Remembering Hurricane Camille Through the Lens of an 8-Year-Old
Jack Peralta is my guru at a wonderful camera shop in Burke, Virginia. Jack works at the place where I buy my 35mm film. Jack, in his own regard, is a brilliant still photographer. But it’s two pictures his mother took 50 years ago that are seared in his memory.
Jack doesn’t remember everything about his childhood but the howling wind, ricochet of rain off his roof and the killer storm surge that engulfed his Mississippi hometown, swallowing homes and lives, he recalls with remarkable detail.
This weekend, 50 years ago, Hurricane Camille roared into Pass Christian, Mississippi. Winds of 175 miles per hour. A storm surge of 24 feet. A death toll of 259 souls, stolen from families from the Deep South to Virginia.
I ran into Jack the other day and he showed me two pictures his mother took about a week AFTER the storm hit. They are grainy and hazy yet capture perfectly the horror unleashed by a force a nature rivaled by few monster storms.
Jack says Camille hit his coastal town at night. His home stationed only a few blocks from the Gulf. He remembers his parents grabbing him and his two siblings by the hand. All five formed a chain, walking through water chest high for little Jack who was only days away from turning 8. He suspects that if his father didn’t insist on the family leaving at that exact moment, he would not have celebrated his impending birthday party.
Jack tells me the family trudged their way through the night with no idea how they’d navigate the blinding rain. Then they saw a light off in the distance. It was a law enforcement vehicle parked on higher ground near a church, their sanctuary for the night.
They rebuilt their home in Pass Christian, eventually moving away years later. That new home, occupied by someone else, was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
