Hurricanes: Our unwelcome visitors

Erin was a reminder that while we look forward to the crisp September weather that heralds a return to school, it is also a month when hurricanes have struck Long Island.

A once rare occurrence in the Northeast, since 1925, several have hit our area, eroding beaches, flooding homes and sometimes causing fatalities. Sandy, the last major hurricane to strike local communities on Oct. 29, 2012, was a Category 1 storm, with sustained winds of 85 miles per hour that caused widespread damage and killed 254 people.

But far more devastating hurricanes have reached the Moriches in late September.

Gloria, a CAT 3 storm, struck Long Island on Sept. 27, 1985, forcing hundreds of thousands of residents to evacuate, including those living south of Montauk Highway from Eastport to Moriches.

Although it caused far less damage than feared, its impact was keenly felt in our villages. Downed power lines meant spoiled food, no hot water, or, in homes with wells, no water at all. In the heat and humidity that followed, residents lined streets, hoping those utility trucks were heading their way. Schools, open less than three weeks, remained closed. Ground-up leaves mixed with saltwater and downed tree limbs filled yards.

It was the first major hurricane to hit Long Island since Sept. 11, 1960. Donna, another CAT 3 storm with sustained winds over 100 mils per hour, surged across the East End, sending huge waves crashing across outer barrier islands, eroding beaches, washing away homes and roads, especially those at the west end of Dune Road. Thanks to advanced warning systems in place, however, there was no loss of life.

Yet, far worse than any of these was the so-called “Long Island Express.”

On Sept. 21, 1938, hurricanes weren’t on the minds of those who ventured out to enjoy the late-summer weather. Many crowded beaches.  Some gathered to entertain and enjoy their seaside cottages. Others sent children to school and went off to work.  On the East End of Long Island, farmers worked toward harvest, fishermen set their lobster traps. And, at wealthy summer enclaves like the Hamptons and Newport, R.I., families continued their plans.

Many would later recall they had no inkling of the devastation to come. And, indeed, in the days before radar, and before most people owned televisions, the radio was their source of news, and mostly turned on at night. The weather report had called for “fresh, southerly winds.”The storm had been reported and was expected to hit Florida and dissipate near Cape Hatteras. Instead, it suddenly changed direction, and, moving north at 60 miles per hour, made its way up the coast. At its height, wind speeds reached 160 miles per hour, with wind gusts as high as 186 miles per hour.

No one was prepared for what happened next.

According to eyewitness accounts, the sky turned a sick-looking green. Huge waves drew people out to watch the display. Many perished when the water surged inland. By 2 p.m., schools let out early. The storm made landfall at 3 p.m. during high tide.

A 10-to-15-foot storm surge.  Roads flooded.  Trains stopped. The Bridgeport-Pt. Jefferson ferry lost power and drifted all night in the dark. Fires started from downed power lines. Telephone lines were down. Radios went silent.

Mile by mile, as it traveled east, the damage worsened.  In Center Moriches, Main Street flooded.

There was nearly total devastation in Westhampton. At 3:45 p.m., beach houses were swept away. Only 26 of 176 homes remained on Dune Road, and of those few were inhabitable. The 125-foot steeple on the Presbyterian Church in Sag Harbor fell. Large boats—yachts, fishing vessels, ferries—were tossed miles inland.

Many ventured outside when the eye passed over to check out a strange fog bank offshore. Instead, it was a tsunami-like wave, a 15-foot-high wall of water heading their way.

At 5 p.m., Providence, R.I., was under 20 feet of water, just as many workers were leaving for home.

The destruction was unprecedented. Between Sept. 21 when it made landfall in WHB and Sept. 23 when it dissipated in Canada, nearly 700 people died, most by drowning. Another 100 disappeared.  More than 57,000 homes were lost; 4,500 cottages, farms, and homes were destroyed, 25,000 damaged; 26,000 automobiles destroyed; 20,000 electrical poles toppled. Historic New England church steeples fell, many of which would never be replaced. In some locations, it was said that damaged trees and structures were still to be found in 1951.

For a nation slowly crawling out of an economic depression and sliding toward a Second World War, nature’s power was on full display. To build and recover, the nation sent in troops of workers.

“Shock Troops of Disaster,” a 1939 documentary available on YouTube, includes actual footage of both the storm’s wreckage and the human capital invested in reclaiming homes, infrastructure and villages. Over 110,000 WPA, CCC and Red Cross workers were dispatched to clear debris, repair rail lines, rebuild homes and stores.

In 1938, the population in Suffolk County was only 170,000 people. It is estimated that a similar storm event today would raise the number of casualties and property losses.

Both Suffolk County and Brookhaven Town have easy-to-access recommendations for hurricane preparedness, including evacuation routes and local emergency contact information, with better advanced warning systems in place and another three months before the end of hurricane season.

For more information: suffolkcountyny.gov/Departments/FRES.