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Hurricane!

By Steven Long

Hurricane first ran in August, 1983, in the late, lamented, Houston City Magazine. The story hit the stands two weeks before West Galveston Island was struck head on by Hurricane Alicia. The story is fiction based on fact, the result of interviews with two former directors of the National Hurricane Center in Miami. Everything in the story can happen. I give it to my readers again in the spirit of the season.

The winds blew west across Africa. They began on the Arabian Peninsula, then blew across Egypt, Libya and Algeria until they reached the coast and exited the dark continent and came over the warm waters of the Atlantic.

In the United States, hurricane forecasters predicted that this would be a "bad one." It had been a strange year for strange weather. The jet stream had dipped lower into the continental United States than ever in recent memory. Why? Nobody knew. The Pacific Coast of North America had been buffeted by storms blamed on the oceanic phenomenon called "El Nino," which left Colorado and much of the Westerm states in the grip of winter in late May. Weather watchers felt that the problems had only begun.

The mayors of the 10 municipalities around Clear Lake, near Houston, met and briefly discussed hurricane evacuation procedures at an annual, pro forma hurricane awareness meeting. Most of the officials had never been through a serious tropical storm, much less a full-blown hurricane. They were mainly snowbirds who had come to the area in the mid-60s with the space program and its related service industries. They and their neighbors felt that they would be safe.

The storm moved over the waters of the Atlantic which had been warm for months, the winds picked up strength and moisture Eventually, the ocean, acting like a super heated machine, caused the winds to be affected by the coriolis force of the Northern Hemisphere, moving them in a counter clockwise motion. The winds gained in intensity. A storm was being born. Weather satellites tracked the westward moving cloud cover and noted its increasing mass.

The small storm was of little concern to anyone but shipping interests that had vessels in its path. The clouds moved slowly) through the doldrums, a climatic belt of calm air near the equator-moving at 10 knots an hour. As the storm drifted on a western track with 35 mph winds, it made the Atlantic only slightly rougher than usual, the deep waters making the waves caused by the wind gentle and rolling. Weathermen in the United States told their television viewers that yet another Atlantic disturbance "was on the horizon,' as they jokingly pointed "way off the map' near the Cape Verde Islands.

In Houston, the summer symphony concerts were a big hit at the city's venerable Miller Outdoor Theatre, a venue beloved for almost a century.

On Galveston Island, condo mania continued at a fever pitch as wealthy islanders and Houstonians bought up the remaining beachfront' property on speculation. After years of trying to be more than a second-rate, blue collar resort, the Oleander City had finally been discovered by its affluent neighbors to the north. The boom climate was heightened by the possibility of casino gambling. Hopes of slot machines at the county's dog track made gamblers salivate; weary of the long trek to Lake Charles to play the slots. The National Hurricane Center in Miami routinely announced that it was disturbance-the fifteenth of the year- and began to issue bulletins on the storm's movement and intensity. Privately the staff of the hurricane center suspected that this could be serious.

Houstonians weren't worried. After all, the entire area had good drainage. Only Dickinson, a little to the south, was thought to have a serious problem with flooding. Two cities at the mouth of Clear Lake, however, remembered another storm. Hurricane Carla all but wiped out the small fishing vil- lages of Kemah and Seabrook. Residents remembered the flat empty slabs that were once fine restaurants. They lived on the bay and drew their lifeblood from its waters. Many times they had seen their fishermen neighbors lost in a thunderstorm. Many times they had seen the Coast Guard's search-and-rescue helicopters with their searchlights sweeping low across the water. They knew what the sea could do. They had seen glimpses of its fury.

The storm continued on its relentless westbound track, slowly picking up speed, Monitored daily now for three days by the National Hurricane Center, the storm was 1000 miles to the east of Barbados, almost on the maps of the TV weathermen. It was no longer anything to be joked about. Dur- ing the past five days. it had gained strength over the warm and unbroken waters of the mid-Atlantic. Storm forecasters stated that it would reach hurricane strength (74 mph winds) by nightfall. All ships were warned to avoid the storm's path.

In Houston, weathermen began to say that they were "keeping a close watch for further development,"

The National Weather Service announced that a hurricane watch was in effect from Grand Isle, Louisiana, to Palacios, Texas Advisories began to be issued once every four hours. Air Force weather planes continued to return from the eye of the storm with increasingly somber news.

