I was 7 years old when Hugo hit Charleston. To be honest with you, I slept through the whole thing. I guess at that age you have so much trust and confidence in mom and dad, that you don't really worry about things like hurricanes. So since I was too young to remember all the details, let me share my friend's Hugo story with you.
The week of September 21, 1989 was one she will never forget. Her parents were planners, and her Dad had his car gassed and packed by Monday afternoon. He called her, urging her to pack up her family and go with them to their house in the North Carolina mountains. At first, she thought they were being overly dramatic. She’d watched the news and heard reports of devastation as Hurricane Hugo moved through the Virgin Islands and St. Croix. But that seemed a long way from South Carolina.
Then she heard the call for barrier island evacuation. What? She turned around as though in slow motion and watched the reporter point to Kiawah Island, Seabrook Island – and realized that her home on James Island could very easily be in Hugo’s path. In less than 30 seconds she called her Dad, and told him she’d follow him to North Carolina! She hurriedly packed a few suitcases, made a couple of phone calls, loaded the kids in the car, and took off.
Safely in North Carolina, she watched tv, prayed, and tried to think about other things….but she couldn’t sleep for watching the news reports. The morning of September 22, she awoke to pictures of the broken bridge across Sullivan’s Island, boats in the middle of the road, houses turned into toothpicks, downed trees and power lines. She’d seen footage like this before – but not of HER city. She wondered what her own house looked like, and how her friends and neighbors were.
Days later, she drove back to Charleston – completely unprepared for the emotion that would well up as she passed damaged homes, neighborhoods, and businesses – all bearing the imprint of Hugo. Charleston looked like a war zone. Then followed weeks without power. No ice. No hot showers. Few businesses open. Almost as if time stood still for a bit.
Then, slowly, life began to find a “new normal.” Neighbors got to know each other as never before. Yards got cleaned up, and tree stumps ground. A power crew from Georgia helped get her neighborhood’s power back on after about 2 weeks. Everyone cheered! Several months later she cried as she shopped in her local Piggly Wiggly that had been closed for months. A year or two later, most of the blue roof tarps were gone.
Charleston is once again beautiful, and the beaches abound with newer, bigger, fancier homes. But those who lived here when Hugo came through will never forget where they were the night of September 21, 1989. What’s your Hugo story?
Chao for now,
Leslita