By: Jim Moloney Photos courtesy of: The Postcard Collection of Jim Moloney
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Saturday,brSeptember 13, 1919 was a beautiful day in Corpus Christi – sunny and brightbrwith a high of 92 degrees. People ate breakfast, went shopping, fished, andbrtalked with neighbors. Winds were strong out of the north and storm warningsbrwere posted – strange things were happening, but didn’t demand notice. Schoolsbrof fish swam near the shore, clearly visible near the surface. Kids diving off Lloyd’sbrPier, which had been heavily damaged by the 1916 hurricane, found the waterbrfilled with crabs.
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“Thebrfish were really biting that day,” local Clyde Prather said. “One lady was downbrthere trying to gig fish with her parasol.” Another boy on North Beach,brTheodore Fuller, found that floundering was great for two or three nightsbrrunning.
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Fishermenbrwere having a grand time, catching more fish than they could eat or sell. However,brtheir good spirits should have been tempered by the lead-colored sky with hintsbrof an ominous yellow behind it. A woman who lived down Brewster Street from thebrPrather house told Clyde’s father, “Mr. Prather, something terrible is about tobrhappen. I can feel it in my bones.”
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Naturebroffered more unusual signs: Louise Norton and her husband Bob walked home frombra picture show at the Amusu on Mesquite Street. “I remember how funny we felt,”brshe said. “Everything was still. There was no noise. It was an odd feeling.”
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NearbrOdem, farmers noticed the red ants had retreated to their burrows, blocking thebrentrances with small pebbles and dirt.
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Peoplebrwould later remember dogs and horses being unsettled and unusually tense, thatbrswarms of flies were everywhere, and the hens didn’t lay that Saturday. Itbrseemed strange, said one man, that there should have been so many signs thatbrthere was disaster on the way, yet no one seemed to pay much attention to them.brThat all changed on Sunday, September 14, 1919. It was a day nobody would everbrforget.
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Abrtropical storm had formed on September 1 east of the Windward Islands andbrslowly moved westward, developing to hurricane strength. As it traveled west, it sank 10 ships. The Categorybr4 hurricane struck Key West, Florida on September 10 and continued west. Thebrsteamer Valbanera was sunk between Key West and the Dry Tortugas; all 488braboard perished. With no ships reporting its location, the storm was “lost.”
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Earlierbrin the week, word from the National Weather Service’s New Orleans office of abrsevere storm off the Florida coast had drawn little attention around CorpusbrChristi. Corpus had a reputation as the safest place on the coast, shieldedbrfrom storm threats by the barrier islands: Mustang and St. Joseph’s. The bluffsbroverlooking the bays rose nearly 40 feet above the Beach Section (downtown),broffering an added buffer in the event of a flood. In August 1916, localbrresidents had ridden out a sizable storm and took comfort in the city’sbrreputation as being stormproof.
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Evenbras late as Saturday, September 13, people ignored warnings that the Floridabrhurricane was wandering somewhere in the Gulf and could reach Texas. Regardlessbrof the lack of information, the consensus along the South Texas Coast seemed tobrbe that the storm would more than likely curve north.
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Late Saturday night, the winds picked up again, topping 45 mphbrand driving a steady rain from the east. Around midnight, a weather observer inbrAransas Pass telegraphed Corpus Christi to say the rains were coming down hardbrand the tide was so high his feet were getting wet. Sundaybrmorning dawned and the barometer began to fall.
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At 9:30 a.m., Corpus Christi’s meteorologist issued an officialbrstatement urging people to leave the low-lying areas of downtown and NorthbrBeach, which were about five feet above sea level. A fire truck drove north onbrChaparral and, from a bullhorn, residents were advised a hurricane wasbrapproaching and safer shelter should be found on higher ground. Some peoplebrignored the alerts, and several families prepared for Sunday dinner, somebrplanning to evacuate after their meal.
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The trolley system began running streetcars from the bluff tobrdowntown to North Beach and back. The streetcar motormen were toldbrto go to North Beach to pick up people threatened by the storm. One report saidbra streetcar packed with people overturned from the force of the winds, killingbrone man. The water continued to rise, the wind gathered force, and by noon, abrfoot of water covered Chaparral and Mesquite streets. As the water began to fill downtown streets, two men wearingbrraincoats were photographed on Peoples St. with water up to their thighs.brAnother young man had a boat and was playing in the water in front of a groupbrof onlookers as waves began washing over Water Street and into side streets. Thenbrwater in the streets quickly rose to a depth of sixbrfeet within 20 minutes.