Still the curious walked and drove in mist and spitting rain to rubberneck along Galveston's famed Seawall Boulevard, their interest spurred by the TV news reports. The Gulf of Mex ico was an ugly, churning caldron of tan waters with white foam as far as the horizon.

Galvestonians remembered another time, a quiet September day when the Gulf turned ugly. By the following morning more than 6,000 of them would be dead. September 8, 1900 would never be forgotten by the islanders. It remained the worst natural disaster in American history.

All along the Seawall, resort merchant disgustedly began the ritual of boarding up their plate glass windows, cursing under their breath that once again, nature had in truded on business.

So often it was a false alarm. So often, the storm turned and struck down the coast or somewhere in Louisiana. At 6:00 P.M., the National Weather Service recommended that people in low lying areas seek higher ground immediately. The few ranchers on the west end of Galveston Island herded their livestock to shelter. The fishermen of Port Bolivar sat in long lines with beachgoers for the 20-minute ferry: ride that would take them to 1-45 an< escape. The misty rain continued. At 8:00 P.M., the National Weather Seivice issued an advisory that the storm ha< intensified and was now a dangerous hurricane.

The storm, now named Opel, was keeping her northwesterly track which if it continued meant she would make landfall somewhere between Grand Isle Louisiana, and Galveston, Texas. The storm had rapidly grown into a monster with winds now moving at 155 mph. The barometric pressure in the eye of the storm was 27.15. By all criteria Opal was now a category-five hurricane.

Preparations for evacuation began along the Texas-Louisiana coast. Under Texas law, only the mayors of cities or their designated representatives can order evacuations. City governments along the coast were now in panic mode. The officials had seen the long traffic jams on the highways during past storm scares and were tired of crying "wolf.'

At midnight, the meteorologist from tin Nadonal Weather Service office, acting alone with federal authority went ahead and issued a general evacuation call for Galveston Island, the Galveston County mainland and communities around Clear Lake, La Porte, and parts of Baytown. Late-njght television viewers heeded the call. By 1:00 A.M" a steady stream of automobiles loaded with families, pets and a few prized possessions entered the rain-satu- rated southeast Texas roadways. By morn- ing the exodus was well under way. In Gal- veston County, 81.000 vehicles crowded onto northbound highways. In Harris County, the roadways handled 43,000 vehicles, all seeking higher ground. By noon the lines all but stopped because of overheated engines and minor fender benders. Tempers flared as the unending caravan moved only two miles every three hours.

By mid- afternoon, some people abandoned their cars altogether and walked to roadside joints to sip away the crisis. Others, whose engines had overheated, pushed their cars out of the way and hitchhiked in the pouring rain.

The National Hurricane Center warned that tides of 14 to 18 feet could be expected if Opal hit the Texas Coast. Storm tides in the upper reaches of Galveston Bay could climb to 30 feet from the "funneling effect," a phenomenon caused by water having no place to go but up after filling normal bays and estuaries. Houston, already flooded by torrential reins, could expect even more flooding in the coming hours. At 4:00 P.M., Galveston radar showed spiral bands of the northeastern hurricane quadrant pushing over the southeast Texas coastline. The bands contained thunderstorms with rainfall rates up to two inches per hour.

Galveston and Porn Bolivar were experiencing gale-force winds.Tides at Galveston reached four feet, cutting off the San Luis Pass bridge at the western tip of the island. Escape from Galveston in other directions was not any better. A five-foot tide made Highway 87 from Port Bolivar impassable and a seven-and -one- half -foot tide did the same to I-45, isolating the re- remaining population on Galveston Island. The tides were rising at one foot per hour. At 5:00 P.M., the Texas Department of Public Safety notified the civil defense director of Galveston County that there were approximately 100 cars flooded and it stranded on Highway 6 near Hitchcock (elevation three feet).

Families escaped their cars and began wading or swimming through the churning water toward higher ground. Some headed back toward the 1-45 overpass while others just went west. Still others climbed onto the tops of their cars. At the Galveston County Courthouse. the civil defense coordinator called the county sheriffs department for their four-wheel drive emergency vehicles. To his dismay, the county judge had ordered all vehicles to the county garage on the mainland to be locked up for the duration of the storm. The director called the National Guard for help.

The guard had not been mobilized. The commander had received no order from the governor's office that an emergency existed, and there had been no call from any Galveston County mayor asking for help. Finally, the exhausted civil defense director called a private petroleum helicopter ser- vice; all that equipment, he learned, had been flown to higher ground. Alone in a room of crackling radios, he cried.

