online for information, it seems the media prefers strong visuals over accurate stories. The old footage from Carla appears crude and uninteresting compared to the high-tech images of later storms, but here are a few facts about our own Hurricane Carla.
Carla shows up as No. 9 on the old Saffir-Simpson scale, which ranks storms primarily on maximum winds, which may be isolated. This scale doesn’t consider size and scope of a hurricane’s wind field. There’s a newer ranking system called the Hurricane Severity Index (HSI) that assigns points to a storm based on size and intensity, encompassing sustained winds. In the HSI, taking everything into account, it isn’t Katrina at the top, nor Ike nor Andrew. It’s Hurricane Carla.
November 1961 – Sunny, temperatures well-above average on the Texas coast.
Auditorium cushions drying on the TCHS patio.
School started again. I believe it was November, but I know the sun was out as it was the day after Labor Day. The wet seat cushions from the auditorium were still on the patio, laid end to end like big square fish drying for the winter.
In 1961 my neighbors, friends, and relatives, all ordinary people, met the challenges of a destructive hurricane. When I see pictures of recent storms, my heart goes out to those who lost so much, but I have mixed feelings. Some of the follow-up stories are five, ten, even 15 years later.
There’s been a cultural shift in attitude since 1961. I don’t remember people crying about Hurricane Carla for years and years. Texas Citians were happy for the limited help we got, but we expected to dig ourselves out from Carla. We cleaned up and moved on. That was America in the 50s and 60s, and that was our hometown.
The Class of ’64, raised by survivors of the worst industrial accident in U.S. history, entered high school on the cusp of the worst hurricane in U.S. history, and graduated on the heels of a national tragedy. Our first week of school terminated in Hurricane Carla; our senior year started with the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Were we better prepared than some for the calamities of the future? We were born to it, weren’t we?
After all, the symbol of Texas City is the Phoenix.
NEXT: Ironic timing, here. Tomorrow I’m heading to South Carolina where we have property. Only minor damage from the flooding, but it must be attended to. On Tuesday, Oct 20, the blog post will be a short story I published some years ago, inspired by the wonderful, wacky teachers of Texas City.
Tuesday in Texas 
The memories this story bring up shows how strong our Texas City was. We were not only a city but a family and everyone pitched in to help. Everyone helped. Shipley Donuts had a truck drive by every morning with hot donuts and hot coffee. At lunch the Red Cross brought us sandwiches and chips and water. At dinner the Salvation Army brought us hot meals. but most important was the friends and neighbors and relatives that just showed up to help where they could. We lived in Moses Lake and at that time we really did live in Moses Lake: 6 feet of water and 4 feet of mud. But we survived and the whole town rebuilt. Wow the memories. Thanks again Becky.
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Yes, I remember you folks out in Moses Lake had it as bad or worse than anyone. Rex lived out there, and his family ended up living in a trailer on the same lot as their ruined house. I’m not sure they ever got it livable again. Thanks for writing. I love hearing from you, and hearing your recollections. Love you. Bec
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Great live reporting!..Can relate after going through hurricane Andrew..
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Unless you’ve lived through an event like this, I don’t think you can imagine what it’s like, beyond the drama of the news reports on TV. When that part’s over, it’s the aftermath that brings the biggest challenges. Thanks for your comment. xxoo Bec
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I feel so bad for all of you, experiencing the cleanup aftermath of Carla…especially Faye, who felt the actual storm. That must have been horrifying for her.
I didn’t have to clean up initially, since my mother and I got to stay with my grandparents in Livingston, almost until school resumed. Daddy stayed to help keep the refinery running. So, he was the one to do all the heavy clean up for us, bless his heart. And,I remember him mentioning a snake in the top shelf of a closet. (He should have called Dennis!) I also remember saving my formals and shoes, by putting them all up on my bed, before Mother and I evacuated. I felt pretty smug about that. Ha. And I remember the washboard floors, too. Weird to walk on.
And, those seats on the patio. What a sight! Remember all the new books that were ruined in the bottom lockers? I think most of the students were delighted about that!
Didn’t the school district add 5 or 10 minutes or so to each class that year, to make up for the days lost? Gotta get that state money! Pretty smart, because it was hardly noticeable.
It was a very memorable first year in high school. Thank you, Becky, for uniting us again.
