In the days before the hurricane landed, forecasters on TV sounded the alarm. It was heading our way, we were told. Forecasting was not as accurate as today, and there was a 300 nautical mile tracking error compared to later years. Information about storm size and structure and development was not as accurate as it would become – fewer satellites, fewer reconnaissance aircraft existed.

Still, we knew enough to prepare as suggested. We used our historic shutters to close the 90 windows to the house. We kept the windows slightly ajar to avoid tornado sheers. We brought in all the outdoor furniture from the porches. At the office, we moved everything off the retail floor in anticipation of flooding, boarded up the windows on the main street, pulled computers away from windows.

All in vain. Our Mayor, Joe Riley, a great leader, and certainly a hero of that week and its aftermath, had evacuated low lying areas, but many downtown residents stayed home. In fact, much like the stories of picnickers visiting the first battles of the Civil War, many downtown residents strolled along the Battery before the storm came on board. We walked our dog and watched the wildly changing colors of the sky before going home and locking the doors. By evening on September 22nd, we had lost contact with the world. Phone service had ended. TV and radio connections had been interrupted. Electricity had flickered and died. We had lanterns and candles and our family – Bob, myself, two of our children, as the oldest was at college, my elderly mother, and my cousin, who was visiting from NYC for an interview at Kiawah as a golf pro, along with our dog and cat, had all moved into the one room most protected from the storm – our dining room. While there were four windows, two faced the Federal Courthouse courtyard, where there was less chance of trees coming through the shuttered windows; and two faced our shielded porch.