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Now people became very concerned, even terrified. Some startedbrto walk for safety, carrying youngsters and aiding women and elderly. ThebrCourthouse was said to have been the safest place in town.
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Abryoungster named Robert Simpson was carried to the Courthouse by his father, whobrwaded through chest-high waves. (Simpson, citing inspiration from this hurricane,brpursued a career in meteorology and later served as the first director ofbrthe NationalbrHurricane Research Project and as a director ofbrthe NationalbrHurricane Center. Additionally, he co-developed andbrpublished the Saffir–Simpsonbrscale with Herbert Saffir inbr1973.) The Simpson family made the three-block walk along thebralley and over a fence through the waters to take refuge at the Nueces CountybrCourthouse. They were housed on the sixth floor, far above the ragingbrwaters. Their faces were bleeding frombrcuts caused by windblown sand.
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Atbrthe two-story home of J. Brad Pangle in the 1500 block of N. Chaparral, SarahbrPangle was told by the weatherman at 11:00 p.m. on Saturday that the stormbrwould not be serious. On Sunday morning. she did not see the water until itbrbegan coming into the house. The family retreated to the second floor, takingbrpapers of value. A sick neighbor was brought over on a cot. Several people departedbraround 3 p.m., leaving 15 people in the house. Sarah watched the water rushingbrby, carrying houses, roofs, and furniture of all kinds.
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Bybr1:15 p.m., the streetcars were all stranded. The Pangles had heard the stormbrwould peak around 2:30 in the afternoon, but that was not the case. Water wasbrgetting deeper in the house. Around 5:00 p.m. there were three great waves.brWater was rushing by like a mighty river, the roar was deafening, and the wavesbrseemed mountain high. Around 2:30 a.m. Monday, the wind shifted to thebrsouthwest and water started to recede. brBy 3:00 a.m. the wind quieted down, and the water went out of the house.brThey rested until dawn, when the morning light revealed that the pretty townbrnow lay in ruins.
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Many of the homesbrand buildings in the downtown area were built of bricks or shellcrete. Peoplebrin one-story buildings stood on tables or chairs to stay above the risingbrwater. As the surge topped 12 feet, many went to the attic. In some instances,breven that height was not enough. Others abandoned the house to make it tobrsafety as best they could.
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Lucy Caldwell, abrteacher from Terrell, Texas, vacationing in Corpus Christi, was staying in thebrNueces Hotel. She wrote of the storm, “In early daylight (on Sunday) the lobbybrwas a swarm of human beings inquiring about trains and trying to get servicebrcars, but by 9 o’clock the phones in the hotel were dead.”
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Caldwell went onbrto write, “Although warned to keep away from the windows in the hotel, we sawbrthat the wires were all down, telephone poles were all gone, not a bathhousebrwas in sight, not a fishing pier, the garage near the hotel was gone with 60brcars in the bay, the concrete service station was gone, also the dancingbrpavilion and bowling alley.
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“What a sickeningbrsight Monday morning,” Caldwell wrote. “The water was still 2 feet in thebrlobby and several feet in the street. brThe beach from Flower Bluff to North Beach was a solid mass of wreckage,brconsisting of houses, cars, boats, street cars, railroad track, horses, cows,brseagulls – in fact, everything which once occupied the beach.
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“By Tuesdaybrmorning, the water had receded sufficiently to admit our reaching the Red Crossbrstations by wading in mud and slime above the ankles; the city was in totalbrdarkness. These people (survivors) had no money, food, clothing orbrshelter. On the floor of the courthousebrthey lay with nothing under them or over them till the relief trains began tobrcome in.
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“Itbrrained the larger part of the first five days following the storm. And the odorbrcannot be described in words. Slime, mud, dead horses along the beach, decayedbrfruits and vegetables, burst sewers, wet lumber, molded dry goods and burst oilbrtanks. The streets were so slippery from the slime and from the oil whichbrfloated ashore from Port Aransas (the immense storage oil tanks burst) made thebrstreet so slick that you could not hope to go many feet without slipping down.”
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NorthbrBeach was Corpus Christi’s first suburb, with more than 200 well-builtbrresidences on the island. It was connected to downtown by a small wooden bridgebron Chaparral over Hall’s Bayou and the SAAP railroad bridge further to the west.brIn 1919, North Beach was not the tourist haven it would become after the storm.;brit was the area where many of Corpus Christi’s upper middle class lived. Thebrsubstantial homes were primarily made of wood, built on piers and beams. As thebrwater rose, the homes began to float in the rising waters. Eventually, theybrrammed into other residences or the waves began to tear them apart.
