August 17-18, 1969
My brother Tom and I pose at our house in Gulfport, Mississippi, almost a year before Hurricane Camille.
August of 1969 could be described as a month of turmoil and rebellion. The Vietnam War was in full swing, provoking protests in the streets and heated disagreements at the dinner table. The infamous Charles Manson cult went on a murderous rampage, killing Actress Sharon Tate and six other prominent Californians. And on a 600-acre dairy farm in New York, a half million free-loving, mind-altered hippies stayed stoked and stoned during the Woodstock Music Festival.
I was only nine-years-old, so I wasn’t exactly tuned in to the events swirling around me. But I do remember August 17-18, 1969. As Blood, Sweat, & Tears belted out “Something Comin’ On” at Woodstock, my little brother Tom and I were hunkered down behind a small table turned on its side, hoping the fierce winds of Hurricane Camille would not blow in our windows or cause our house to collapse.
Destruction from Hurricane Camille, Mississippi Gulf Coast.
We had been upstairs, near the same room pictured above, watching the occasional transformer explode from our window, the only hint of light in the pitch black sky. Then, in the glow of candle light, the ceiling collapsed on us, raining wet leaves and bristly branches on our heads. Terrified that the house might be caving in, we ran screaming to the lower floor. We stayed there behind that shielding table the rest of the storm. Tom finally fell asleep, but I was wild-eyed the entire night, fretting the whole house was going to crush me to death at any minute.
Gulfport's Super Slide was almost identical to this one from Virginia.
A huge stack of burlap sacks was piled in our house that evening. We were storing them for an entrepreneur cousin of my dad’s who had just built a “Super Slide” on the beach in Gulfport. It was a new tourist attraction, a towering multi-lane slide. Ticket-holders would carry the burlap sacks to the top, lay them out, and slide in waves to the bottom. Cousin Dan was afraid the hurricane was going to blow the sacks away, so he asked us to store them. They came in handy, soaking up the rain that poured in from the gaping hole in the ceiling. The Super Slide and most everything else on the beach was swept away.
When the storm cleared, my dad and I walked to the beach to see the devastation. Everyone was awestruck and certain that Camille was the worst hurricane the world would ever see.
[See also: SS Hurricane Camille Gift Shop and Hurricane Katrina - Four Year Anniversary, a four part essay running August 28-31.]
August 17th, 2009 at 10:45 am
I was four in my little cowboy outfit. Which I don’t remember… but, I remember that horrible Christmas tree! Funny the things we remember at that age. I remember getting dirt in my eyes looking up at the ceiling just before it all started coming down. I remember our Father telling me to get inside and put some shoes on before he spanked my butt after I tried to step outside after the storm to get a peek. I remember all the clothing hanging up in the trees… still creeps me out. I remember the cat, Scratches, disappearing and we never saw him (her?) again. Did it jump out of the car window? I remember how much I hate hurricanes every time I see a low develop in the Gulf or off the coast of Africa. o_O
August 18th, 2009 at 9:01 am
My childhood friend, Robyn Jackson, who lived two blocks south of me on my same street (!) wrote me:
It’s hard to believe it’s been 40 years since Camille, but those of us who survived it will never forget it. My house was three blocks from the beach, and we stayed there during Camille. When the storm surge came in, we were afraid we were going to have to climb into the attic to avoid drowning. If any of the adults thought the house might wash away, they didn’t mention it. Luckily, our house was the highest one on our street, so the water just sloshed in and got the floors wet, and washed the cars around the corner. When we looked out our front door the next morning, we realized we were the first house left on our street. Everything between us and the beach was gone. I really believe God had His hand on us that night. But that little house that we literally rode out the storm in was washed away by Katrina.
[Robyn is the editor and owner of Accent South Mississippi. See her website at http://www.accentsouthmississippi.com/.