Atop the overpass at the junction of 1-45 and Highway 6, a clump of 30 families were high but not dry, after wading and swim- ming to the top of the concrete embank- ment. Confident that rescue was near, the families huddled together for warmth and shelter. Some had umbrellas. A few had brought flashlights.

As darkness fell they passed their flashlights up and down the slope of the hill.

They soon discovered they would not be the only refugees from the coming flood: light glinted back from the eyes of dozens of creatures-including snakes-also seeking the high ground. Along with terrified deer and lost dogs.

The refugee rattlesnakes of the salt plains were coming to join them. As the snakes slithered up the hill, the defenseless people panicked, trying to stomp them back in the wind and rain. Some snakes swam away, but most struggled for space, fatally striking the humans in their path.

On Galveston Island, the designated hurricane shelters, mostly local schools. rapidly filled with Galveston's infirm, poor and homeless who owned no means of escape. The Red Cross could provide adequate shelter for only 5000 refugees; three times that number now crammed every available space.

At 9:00 P.M., the National Weather Ser- vice predicted that Hurricane Opal was ex- pected to hit the eastern end of Galveston Island at approximately 4:00 A.M. The island could expect a storm surge of 24 feet. or 7 feet above the top of the Seawall. The upper reaches of Galveston Bay and parts of Houston could expect a storm surge of 30 feet or more.

Of Galveston's 70.000 residents, only 40 percent fled, leaving 42,000 held hostage in shelters and homes. After the announce- ment from the National Weather Service, the rain-soaked streets of the city filled with people seeking the safety of the large build- ings in the downtown area and in the huge medical complex of the University of Texas. They found most of the buildings closed, locked or guarded. The refugees were turned away.

The university, acting on its own disaster plan, had released 50 percent of its patients, some to other institutions. The remaining skeleton crew locked the doors of the facility. The multimillion- dollar, state-owned structures were an island of safety to a relative few.

Houston had mounting problems of its own. Most streets were flooded from the incessant rains that had pelted the city for 24 hours. An emergency command center had been set up at city hall, but there was little to command. The city owned few emergency vehicles that could pass through the high and still-rising water. The city budget had made no allowances for such a rare situation. People sat in their homes watching the waters foam on their streets and then sidewalks. They couldn't conceive of a hurricane; A lot of wind, yes. More rain, yes, and certainly more flooding. Most did not know the elevation of their homes.

By 11:00 A.M" Galveston Island was experiencing heavier rainfall, and tides had reached 14 feet at the Seawall, a mere 3 feet below the street that ran atop the island's only protection from the raging Gulf. Two hours before, most streets on the lower backside of the island filled with water pouring from the bay. The rains continually added to the level of the water. Houses became islands unto themselves. Most of the electrical lines were down. Residents, who could not sleep because of the 125 mph sustained winds, huddled together around candles and Coleman lanterns.

At 2:00 A.M" water rose over the Seawall sweeping into the central city. On the Strand in downtown Galveston, the water quickly reached a depth of five, then six feet. Water began to flood island homes. Panic-stricken residents, not used to the vicissitudes of the sea, frantically carried whatever they could to second-story rooms and attics. Most isle homes sit up at least : three to four feet above street level. Now, homeowners waded through a foot of water in their living rooms.

The explosion could have been seen in Dal- las. The explosion set off another explosion, then another, furiously lighting the early morning sky. But Texas City residents were lucky. Most had already evacuated from the area's three and four-foot elevation. The death toll was' not so great here. Only a few men manning the refinery died.

Up Galveston Bay the waves churned, followed by the eye of the storm just now passing over Galveston Island Generally, when a hurricane hits a land mass, its power rapidly dissipates. Never in recorded history had a storm crossed directly over Galveston Island, with its eye again passing over the open waters of Gal- veston Bay. Opal was regaining her strength over the water. Weathermen from Brownsville to New Orleans watched their radar screens in horror as the worst possible scenario became reality. A major hurricane was speeding toward Houston with its proud Emerald City skyline and now 4 million residents.

Reaching the mouth of Clear Lake. the huge wave poured through the funnel into the shallow basin and instantly swelled to a height of 30 feet The entire Cear Lake area had already subsided as much as five feet during the past 20 years. Homes of astronauts, engineers and secretaries all went under without regard to appraised values. Most people here had not heeded the evacuation call. Only a quarter of the population survived.

