Thirty-three years ago today, I was a young teenager living with my family in South Florida. That August, right before the school year started, we decided to go on vacation for a week, completely disconnected from any news. Our sole focus was enjoying our time away. Then, on the way home, we turned on the radio, and between songs, a news broadcast announced that Hurricane Andrew was headed straight for South Florida, including our home.
My dad, who worked at a hardware store, immediately called his workplace to ask them to set aside some plywood, as we didn’t have any shutters. But wood were already sold out. He started calling around and finally found a supply of plywood in various pieces that we had to make do with. We bought everything we could and then began securing them to our windows. I remember drilling holes and putting them up with my dad, using tapcons, as the rain started. The outer bands of Hurricane Andrew were upon us, and we had to push through to secure the house.
With family visiting, we also had to stock up, preparing for potential losses of power, water, and other necessities. My mom, aunt, and sister went out to buy everything they could, but the supermarket shelves were virtually empty. They grabbed whatever they could find – Vienna sausages, Spam, and other foods we normally wouldn’t touch – knowing they would sustain us if we had to endure.
The storm hit overnight. We all gathered in our family room, as far away from the windows and French doors as possible, despite them being mostly secured with plywood. We truly didn’t know what to expect; it was our first hurricane ever. I remember hearing the gusts of wind and the rain, the barrel tiles flying off our roof, breaking onto the driveway, and hitting our cars. I don’t recall hearing any trees fall, but I vividly remember seeing them all leaning or lying flat on the ground, their root systems completely exposed.
Being inexperienced, I remember we went out during the eye of the storm. It was so calm, and we thought it was over, but then we heard it wasn’t, so we ran back inside. It was super eerie to hear such silence after hours of prolonged howling. We were among the lucky ones; our house sustained only minor damages, unlike others a little further south whose homes were utterly destroyed.
We saw trees twisted into corkscrews, and we were told it was due to tornadoes. People’s boats were found in other houses down the block. A friend of mine even had a boat on her property, and she had no idea who owned it. Nobody ever claimed that boat, and it was eventually taken away. I remember street signs lodged like Chinese stars into the sides of trees. I remember entire apartment buildings exposed, their windows, French doors, and sliding glass doors simply gone.
I remember houses with no roofs or windows, looking gutted from the outside in. I remember areas completely flooded, making driving through them impossible because you didn’t know what lay beneath the water. At best, it could have been debris; at worst, downed power lines or God knows what else. The streets were impassable due to fallen trees.
My dad and I, after ensuring our house was secure and clearing as much debris as possible, went down the main street next to our house. With machetes, we started cutting branches and moving them to the side so traffic could flow. Our thought was that an ambulance or fire truck would struggle to get through with all that debris on the road. I don’t know if it was the smartest thing to do, but it was the only way we felt we could help.
I can’t believe that 33 years later, I’m still remembering all this, and it’s all coming back to me. I think that’s the case for most Floridians who endured Hurricane Andrew. All you have to say are those two words… Hurricane Andrew… and they are immediately transported back 33 years, remembering even the smallest details that might seem insignificant to the overall event, but are just lodged in our memories forever.
