On Sunday afternoon, August 17, forecasters determined that the storm was not veering to the east. Alarms and civil alerts rang out in every coastal town—Waveland, Bay St. Louis, Pass Christian, Long Beach, Gulfport, Biloxi, Ocean Springs, and Pascagoula. The urgent warnings were dire and predicted an unprecedented storm surge and unheard-of winds. The last-minute evacuation was chaotic and most residents were determined to ride out the storm.
At 9:00 p.m., as the winds picked up, the mayor of Gulfport ordered the jail to open its doors. All prisoners were told to go home, we’ll find you later. Not a single one took the offer. Power and phone lines were down by 10:00 p.m.
At 11:30, Camille made landfall between Bay St. Louis and Pass Christian. It was only eighty miles wide, but its eye was tightly formed, its winds historic. It was a Category 5, the second-strongest hurricane to ever hit the United States. Its barometric pressure fell to 26.85 inches or 900 millibars, the second lowest in U.S. history. For one fleeting moment, a full sixty seconds, the wind speed gauges hit 175 miles per hour, then Camille blew them all into oblivion. Experts guessed that the top winds hit 200 mph. They pushed ashore a wall of water twenty-four feet in height. In some places the surge measured almost thirty feet.
The heavier populations to its east—Biloxi, Gulfport, Pascagoula—bore the full brunt of its counter-clockwise rotation. Virtually every building along Highway 90 and the beach was destroyed. The highway itself buckled and its bridges were knocked out. Power and phone lines snapped and disappeared in the raging waters. Six blocks inland from the beach entire neighborhoods were demolished. Six thousand homes disappeared. Another fourteen thousand were severely damaged. The storm killed 143 people, most of whom lived close to the beach and refused to evacuate. Schools, hospitals, churches, stores, office buildings, courthouses, fire stations—everything was gutted.
Camille wasn’t finished. She weakened quickly in the Ohio Valley, then turned east for more destruction. Over central Virginia, she merged with a dense low-pressure system that seemed to be waiting for her. Together, they dumped thirty inches of rain in twenty-four hours into Nelson County, Virginia, causing historic floods that wiped out highways, homes, and lives; 153 were killed in Virginia.
The storm was last heard from fading over the Atlantic. Mercifully, there would never be another Camille. Her damage was so unbelievable that the National Weather Service retired her name.
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When the sun rose on Monday, August 18, the clouds were gone. The storm was so fast it disappeared quickly, taking its wind and rain elsewhere. But it was still August in Mississippi, and by mid-morning the temperature was pushing ninety.
People emerged from the rubble and moved about like zombies, shell-shocked by the terror of the night and the devastation in front of them. Screams were heard as they found friends, neighbors, and loved ones who didn’t make it. They searched for bodies, automobiles, even houses.
Life had suddenly been reduced to the basics—food, water, and shelter. And health care; over 21,000 people were injured and there were no hospitals, no clinics.
The governor had moved five thousand National Guardsmen to Camp Shelby, seventy miles to the north. By dawn they were hustling south in caravans and listening to the first radio reports. Seventy-five thousand people were homeless. Thousands were either dead or missing. The Guardsmen soon ran into trouble when they encountered entire trees lying across Highway 49. Using chain saws and bulldozers to clear the road, it took almost six hours to reach Biloxi.
The 101st Airborne was right behind them. As the first images of the Coast made their way to the evening news, state, federal, and private aid began pouring in. Dozens of relief organizations mobilized and sent teams of doctors, nurses, and volunteers. Churches and religious organizations sent thousands of relief workers, most of whom slept in tents. Along with food and water, tons of medical supplies arrived, most of it by boat to avoid the impassable roads.
It took a month to restore electricity to the hospitals and schools that could open. Longer, to account for all the missing people. Years, to rebuild for those who wanted to.