Barrington, RI

I am glad to see your photos and see names like Tom Parker, Dick Larrabe and your brother. I am motivated to contact my sister Ann Burling Hanscom who has lots of our mothers hurricane photos.

What I remember: My mother woke me before dawn to say a hurricane was coming and that I needed to get down to the river to put on a storm anchor at the stern of my Snipe which was moored at the foot of Ferry Lane on Mathewson Road. By the time I got that done and gathered up the stowed life jackets I decided to bring in the boom with the sail furled on it. The wind was blowing rain so hard it felt as if hail were stinging my face. I managed to get everything on board my 5 foot dinghy and row to shore. Very few people were out doors as I got my dinghy onto the tiny trailer that my father had made which hooked to the back of my bike. I struggled up the street and unloaded stuff into our garage and then tied a bowline from the dinghy to a small tree in our yard.

Later that morning when the storm force was still building I discovered I could lean at a 45* angle against the wind and not fall over. I was 13.

We heard the chimney crash and roll off the roof.

Our new neighbors who'd recently moved to Barrington from Chicago appeared in our yard, half swimming half wading and they were madder than hornets. They thought they could remain in their house on Blount Circle, but when the 2 teenage boys were seeing the water would drown them as they scrunched together on top of their fridge they realized they'd better swim out the window and yell to their mother on the roof. The three of them stayed at our house til the storm subsided and left town as soon as possible. They were upset that their jazz collection of 78 rpms was destroyed!

We went outside to chat with neighbors as the EYE passed over. There was excitement, yep, that natural high you described.(barometric high)

As the waters were receeding from the highest point just beyond Mr. Beattie's chicken coops we saw the Bennet's house split at the stairs to the second floor and half the house disappeared in the outgoing tide. As we walked back up the street there was Mr. Beattie tears streaming down his face, shoveling dead chickens into a pile which he later set fire to.

The Bennets lived with us for several weeks. Hope Bennet kept busy making home made bread. Peter left before dawn every day to salvage stuff to make money.

Our house had a gas hot water heater so many neighbors came to take a shower. We had a gas stove so each day when we returned from our long walks around town surveying the damage we would find all the burners with pots cooking. Neighbors were anxious to cook whatever was in their thawing freezers before it spoiled. Outdoor grills were lined up in our driveway.

A family from Adams Point came by and claimed the full set of sterling tableware that had floated into our yard in its wooden tray, but no one claimed the oil painting of the reclining nude. My father hung it in our detached screened porch. He attached it at the top with hinges and had it on a pulley. When not being displayed it was flush against the ceiling. After guests had had a few drinks he announced the art show and would laugh as he lowered the 4 X 6 painting.

A fond hello to Brenda.

Hugs,

Joan Burling Kenower