The Pat Pack: Cashman Classic Column October 14, 2002

Columbus Day storm was a hair-raising experience

2002-10-14

Columbus Day was actually Saturday, but it's observed today, which is sort of like observing the Fourth of July on the second, but we do it anyway.

Most school kids know the story of how Christopher Columbus went sailing and discovered the land mass that would eventually include the United States. It is fascinating to read his journal from that October day in 1492 when he first came ashore: ``Someday, I predict, there will be great cities here,'' he wrote, ``with names like New York, Chicago and Woodinville. And on every corner there will be nail salons and teriyaki places.''

You would think this land would be named after Columbus, the guy who stumbled onto it after all -- but an explorer from Florence, Amerigo Vespucci, had a better agent. His agent also had the good sense to recommend using a version of his first name rather than his last. After all, who'd want to sing ``Vespucci the Beautiful?''

But Columbus Day has another sort of frightening significance for anyone who was living here in the Northwest in 1962. (1962 was so long ago, that everything was in black and white. It's true -- and I've got the pictures to prove it.) Forty years ago, the worst windstorm we've ever had around here blew through Washington and Oregon, killing some people, damaging thousands of homes and knocking down trees and power lines everywhere.

Until that day, kids like me had never seen anything like it, at least not in person. Sure, I'd seen the twister scene in ``The Wizard of Oz,'' but frankly, it looked sort of like fun to have your house picked up and put down someplace else. It'd be kind of cool to be living on the Eastside one minute, and then open the door the next and discover you'd been relocated to beach-front property in Hawaii. However, it would be pretty sad if you found Don Ho's shoes sticking out from under the house.

As I walked home from school with a couple of friends that Columbus Day in 1962, the winds were already beginning to build -- and I kept a wary eye skyward for flying monkeys. My friend Tim scoffed at that, and said that the flying monkeys had never scared him at all in the Oz movie. ``It was those creepy trees when their branches became like arms grabbing at people and throwing apples,'' he said. ``Now that's what freaked me out.'' It eventually became a life-long phobia for Tim, who still will not leave his house on Arbor Day.

As we continued our trek homeward, I saw a familiar man hurrying down the sidewalk from the other direction. Ironically, his name was Windy. That wasn't his actual name, but the secret one that my dad had for him, since Windy was ... well, very talkative. Besides, my dad must have figured, Locquaciousy would have been far too long for a nickname.

But even Windy wasn't inclined to chat that day, as he scurried past us with barely a grunt. That's when I knew we were in the middle of a serious storm, and we nervously started to run. (On an unrelated note, there was also a guy named Windy who lived in the same college dormitory as me -- but his nickname had more to do with his dietary choices.)

For awhile, running straight into the teeth of the wind, we actually felt like we were losing ground. Tree branches were beginning to snap around us, and we saw a transformer atop a power pole showering sparks. Eventually, both of my friends peeled off from me to go to their respective houses -- and then, continuing on alone in the wild wind, I was sure I was a goner.

Yet, in addition to being so scared, there is one other indelible memory from that Columbus Day. I saw a neighbor man chasing down his garbage can, which had taken off like a cannonball and started clattering across his driveway. Just as he reached it, I watched in shock as a powerful gust lifted his hair up -- and then, off from his head -- flying away like a drunken crow.

I ran even faster toward our house, simultaneously clapping my hands down over my head, pushing down hard and praying that I wouldn't suffer a similar fate. I had been in windstorms before, I thought to myself, but never one powerful enough to rip someone's hair right off their head like that. I was glad I didn't have a beard to worry about.

When I finally got home and told my mom about the neighbor man's hair horror, she just laughed. I was surprised at her callousness. Normally, she was so kind.

The next day, the storm was over. Downed trees were removed, power was restored -- and even Windy was back to his usual voluble self.

And I also saw the neighbor man. Miraculously, his hair had completely grown back overnight.

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The end of a sentence is not a good place to put a preposition at.

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