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Corpus Christi History by Murphy Givens

Corpus Christi History is published Wednesdays. Murphy Givens also sits on the Caller-Times editorial board and can be contacted at givensm@caller.com

Wednesday, September 15, 1999

A personal account of the 1919 hurricane

This account of the 1919 storm is excerpted from an autobiography, "When the Century and I Were Young,'' by Theodore A. Fuller.
   We started back to school on Monday, Sept. 8, 1919. Within a day or so there was talk of a storm out on the Gulf. There was no great stir when it was reported as having hit islands in the Caribbean but later it was said to be headed for the Texas and Louisiana coasts.
   While the reports were taken calmly, our people knew that storms could cause a lot of damage. Only three years before, in August 1916, Corpus Christi had weathered one. At that time many boats and every pier out on the bay had been destroyed.
   At supper on Saturday night my 14-year-old big brother mentioned the stories about the flounders. For the past two or three nights floundering had been excellent. There were many flounders to be seen right up against the shore. Novices with no knowledge of gigging had speared them with cooking forks.
   Papa had heard these stories too and remarked that all kinds of fishing had been reported as good for several days. He said that fish seem to have a way of knowing that stormy weather was due and they must overfeed to provide for the coming muddy water which always accompanied high winds.
   I, a tow-headed ten-year-old, ventured that flounders were not feeding when they worked themselves down in the sand. It was then floundering proved successful. I had never gigged flounders but was quite familiar with the method.
   The next morning was dark and rainy when I woke. Brother turned in his bed and said, "Might as well go back to sleep, Ted, there'll be no fishing today."
   When Papa went to town to see if there was any news about the storm, Brother and I walked barefooted down to the beach, only a hundred yards away. There was something exciting about the wind and high waves. We ran back to get Esther to come down to the beach. She was our big sister, just turned 18.
   It was noon when Papa reappeared and said that the newspaper office had no alarming news. The storm on the gulf had less intensity than the one in 1916 and appeared to be south of us. Further, the weather bureau reported that the barometer was steady. Still, he believed that we should go on into town. Some people east of the railroad were already in town. The railroad split the peninsula, all of which was known as the North Beach.
   Before Papa had returned, Mama and Aunt Doshie, who was to go home that day after a visit, had made preparations to get dressed for town and the depot. Now they were completing that ordeal of bound waistlines and bulky shirts. There was some ado about taking Aunt Doshie's baggage for her journey home.
   Brother and I were excited by all the stir as well as the weather and the bay. The tide was beginning to rise even higher than it was earlier in the morning. Once it came over Rincon Street, next to the bay, it would be within minutes in our grounds. Before leaving our home, Mama had Papa and Brother roll up our carpets and take them upstairs. Since we were east of the railroad, water might come up to floor level.
   The water continued to rise but the large waves were breaking at the bay shoreline which now served as a great bar. There were almost no waves in our street. Esther, accustomed to water, rushed upstairs at the last minute and changed to a bathing suit. Brother and I were still barefooted. My aunt and mother were by now dressed as formally as if headed for church. Their skirts were only a couple of inches off the floor.
   As we waded from the house the water soon became waist deep on my mother and me. We were the smallest people in the group. A hundred feet or so to the south and toward town, Bennett Street was graded up to cross the railroad. We were to go to the railroad track and walk it on into town. During the 1916 hurricane, the water reached only as far as the railroad, the embankment of which was probably three feet higher than the land on each side. This time however, the crest of the water reached the steel rails at the same time we did. This was about one o'clock and not over 15 minutes after we had rescued the Negro woman who now accompanied our party.
   Between us and town was the old dry swale, Hall's Bayou, the mouth of which had been blocked by beach sand but which was subject to flooding with every unusual tide. During the 1916 hurricane the railroad had washed out at the bayou. Papa, faced with all decision-making, said we should go to a strong house west of the railroad and wait out the storm. I, thrilled beyond reason, already had started down the tracks over which water was rushing. Ignorance and excitement made me unaware of the danger. The water was falling with a deafening roar and was rushing like a huge swollen muddy mountain river beyond that. The wind had begun to rise.
   Brother managed to fetch me back and I saw the look of extreme worry, short of terror, on Mama's face as she stood beside Papa.
   Brother, big for his age and destined to be 6'2, wanted to help father, who was searching for a safe house for shelter. It was an afterthought on his part and he hurried to catch up. Had papa had time to think, he may have had Brother accompany me rather than have the two of them assisting Mama through the flowing water.
