Tales of Hugo needed | Columnists | Summerville Journal Scene

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Tales of Hugo needed

Published Tuesday, August 18, 2009 2:33 PM

By Judy Watts
Berkeley Independent

It’s been nearly 20 years since the Hubster and our man-children weathered Hugo.

And now, we’re looking for a few good photos from our readers. Actually, we wouldn’t mind seeing the bad ones, too. And we want to hear your stories.

Specifically, we are looking for photos from the night of and the days following Hurricane Hugo. And we want to hear your stories of how you weathered the storm, the preparations you made and what you heard, felt and saw during and after the storm.

Can you believe it’s been 20 years since HH blew through here?

As we near the anniversary of that rather bizarre night on Sept. 21, 1989, The Journal Scene would like to post your photos and stories on our Website, journalscene.com.

We will also produce a special commemorative section that looks back at one of the most devastating storms in South Carolina’s history.

At our house our two man-children (at the time 8 and four years old), the Hubster and I stayed here in our home because, according to the weather forecast, Hugo was making tracks for an area north of us, most likely Myrtle Beach. But then, in the afternoon, the announcement came as the four of us sat on the couch in a row, staring at the TV as Linda Lombard ( I recall she was head of emergency preparedness then) came on and said it looked as if Charleston would be, “ground zero.” She and the other people one-by-one stated in alarming tones that it was too late to get on the road, that the interstates were clogged despite the reversal of incoming lanes to outgoing, and that it would be more dangerous to attempt evacuation at that point.

She then said to those who were refusing to leave oceanfront property they were staying at their own peril.

“And may God have mercy on your souls,” were the last words I remember hearing her say. At that point the station said it was signing off the air in order to evacuate their staff and the TV screen went blank.

I can honestly say that was the most afraid I had ever been. We immediately started moving furniture, taping windows, creating a shelter in the living room with a dining room table up against the center hallway. We opened windows on one end of the house (a practice we have since learned is folly) It was our first hurricane and we had no real supplies other than what was in the freezer. We did run the bathtub full of water and filled a few old milk jugs. My guy dug the battery-operated radio out of a drawer and we hunkered down under the table to wait. We had one old beer in the house that we shared, and toasted, “Here’s to us.”

The prediction did not disappoint. The electricity disappeared within the first hour. At the height of round one, wind screamed through the screens like a wailing woman. Random booms like giant behemoths stomping through the neighborhood signified giant trees falling around us. Branches crashed onto the roof.

But the strangest of all was when the mayhem suddenly stilled to quiet. Silence reigned.

We opened the front door; the way was blocked by branches. We went to the backyard, our flashlights illuminating the destruction. Trees lounged around the house in the backyard like sunbathers on a crowded beach. Other trees were bowed down facing the house, their giant pine tips touching the ground like parishioners at a prayer rail.

We saw a light flash next door at our neighbor’s house.

“You folks okay over there?” we called out, scanning our flashlights over the mess.

“So far,” they replied.

It wasn’t long before the wind returned, this time blowing in the opposite direction. The hours dragged on with more booming and crashing and screaming of wind. At some point it felt like the house itself was breathing in and out, expanding and contracting like a possessed abode in a Stephen King novel.

When dawn broke, the trees that had been bowed toward the house, were now praying in the opposite direction. Others had not survived.

And our brick house was now green, completely plastered with postage stamp-sized patches of leaves. That alone told the story and is not a site I have ever forgotten.

And now, dear readers, let us hear from you. We will relish the story you have to tell, as if we are gathered around a campfire enjoying the spinning of a well-worn tale.

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Hugo - The Winds of Change

Wednesday, September 23, 2009 1:40 AM

I was 18 years old when Hurricane Hugo blew through South Carolina, September 21-22, 1989. My family & I lived in Honey Hill, in the Francis Marion National Forest, twelve miles inland of McClellanville and the Intercoastal Waterway. I was working in Moncks Corner at NAPA (Auto Parts)& it started out as a beautiful fall day. By 3pm, however, the sky was a wicked, sick, greenish color and the wind was whipping. I went to the local Food Lion to pick up a few last minute things in preparation but the shelves were bare. I remember driving through town watching business signs blowing off their post, skating down the sidewalks. By 4pm, it was pouring rain and tree limbs were starting to break off and debris was being shrewn about, making the drive 30 miles home, dangerous. We tied things down, taped windows, checked flashlights & lanterns, then filled jugs & the bath tub with water. We lost power before darkness fell. There was nothing to do except listen to the howling wind & pray. We had about 30 minutes (if that) of "the eye" & silence, before what seemed like locomotives started rumbling through. (I believe there may have been tornados, but have no comfirmation of them). After that slight reprieve, the wind didn't gradually pick back up, it hit with a roar. Of course, the back half of the storm was worse; trees crashing ten-fold compared to before, the wind shrieking, and things bouncing off the house. There was no sleeping, we were too afraid of what was and what might happen. The morning after was surreal. Blue skies, total devastation of the landscape and the total lack of sound. No birds, bugs, dogs barking, nothing; just total silence. It was quite unnerving to go from almost 12 hours of screaming winds to dead silence. Then the chainsaws & generators started. We came to be annoyed then complacent of the consistent drone. For just shy of 4 weeks, we were without power and we lost telephone service for a few days too. (We actually used CB Radio's in vehicles to communicate at times!!) The only water supply was an old hand pump at the fire tower that the Forestry Service had installed years before. I'll never forget all the semi-trucks driving through asking for directions to different towns, yet not stopping or aiding ours. We knew how badly "hit" we were but had no news outside our own little isolated world. We were okay though. We pulled together as a community. We shared food, cleared debris, gave a hand where ever it was needed, cried with each other and prayed together. Eventually the noises of the chainsaws & generators ceased & life return to a semi surreal norm. Hurricane Hugo tested each & everyone of us, our faith and our spirits. I'm proud to say that much like the mighty Palmetto tree, we bent that night, but we did NOT break. Now 20 years later, the landscape and every soul that "rode" Hurricane Hugo out that September night is forever changed. The forest has come back strong, wildlife is abundent once again and our community is more unitied than ever before. We survived, by the Grace of God... bent but not broken.

Posted by: Amy (Grooms) Collier

Trident Hospital

Wednesday, September 16, 2009 12:27 AM

I worked on the 4th floor at Trident Hospital on the night Hugo hit. We had to stay calm for ours patients, but deep down we were worried! No one was hurt,that is one night I will never forget..

Posted by: Mary

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