The wave roared up the Houston Ship Channel.

No builder had anticipated a 30-foot storm surge. The wave found Buffalo Bayou, already flooded by monsoon like reins. As the wall of water crashed up the channel, people in suburban Houston no longer could battle the flooding. Again, waters rose one foot per second. Inside homes, families swam toward the top of the water for air, only to find themselves trapped against ceilings. For the lucky ones, the structures collapsed allowing escape and they did not drown.

In Houston, unlike Galveston, most homes were of modern construction. Few were built with the stout beams used in Galveston's Victorian construction. In Houston, homes were built of soft pine and tied to a slab by bolts. In Houston, the homes did not float. The people really believed they were safe.

Hurricanes can spawn up to 30 tornadoes per hour, complementing in a macabre way their already dreadfully high winds. Opal was no exception. Communities such as Al- vin, Pearland, Liberty, Crosby, Cleveland and Huntsville suffered innumerable tornadoes. But Houston suffered most. Five tornadoes roared through downtown, sweeping the tops off 25 skyscrapers. The winds had already shattered most of the glass.

After the glass went, furniture followed. Large executive desks from 40 floors up landed on runways of George Bush Intercontinental Airport.

Yet pubs all over the city were open: for once the managers didn't have to worry about strict adherence to Texas liquor laws. If people were hardy enough to brave the flooded streets to reach a nightspot, the clubs were ready to serve them. Private hurricane parties were popular.

The Heights should have been safe. It wasn't. Huge sheets of glass flew into the numbered streets, surgically slicing anyone and anything before shattering. Blown from the roof of a downtown building, a microwave dish found its way to Heights Boulevard, plowing a row of small apartments into the wet earth. One hurricane celebration reached its climax when a steel beam from an Alien Parkway high rise crashed through the roof, killing eight people.

Downtown was filling up like a bathtub. Twenty feet of water flooded every street and structure as Buffalo Bayou became Galveston Bay. At city hall, the mayor was safe. The art-deco building of the Thirties facing a reflecting pool on Hermann Square was at least stout, not the sheath-over-beam construction of most of downtown. The mayor listened to the police scanner. The Houston police, for the first time in their history were immobilized. Only officers in the far west side could adequately patrol.

The mayor tuned in to an AM radio station There was nothing but static. Finally, stalwart 50,000-watt KTRH came through: Its once proud news department, decimated in favor of syndicated right wing programming, gamely did its best to report the news.

"Parts of Houston have been hit by at least a 30-foot tidal surge," the station reported. "Thousands are feared dead. Communications have been cut off for hours. No one even knows if Galveston exists anymore. Police and emergency medical technicians have taken to what few boats they can find. The ground floor of our studios is now covered by 15 feet of water. We don't know how much longer our transmitter will function. Please try to stay calm. Please God, try to stay calm."

Hours passed. Opal moved through Conroe, Huntsville and then Shreveport, Memphis and Chicago, gradually losing strength by the time she reached Canada. Ruin reigned in her wake.

j In the Houston area, waters receded toward the bay, pouring out the two channels at each end of Galveston Island. Sadly as the water also flowed over the island Houses again moved, this time not with wind, but with the current.

Many who had weathered the storm were now killed in the slow-moving backlash. ( A helicopter pilot from a San Antonio air base flew over the stricken area. He circled over Houston, the Bay Area, and Galveston then radioed the following report:

"There an a few people on rooftops and in trees, not many. Many buildings in downtown Houston have been completely destroyed. On top of an overpass in La Marque, I counted at least 30 bodies. Galveston, from the beach to about five blocks inland, is gone. I estimate at least 35,000 dead."

From the Heights of Houston to the now calm Gulf of Mexico, the remaining populace lived without vital supplies.

Clean water was almost non existent because of fecal contamination from overflowing sewers. Families foraged amidst heaps of rubble for bedding and scraps of lumber with which to build shelters. Along the freeways, which remained remarkably intact, convoys of the merciful brought much-needed supplies into the area Convoys of another sort came also.

Network television and large newspapers chartered helicopters so that their reporters could cover one of the most momentous stories of the century. The nightly news was filled with the anguish of loved ones identifying the bodies of friends and family. For a time, the news shifted away from the White House, Congress and the war. For now, the news focused on us.

This story ran in Houston City Magazine's September 1983 issue. It hit the city's newsstands one week before Hurricane Alicia struck the Bayou City a crippling blow. Alicia was only a category three storm.