FROM WHERE I SIT: Of hurricanes and hope

When I first came to the Messenger 34 years ago next month, the older folks would tell stories about a time when the city sent workers around to tell everyone to go home, inclement weather was approaching. I don’t recall if it was snow, tornado or a hurricane, but, anyway, they went home.

When the newspaper’s owner came back from lunch, he called them all back to work. He said if they couldn’t get back, he’d come get them. He told them in times of danger we needed to be here to report the news.

Each time the threat of a hurricane looms or a tornado threatens, a part of me gets excited – not the I’m scared of lighting, trees falling, objects flying, severe weather part of me, but the journalistic side that hopes for that one photo or story of the century part of me.

Twenty years ago this week as Hurricane Hugo swept up the Charleston coast and plowed a path through Hartsville. I thought it just might be my time to step up to the plate, and it turned out it was.

I bet if I asked most locals “Where were you when Hugo hit?” you could tell me.

I know I can.

As the weathermen tracked the path of the strong hurricane, we continued to work through the day, asking everyone who came in the office for an update. I remember going home at lunch surveying my yard and wondering if I should bring in toys and other object that might blow away. By the end of the day, I decided it would be wise.

I called my relatives living in Charleston and invited them to stay with us until the hurricane threat was over. They were certainly in for a rough night.

They took me up on my offer and headed this way. My aunt, uncle and their two dogs arrived late afternoon. As the night grew darker and the wind blew harder, we braced for the unknown.

I put on my bravest face, told the children everything was going to be fine and put them to bed upstairs. The adults stayed downstairs listening to reports of the hurricane’s approach. Lights flickered, broadcast were interrupted and the night grew more frightening.

Not long into the night with the wind howling outside, rain and pine needles hitting the windows, my daughter came running downstairs. She was scared.

We prepared to wait the night out in the hallway, the safest place in the house. I had on hand blankets, pillows, flashlights and other emergency items.

The wind grew louder, I checked on my son. He was still fast asleep. I decided to picked him up and bring him downstairs near us. He didn’t move a muscle. He just slept.

I remember thinking how could anyone sleep through this. Afterwards, I discovered many of you did.

No one else in our house slept that night. Crowded into the hallway were four concerned adults, one scared child, one sleeping child and two anxious dogs. We were up looking out the window every few minutes as trees cracked and the wind continued to howl.

Still my son slept. When he did wake up, the disaster was over. He had escaped the feelings of fear that had gripped the rest of us during the night. When he hears a hurricane watch or warning out for this area, it doesn’t bring back the same memories for him that it does for the rest of the family.

When it was light enough to see outside that frightful September morning, we opened the door to find trees down everywhere, including one on my aunt and uncle’s car and one on our truck.

To this day at family gatherings, we share stories about the night Hurricane Hugo marched through South Carolina with a vengeance and how the tree fell on the relatives’ car at our house and on the one they left behind in Charleston.

They don’t ask to come to my house anymore during the threat of a hurricane. They move further north.

Moving on, the thunderous applause and audiences on their feet at the conclusion of “The Dixie Swim Club” performances last weekend was wonderful to see. The five women in the play worked exceptionally hard to make this an entertaining play. From comments of those who attended, I think they were successful.

There was bonding on and off the stage with the five actors who portrayed the parts, which made their lasting friendship on the stage so believable.

The play took the women through their college years, marital bliss and disaster, to diagnosis of cancer and eventually Alzheimer’s and death. The dialogue was funny, the aging process believable, and the new microphones worked.

Thanks to Elayne Mahn for a wonderful performance. And thanks go to Audrey Childers, Jana Longfellow, Tracy Price, Alissa Spittle and Andrea Powell for an entertaining show.

Friday night, the Hartsville Community Players dedicated the show to Carl Huff, a longtime member of the group and fine actor of community theater who passed away.

The Community Players also offered every cancer survivor attending Friday night’s show a free ticket to the next play, and on Sunday a free ticket to every caregiver of a person with Alzheimer’s.

From Where I Sit, I’m secretly hoping I don’t get that opportunity for a once-in-life photo/story if it means another Hugo in the next 20 years. But what I am hoping for is another stellar performance from the Hartsville Community Players. The next play is a Christmas production, “O Happy Day.” If you are interested in auditioning, auditions are 3 p.m. Sunday and 6:30 p.m. Monday at Center Theater. There are speaking roles for ages 12 to 20 and non-speaking parts for younger children.