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‘Men were being washed up’
By Andrew Johnson Jr.
Published July 27, 2003
On July 27, 1943, I was almost 8 years old, living on Bolivar Peninsula. World War II was going on with Coast Guard patrols on the beach and blackouts at night.
My father who was born and raised here on Bolivar had survived the 1900 Storm in a house nearby and was familiar with signs of approaching storms.
On this day my father, my oldest sister Barbara and myself attempted to pen our cattle ahead of what he knew was a coming storm.
The wind was blowing steady from the north with rain stinging our faces.
We managed to bring the herd of about 500 cattle to the pen gate, but the wind and rain being so fierce the cattle would turn toward us and refuse to be penned.
After much popping of whips, swinging of ropes and shouting and actually whipping the cattle, we were forced to abandoned our plan and attempt to get home ourselves.
We had to dismount and lead our horses as they too would not respond to our spurs to head into the wind.
Once back at the house we watched as our neighbors, Everett Myers, his wife, Beetle, and son Skippy and a nephew come in seeking shelter.
They lived to the north of us on the Intracoastal Canal. Their truck would not start, so they pushed it onto the road, opened the doors and the wind blew them about three quarters of a mile to our house.
As the eye of the storm moved over, I remember seeing blue skies, sunshine and feeling relief from the howling winds that had been rocking the house.
Shortly after, the winds returned from the south and a truck load of soldiers drove into the yard and parked under a tree.
My father advised them to come in because he feared the tin roof from our porch would start flying off. He was right because soon thereafter, some tin flew off and tore into the canvas covering the back of the truck.
The soldiers proved very helpful. They helped move a piano against the south door to keep it closed against the wind force.
After the storm slacked, my father and Mr. Myers rode horses out towards the beach to check on the livestock.
They saw the cattle swimming out in the Gulf as they had been pushed out by the north wind and then swamped as the wind reversed.
Even worse, many men were being washed up from the dredge boat which had broken up on the north jetties. All told, my father and Mr. Myers brought in eight men alive who were fed and tended to, and eight dead men who were placed in the garage.
The next morning while checking on the horses I found a man staggering about in the cattle pens.
I helped the very appreciative man into the house where my mother, Beetle, and my sisters were tending to the survivors with soup and coffee. Many of the survivors would later write and visit to thank my folks for their efforts.
It was a tragic, terrifying, exciting and memorable time.
Andrew Johnson Jr. Galveston
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