The Daily Tar HeelTuesday, September 26, 19895
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By DAVID SUROWIECKI
Photography Editor
and TONY DEIFELL
Guest Writer
CHARLESTON, S.C . Hurricane
Hugo the chance of a lifetime for
two unpaid National Geographic pho
tojournalist wannabes. At 2 a.m. Fri
day, an eight-hour drive through 60
mph winds and flying branches just
didn't seem that appealing besides,
we didn't even have a car.
After about 30 minutes of procrasti
nation and logical reasoning about why
we shouldn't drive into the eye of the
worst hurricane to hit the East Coast in
50 years, we decided to call each other
at 7 a.m. the next day and go from there.
Ten minutes later we were on our way
to Charleston.
The first problem, the car, was easily
solved when Tony merely "borrowed"
his car back from the garage where it
was being repaired. With the main
obstacle out of the way, we were on the
road again which road, we weren't
quite sure, but we knew enough to head
south.
Our plan was to head off the hurri
cane at Wilmington and arrive just as
everyone was returning to their homes.
Hugo, however, had designs on Char
lotte and decided to take the direct route
to its destination.
Flabbergasted and perturbed, we
were forced to alter our plans to con-
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form to Hugo's changed flight pattern.
We had heard on the radio that Myrtle
Beach was being hit hard, so to Myrtle
it was.
Unfortunately, the National Guard
had other ideas, and despite the fact that
we flashed our trusty DTH press pass,
we were turned away at the gates of the
city. We considered storming the barri
cades, but eventually decided that our
Toyota, which was being blown off the
road during the entire trip, just couldn't
take the inevitable barrage of gunfire.
Some photojournalists may have
thought of packing it in at that point and
just going to sleep we sure did. But
about five minutes later, we were on
our way to Charleston, our last and only
hope.
Hours later, as we finally approached
Charleston, our gas and patience levels
were dangerously low. Picture this a
ravaged area devoid of electricity, water,
telephones and gasoline. A post-nuclear
war America? Hardly. It was the
post-Hugo South Carolina, and we were
running out of gas.
As precious as water in the Sierra, a
full tank was the only ticket out of this
twilight zone. Should we break into a
deserted gas station, steal a siphon and
"borrow" some gas? It was our only
option until, by the grace of God, we
happened upon a flooded fire station.
Official people, powerful people, they
must know something they didn't.
Hank Williamson, a temporary para
medic from England, knew something
about the rise and fall of the British
Army, but the research he had been
doing for two years for a book was
washed away amidst the deluge of
Hurricane Hugo. All of his notes,
memories and invaluable books floated
down Highway 17 in his Volkswagen
van, along with the area's ambulance
and two police cars.
The highway was covered with more
than stray automobiles. Trees, electri
cal poles, boats and family homes were
like obstacles in a pinball machine. But
this game was real. No extra pinballs.
No 100 point bonuses.
At about 10 a.m. and 20 miles north
of Charleston, we were traveling
through a part of South Carolina that
just doesn't make it on postcards. We
were seeing people who had just had
their entire lives blown away by six
hours of wind and rain.
Born and raised to the age of 76 on
the same 50-yard plot of land, Harper
McNeil (middle right) represents just
one of the many untold stories of mis
fortune. Returning to the trailer home,
which he shared with his wife before
her death this past April, he tries to
salvage pictures, memories or anything
from the remains of Hugo. Harper was
quiet and morose, still in shock from
the devastating blow dealt him by the
hurricane.
Tales of fear and horror concerning
Hugo permeate the city, but 5-year-old
Joseph Harder (bottom left) seemed
strangely above it all. "I ain't afraid of
nothing," he says, as if he had experi
enced worse in his short lifetime.
These people who have lost every
thing were surprisingly unemotional,
perhaps even numbed by the sudden
ness of the disaster. Many placed their
future in the hands of God, with a
desperate reach for a supernatural foot
hold, for any glimpse of hope, of ration
ale. Later in the evening, following an
afternoon of heart-wrenching stories
from nearly every individual we hap
pened upon, we left what remained of
Charleston in the background and be
gan the trek back to our unaffected
world of Chapel Hill, far away from a
world where destruction and poverty
were force fed by nature, and a popula
tion of seemingly civilized Americans
regressed to the most basic nature of
survival.
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Top left A boarded-up window on the Charleston coast warns of the impend-
ing doom. Photo by David Surowiecki
' Top right Destruction runs rampant in the towns surrounding Charleston. This
.church's roof was snapped like matchsticks in the 135 mph winds of the hurri
cane. Photo by Tony Deifell
.Middle left Daily chores must go on despite the effects of the hurricane. Janet
?: Royal of Charleston hangs out clothes drenched by the torrential rains to dry in
i the midday sun of the cairn following the storm. Photo by Tony Deifell
Middle right Harper McNeil, 76, stares in disbelief at the remains of his
mobile home along Highway 17. Photo by David Surowiecki
. Bottom left The hurricane provided Joseph Harder, 5, with a great opportu
nity to collect rubber bands and magic markers from a smashed office supplies
. store. Looting of a much more serious nature, however, was a major problem in
the city. Photo by Tony Deifell
. Bottom right A home and a new car are the victims of Hugo for Kathren
. Jones, a volunteer firefighter in McCellenviile, S.C, who has difficulty accepting
the changes the hurricane wrought. Photo by David Surowiecki
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