 |  Florida's Hurricane
History by Jay Barnes
Second Edition
424 pp., 139 photos, 87 maps, 3 tables
$24.95 paperback, $39.95 hardcover
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The Great Okeechobee
Flood--in the telling of Florida's hurricane history, no other
hurricane disaster can compare to its toll of at least 1,836 dead in
Florida, as well as another 1,575 in the Caribbean. At the time of the
catastrophe, many in South Florida said the actual death count there was
over 2,300; some said it may have been as high as 3,500. Whichever
figure is correct, it ranks among the United States' worst natural
disasters; only the Great Galveston Hurricane of 1900 (over 8,000), the
Johnstown flood of 1889 (2,200), and the two hurricanes of 1893 (2,000
each) are likely to have caused more deaths on American soil. It
arrived on the coast near Palm Beach on the night of September 16,
1928, just two years after the Great Miami Hurricane, and like its
predecessor, it cast its most sinister blow on those who lived on the
southern edges of Lake Okeechobee.
It began in the far eastern
Atlantic, near the Cape Verde Islands, where it was first reported by
the crew of the SS Commack at latitude 17 degrees north and
longitude 48 degrees west. At the time, this was the most easterly
radio report regarding a hurricane in the Atlantic ever received. The
storm undoubtedly developed significant strength well before it reached
its first target--the island of Guadeloupe. The eye of the storm
crossed there at noon on September 12, with a barometric low of 27.76
inches. Guadeloupe, St. Kitts, and Montserrat were devastated. By the
morning of the next day, the hurricane was southwest of St. Croix,
where the SS Matura recorded a low pressure of 27.50 inches.
After delivering significant destruction to the Virgin Islands, it
crossed Puerto Rico on Thursday, the thirteenth, the Day of San Felipe.
The blast to Puerto Rico was incredible; according to Tannehill in
Hurricanes: Their Nature and History, "Wind there was the
highest, rainfall the heaviest, and destruction the greatest of record
in recent years." At least 300 lives were lost, and many more died in
the following weeks due to starvation and disease. Damages in Puerto
Rico were estimated at $50 million, and over 200,000 people were left
homeless. Because of its horrible consequences on this date, the
September 1928 hurricane is often referred to as "San
Felipe."

Left: Floodwaters remained high in
Belle Glade long after the September 1928 storm passed. (Photo courtesy
of the University of Florida Archives) Right: As the waters of Lake
Okeechobee flooded Belle Glade in the September 1928 storm, the roof of
this home floated over nearby electric lines. (Photo courtesy of the
University of Florida Archives)
The greatness of the
tragedy in Puerto Rico slowly made the news in the United States, just
about the time Florida residents were receiving their first warnings of
the powerful storm offshore. On September 15, it swept through the
Bahama Islands, dashing away anemometer cups before they could record
the highest winds. Residents along the Florida coast did what they could
to prepare; some secured their homes, and others fled. In the early
hours of the sixteenth, San Felipe was poised 200 miles southeast of
Miami, and already this large and powerful storm was being felt along
the coast, which was battered by gale-force winds and rolling surf.
By
nightfall the hurricane made its lunge over the Florida coast near West
Palm Beach. Experiencing the awesome power one would expect from a
category 4 storm, Palm Beach County was rocked by a large tidal surge
and winds estimated at over 150 mph. A minimum barometer reading of
27.43 inches was taken at 7:00 p.m., which fell just short of
establishing a new record low for the United States (a reading of 27.37
inches had been measured in 1919). West Palm Beach recorded a total of
18.42 inches of rain during the week of the storm, over 10 inches of
which fell as the hurricane passed through. Witnesses reported that the
"lull" lasted about forty minutes, and the storm was moving at a forward
speed of about 14 mph.
