Isaac's Storm - Erik Larson [61]
DOWNTOWN, IT WAS business as usual. Women seemed to understand that something exceptional was occurring, but the men of Galveston went to great lengths to deny the strange feel of the day. They dressed as they always did, sat down to breakfast as always, drank the usual cup or two of coffee, read the morning paper, then set off for work and walked the same routes as always, the only difference being that they were forced to hold their hats against the strong northerly breeze. On the way they saw nothing out of place—provided they chose to overlook the twelve inches of water that filled every street, and the occasional boy floating past on a homemade raft. Cabs and drays moved among the avenues as if such flooding were a daily occurrence. As always, the immense fifteen-passenger bus owned by the Tremont Hotel went to the Santa Fe depot to pick up the morning’s first arrivals. It would be there even when the last train from the mainland finally reached the station, despite water that by then caressed the bellies of its horses.
“My family pleaded with me to remain at home,” said A. R. Wolfram, a Galveston shopkeeper, “but I was determined to go to town. I tried to reassure them and promised that at the first signs of the storm’s approach, I would return home.” He did go home, for lunch, but left again to return to work, “despite the tearful pleadings of my wife and children.”
Ike Kempner, one of Galveston’s richest men, walked into town for a meeting with two out-of-town businessmen, Joseph A. Kemp and Henry Sayles, to discuss an irrigation contract. Joseph Kemp was visibly concerned about the weather. Ike tried to reassure him. “We have had storms before,” he said. “Most of our homes are built on high stilts and the water has never come up into them. Then, too, Commodore Maury, the famed oceanographer, had recently issued a statement to the effect that storms originating in the West Indies would not place Galveston in their natural paths.”
The meeting continued.
JUDSON PALMER, SECRETARY of the Galveston YMCA, a centerpiece of the city’s social life, also walked to work at his usual time. He and Isaac Cline knew each other. Palmer taught the adult Sunday school at the First Baptist Church, where Isaac taught the young men’s class. Palmer lived at 2320 P½ Street, three blocks from Isaac’s house.
On Saturday morning, Palmer’s wife, Mae, occupied herself doing the baking for Sunday dinner, while their six-year-old son, Lee, played with his beloved dog, Youno.
Most days Palmer went home for lunch, but by noon the rain was gushing from the sky. Palmer decided to stay downtown.
At one o’clock, Mae called him. She told him their yard was now underwater. What’s more, she had stuck her finger in the water and tasted it. It was salt water. She had tried calling him from the telephone in their house, but found it was no longer operating. She walked to a neighbor’s place and phoned from there. Come home, she said. Please. She was starting to get scared.
Palmer stayed at work. He joked with his coworkers, the “boys,” about “frightened women.” Soon, though, he did leave for home, and quickly understood why his wife had sounded so anxious. This was nothing like the other storms he had experienced in Galveston. The wind was blowing at about fifty miles an hour, he guessed. Water covered every street. He caught a ride on a passing delivery wagon.
Mae fell into his arms. She did not want to stay in the house. She saw danger. They should all go downtown, she urged, and stay in the YMCA building until the storm passed. The building was strong, stronger certainly than their house. It was three stories of brick and stone.
Judson agreed. The building would make a safe haven—for Mae and Lee. He, however, would stay at the house and look after it during the storm.
Mae objected. He had to come. It wasn’t safe to stay this close to the beach. Powerful gusts of wind punctuated her remarks. Rain slapped the broad wood shutters she had closed