WEATHER: War of the Elements

Strange and viciously unseasonable was U.S. weather last week. Snow came, heat came, drought came, wind came—in all sizes: little capfuls that scuttered leaves along a million autumn sidewalks, breezes that sailed or deadened thousands of punted footballs; squalls, gales, tempests; a hurricane, a tornado.

Snow. Along the Rockies, from Montana through Idaho into Utah, whirled the season’s first far-spread snowstorm. Neither a blizzard nor the light, quick-melting flakes of the first autumn snow, it was a heavy, impartial snowfall over many & many a mile of still-green valley land.

Hurricane. Howling out of a dull sky, a hurricane jumped from Nassau to the skirts of Miami, curved out into the Gulf of Mexico, wheeled and ripped back across Georgia and South Carolina out to sea again. In its wake were eleven dead, 20 missing.

The storm had begun by pounding over Watling Island in the Bahamas—probably the San Salvador which was Christopher Columbus’ first landing place—silencing the Government wireless. At Panacea, Fla. five fishermen were drowned when the deep boiled like a pot. Near Moultrie, Ga. a schoolgirl was killed when she stepped on a storm-whipped live wire. At Dinner Key the wind blew 123 miles per hour at the Pan-American Airways base. Houses crumpled, boats swamped, streets flooded. Part of the metal dome of the State Capitol at Tallahassee was torn off.

Flood. The biggest flood in the memory of eastern Arizona’s old settlers poured down the Gila (pronounced hee-la) River. Ignoring midnight flood warnings, 100 families of the farm village of Duncan (pop. 887) saw their adobe houses crumble in the swirling brown waters next afternoon.

Tornado. Out of a darkened sky in Kansas swept a savage downpour of rain. In eastern Kansas City the rain suddenly became a sky-high funnel, black-dirty, twisting, swerving, diving, hopping with aimless, deadly ferocity. By the time men yelled “Tornado!” the wind was past. Three people were killed, at least 135 others injured more or less critically. Houses were leveled, a newly built church converted into rubble, trees, streets, power lines ripped and broken. Men & women who knew the dreaded roaring noise threw their children to the floor, themselves on top of the children, as their roofs were blown away. Some houses were wrecked into splinters. One house was blown 700 feet. Mrs. Dorothy Lucas and her 18-month-old baby, Diana, were ripped out of their frame house, blown 500 feet to death, their bodies stripped of clothing. Doorjamb of the Lucas house, still bearing the small metal numerals of the address, was torn from the rest of the wreckage, jammed upright in the ground near Mrs. Lucas, like a grave marker.

Witnesses tried to describe the peculiar sound of the tornado. Said one: “… A loud slapping noise, as if a truck was running down the street with all four tires flat.” Like “the rumble of a train,” said Joe Parker, 12. (“I wasn’t scared at all.”)

Heat & Drought. Meanwhile one-third of the nation suffered from droughts. In the East, Middle Atlantic States, in the Southeast as far as South Carolina, and over to Alabama, the long, severe drought moved into its seventh week. In the Southeast the power shortage grew more & more serious. Throughout 15 States wells and streams had dried up, reservoirs, rivers and lakes were at record low levels. Fish died by the millions, trapped in stagnant pools. Crop damage was inestimable. Late garden seedings, cornfields, pastures were ruined. Farmers had to begin feeding their cows more than a month early. The Forest Service was anxious; many a great forest area was so tinder-dry that the slightest spark would almost explode miles on miles of good woodland.

The heat set new October records. Hundreds of draftee soldiers on maneuvers in North Carolina fainted, were hospitalized or given first aid. Atlantic City’s lifeguards were kept on two weeks longer than usual. In Richmond, Va. the thermometer touched 99.3 degrees (close to the all-time summer top). The Southern duck-hunting season was long overdue; said Maryland Game Warden Lee Le Compte: “Ducks would be crazy to come south in this heat.”

The water was low in reservoirs. Thousands of citizens could not wash their automobiles, water their lawns, were even instructed to take no more than the necessary number of baths. The Marine Barracks at Quantico, Va. turned off all hot-water taps: Marines turned to less wasteful cold showers. New York City had the hottest night of the entire year. Manhattan landlords saved $750,000 by turning off furnace heat for three days.

In Washington, Weather Bureau Forecaster Joseph Burton Kincer explained: “There has been a stagnation of air masses in the East since August. Rain clouds that normally deposit precipitation in the East have been skirting this mass and dropping moisture elsewhere.” Said an amateur expert in Virginia: “Shut down these munitions plants and we’ll get some rain. All these nitrate plants … are taking all the nitrogen out of the air.”