Every year when the calendar flips to August and the first mention of hurricanes comes across the airwaves, my mind flashes back to August 1969 and the week before my husband and I were married.
Sunday, August 17, 1969, 3:30 pm. “This storm looks bad. My boss said there’s going to be a lot of flooding. I’m leaving my apartment and going to the base.”
I hung up the phone and processed my fiancé’s call from Biloxi, MS, where he was stationed at Keesler Air Force Base. I was at home in Iowa getting ready for our wedding which was in exactly one week. After the wedding we would move to his ocean front apartment in Ocean Springs, MS, with sandy beaches and Gulf breezes and live happily ever after . . . or until the Air Force saw fit to move us.
I had no idea what storm he was talking about, and turned on the radio. There was scant news–so different from today where we are informed about hurricanes weeks in advance–except that there was a big hurricane approaching the Mississippi coast. I went to bed with little information.
Monday, August 18: There was no word from Dick, and every time I dialed the Biloxi area code, I got a busy signal. The lack of contact grew worrisome as the hours dragged by. The television, however, was churning out images of the devastation. With each picture my disbelief and worry grew.
Arial shots revealed shopping centers demolished and boats resting in front yards far from the gulf waters. Finally, at 7:30 pm he called. “I’m OK but Biloxi is flattened.” Phone lines were down of course, and the Red Cross was working with the phone company limiting outgoing calls from working lines. He was allowed one phone call. Such was communication during a disaster in 1969. The troops were issued rifles to guard against looting in Biloxi, and Dick spent the night patrolling the streets.
I was so relieved to talk with him. When we hung up, I called his mother in New Hampshire who had been anxiously waiting all day for news from him, too.
Tuesday, August 19: Out-of-town guests began arriving for the wedding, but my thoughts were never far from Dick. It was only later that he told me what happened to him that day.
Dick and his roommate needed to get back to their apartment for their belongings, and Dick needed to retrieve his dress uniform to wear in the wedding. Sections of I-10 Highway along the coast had been picked up and moved during the hurricane making it impassable so they were forced to drive on back roads from the base back to their apartment five miles away in Ocean Springs. Knowing the roads were still flooded, Dick stuck pipes into his car’s exhaust and wired them to the roof of his car. They drove–and in a few instances floated–for three hours until they reached their apartment, a drive that usually took ten minutes.
What they found was more than disheartening. There was nothing left of the apartment’s first floor except supporting two-by-fours; the second floor where Dick lived was intact but sagging. They were told it was NOT safe to go into the apartment, but Dick was determined to get his “wedding garment.” Among the rubble they found a ladder and climbed up into the second floor, treading gingerly while they gathered their clothes with the floor holding steady underfoot. They climbed down the ladder and drove for three hours back to the base.
That evening when Dick called he sounded discouraged, his voice so distant. “The apartment is not livable.” He sounded defeated which was so unlike him. It was then I realized we had no place to live and I might not be able to accompany him to Mississippi after the wedding. It was too much. When I hung up the phone, the tears spilled over.
Wednesday, August 20: I woke before dawn and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up. Another morning and afternoon with no word from Dick. Waiting all day for a phone call was the norm now, but it didn’t make it any easier. I watched TV coverage which showed flood waters rushing down a main street, a large snake flowing in the water. For a moment I wasn’t sure I wanted to go to Mississippi. Friends held a bridal shower for me that evening and when we returned home, it was my father who had spoken to Dick. “He’s coming tomorrow,” my dad said. “His commanding officer told him to sign out tonight because all leave is being cancelled tomorrow.”
Good heavens! He might miss his own wedding if he didn’t leave immediately.
Thursday, August 21: At eight o’clock in the morning at the Des Moines Airport Dick walked across the tarmac toward me with a clothing bag slung over his shoulder. He hadn’t showered, shaved or changed out of his fatigues for three days and was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, but I thought he looked perfectly wonderful. After a warm and smelly hug he soon discovered the airlines had lost his luggage. Never mind. He had the only clothing that mattered–his wedding garment.
Somehow, it all fell into place after that. I met my mother and sister-in-law for the first time that afternoon when they flew in from New Hampshire. More guests arrived, we had a lovely rehearsal and dinner the next day, and on Sunday, August 24 at 2pm we were married. You’d never have guessed what had transpired during the week.
Before coming to Iowa, Dick had been searching for a place to live. He found a women in Ocean Springs whose property was not damaged by the hurricane. The house sat on brick pilings, had a tin roof and was surrounded by overgrown bushes–a place where Boo Radley would be right at home. But she just happened to have two rooms she would rent us: a bedroom, an adjoining large kitchen, and a bathroom with spaces between the floorboards that allowed glimpses of the ground. We didn’t care. We packed up our shiny new Corningware place settings and downy bathroom towels and moved to Mississippi–together.
About Camille: It is one of only four Category 5 hurricanes to make landfall in the US; it is the second most intense tropical cyclone on record to strike the US; storm surge produced 24 foot waves; highest wind was 190 mph; damages in today’s dollars is $11.8 billion; there were 259 fatalities.
Before I go, I want to thank you for supporting the release of Lila’s Journey. Your enthusiastic comments mean the world to me. Below is a picture of Lila enjoying a very 21st century evening out with friends. That girl does get around.
Until next time . . .
Leave a Reply