Nothing was as memorable to me as the hurricane seasons of 1954-1955, which we waited out in the basement of our little house on Sand Pond Rd. The sounds of the raging winds, and debris hitting our home, will be forever etched in the corners of my mind. I will never forget hurricanes Carol, Edna, Hazel, Connie, and Diane. They wreaked havoc on our little house in Norwood, RI (As it was known then) I had Rheumatic Fever at the time, but I hardly remember that. Traumatic events leave vivid memories even at that tender age of four.
On August 31, 1954, hurricane Carol hit the shores of New England. We watched the winds pick up blowing the trees in one direction and now and then they would sway back and forth in the winds; but it wasn’t long before our mother herded the five of us into the basement where she thought we would be safe from the debris.
The basement was dark and we had no lights now. As we listened silently with our childlike excitement, we were left to what our imagination would conjure up. I wondered what was happening upstairs and my thoughts were mixed with fear and each of us imagining what was happening outside. The walls themselves seemed to shudder as if they felt chilled to the bone each time the wind gusts would reach their peak of 130 mph.
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cm writes 