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Remembering Hurricane Flossie

by W. F. Stokes, Jr.


The new school year was only a few weeks old during September 1956, and all my classmates in my small hometown of Brewton, Alabama, near the Florida panhandle, were getting settled into a new school year.  Granddaddy had told me many stories of the big flood that devastated our town in 1929 and how during periods of extreme torrential rain, Murder Creek, Burnt Corn Creek and the Conecuh River would flood causing road and school closures.
 
Nevertheless, when news came that a new storm was developing in the Gulf of Mexico, I was not overly concerned.  I was ready for a day off even though the school year had just begun.  My second grade classmates thought no more of the impromptu vacation than if it had been Thanksgiving or Christmas. 
 
The new storm developed in the Pacific and moved east, across Guatemala into the Gulf of Mexico.  As it reached the Gulf of Mexico, the winds reached hurricane intensity and the storm became officially known as Flossie.  Based upon projections, it was imminent that the storm would reach the coastal areas some sixty miles from us.  Upon that premise, schools were closed in anticipation of Hurricane Flossie striking land.  Flossie had crossed the Mississippi Delta near Pilottown, Louisiana and was making the news on both the Pensacola and Mobile television stations. The people in those areas began taking precautions.
 
The rain started well in advance of Flossie.  I welcomed the day away from school and the rain didn't bother me.  I had plenty of things to do.  I occupied myself with my army men and toys in the living room on the floor.  I had a full day to entertain myself and I made the most of it, scattering army men and toys throughout the living room and into the adjoining dining room of my grandmother's house.
 
When Granddaddy came home for lunch, he and Grandmother talked about the weather and about how much rain we'd had.  I gave little thought to it, even when Granddaddy talked about Burnt Corn Creek and Murder Creek getting up above flood stages.  It didn't matter to me - I was in a nice dry house with all the toys I needed.  I felt safe and secure.
 
Flossie wasn't expected to hit the coast until sometime later that night.  Grandmother kept the television on all day, listening to weather forecasts.  I wondered what it would be like to be in a hurricane.  On television, the weathermen stood in front of weather maps and drew lines showing the anticipated path of Flossie, but it really didn't mean much to me.  It seemed the trip to Pensacola Beach was always such a long drive, how could a wind way down there bother us?
 
There was a large electric substation across the street from Grandmother's house.  All the neighborhood kids had watched the power company build it a couple of years before.  It was surrounded by a tall chain-link fence with barbed wire around the top.  The substation was about a hundred feet off the street and had a grassy area between the fence and the pavement.  This area provided us an excellent place to play football.  Once the football was kicked over the fence, and we were afraid to go over to get it.  We tried to get sticks to reach the ball and pull it toward the fence but couldn't find one long enough.  We had been cautioned not to climb the fence, fearing certain death if we did.  Finally a kid from a nearby neighborhood rode by on his bicycle.  We had to challenge him with a “double-dog-dare” to get him to climb the fence.  He climbed it and threw the ball out.
 
Grandmother busied herself with her normal housework all day, while keeping a constant vigil on the latest weather forecast from the television.  I had legions of army men involved in military conflicts throughout the living room.  As their general, I conducted numerous assaults on imaginary villainous perpetrators.  By mid-afternoon, I laid down the tracks for my electric train to provide transportation for the army troops.  Battles among my army men raged all day.  By late afternoon, I took some of my most depraved army men into the bathroom where I lined them up along the backside of the tub.  I battled them with my water pistol, picking them off and watching them fall into the tub, which I had filled with water to simulate a beach landing.
 
Granddaddy came home from work early and we ate supper early.  The weather had become progressively worse.  Rain had been coming down constantly all day, but it was now coming down in sheets.  The wind was whipping and getting stronger and beginning to gust.  It was making noises as it whipped through the trees.  Lightening began to flash and thunder clapped.  The wind was relentless and seemed to be impelling the rain against the roof and windows, creating a constant drumming.  The lights flickered momentarily and there was no television reception.  Grandmother disconnected the antenna because of the lightening and turned on the radio.  We listened through the static, which popped and crackled through the speakers with each flash of lightening.  About eight o'clock, the power flickered, then went off and did not come back on.
 
Granddaddy rummaged barefoot through darkness looking for a candle in the living room, stumbling over my army men and toys and fussing about the mess during the process.  By the sounds, I could tell he had kicked my electric train off the track, too.  With some help from Grandmother, he found a long white candle and lit it.  I could see my toys scattered throughout the living room from the flickering candlelight.  I wondered if my train was broken. 

He melted some wax onto an ashtray and stuck the base of the candle into the hot wax until it set.  He placed the candle on the coffee table in the living room.  It gave out a warm glow in the darkness but cast bizarre shadows on the walls.  We sat for a while, no one speaking, just listening to the wind wailing and driving the rain against the roof and windows.
 
Outside, it was black, not just dark.  There were no lights in the houses next door.  There were no lights in the entire neighborhood.  The streetlight in front of the electrical substation was out as well.  The darkness was impenetrable outside, except when there was a flash of lightening.  The whiteness of the flashes cast an eerie hue, almost like watching the old Admiral television.  No colors were visible, only black, white and shades of gray.
 