   About the time they left, a young soldier joined our crowd. He was, I believe, from the Army Convalescent Hospital at the Beach Hotel. He broke into the house where we could be more comfortable. I was a bit apprehensive about breaking in but remained quiet about it. The water and wind continued to rise.
   Although the rain and spray were coming down in sheets we could still see through the windows. I suppose hope was bolstered by continued sight. Suddenly we realized that the house to the northeast of us had turned awry and was being pushed along towards us. It was the Lerick home. As it came alongside us and seemed to be still going, the Lerick family came out of it, waded to our porch and thence on into the room.
   Billy Lerick was nearly a year younger than I. We had played together and hence I felt that his family were good friends of mine. His mother was friendly and pretty; his little twin sisters were cute and identical. There were now, all told, 12 of us in one room of the Atkinson house. In my ignorance of the potential danger and in all the excitement, I had so far been totally unafraid.
   By this time we had chairs on top of the chests and tables to stay above the water. The walls of the house tended to move slowly back and forth as the water pressure was shifted by current and waves. From time to time, there was a collapse of some part of the house and occasionally we could feel the whole house shift. It was then that a part of the wall parted and then came back together. Somehow Aunt Doshie's hand became caught in the parting wall and was crushed by the closing. For the first time terror seized me.
   We were not as knowledgeable about hurricanes then as now but the adults were aware that there was a time of calm during them. The eye of our hurricane was probably an hour and a half or two hours in passing. The noise of the wind abated and the water began lowering. There was talk of our being able to leave the house before long. There was a mention of rescue boats. The adults seemed to be thinking about rescue rather than cessation of the hurricane. But all the optimistic talk was too late for me. The Lerick children were whimpering and so was I. My bravado born of excitement had vanished completely.
   Aunt Doshie held her mangled hand stoically. Esther later told me that three fingers had been completely severed but that was concealed from me at the time.
   Esther, Aunt Doshie and I were sitting or standing in water although our heads were not far from the ceiling. The nameless soldier and Aunt Doshie tried hard to keep spirits up. She comforted the whimpering boy beside her by saying that he too must act like a soldier. She told stories which I am sure were fabricated, about precariously stranded people who were rescued by boats or as the water receded, by wagons pulled by stumbling horses. Our soldier sang happy ditties and whistled martial tunes. For courage in a passive situation, I have never seen two who could compare with my aunt and the soldier. Both would soon drown.
   The wind, water and waves suddenly began rising. It became certain that our house would soon collapse. By this time all exits were blocked. Our soldier dived down through a window, mounted the roof and somehow managed to tear off enough shingles to work a hole down to a point where the ceiling already had parted. Through this he lowered himself into the water and began helping people through the outlet.
   We were all like trapped rats. Everyone rushed to the outlet. Aunt Doshie, Esther and I had at first been nearest the escape hole but two desperate men, one with a wife and another with a family, forced past us in their struggle to get their loved ones out of the slowly collapsing house.
   When our turn came it was too late for Esther who was pushing me ahead. She yelled to me, "Go ahead Ted, I'm going out the window." Above the water, the top of a window frame was barely visible. As I jumped up, Esther went down and the walls merged. Our brave soldier somehow escaped from under the walls and we briefly saw him drifting away. He must have been injured for he paid no heed to anyone while clinging without motion to some debris.
   The evident things afloat were the wooden-shingled roofs of three houses. Each large piece of roof contained people. Aunt Doshie was beside me when Esther bobbed up at the edge of our heaving raft and climbed on. Waves were now high and our roof was turned upside down. Fortunately we were accustomed to diving and swimming under water. Over my head I could feel the floating roof and by it pulled myself along to its edge. The instant I was up I found Esther there trying to help me. All fear having gone, I called, "Help Aunt Doshie."
   We were immediately overturned again. Coming up in the water, Esther grabbed a passing power pole. Aunt Doshie and I, only a few strokes away, quickly joined her. With consideration for our respective sizes, all three of us were strong swimmers. Esther was dressed for it and I wore light clothes. Unfortunately Aunt Doshie wore shoes and many yards of long under and outer skirts.
   Esther kept trying to help both Aunt Doshie and me. Our roof separated again and our aunt was thrown into the swirling water. As Esther started toward her, a mass of driftwood washed between them forcing Esther back to me. For only a second we watched in horror as Aunt Doshie strangled, threw both arms in the air and screamed. He voice was piercing even over the sound of the storm. Then Esther said in a tone calmed by resignation, "There goes Aunt Doshie."
