As I sit here listening to WWL TV broadcast, I can't help but think back to a storm named Betsy in 1965.
My father tracked every storm on his hurricane tracking map, filling in a little dot whenever the storm's position was broadcast on the news.
This particular storm was in the Gulf of Mexico and headed our way; it then turned and went across the southern tip of Florida and out into the Atlantic. My sister Nancy was sitting beside Dad at the kitchen table as he filled in the latest dot on the map; she placed the tip of her finger on the dot and traced a line back across the southern tip of Florida and right up the mouth of the Mississippi river (directly over the top of our house). She then asked, "Daddy, what if the storm turns around and comes back this way?" His reply, as he laughed was 'well, that's possible but not very probable'.
That evening Betsy stopped, turned around and started on her trek back.
My Dad was a crew boat captain at that time. His job was to take the crew out and back to the oil rigs offshore. When Betsy came back into the Gulf and headed our way, the oil field shut down and crews had to be evacuated from the rigs. While he was ferrying crew back to the dock, it was our responsibility to select what items we really cherished to be packed in the car when Dad got home so we could leave.
There were a total of 7 people in our family at that time; Mom, Dad and 5 young girls. I'm sure you can imagine how much stuff a family of that size has. I don't remember what type of car we had at that time, but everything we got out went into the trunk of that car, the backseat packed full of kids, Mom and Dad in the front with coffee, a jug of water and some pb&j sandwiches.
It was late when Dad got back. The Gulf was rough and it took longer to get back than he had anticipated. But we were ready! Hurriedly we packed our stuff into the car, the rain falling and the wind blowing. There wasn't room left for our dog, PawPaw. Dad said 'don't worry, he'll be fine' but I think we knew better, even then.
The only road out of the Parish, Highway 23, was already starting to flood from the tremendous amount of rain that had already fallen. It was bumper to bumper traffic, stop and go, dark, rain and windy. Kids quiet in the backseat so Mom and Dad could listen to the radio news.
Once we got across the river, the next problem was to find a place to stop for gas. Most stations were now closed or out of gas. Finally finding a station that was still open and had gas, Dad pulled into the line and we waited our turn. Finally, with a full tank of gas, we could get on our way to a friend's house in northern Louisiana.
Dad turned to key and all we heard was an rrrr,rrrrr; the battery was dead! Now what? The gas station had no car batteries and we were trapped.
I'll never forget the look on my Dad's face at that point in time. He looked like he'd lost his last friend. He left Mom and us kids in the car and went in search of a battery for the car. I don't remember now what type of station it was Dad finally found that had car batteries, but they were closed! There was someone inside, though, who opened the door, and sold Dad a battery for what little money Dad had on him.
We did find our way to the friend's house in northern Louisiana but it was months before we were able to go back 'home'. We had lost everything material except what we had in the trunk of our car, but we had each other. Everything that mattered had survived.
Mom and Dad are both gone now; my sisters and I are spread out in several different states from Louisiana, Arkansas, Texas and Ohio. But the memory of the night we fled from Betsy's path of destruction is burned into my brain forever.
