When I made my home in Miami, I gave little thought to the big winds.
I lived with my parents and younger brother in a suburb adjacent to
the business area. There I worked for a periodical distribution center
as a bookkeeper.
Occasionally I worked overtime. The evening of September 18th I left
work for the last time, although I didn't know it. When I backed out
of the parking area and started home, a stiff breeze had sprung up.
It made steering my automobile difficult. I wondered if the predicted
hurricane was nearing land.
When I turned into our driveway and went into the house, my parents'
bedroom door was closed. Even then the wind was whipping past my bedroom
window. It shook the house on its foundations.
I went to bed, ignoring possible damages. Sometime during early morning,
my father's voice urged me to get up and to dress immediately. "We
have a storm on our hands," he said. Fully-clothed, I joined the
family in the kitchen. They looked frightened by the unusual turn of
events.
All the electricity had been turned off, and family members illuminated
by a kerosene-burning lamp looked apprehensive. By then, the wind seemed
to have increased in volume; and Father stood at the kitchen door, leaning
outside, unsure what to do.
He blew out the lamp, opened the door, and plunged out into a stormy
night, followed closely by his family. A new subdivision was being developed
not far from where we lived. We hurried across, not knowing where to
go.
When we passed the only fully-completed house, the occupant opened
a door and invited us inside. We wondered if the cement-block house
would survive the raging storm, but it represented shelter for us and
other neighbors.
It had already begun to rain, and I felt somewhat safe to be under
a roof. A window overlooked wood houses. While I watched, one house
left its foundations, rolling over and smashing into splintered lumber
doors and windows.
During the day, a damaging wind continued, intermittent rain slashed
against window panes. That evening, our hosts shared food with us. After
they retired, we slept on a newly-carpeted area, covering ourselves
with blankets each family member brought at the urging of my father
who thought we might end up sleeping outdoors.
The following day, a destructive wind continued. Towards noon, the
sky lightened and the wind ceased almost altogether. “We are probably
in the storm's eye,” one of their family members explained. Father
and I looked knowingly at each other. The lull should allow us to assess
possible damage to our house and whether it remained on its foundations.
While father and I made our way uncertainly back to our house, piles
of storm-damaged debris obstructed our way. We approached our former
home with concern, hoping the structure still stood.
On the street where we lived, few houses remained. A neighboring two-story
structure was badly damaged. To our amazement, our house still stood
intact except for the gaping hole in the side of the livingroom. Shingles
blown off by the wind permitted rain to seep inside.
After a quick look around, we sought Mother's food supply kept in a
spare room for emergencies. While we were examining the house, we selected
food to take back with us. While we were assembling food, the storm
returned with renewed fury.
We tried to return the way we had come, but to no avail. The wind blew
in the opposite direction. Carrying our food supply, we fairly flew.
It was like walking chest-high in raging water. In no time at all, we
found ourselves in an open space and crouched low in a secluded area
to get our bearings.
A piece of roofing material flew overhead, touching the ground at intervals.
Eventually it wrapped itself around a still-standing tree trunk.
In a part of the suburb I had not visited before, only three houses
stood intact. One especially intrigued me. It seemed solid and unmoving.
When we neared the house, the tenant opened the door and motioned for
us to come inside.
To our surprise, a pot of soup bubbled on the hearth. I learned then
that we were in a home solidly built of one-foot-thick poured concrete
walls. We were given bowls of soup to eat which we consumed without
difficulty.
The food that we brought along was shared with the host and his family.
All night the wind roared past the immovable structure. There we stayed,
safe and secure, until the storm actually subsided late evening on the
following day. That night, a bright moon shone its rays on a crushed
and broken city. Houses destroyed throughout the city numbered in the
thousands.
The next morning we left our shelter, bidding our host a fond farewell
and thanks. Our family, glad to see us, accompanied us to the storm-damaged
house.
The following day, I helped Father reshingle the roof and repair the
livingroom wall. Mother helped with the cleanup, and soon we were living
comfortably again.
Land values plummeted. A lot that was valued at $5000 became valued
at less than $100. When I drove downtown to my former business building,
I found it had been damaged irreparably. Without a job, I had no income.
I checked the Want Ads each morning to locate a possible job. One day,
I came across a Want Ad I never expected to see. The Phoenix Utility
Company, power plant constructors of Florida Power and Light, wanted
a male secretary for the construction superintendent of a power plant
being built in the Everglades. They preferred a male secretary because
of the rough on-site camp conditions.
I immediately applied for the job because I had typing and shorthand
skills. When the hurricane struck, the young man who held the job left
town and moved back to North Carolina where his parents lived.
For almost two years, I worked there earning more than I expected,
$50 a week. I saw a power plant emerge from a hole in the ground in
the Everglades, near Miami, and become part of the electric generating
units of the Florida Power and Light.
During June of 1927, I quit the job and left for Michigan where my
parents then lived. They were forced to leave Miami because my Father's
job had disappeared during the hurricane. There I enrolled in a state
college at Ypsilanti, Michigan, today known as Eastern Michigan University;
but then it was known as Michigan Normal College.
Four years later, June 1930, I graduated with a four-year teaching
degree, and a new wife, into The Depression, with jobs virtually unavailable.
Note: To read about his cruise adventure which took Leo from
Florida back to Michigan, click HERE.
If you have questions or comments
about this Web page or site, e-mail: mary@vanmeer.com
© 2004 Leo VanMeer
|