   I answered, "Poor Aunt Doshie," with feelings akin to Esther's. The thought did not enter my mind but perhaps subconsciously there was some feeling that Aunt Doshie was merely number one and either of us might be next. Our continuous movement however, obviated fear and our actions were deliberate.
   Just as we were being forced to abandon the fragmented roofs, a large overturned floor of a house washed into sight. It might have been from our own home. The flooring itself was under water but the big joists were exposed except when covered by a wave. We swam to this new raft and scrambled toward the center of it. By now we were seeing naught except during flashes of lightning; fortunately this was almost continuous.
   I do not know how high the waves reached. The greatest waves did not follow one another but once in a while a giant appeared. It was terrifying to see, in a flash of lightning, an enormous wave poised above us. It was equally terrifying to feel our raft heave and know that we were going to be submerged for as long as our breath would last.
   Out of nowhere washed Billy Lerick and landed between the joists adjoining me.
   A wave took driftwood and Billy to the end of the joists where he hung for a minute before pulling himself back. This time he fastened himself alongside Esther. She screamed to kick the driftwood off.
   As we emerged from another huge wave, the lightning showed Billy at the end of the joists strangling and trying desperately to hold on. Another wave and the lightning failed to reveal him. Over the howling wind and pounding waves, Esther called to me as apologetically as a screaming voice could be. "Ted, I just couldn't hold him any longer. The wood piled up over him and I couldn't hold him. I tried, Ted, I tried."
   Billy was my friend. I only answered, "Pray, Esther."
   "I've been praying all night,'' she screamed.
   My memory was that the water was warm while the cold spray and wind cut unmercifully. My shirt was ripped off.
   "Hold your head up, Ted. I might not be able to help you much longer."
   Once I knew her hand was under my chin. For a long time I seemed to hear her only vaguely. I was semi-conscious. I was never completely aware of things the remainder of the night. Those vague memories seem to have come and gone several times.
   Long after dreams and as out of a deep sleep, I awoke suddenly and saw Esther sitting quietly beside me. We were floating among the tops of some mesquite bushes. The water around us was calm except for low, surging swells. Our raft which had been an expansive floor was now reduced to three, possibly four, long joists to which was attached flooring no larger than a double bed.
   Esther smiled at me, I asked how long we had been there and was told that we drifted to the brush about an hour or so before.
   The water was only up to my armpits and the open water showed us which way not to wade so I said, "Come on, let's get up to land somewhere."
   The flat terrain caused us to have to wade quite some distance. Fortunately the submerged brush was not thick and cactus tends to grow on higher ground. Occasionally, spiney growth at our feet caused us to swim short distances. Once we reached knee deep water we were soon out of it and came to a cow-trail in the now thick brush.
   We discussed our whereabouts as we walked. We reasoned that we were somewhere across Nueces Bay. Actually, we were on the northeast side of the Nueces River, some eighteen miles from where we started, but probably we had been driven a much greater distance.
   "I think we were in a whirlpool at the mouth of the river," said Esther. "We may have spent hours in it." She continued by saying that on two occasions, possibly an hour apart, she had seen in the lightning flashes a line of brush seemingly moving past us. She was probably right. The river at normal flow meanders for miles through a wide low plain and then spreads gradually into the widening bay.
   "Once when near the brush line," continued Esther, "I thought several times I could hear a man calling but in the noise of the storm I could make out no words. I screamed for help as loud as I could but there was never a reply."
   We estimated it was near 7 o'clock when we began our trek and determined later that we must have walked for more than two hours before sighting a small shack, the home of an absent Mexican family.
   The trail opened and we saw a field about 200 feet wide. As we reached the field's edge a jacal, a thatched roof shack, came into view. Not as primitive as some I would later see along the Rio Grande, it was still typical of rural Mexican people.
   Esther and I went down to the water. The wind had completely abated and the sun was out. We heard a whistle and saw a young man of about 18 coming toward us. He was Walter McNeil, who was unknown to us but with whom we later learned we had mutual friends.
