A Gal Named Hazel

The Old Man has a long standing fascination with weather. We have been visited over the past 24 hours with the remnants of Hurricane Fay. The official rainfall total here is 7 + inches. My rain gauge shows 6 3/4 inches. I've watched Fay's progress since she was born and slapped on the butt by Mother Nature. I must confess, the rain is a welcome sight to a drought plagued area. Perhaps even my dwarf garden will resuscitate. Nah.

I was 12 years old and in the 7th grade when Hazel blew into our lives in Bedford. OK...it's science lecture time courtesy of Jay Barnes excellent book, North Carolina Hurricane History. Could I have your attention, class? Hurricane is from a Carib Indian word translated big wind or storm god. In the Western Pacific they are called typhoons and in the Indian Ocean they are called cyclones. They are still the most powerful airborne malignancies known to man. Tornadoes get much of the press, but for day in and day out widespread destruction, hurricanes wear the crown.

On October 15,1954 Hurricane Hazel tore through the North Carolina coast with a vengeance. Not only did North Carolina suffer, but she blistered her way north into Virginia and was still a major storm with winds of 110 miles per hour when she went across the border into Canada. Hazel was last seen crossing the Artic Circle on her way to Scandinavia where she eventually fell apart.

In Bedford, school dismissed early that day. The eye wall of the storm was due around mid-afternoon. Of course, in 1954 there was no Double Doppler Radar, supercomputer atmospheric modeling, or weather satellites. Most folks that I knew subscribed to the "Holy Crap would you look at that mother" school of weather forecasting. Either that or the "Dang it. My corns are killing me" school. My friend Kenny (of watermelon crime spree fame) and I decided we would like to see what a hurricane was like up close....and personal. As 7th graders, we pretty much figured we knew all we needed to know about the world. We had already learned about watermelons.

So outside we went. When we came out of Kenny's basement, it didn't seem like a big deal. Then we rounded the house. Kenny went down and with wind propulsion slid down to the barn at the back of their lot and I ended up clinging to the outdoor picnic table. About this time, Kenny's mom opened the back door and started screaming to us to "get in here right this minute". Uh, OK Mrs. C. By this time, Kenny had worked his way back up to my picnic table and we were able to scramble inside, drenched and bruised but with that good feeling that we had conquered something. We just weren't sure what.

I no longer feel the need to go out into a hurricane. Following their progress remotely is quite fine, thank you. I saw one blow NBC weather man Al Roker over onto the ground on one of his live reports recently. I remember thinking, "Al, my man, welcome to the club.