August 27th, 2011
As choruses of “Irene, Goodnight” ring out from the more enlightened tenements in Greenwich Village, I can’t help regretting the days when storms were christened in more poetic fashion. We don’t yet know whether Hurricane Irene’s New York landfall — forecast for the wee sma’s of Sunday, August 28, 2011 — will enter the annals of history as a great disaster, but it did get me wondering about New York’s previous hurricane history.
The City’s worst recorded storm took place in early September, 1821. It first made landfall in North Carolina, and roared up through the Delmarva penninsula and New Jersey before slamming into New York City and Long Island. This may sound unnervingly familiar if you have been following the track of our 2011 storm. But 1821 hit much harder than Irene is likely to do. 13 foot surges from both rivers pushed across the City, entirely flooding Manhattan south of Canal Street. Jeepers!
In 1893, a serious hurricane — colorfully dubbed the “West Indian Monster” — again tore across the City and Long Island. It completely demolished, as in, it no longer exists, a small barrier island known as Hog Island (because Native Americans kept pigs there). Here’s what The New York Times had to say about conditions in Brooklyn on August 25, 1893:
“In such a savage manner did this West Indian monster of the air conduct itself that when the gray light of dawn came upon the city its inhabitants looked tremblingly forth upon a widespread scene of damage and destruction.”
Then the City was hit again in 1938, by a storm now known as “The Long Island Express.” In that case, I think I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves.
If I only had a canoe…
In all seriousness, we are well stocked with fresh water, non-perishable food, candles, and a battery powered radio. Our building stands in a zone that will only be evacuated in case of a much more serious storm. All our windows are closely flanked by other buildings — usually a source of frustration because of the miserable light that trickles down into our garret. But in this case, we are glad to be so well protected. At the worst, we may be without power for a day or two — a good excuse to turn off the computer and pay attention to something real. I’ll keep you posted.
August 25th, 2011
Or maybe a drowned cat.
This picture shows exactly how we felt this afternoon, after we got caught in a sudden rain shower. I’m sure lots of people in New York got caught in the same deluge. But how many of them were dressed in frock coats and top hats, or hoop skirts and bonnets? And how many were carrying a coffin down Broadway?
We’d just finished part two of a massive photo shoot with artist Hal Hirshorn — this time at New York’s beautiful and prestigious Grace Church, consecrated in 1846. So we had all sorts of paraphernalia, equipment, costumes, props, etc. The pall-bearers (4 of the gamest gents I’ve ever met) had already started back with the coffin when the heavens opened. I, carrying the only key to their destination, was a few blocks behind. so I picked up my hoop and raced after them, through puddles that must have been at least 4 or 5 inches deep.
Despite a huge skirt, cage crinoline, corset, and umbrella, I managed to catch up before they got where they were going. As soon as I unlocked the door for the coffin to go in, I realized that the street was closed to traffic — which meant the cab carrying all the photographic equipment would not be able to get close enough to the door, and they had but a single umbrella. I ripped off my sopping dress, and dashed back onto the street in my chemise and corset, to wait on the street corner with another umbrella.
So when all was said and done, I felt — and looked — just like a drowned rat. In a corset.