   Leaving their company I strode back to the shack in hopes of finding a morsel of food. I found nothing but a few spoonfuls of corn cooked after the Mexican manner and ready to be made into masa, the pastry substance from which tortillas are made. There was nothing with which to ignite a fire but being familiar with tortillas I had an idea that raw paste would be more palatable than the soaked and unseasoned corn which I had tried to eat. A metate, the rub-board of stone, was at hand so I ground the corn into a masa. It was not better than the ungrounded corn but I ate some of it. I looked for salt but there was none. Several strings of large red peppers hung from beams so I ground one of them into the corn paste. That mixture nearly took my head off. My mouth burned for half an hour.
   I heard Esther's voice. She was bringing Mrs. Critzer, a Corpus Christi milliner, up from the bay. Having battled the wind, waves and debris, she was, once ashore, nearly unconscious. This lady had to be helped in order to move. She was, as were the rest of us, lacerated and bruised; she was half blinded and suffered from shock.
   About noon a horseman appeared and said he would send a wagon for us. By now the ambulatory survivors had brought in more; we were now 16. When the wagon appeared and we were ready for boarding someone decided that we had to leave two or three of the worst cases until the wagon could return with a mattress on which they might ride. About half of us could walk so we helped the others in. We learned that we were on the Turner Ranch.
   By now my body had grown so stiff that it was painful to move. I sought Esther and found her in the same condition. It now occurred to me that people who had lain on the shore awaiting a rescuer had let their muscles grow still. To us who had kept on walking, stiffness and soreness came later. Esther and I began walking about to fight it. Rumor flew about that we were to move. All who could take another trip would be taken to the railroad. It seemed strange to me to be boarding passenger coaches out where there was no station. It was growing dark when we reached the train. It was a long time moving because more people were expected. The 12 or 15 of us on the train were all the younger group who could walk. The older ones suggested that we should continue to move with every opportunity.
   The train puffed its way to Odem, the nearest town. I wondered where we would spend the night but after seeing the Turner hospitality I did not worry. Someone would take us in. It was announced that we could eat at a restaurant near the station. At Odem everything was near the station.
   There was no organized aid such as one might some 30 hours after a catastrophe but our needs were supplied.
   I had three nickels in my pocket when we waded away from home. Unaccountably, they remained in the shallow pocket throughout our ordeal. I had mentioned this to Esther while we were walking the cow path. Without realizing that we would be looked upon as people deserving assistance, I told Esther that I could by a dime's worth of cheese and a nickel's worth of crackers if we ever reached a country store. The meal at the counter there in Odem restaurant was very satisfying but boy-like I saw a small store and ran over for a 5-cent candy bar. Esther smiled and squeezed my arm as she took my offered half. Someone called and said we were to board the train for Sinton, a larger town.
   At Sinton we were taken to a single hotel in the town.
   I don't remember where I was sleeping that night but Esther had a little room to herself. The lights had been out for a while and I lay sleepless. Extreme fatigue had left me and the excitement likewise had receded. Lying there awake I began to think of the family. Brother and I had always shared a room and had sometimes shared the same bed. I wondered where his body lay. Then Papa and Mama, were they washed up on some brushy shore or were they at the bottom of the muddy bay? For the first time since my whimpering and sobbing was calmed by Aunt Doshie, tears were filling my eyes. I eased out of bed and felt my way to where I knew Esther lay. I crawled into her bed and as she sat up, threw my arms about her. I am sure that those were her first tears be shed over our loss. We were both crying our hearts out and clinging to each other when our kindly hostess entered. She knew that neither of us would sleep if she left us so I was led away while she dried my eyes.
   I have no idea how decisions were made as to how the refugees were being distributed in Sinton homes. Esther and I were moved the next day to the family of a local merchant who had two or three boys whose ages were on both sides of mine. I believe their name was Dodson. The boys were quite solicitous of my welfare and I was willingly parted from Esther most of the daytime.
   We stayed with that family another two days. On Friday morning we were quickly put into a car and taken to the station. A train had just pulled in and there stood Papa. It was a total surprise to us for communication with Corpus Christi had all this time been completely out. Before the wire connection had been established, bridges had been repaired to let a train out of the beleaguered town.
   A young reporter, if he were one, had made his way to Corpus Christi by swimming the river some miles above. Papa had known about us for two or three days. His way of telling us about our family was to say, "Brother is waiting for us in Corpus. He will be eager to see you two."
   Esther got the message but I, having just seen one miracle and heard another, was ready for the third. "And Mama? Is she there too?"
   He looked over me with his eyes on the horizon as he answered. Papa had a clear, deep voice which was soothing. "No, son, she is with Aunt Doshie and we won't see them for a long, long time. They are in heaven."