Camille, 1969: Histories of a Hurricane

CHAPTER ONE: The Sensory History of a Natural Disaster

1 chapter one The Sensory History of a Natural Disaster OfficialmetricsofCategoryFivehurricanes—maximumsustained winds of at least 155 miles an hour, barometric pressure below 920 millibars, and a storm surge of eighteen or more feet—don’t quite capture the raw power of the phenomenon. The sheer intensity is hard to convey. Big hurricanes, such as Camille, provide enough energy in a few hours’ time sufficient to supply the United States with a year’s worth of electricity; the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima was measured in millitons but the energy from Category Five hurricanes is measured best in thousands of megatons; the winds of a Category Five hurricane, and the sand they whip into a frenzy, strip not just clothes off people, but they can also blast away the very skin.1 Such is the power and devastation wrought by these most powerful of hurricanes that the word “storm” seems inappropriate, weak, and oddly quaint to describe them. Such hurricanes are, quite simply, almost unimaginably strong, thoroughly indiscriminate, and unapologetically ferocious. Category Five hurricanes that make landfall are unusually rare. In the twentieth century, before 1969, only the 1935 Labor Day Man is affirmed in the objective world not only in the act of thinking, but with all his senses. karl marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 hurricane had done so. Camille was, at the time, the only Atlantic hurricane with officially recorded sustained wind speeds of 190 miles per hour until 1980’s Hurricane Allen. It had the distinction of being the only Atlantic hurricane to make landfall at or above such intensity. Camille’s official peak storm surge was a staggering twenty-four feet.2 Camille landed around midnight on August 17, 1969, and devoured the coast of southern Mississippi with appalling appetite. It began on August 5, off the west coast of Africa, and lumbered nearly due westward, becoming identifiable on satellite imagery by August 9. Camille teased meteorologists by feinting toward Florida initially and caught them by surprise by tracking northwest directly into Mississippi’s Gulf Coast, tumbling into the mouth of the Mississippi River. Camille weakened quickly as it progressed inland. Within twelve hours of moving ashore, it was reduced to a tropical storm. Camille was also a southern hurricane, hugging some of the geographic borders of the old Confederacy. On August 20, the remnants of Camille turned eastward through Kentucky and dropped heavy rainfall in West Virginia and Virginia, saturating already wet soil and causing massive, destructive landslides. Later that day it barreled into the Atlantic, regained strength, and then was finally absorbed by a cold front. Camille was dead by August 20, and so were at least 131 people in Mississippi; almost 9,000 people were injured. In total, Camille caused at least $1.42 billion in damages (estimates in 2005 dollars range up to $11 billion): 5,662 homes were destroyed, and 13,915 homes experienced major damage. Up to that point, Camille was the second-most expensive hurricane in the United States (behind Hurricane Betsy). Camille—and the hundred or so tornadoes that it birthed—raked a massive swath of southern Mississippi, hitting Waveland, Biloxi, Pass Christian, and Bay St. Louis especially hard.3 2 Camille, 1969 Tropical Depression Tropical Storm Hurricane Major Hurricane Camille’s path (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration). 4 Camille, 1969 That is Camille in bald, statistical terms. I want to add the human dimension to the hurricane. What was it like to experience Camille? I will excavate the experiential dimensions of Camille in a new way, by attending to the full sensory impact the hurricane had on people, social structures, and behavior. What were the sights of the event? What did it look like both during and after Camille landed? What were the sounds and the smells of Camille, short and long term? How did Camille affect the senses of touch and taste? What can those sensory experiences tell us about Mississippi in 1969 and about the nature of the South generally? If we listen carefully to the words of survivors, it becomes clear that the sensory experience of Hurricane Camille was, for its victims, an atavism—a moment that reminded them that despite their progress and their apparent mastery of modernity, they were, in fact, fragile creatures. For many, the sensory experience of Camille represented a throwback, no matter how temporary, to a sort of sensory premodernity. Twentieth-century Americans...