We walked for miles downtown to find friends and neighbors. There would be no business on the street for weeks. There would be no clean water, no flushing toilets, no electricity. And for us, in particular, no access to tarps to close our roof line.

My cousin, who had come to visit for his interview at Kiawah, had to leave. The airport was closed. We had enough gas to drive him to Savannah, which had not sustained damage, and he flew to California for another golf pro interview, arriving just in time for the earthquake in San Francisco!

We knew only one person who died, while trying to save his boat. We knew many people whose homes were destroyed or severely damaged. Many downtown residents had no insurance because they had no mortgages on homes passed from generation to generation, and they lost a great deal, including photographs. We learned, after the storm, that both our home and our business building sat on high spines of the city, and never suffered pluff mud or water from below.

Within days, insurance adjusters had arrived and appraised damage and offered funds, but there were no workers, no contractors. Then traveling contractors, often from Texas, began to invade the city. It would take another 3 years before we had our home and office back to normal.

We established a Hurricane Hugo relief fund through Ben Silver, and created a commemorative lapel pin which we gave as a gift to everyone who contributed.

After Hugo, Charleston changed. Houses were sold. Businesses were emptied. But on the whole, it was a time of sharing and community, especially under Joe Riley’s able hand.

Now, when September comes, memories of Hugo are close at hand.