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Oh, gosh, that’s funny about saving your formals and shoes. I also saved my high heels! I put them on top of a chest that was heavy enough not to blow over, and it worked. If I had it to do over, I’d take all the family photos out of the bottom drawer of my mother’s dresser. Well. Not too many do-overs in life. Somehow, I can’t picture you — the Queen — doing mud duty, ha ha. Your Dad (yes, bless him) knew who he was dealing with when he sent you to Livingston. Smile. You will notice than in my mention Dennis menacing the world with his .22, I didn’t say he actually HIT anything. In his telling of the story, that part is unclear. Yes, I think you’re right about the additional classroom time, although I don’t remember that. Lana told me that, too. I love hearing from you! Hugs! Bec
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I remember being in Huntsville and seeing a large tree pulled up by the roots. And going to Fry and waiting in long lines for ‘shots’! I’ll never forget that and going back for boosters. Also, a large T. V. that was in our flower bed that no one claimed and it looked perfect. It was so odd to me that it didn’t have a scratch on it and the glass wasn’t broken. Thanks for the memories:-)
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So you were in Huntsville, too, huh? People say I have a good memory, but my theory is simply that people remember different things. I don’t remember the part about the shots. I enjoyed your story of the TV. That’s just the sort of thing that happened — just odd and quirky. We didn’t have time to think too much about anything, but yes, how in the world did the TV survive without a scratch. Interesting. Thanks for writing. Bec
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I often think back to Carla and the devastation that she caused. We tried twice to get home from staying with my aunt and uncle in Houston. The second time the officials allowed us to drive to our house. Two weeks prior to the hurricane my dad, mom and two sisters spent the most of a Saturday night picking crabs off of the Galveston beach as the females crawled out of the water to lay their eggs on the beach an annual event for the Gulf of Mexico crab. Two tote bags full of live crabs were taken home and boiled. They were then picked by dad, mom and me and placed into plastic bags and put into two freezers. Lots of crab meat for sure. As we turned off of 9th Ave onto 8th Ave returning home from Houston we could smell the stench of rotten crab meat. The garage at our house and where the two freezers resided still has the smell of the crab stink embedded into the wood. The house floors and carpets were covered with mud and water marks up to the ceiling in one of the hall ways. We should remember that the government did very little to assist us as we rebuilt our homes. In fact I only remember getting ice and butter, real butter, from the government. The same government program that allowed us to buy milk at 2 cents a carton at school provided butter and other products although I can’t remember what they were. The Red Cross and Salvation Army provided the majority of the needed assistance. Football practiced resumed within a week after our returning from Houston, before school started I might add. Although we spent years rebuilding and changing out “stuff” that broke caused by the salt water damage, for the most part the hurricane was history by the time Christmas came that year. In today’s world this same act of nature would take years to overcome – as one waits for the government.
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That’s a great story, Jinx, very real, and exactly the kind of personal detail that makes interesting reading. All that wonderful crab meat, and the work it took to get it, not only gone, but stinking up the house forever. That’s something. Also, of course football practice got going again immediately — it was TEXAS. Besides, giving people something else to think about is never a bad thing. Thanks so much for sharing. Bec
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Becky,
Your description of Carla is right on. We were extremely blessed that we came home to a dry house on 5th Avenue. My dad’s station on Texas Avenue was not as fortunate, experiencing three feet of water. We lost a ton of lawn mower parts, and after that, my dad built taller shelves and never put anything of value below three feet. I am embarrassed to say this, but we prospered from Carla. Having a lawn mower shop, people began dropping their muddy lawn mowers with us. Our station was full of muddy, smelly lawn mowers. Of course, we had to clean and repair them. My dad, being a photographer, was contracted by insurance adjusters to take damage photos. I
have a box of Carla damage negatives. It was a tough time in our lives, and we will always compare future storms with Carla.
I wonder if anyone remembers the swollen Blocker gymnasium floor that had three foot
buckles. It had been redone that summer.
Thanks again, Al
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Thanks for writing, Al. I’m sure you lost as much as you gained, since your dad’s business was damaged. And anyway, all you did was get paid for work you did. Never anything wrong with that. I’m sure you were fair. Yes, we will always compare future storms with Carla, but I hope it never gets that bad. I love the coast, but I guess in the future I’ll mostly be visiting. xxoo Bec
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My baby brother Carl was born in July of 1961. We only went to Houston and all the motels were full. Daddy found a garage apt that rented by the week and took it for us. My brother Jim got the floor; I got the couch; Momma & Daddy pushed two twin beds together and put Carl between them in the bed. During the night, the beds moved apart and Carl fell on the floor between the beds — he cried, Momma screamed and cried. Since it was our 1st night in the place, Daddy couldn’t find the light and the chaos went on for what seemed like an eternity but was really only a few minutes. Once things calmed down, Momma was scared we would be kicked out because of the noise — but — the storm outside covered the noise in our little haven.