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Asbrthe depth of the water increased, people on North Beach who procrastinated orbrignored warnings were stranded. The only way back to safety was across the Chaparralbrbridge or the railroad bridge, but both were quickly under water, cutting offbrescape. The hospitals were at the water’s edge, making them almost impossiblebrto reach against the waves and incoming tides. As homes flooded, people tookbrrefuge in larger, more sturdy ones. Soon even those houses were victims to thebrswirling waters and disintegrated. People were left clinging to pieces of thebrbuildings in which they had taken shelter, surrounded and buffeted by ragingbrwaves containing pieces of other buildings.
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Theodore Fuller laterbrrecalled, “As we waded from the house the water soon became waist deep. Abrhundred feet or so to the south and toward town, Bennett Street was graded upbrto cross the railroad. We were to go to the railroad track and walk it on intobrtown. Between us and town was the old dry swale, Hall’s Bayou. The water wasbrfalling with a deafening roar and was rushing like a huge swollen muddybrmountain river beyond that.”
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Throughoutbrthe night, people floated on debris – doors, walls, parts of roofs. Whenbrlightning flashed, they could see waves high above them. The earth wasbrchurning; the water and sky seemed one; the elements melded into nothing butbrthe storm’s fury. Screams and cries could be heard in the darkness andbrterrified faces appeared briefly in lightning flashes. Survivorsbrwere pummeled by debris as they floated. Some were knocked off their raft, hopefullybrto find another floating nearby.
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Theodore Fuller’sbrexperience was similar to those of many North Beach residents. Of the 200brsubstantial homes on North Beach, only one survived, along with the ArmybrHospital and portions of Spohn Sanitarium. All other buildings were swept away,brleaving virtually no trace. Overnight, almost all of North Beach hadbrdisappeared.
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Meanwhile, thebrstorm did little damage on the bluff; most houses didn’t even have missingbrshingles or broken windows. Some residents, unaware of the horrors in BeachbrSection and North Beach, only realized what had occurred when they walked tobrBroadway and gazed on the wreckage below. Streets and lots were filled with cottonbrbales, boards from buildings, wharves, and debris from houses and stores.brBuried in the rubble were bodies of the people who did not make it to safety,bralong with the belongings and furniture of the wrecked houses. The downtown areabrwas still covered with water as storm water from Nueces Bay drained back intobrthe bay and gulf. Everything was coated with oil.
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At the back endbrof Nueces Bay and at White Point, jutting out of the northern shore of the bay,brbodies were left as the waters receded. Some people were miraculously stillbralive, but just as many were dead. All were covered in oil and had puncturebrwounds from nails in the wreckage which battered them as they floated acrossbrthe bay. Men worked night and day searching for survivors … and bodies.
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Thebrdead were collected and lined up near the west Portland School forbridentification. Index cards were completed giving as full a description of thebrbody as possible for future identification and then the bodies were buried inbrseveral mass graves. In October, Maxwell P. Dunne had the bodies exhumed andbrbrought to Corpus Christi for proper burial, most in Rose Hill Cemetery. Thosebrwho could not be identified are in a mass grave topped with a large rock andbrplaque near the entrance.
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Thebrofficial death toll in Corpus Christi was 284. All are named except for twobrpeople. The bodies not identified or missing and presumed dead were not countedbrin that total; it is estimated between 500 and 750 people died in the 1919 storm.br
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CorpusbrChristi recovered. The Port to replace the Harbor Island port was opened inbrCorpus Christi on September 14, 1926. After another hurricane filled downtownbrwith water and covered North Beach in 1933, the Seawall was built in 1940 forbrprotection.
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ThisbrSeptember marks the centennial of this devastating storm. While the memory is abrhorrendous one, it is also a reminder of the incredible tales that were birthedbrbecause of it. The damage has long been repaired, and stories of bravery, lifebrand loss, and a community of people coming together are what remain.
brbr*This article was substantially adapted from a narrative written by Murphy Givens for a series of columns in the Corpus Christi Caller-Times and for the book 1919: The Storm. Other sources include: The Faubions, by Sarah Faubion Pangle, When the Century and I Were Young, by Theodore Fuller, “September 21, 1919 letter,” by Lucy Caldwell, and Memoris of Bub Simpson, by Robert H. Simpson and Neal M. Dorst.
You can purchase 1919: The Storm by Murphy Givens and Jim Moloney online at nuecespress.com
