THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, June 6, 1996 TAG: 9606040128
SECTION: NORFOLK COMPASS PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Scott McCaskey
LENGTH: 91 lines
It was 19 years ago today that I learned new respect for my grandmother and Mother Nature.
I was going out with Grams, Mary McCaskey Shaw. The outing was the latest trip in a series of shopping excursions that we had enjoyed for as long as I could remember. The sun was bright in the afternoon sky, a beautiful June day.
But Grams was antsy.
``You're late, and there's a terrible storm coming,'' she said. ``My friends told me it's supposed to be as bad as a hurricane. We shouldn't go anywhere.''
At first I thought she was joking. Although often a worrier, Grams was sharp and had a good sense of humor.
But I could see by the stiffness in her usually soft face that she was not humoring me. Still, I scoffed. Grams and I had a very loving relationship, but we didn't mind voicing any differences of opinions.
``It's great outside,'' I said, starting the car. ``I haven't heard anything about any storm. We'll be fine.''
True to her persistent nature, Grams maintained that a cataclysm was on its way, keeping her eyes on the western horizon. There were a few white clouds in the distance, but I assured her it was nothing to worry about and drove on toward Military Circle.
But Grams wasn't buying it. We hadn't been in Sullivan's clothing store 10 minutes before she ushered me out into the parking lot with energy not usual for a woman in her 70s.
Looking at the mushrooming clouds, I had to admit that we probably were in for a thunderstorm. It was not until we drove a ways on the interstate that I could see we were headed for something out of the ordinary.
The skies over downtown Norfolk were like a cloud of swirling black coal - darker than any I have seen before or since.
Grams was silent.
Our apprehension turned to concern, then to outright fear as we rode by the Omni Hotel and past where Nauticus now stands. The winds suddenly jumped to gusts that I knew had to be at least 75 mph. The temperature seemingly dropped 10 degrees in 10 seconds.
Crossing Brambleton Avenue, all hell broke loose.
The wind wrenched the car from side to side as I tried to dodge trees that were being torn from the grounds of Ghent Square. Blinding rain and blistering lightning struck in turns. It was all I could do to wedge the car between two concrete buildings somewhere on the other side of 21st Street.
Neither of us spoke. The wind howled like a wounded animal, ripping and tearing at the car. The rain changed to battering hail. Ear-piercing lightning continued to crack the black skies.
Then, almost as suddenly as it hit, the storm was gone, lasting no more than about 10 minutes. Police and rescue sirens soon replaced the bellows of the tempest.
It was Monday afternoon June 6, 1977. A vicious line of thunderstorms spawning 98-mph winds, tornadoes, lightning and hail the size of golf balls had surprised and rocked Hampton Roads.
In the days that followed, at least 13 people were determined to be dead or missing. Most were victims of a 15-foot wave that sank the 43-foot Dixie Lee II fishing boat in the Chesapeake Bay.
The storm brought wreckage from Smithfield to Virginia Beach. Store and car windows were blown out, roofs were ripped off, power lines were scattered on the ground, cars and boats were damaged.
Downtown Norfolk, Ghent and Ocean View were covered in a blanket of debris, more than a foot deep in some areas. There were tornado sightings reported in Larchmont, where dozens of massive, old trees were uprooted and cast into nearby homes. Property damage on the Norfolk Naval Base alone was estimated at $300,000.
The Virginian-Pilot reported that the severity of the storm had taken local weather forecasters by surprise. The extreme intensity was caused by an unusually cold air mass meeting very warm, humid air. The temperature in Norfolk dropped from 92 degrees to 68 degrees in about 45 minutes.
Andrew Treat, then with the Weather Service at Norfolk International Airport, was quoted as saying: ``It's the most wind I've seen here, and I've been here 20 years.''
Grams, however, was not surprised. But she did become a little peeved at me as the storm subsided and we realized we were OK.
Power seemed to be out everywhere when we drove back to her high-rise apartment on Tidewater Drive. We crept up the darkened steps toward her sixth-floor residence.
``My heart is beating,'' is about all she said.
I cringed.
Grams never really gave me the hard time I deserved for putting her though the ordeal, only a few ``I told you so's.''
She knew she didn't have to say much at all. I had totally disregarded her warning and put us through the most violent weather I think I've ever experienced. For weeks after the storm, I was humble every time I spoke to my grandmother.
Grams passed away May 21, 1984. I often think of her. Of her love, great generosity and especially the spunkiness that so made her character. And I will never forget the many things she taught me, especially the lesson about storms. by CNB