Once again, thank you for sharing your life in TC … with just enough of the common facts that each of us feel like it is our own personal story. — Sharon
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Thanks for writing, Sharon, my old friend. I loved your story about your brother and the time you had in Houston. I can just imagine what that was like when no one could find the light. I especially appreciate your last remark about it feeling like “our own personl story.” That’s exactly what I’m hoping to do — write something meaningfull in a broader. Hugs – Bec
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Those of you who were in the band will remember that the band was to play at the Oilers game on Sunday. My parents had planned to leave me at home, but with a hurricane in the gulf, my father explained to Mr. Renfroe at the football game on Friday night that I would not be able to go to the Oilers game on Sunday. Mr. Renfroe was very upset and told my father that I had an obligation to the band and would not be excused from the Sunday performance. I don’t remember the exact response that my father gave him, but knowing Kenneth Hustedde, it was pretty clear, that he did not care. The Oilers game ended up being cancelled; I went to San Antonio with my parents instead of staying home alone (probably with Linda Chandler). Carla came straight up to San Antonio and we were stranded in a motel and could only get to the International House of Pancakes to eat for several days. I was in heaven because I did and still do love pancakes. I do remember the shots because my youngest sister had a reaction to the shot and ran 105 temp. She was talking out of her head and my other sister and I thought it was very funny. We did not have water in our house in Wayside, but we kept busy washing clothes for people who had lost their washers.
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OMG! Those band directors in TC were crazed! Although I realize now that if you get tired of being retired, you can become a pancake-eating washer woman. You have experience! xxoo
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14 Boats and a Flat Cat:
I came back pretty early with a friend that we stayed with in Houston to escape the storm. Getting past the National Guardsmen was a strange experience. As we pulled up to the curb in front of the house, I was surprised to see 14 boats piled up in the front yard. We lived on 8th Ave., 1-1/2 blocks from the beginning of the dike road, and these were fairly small rental boats, all painted the same color and each with an ID number. Before I left to return to Houston, the Hooter brothers came by in a rather large truck to begin collecting them. Apparently their family was in the boat rental business. I often have wondered if I had salvage rights.
Then to the front door to see what was left of inside. Hmmmm…no damage. The high water mark was flush with the top step to the front porch, but nothing came inside. Amazing. Apparently being that close to the Dike road was an advantage. It was high ground compared to further inland, and the water just passed on by looking for the low ground.
So on to the garage to see what all had floated away. I was met with quite a sight (squeamish stop reading here). We had one of those lift-up garage doors that was hinged in the middle on each side, and had springs in the hinge mechanism that allowed you to lift up the heavy door. It had a gap of about 2″ at the most on each side between the door edge and the walls. We kept a large bolt in the hinge mechanism that would keep anyone from being able to lift the door. But it did allow it to lift a little, with the bottom coming up off the floor about 2 ft. or so.
About 3 ft. away from one door edge was a small tree. Apparently an abandoned cat took shelter against the rising water in that tree. And apparently the wind caused the garage door to lift up and down in the swirling winds as high as the security bolt would allow. And apparently the cat took measure of the distance, the amount the door was opening on the edge, and the rhythm of the opening and slamming shut of the door in the high winds. It would take perfect timing. He didn’t have it. Flat cat. So before leaving town I had to find a shovel and find a burial plot. At least the ground was soft.
Strange how certain things stick in your mind about a day like that.
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OMG! What a story! I’m told an unoccupied boat on the high seas belongs to anyone who boards her, but I don’t know about an unoccupied boat on dry land. Dennis’ story about the snakes and yours about the cat makes me think about all the living creatures that had to seek higher ground. I’m not partial to snakes, but they gotta live, too. A hurricane’s hard on critters! Bec
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When we evacuated TC we went to houston to stay with relatives. When it became apparent that Carla was headed to Houston we left and went to Austin to stay with different relatives. Of course the storm also went through Austin , but we stayed there. When we finally got to go back to TC we were surprised tomfind that our house had no water or wind damage. Of course the fridge needed to be cleaned out so i was assigned that task. After some clean up around our house my brother and i helped to clean up his girlfriends houe in Moses lake area. After This it seems we then volunteered to help clean her uncles home. Then a previous Scout Masters house, then another family friend and more till school started. We both felt somlucky to have had no damage that we happy to spend our days helping friends and neighbors.
So many had suffered such devastating losses. Its hard to understand without living through it.
I remember Bill Hare well. His older brother and mine were really good friends and our families also were friends. Did not know he had passed. Nice guy!
