...43 Years Ago This Month...
On the evening of 17 August 1969, the storm made landfall. Hurricane Camille was one of very few storms to have recorded sustained wind speeds of at least 190 miles per hour and remains the only confirmed Atlantic hurricane in recorded history to make landfall with wind speeds at or above such a level. The actual wind speed of Hurricane Camille will never be known, as it destroyed all of the wind recording instruments upon making landfall. By central pressure alone, Camille was the second strongest U.S. land falling hurricane in recorded history. It was a monster.
My story of Camille really starts eight days prior to the landfall of this historic and deadly storm. Late on a very hot and steamy afternoon on the 9th of August, my plane touched down in Pensacola, Florida. I was amazed when I got off the plane - I thought Minnesota was humid this time of year - Pensacola was brutal. After departing boot camp and spending a week at home on leave, I traveled to a place I had never been to learn about subjects I knew nothing about. After taking a taxi from the airport to the base, I checked in and was assigned berthing in a WW II vintage building called "501". It was old, hot and stuffy, barely suitable for Navy standards - however, it would be the place I would call home for the next six months.
Shortly after arriving, I was assigned to a work detail for the time prior to class starting. Every day we would travel around the base picking up litter, cutting grass or sweeping streets. Every night after chow, with the humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife, we would strip to our underwear, sit in front of huge fans, and watch the TV in the commons area.
The meteorologists were getting more and more excited about a storm developing in the Gulf. Knowing absolutely nothing about tropical storms, I found this fascinating. It sat in the Gulf, not really going anywhere, churning and getting stronger every day. As a Minnesota boy, I knew about thunderstorms and maybe an occasional tornado. However, this thing was something else. It was big, very big. It was like a huge thunderstorm, on steroids, moving in slow motion. In short, at the end of every day,I could not wait until chow was over to watch the progress of this massive storm.
Weather guessers who track tropical storms use something called a "cone of uncertainty", which is nothing more than a computer projection of a defined area of possible landfall. On August 15th, Pensacola was in the "cone", and it looked for a while like it might be ground zero. Because the water temperature was so warm that time of year, the longer it sat in the Gulf, the stronger it got. Category 1, then 2, then 3 - now it was a major hurricane. My fascination and excitement to see how this storm would develop now had turned to dread and fear. It was starting to look like Camille would come knocking at the place I was living.
On August 16th, the day before the storm made landfall, the base went on lock down. No leave, no going outside unless specific duties were authorized. Unless assigned to a fire and security watch, everyone was confined to the barracks with meals consisting of on site emergency rations. Late in the day, the storm made Category 4 and many of the hurricane experts were now predicting this storm could get even stronger. There was something very bothersome about Camille - when the storm planes flew into the eye to take barometric readings, the instruments recorded near historic lows. Word was spreading that this hurricane could now strengthen to a rare and catastrophic Category 5 thereby unleashing unbelievable damage to the pristine Gulf Coast.
The next day dawned with the worst fears coming true. Overnight, the storm had strengthened to Category 5 and the track was now becoming more defined. It had veered into a more Northwest track, away from Pensacola. However, since Pensacola would be on the East side of the predicted landfall, wind speeds would still be very high and massive bands of rain would cause some flooding. In the afternoon the winds and rain started in earnest. It seemed like every hour, the sky got darker, the wind blew harder, and the rain went more from vertical to horizontal.
Shortly after dark, this monster made landfall. The windows in Building 501 were boarded so we could not see outside. However the sound was something like I had never heard before. It was a loud, steady roar with loud bangs as items propelled by the wind hit the side of the building. At 10:00 pm, I was assigned to a fire and security watch at one of the schools located in an old hanger on the other side of the tarmac. Going outside wearing my Navy issue raincoat, I got my first look at Camille. It was like a scene from Dante's Inferno, minus the flames. Walking across the tarmac was as difficult as I had seen on TV or read in books. I had to lean into the wind at almost a 45% angle just to keep my feet. The roar of the wind was deafening - however I did hear something that stood out from that horrible noise. Blowing across the tarmac was a sixteen foot metal dumpster - blowing just like it was a large paper bag. Garbage was flying every which way the wind would take it. It is a sight I will never forget.
My duty in the hanger lasted four long, nerve racking hours. The roof of this old building was corrugated metal and many times in that four hours I thought it was was going to come off or fall inward. The power was gone and the only lights were the emergency lanterns. For the second time in my very short Navy career, I really thought I might die.
At 2:00 am my relief came. I was never so happy to see anyone. I left and began to the walk back to 501. During my duty time I could see the storm had somewhat died down. The wind was still strong, the rain was still coming down, but not like before. Once safely back in 501, I got into my rack and fell sound asleep until dawn. Once daylight broke, we were allowed outside to start with the massive cleanup. The damage to the base was unbelievable. Sand was everywhere - considering the base was over a mile from the beach, that was impressive. The base had survived, but it was a mess and took weeks to get back to normal.
In the days that followed, the clouds parted, the sun came out and the wind and rain were gone. However, life was certainly not back to normal. As lucky as Pensacola was just to get the edge of the storm, the winds were still estimated in excess of 115 miles per hour. The bulls eye of the storm hit somewhere between Pascagoula and Biloxi, Mississippi. The damage was extreme. Based on that damage trail of the storm, some hurricane experts estimated the eye wall had winds of an unprecedented 205 miles per hour at landfall. However, that will never be confirmed as the storm was so strong it destroyed the instruments made to measure wind speed.
My wife and I visited Pensacola earlier this year, just for old times sake. It seemed that most of the local folks these days talk about Ivan instead of Camille. Ivan hit Pensacola in 2004 and is much fresher in many minds. Even though damage from Camille can still be seen in parts of Mississippi's Gulf Coast, most is repaired and memories of that horrible night are starting to fade. However, this former 19 year old sailor will never forget that August night when the most unwelcome of guests came a knockin'.
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