Storm Stories

If you are fortunate enough to survive, a decent hurricane can provide you with some good stories for years to come--for example, those people who lived through the tsunami in Thailand probably don't have to think of anything else to talk about, ever. I have a storm story, although once I had a child it seemed more alarming than interesting, making me wonder how I reached adulthood considering some of the questionable decisions made by my parents on my behalf.

Hurricane Donna occurred on the twelfth of September in 1960, when I had just begun the 8th grade. I was living on Long Island, which was expected to get a direct hit. Waking up early and praying for a day off, I was severely bummed but not surprised that our schools were scheduled to be open; in Rockville Centre, nothing short of a nuclear meltdown closed the schools. Nevertheless, peering out the window, things sure looked bad to me. But my mother said, as she always did, "If the school is open you are going," unless she wanted me to go somewhere with her, like to the beach or shopping in Manhattan, at which time she would say, "You'll learn a lot more walking through Times Square than you will cooped up in that damn building all day." (And another piece of the puzzle falls into place....)

So that morning at about 8:00 AM I walked the block to the bus stop and boarded the school bus. The whole time things were getting worse outside, making me think maybe a tree would fall on me, or even a house, or maybe that nasty Miss Gulch from "The Wizard of Oz" would ride by on her bicycle, cackling. None of those things happened and I got to school safely, although quite wet. I was finally settled in my homeroom when, at about 8:45, the principal's voice came booming over the PA system that the storm was "very bad" and that we should return to our buses and go home. In the very bad, not good, terrible, much worse storm.

On the ride home, with branches flying and hitting the windows, our school bus got sort of stuck in deep water, and while trying to making a turn, fell over on its side. Kids screamed, of course, but mostly in glee; nobody got hurt since we had been going about 2 MPH. The bus driver told us to get out and go home, advising us to "Run!" (Good tip.) Now I was about eight blocks from my house and had to make my way in the rain and wind and flying debris, all the while thinking that if the wind blew a bus over, what chance did I have? It was only later that I learned that Hurricane Donna had winds of 140 mph when it hit, and that 50 people died and that damages totaled $130 million on the East Coast.

My son has accused me of making up many of my childhood stories, saying, "Nothing like that ever happened to me!" Damn straight.