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Helping out others makes you a hero, too, Joe. By my definition that beats running into burning buildings any day. Yes, Bill was a great guy. I remember his mother died when he was still in high school, and I went to the funeral. Lana Huestedde Anderson went with me. I’m told Bill had a career in the military, and he was a recruiter when he died of a heart attack, I believe in Oklahoma. I’m not totally sure of these details, but I am sure he’s gone, and that it was his heart. Bec
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Becky, another great read. You’re spoiling us! I was sorry to learn that you are having to address flooding issues at your property in South Carolina. I was so saddened to see what those South Carolinians were enduring. I was reminded of Allison that was quite a rain event here in this area. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0T2rPuWoWGE I remember thinking at various times during Allison, “It can’t *possibly* rain anymore than it’s already rained” — and then it would rain some more! I hope your damages are minimal.
I love how you found so many heroes in the midst of all the chaos. A less observant individual would probably not have noticed.
I don’t have a whole lot of memory about Carla because my mother was the leader of the procession out of the city. I’m pretty sure we left at least 2 days before everyone else, and Mother waved the official, albeit imaginary, evacuation flag as drove away if to say, “Time to leave, y’all! Chop! Chop!” Mother had had enough disaster to last her a lifetime in April of ’47, and that governed her approach to all threats from that point forward. Daddy stayed behind because he was a member of Civil Defense. Mother wasn’t happy about that. We stayed in Houston with friends in a dinky little apartment directly behind what would eventually become Van’s Ballroom. When the storm was over, Mother wouldn’t let me come back to TC for several days.
As Lana (who lived one block north of me) said, Wayside wasn’t hit too hard by the flooding. Our house did get flooded, though, because our roof was damaged and it rained right in. We didn’t have the mud everyone is describing, but my cousins, aunts and uncles did, as did many of my friends. My cousin Sharon worked very hard to save her annuals, and I remember that every time we pulled them out to look at the cute guys (did I just write that out loud?!), they had that “Carla smell.” Our family members sustained much property damage, but no lives were lost, nor were there any major injuries.
BTW, that picture of the man (policeman?) standing in water up to his hips was taken at the corner of 6th Street and 13th Avenue. (See the spire of the Showboat and the 3-story Mainland Building in the background?) That Amoco filling station was my Uncle Art Hasson’s station. Directly across the street was Mainland Savings where another uncle (Jim Luhning) was president and where my aunt (Jean Luhning Penna) worked.
Dolores, I had forgotten about the extra minutes they added to each period so that we could make up for the time lost. What I do remember is that one of my best friends at Fry (whom you know very well) was newly in love, and she and I spent a lot of that 3-week period we were out of school talking about HIM! Or rather I listened while she talked! 🙂 I got even later on when I fell in love with the new guy from Houston and jabbered on and on about him. 😉 We had great fun double dating that year.
Jinx, you make some good points. Our resilience as a people seems to be waning.
Albert, your pics are amazing. I’d love to see some of those negatives one day.
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Thanks for sharing all this, especially the details of the TC photo on 6th and 13th. And so like a teenage girl, isn’t it? To “fall in love” in the middle of it all. You know, you can still get Al’s wonderful littel book — it’s available on Amazon. And who, exactly, is the best friend I know very well??? AFter all this time, I doubt she would mind you telling, ha ha. BTW, I remember Van’s Ballroom! Used to go there one in a while when I lived in Houston. Thanks for sharing all this. xxoo Bec
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If I close my eyes and think about Hurricane Carla, I see the bloated bodies of the cattle pushed against the barbed wire fence as we entered the city limits…mother, me and my younger sister. Our heads are turning quickly to search for more storm damage. We turn off of 9th avenue onto our street which ran behind Habor Village Shopping Center. Getting to the end of the street, we see our house, which doesn’t look too bad, until we get to the back. There we see curtains flapping in the air through the dinning room wall that isn’t there anymore, and part of the bathroom wall is gone. Muddy cat prints were all over the kitchen countertops, and the stench from the mud is something that we all will probably never forget.
A barrel had floated up into the front flowerbed, and wow, it was full of water. We had something to help us start the clean up. Then we see a soldier coming toward us in full gear, carrying a rifle. He wanted to know if we had the authority to be there. That’s when we learned that they were guarding the shopping center. In my memory, we knew without much conversation that we had a big clean up ahead of us, and we all just got to work in doing what needed to be done in the days to come. Throughout the years, when a hurricane entered the gulf, we started thinking about preparations.
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Wow. Imagine finding actual walls missing. Interesting that it was just the three of you, just like my younger sister, me and my mother. And the guard encounter. In those days seeing a soldier in full gear and armed was extremely unusual on American soil. Now you see that every time you go to the airport, just about. Things have truly changed. Thanks for telling me about this. I’m learning so much about what friends and neighbors went through. xxoo Bec
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