In every person’s life there are dates or events that leave an indelible mark; and that shape their life opinions, beliefs, and very personalities.
Those are dates for which everyone remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing when the event occurred

For me, those dates are November 22, 1963; September 11, 2001; September 21, 1989 and September 21, 2000. The assassination of my beloved President John F Kennedy; the horrific terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in the heart of New York City; the date Hurricane Hugo hit my home at Charleston, South Carolina; and, very personally for me, the date of my first and worst heart attack, which thank God and the great doctors of Roper Hospital, I survived. Those dates are not in chronological order cause I wanted to keep you awake LOL.

This post will focus on my perceptions
and personal impacts of Hurricane Hugo, a catastrophic, Cat 4 hurricane as it hit my new home of Charleston AFB.

Marjorie and I arrived at Charleston AFB in early September, 1989. We had come from a long eight-year assignment at Scott AFB in Illinois. I was to be the new Deputy Commander for Resource Management (RM). I reported to the Wing Commander with oversight responsibilities for Finance, Supply, Surface Transportation and Logistics Plans.
We moved into our house on base without our mostly grown children. Christine was living in Oblong, Illinois. Jim was recently married to his beautiful bride, Kiersten and was either on his way or already in Seattle, starting his career with Boeing. Jeffrey was in Columbia starting at the University of South Carolina.
We hadn’t yet unpacked all our boxes and I was learning my new job and meeting my team. We had some early reports of a major storm in the Atlantic aiming at the east US coast. Not an immediate threat.
Our own Wing meteorologist then said we were in the potential strike area, so we started our countdown for preparation. When the storm became named Hurricane Hugo, we were very much in the cone of probable impact. That was about September 14, one week from impact.
Our preparation included evacuating all operational aircraft out of Charleston. By a few days prior to impact, which was now certain, our wing was effectively operating airlift missions from Lockbourne AFB, Columbus, Ohio. Non-operational aircraft were hangared in relatively safe environs.
On the day prior to impact, Senator Thurmond called my wing commander and told him to make sure the planes were evacuated. We chuckled silently, of course, at the Senator’s attempt to run an Air Wing from the halls of Congress. He was pleased to learn we had taken care of that detail.
By the time Hugo hit us, the entire base was battened down, including our house, but none of us even imagined the devastation that was about to occur.

The morning of September 21 was eerily quiet. It was cloudy, but no rain yet. Not much wind either. What storm? People were still racing to get needed supplies. Some family members evacuated inland to escape the storm. Several went up north to Charlotte, NC.
They didn’t expect the damn storm to follow them and dump rain and 80 mph winds on them in Charlotte. OMG. Marjorie decided to stay with me and weather the storm at Charleston AFB. I’m sure glad she did.
I provided all support possible to my Supply and Transportation squadron commanders, Comptroller, Contracting Officer and Chief of Plans to batten down. I then closed up my office and went home to my wife at about 5 PM.
It was raining and a bit windy, but the whole base was eerily quiet cause everybody was either gone or ensconced in their homes.
The TV was still on and I recall the announcer say “If you haven’t left yet, stay put. It’s too late to venture out”.
In answer to the question, “What should we do, then?” The announcer said “Pray”. Not a good sign.
By 9 PM I thought I’d better move my chair and me away from the window a bit. By 11PM, Marjorie, me and our dog, Teddi, were huddled in a small hallway with bedroom doors closed. We were hoping and praying our house would not collapse upon us. We experience the eerie feeling of negative pressure and it was like living in a vacuum cleaner.
I then did something that seemed right, but was incredibly stupid. I heard a window break in our bedroom. My goodness, water will get in. I must do something. I know; I’ll get a big sheet and put it over the broken window. Not smart. When I held the sheet up near the window in 100 mph wind. It became a sail and almost pulled me through the wall. Glass was blowing all over. I quickly dropped the sheet got the hell outta the room and closed the door. Smart move.
At about 2AM it got very quiet. Several of our neighbors and I went outside and looked up at stars in the sky. Wow! We were in the eye of the hurricane. It was eerily clear and calm, but we knew it was short lived. Someone called it “halftime”. We went back in the house and waited for the winds to pick up to over 100mph again, but from the opposite direction. As sure as shootin, that’s what happened. We took about 4 more hours of battering wind and rain, until about 6am.
My car ride at about 6AM down to Base Operations and the Crisis Action Center was reminiscent of Berlin at the end of WW2. The base looked like it had been bombed all night.
As I sat with the wing commander and senior staff at the Crisis action Team, everyone’s eyes looked like two burnt holes in a blanket. We hadn’t slept much and didn’t immediately know what to do. Enter a Wing Disaster Check List. Planning ahead sure helps. I raised my immediate concern. I stated I expect a phone call from Command Headquarters shortly. They will ask me, as the money man, “What’s the number?” What’s the estimated cost to recover? That’s the number they will ask for. Don’t try to raise that number after the ask. So you better ask for enough. With the extensive research of my drive to the Ops Center, I said about $50 million dollars. ( Remember, it was 1989). That’s what we got to recover Charleston AFB.
It can be said, so I’ll say it. The actual experience of the hurricane is certainly frightening, but it’s also a rush of possibly deadly excitement.
On the other hand, the recovery is a tedious, frustrating, horrible experience of seemingly endless hard, boring work.
We were without power for at least 3 weeks. Grilling outside and candlelight dinners every night got old fast.

By the way, my Air Force life didn’t pause while we recovered from Hugo.
In December, 1989, our wing was part of the Panama conflict, rescuing that country from the tyranny of the thug, Noriega. Then, 8 months later, we were part of the Persian Gulf War , rescuing Kuwait from an invasion from Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. My final career assignment at Charleston AFB 1989-1991 was certainly a busy one. I earned my keep.

The tedious recovery from Hugo had some very positive effects. Charleston AFB never looked better by late 1990. Almost every building that suffered damage underwent major repair and remodeling.
Downtown Charleston, that was nearly destroyed by Hugo, also got a new look by 1991, even though some reconstruction and repair was still in progress. The condo I bought was still a work in process when I obtained it in September, 1991. We are still living there in September, 2024. Yep, that’s 33 years. Enuf