Fiction: The Big Blow
A drop in barometric pressure turns a routine commute into chaos.
A 6 minute read.
The morning commute would take 40 minutes. Mike had to rise early, especially on a chilly October day like this, to warm up the car before picking up Wayne on his first stop, followed by Stanley, and finally Eric. This was the fourth and final year of their carpooling together, as they were all set to graduate State University in June.
Over time, a seating order had emerged: Mike always assumed the role of the driver, with Wayne occupying the shotgun seat. Stanley, the next in line for pick-up, settled into the back seat on the right-hand side, while Eric, the last stop, claimed the left.
Though the four had known each other since high school, they hadn’t been particularly close friends. Their varied interests and pursuits set them apart. However, the morning and evening drives fostered a sense of camaraderie, which also let them reside at home instead of on campus.
Mike was majoring in education, aiming for a teaching position post-graduation, while Wayne pursued his passion for music, aspiring to become a concert pianist. Stanley delved into chemistry, contemplating a career in medical lab work, whereas Eric, uncertain about his future, explored the possibility of a military career, perhaps in the Air Force.
Each morning, the car transformed into more than just a means of transportation. It became a community where stories unfolded and laughter filled the air, breaking the monotony of the long drive. Conversations ranged from classes and sports to dating and occasional debates on current events. Of interest this day was a radio news report of ships in the Pacific experiencing storm driven waves and that California coastal communities should be on alert for a breezy day.
The commute followed a familiar pattern as they merged onto the freeway. Any deviation from the schedule resulted in navigating through slow-moving rush hour traffic, threatening their punctuality for 8 o’clock classes. Fortunately, aside from minor fender benders, their daily commute had remained uneventful, offering a sense of relief amidst the monotony..
On this day, classes finished late afternoon and the group gathered at the student union to walk to where the car had been parked that morning. It was strangely quiet and the sky looked like nothing they had seen before: yellow and green, with a tortured jumble of clouds.
The car was located. several blocks away from campus and as they walked the wind picked up, becoming increasingly blustery. There was a sense in the air that something was amiss, and it seemed as if everyone could feel it. There wasn’t the usual chatter amongst the four.
There were no weather satellites, buoys, or super computers running modeling programs that could alert anyone as to what was about to happen. Forecasts were based on information gathered from ships at sea, weather balloons and observations taken on land. That information was then shared by teletype and picked up by radio and TV stations.
Everyone settled in for the drive home and Mike turned on the car radio to check the weather. The group heard about a strong storm hitting the northern California coast and moving northward over Oregon.
As the gale increased the stoplights began to sway, and the car was buffeted with each gust. There was a growing sense of tension amongst the group. Although they didn’t know it but what they were feeling, in part, was the dramatic change in barometric pressure that was dropping to the equivalent of a Category 3 hurricane.
As Mike continued to drive through downtown and toward the Morrison Street Bridge, chaos erupted around them. Items on display in the front of stores, overhanging canopies, and anything loose were beginning to be flung about.
Traffic lights flickered and then went out entirely, plunging the streets into confusion. Drivers had to rely on instinct, taking turns through intersections in a precarious dance of caution and desperation. Some drivers, impatient and reckless, refused to wait, leading to several near misses as pedestrians scrambled for shelter amidst the growing storm
The bridge loomed ahead, visibly trembling under the onslaught of the ever-increasing storm. Each passenger grappled with the decision to cross, mindful of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge collapse years earlier when wind became too much for it. However, there was little choice; traffic was packed tightly, leaving no room to turn back.
Crossing over the Willamette River was nerve-wracking. The bridge swayed and bucked with each gust, testing the nerves of the commuters. "I’ve got to pee," Stanley blurted out, and everyone else echoed his sentiment almost in unison. Suddenly, a ferocious gust of 106 mph hit the bridge, lifting cars in a terrifying wave as the bridge rose and settled. The collective cry of the four pondering their possible plunge into the river, probably could have been heard for miles if it wasn’t for the howling wind being louder.
After what seemed a lifetime of fright to cross the traffic packed bridge, the carpool approached a part of town devoted to car sale showrooms, with huge windows. The sudden drop in pressure difference between the inside and outside of the buildings caused the glass to explode outward into the street, much to the amazement of the carpool riders.
It was about then that large billboards on the tops of buildings began crashing down into the street, with one hitting the electric trolley bus ahead of the car, causing sparks to fly like a sparkler on the Fourth of July.
The drive home that evening was a spectacle of chaos and destruction. Trees were uprooted with branches flying through the air, roofs took flight, power lines fell and sparked when hitting the ground; very few buildings escaped damage as the air was thick with debris. The siren sound of first responders blended with that of the wind. Unlike a quickly passing tornado this storm, later known as the Columbus Day Storm of 1962, lasted for at least an hour.
By the time the carpool reached home, after what had become a two hour evening commute, the storm had moved on into Washington, and by nightfall, it had swept its way into British Columbia.
The daily routine began again a week later after the university had reopened, and the riders were anxious to talk about their experience and to praise Mike on his driving skill that took sheer focus and perseverance to navigate the storm and bring them all home safely.
They couldn’t believe that Oregon had experienced a typhoon, and it had and a name - Freda.
Wayne talked about an old fir tree that had fallen with its tip barely grazing the siding of his family's home—a hair's breadth away from crashing through the living room window. Eric mentioned the church near campus lost a chunk of its bell tower and was anxious to see what it looked like. Other stories abounded, each one detailing the havoc wreaked upon their homes, both minor and severe. Everyone anticipated what campus might look like, which turned out to be littered with downed trees that would take weeks to clean up.
Conversation about the storm was soon replaced with concern about the growing Cuban Missile Crisis that by the end of October had the carpool planning what to do if there was a nuclear war and they were at school. Fortunately, in the months leading up to graduation, life fell back into its familiar rhythm. Come June, the carpool disbanded, with promises of staying in touch, though time would prove otherwise as each member ventured down their own distinct paths.
Sixty-two years have slipped by, yet the October storm has lingered vividly in their memories. For most of the carpool, each went on to realize the imagined careers they had that day, except Wayne who became a filmmaker.
Chance encounters with one or the other in the years that followed would occasionally reignite reminiscences, amidst laughter and nods of recognition, the question forever hanging in the air: "Do you remember the Big Blow?" It stood as a testament to the enduring bond forged in adversity and the profound impact it had on their lives.
Author’s not: This story is based upon the real life experience of a cadre of young commuters of whom are all now in their 80’s. The campus grounds have healed but if one looks closely they can see the old trees that survived and the younger thinner trees later planted to replace those that fell during the typhoon.
I was pretty young when the storm hit. I remember the sounds of the wind hitting our house and the sounds of cracking and falling trees in the woods behind the house. We were without power for quite a few days and getting up in the morning we explored the neighborhood and the woods and saw the knocked down trees. Most of them with roots still attached. In the 90's another wind storm went through, nothing like the Columbus Day storm but still pretty intense. I was driving my old Toyota Land Cruiser (not the most aerodynamic vehicle ever built) across the top deck of the Fremont Bridge when a gust of wind grabbed me and pushed the car over two lanes. Luckily I was one of the few fools who was driving across at the time and so I didn't collide with anyone. Your story brought back a lot of wonderful and scary memories. Thanks Gary.
Brought back memories. I was teaching at North Eugene HS and I stayed longer than I should have to take care of my various classroom plants and animals. I ended up driving home in my older VW Beetle. I didn't experience anything as traumatic as crossing the Morrison Street Bridge but we lived at the time west of town and piloting an old VW along open fields in 80 mph wind was exciting enough.