I thought about Chipper, my dog.  Chipper was afraid of thunder and I knew the thunder would cause him to run away.  I wondered if he had gotten under the house to hide before the storm started.  I would have worried more about him if I hadn't been scared.  We could tell by the sounds that the winds were growing stronger.  With each flash of lightening we could see the rain moving horizontally.
 
Granddaddy said there was nothing he could do and he was just going to go to bed.  Grandmother blew out the candle and we all retired.  Without the candlelight, the room was completely black.  The wind moaning and the rain beating incessantly on the roof were unsettling.  I climbed into bed wearing all my clothes except my shoes.  The thunderstorm intensified.  Lightening flashes became more intense and the subsequent booming of thunder rattled all the windowpanes in the house.
 
I was frightened.  Even though everybody was in bed and there was no electricity, I wasn't about to go to sleep in that weather.  I pulled the cover up so that only my eyes were uncovered and I curled into a ball.  The rain against the house wasn't a soothing sound.  It was as if the rain was pounding the house into submission.  The wind’s unearthly moaning and wailing was sufficient to keep my eyes staring into a darkness that would have been no darker if my eyes were closed.  Flashes of lightening burst through the windows like unwelcome intruders and thunder boomed constantly.  The interminable howling wind made noises like those I had only heard in science fiction movies.
 
We had been in bed for about an hour.  I wondered if I was the only one awake.  The storm was growing stronger.  There was a large flash of lightening followed simultaneously by a deafening boom that shook the house as if a bomb had gone off nearby.  Immediately, we could hear the bang and buzz of electricity, louder even than the noise of the pounding rain and howling winds.  Everyone jumped from their beds, stumbled through the darkness and groped their way to the kitchen.  From the kitchen window, we could see electrical sparks showering from the substation across the street.  Sparks were arching and flying, lighting up the area around the substation as bright as day, like a fireworks display.  There was a large flash of white and blue light accompanied by another terrific boom as a transformer at the substation exploded.  Several electrical lines had been knocked from the poles and lay on the ground arching, shooting fire and whipping about, like wounded snakes.  As we watched there was another flash of lightening and we heard electricity arching again.  This time the sound came from close by, almost like it was in the kitchen with us.  We smelled the pungent odor of ozone and smoke.  The dining room was next to the kitchen and the fuse box was in the dining room.  In the stark darkness, the fuse box appeared to be glowing.
 
Granddaddy and Grandmother talked about where the smoke could be coming from.  I was terrified.  Granddaddy made his way to the electrical fuse box, guided partially by the intense flashes of lightening.  When he opened the fuse box, flames and smoke billowed from it.  The fire inside was raging.  There was a distressed, anxious conversation between my grandparents.  Then Granddaddy ran to the kitchen sink where he knocked dishes to the floor, breaking them in the darkness.  The fire was roaring.  He found a large dishpan and filled it with water.  As he hurried, he spilled water, leaving a wet trail behind him.  He doused the fuse box with the remaining water.  Plumes of smoke billowed out, and the fire hissed and retreated but did not go out completely.  We could see its yellow-orange tips still extending from the fuse box.  Granddaddy repeated the action, dousing the fuse box with another dishpan of water.  This time, the fire disappeared, leaving a stinking, steaming vapor that permeated the house. 
 
Granddaddy lit the candle again and inspected the fuse box.  The wall and ceiling were covered with thick soot and smoke, and the fuse box was still smoking.  Granddaddy told Grandmother to call the power company and tell them about the substation.  She made her way to the telephone with the candle, but the line was dead.  We watched the substation from the kitchen window.  Work crews arrived about an hour later.  Granddaddy immediately grabbed his hat and raincoat and went out to tell them what had happened.  Power lines were down all around as he made his way across the street to the work crew.  They told him to return to the house and assured him that due to the circumstances they would not reconnect the power to the house.
 
The next day, the sunshine was bright and the sky was clear blue.  The scent left behind in the house was a constant reminder of the night before.  A man from the power company came by and told Granddaddy that if the main power line to the house hadn't been down when he poured water on the fuse box fire, he would have been electrocuted.  (In those days, no one kept fire extinguishers that were safe for A, B and C type fires.) Then he expressed amazement that Granddaddy didn't step on a live downed electrical wire when he made his walk to and from the electrical substation.

I was seven when I experienced Hurricane Flossie, my first hurricane.  Its winds only reached 84 miles per hour, but it dumped almost 17 inches of rain on the coastal areas.  Flossie first hit land in Louisiana, then moved along the gulf coasts of Mississippi and Alabama, crossing through Florida, then up the eastern coasts of Georgia and the Carolinas to Virginia before moving into the Atlantic Ocean.  Along its path it spawned at least three tornados in the Florida panhandle and Savannah, Georgia.  The 1956 damage estimate was $24,874,000.  Hurricane Flossie was responsible for 15 deaths – potentially 16, if the power supply line to the house at 103 Simmons Street had not been down.  Yes, I remember my first hurricane.