Up the coast at Jupiter, many residents, both
black and white, took refuge in the schoolhouse, which weathered the
storm much better than did their homes. One cement-block house
collapsed during the storm, crushing several members of a family--the
only reported deaths in Jupiter. The Jupiter Lighthouse, the red brick
sentinel that had witnessed many storms, was said to have swayed a
remarkable seventeen inches "as mortar squeezed from between bricks
like toothpaste." Prior to the hurricane, the light had been converted
from oil burners to electricity. As the storm reached the coast, all
power lines were downed, and the lighthouse auxiliary generator failed
to work. Captain Seabrook, the keeper, refused to let the light go out
and scrambled to reinstall the old oil burners. Without electricity, the
light's mantle had to be turned by hand, and Seabrook, who was suffering
from blood poisoning at the time, was prepared to push the apparatus
around all night. His son Franklin, noticing the bright red streaks on
his father's arm, stepped in to work the mantle, continuing to near
exhaustion. As a result, the light shone through one of the century's
most dreadful storms, and later the younger Seabrook was officially
commended for his heroism. All along the coast, piers, docks, and
waterfront structures were lifted by the tide and carried for hundreds
of yards. In some instances, houses were raised from their foundations
and spun ninety degrees, their porches and stairs twisted into tangled
arrangements. Trees were knocked down on virtually every street,
wrapped in webs of electric cables. Throughout the area, the problems
faced by the storm survivors were similar to those endured by survivors
of the Miami hurricane--they lacked food and water, thousands of
homeless were in need of shelter, and they suffered the emotional
wounds of having to cope with disaster. At least twenty-six lives were
lost on the coast. On Tuesday morning, September 18, thirty-six hours
after the hurricane's arrival, headlines around the nation summarized
the calamity: "Florida Destroyed! Florida Destroyed!" The initial news
of the disaster at West Palm Beach was just beginning to emerge when a
far more ominous catastrophe was discovered--the mind-boggling massacre
on the edges of Lake Okeechobee. By noon on the day of the storm, many
of the people around the lake had heard of the approaching cyclone. In
South Bay several men took the initiative to drive the maze of roads
around the lake to spread the news and to urge people to seek shelter.
Many women and children gathered on a large barge anchored in the lake.
But as the afternoon progressed and the great storm grew nearer,
hundreds of families, landowners, and laborers went about their work on
the broad, flat terrain with no idea of what was about to
occur. Normally, the water level in the lake was maintained slightly
above the level of the land so that water could be drained off as
needed. In the weeks before the storm, heavy rains had kept the lake
level high and filled the ditches and canals around the glades. By
September 10, the lake level had risen three feet in thirty days, and
the ten or more inches of rain that fell during the storm added to the
burden. But it was the intense hurricane winds, estimated at over 150
mph at Canal Point, that lifted the waters of Lake Okeechobee and
tossed them southward, completely washing away entire communities and
the dikes that were supposed to protect them. According to some
reports, the waters rose from four to six feet in the first hour of the
storm, and still-water marks in some buildings were almost eight feet
above the ground. Few were able to survive this incredible wall of
water. In the darkness of the next few hours, Florida experienced its
greatest recorded tragedy. A detailed and vivid account of these
events is chronicled in Lawrence E. Will's book, Okeechobee Hurricane
and the Hoover Dike. In it, Will relives the storm and writes of
the great irony of the disaster: "This calamity occurred within a few
miles of a large city and of a world famous resort, yet so isolated was
the location that not until three days later did the state's own
governor learn of its enormity. So extended and so difficult was the
terrain that after six weeks the search for bodies was discontinued
with many still unrecovered." As the storm moved on and the sun
emerged the following day, few relief agencies rushed to the aid of the
survivors at Okeechobee. In fact, most attention was first placed on the
destruction along the coast. Soon, however, word spread of a great
disaster, the scope of which it would take many days to realize. Dead
bodies were scattered everywhere, decomposing in the Florida sun with
each passing day. Many of those who had managed to survive had been
swept for miles into the saw grass and were forced to walk or wade back
to whatever recognizable roadway they could find. Some, too weak or
injured to stand or walk, sat for days in hopes of being spotted by
passersby. Some who survived the storm are believed to have perished
later as they wandered the vast Everglades. Several unusual events
were reported in the aftermath of the storm. Arthur Stokes, a black
worker arrested for murder before the hurricane, had to be released at
his trial because the only witnesses had drowned in the storm.
Similarly, the storm clarified the whereabouts of Deputy State Hotel
Commissioner Pat Houston, who was believed to have absconded with a
considerable sum of the state's money because of his long absence. It
was reported that Houston's good name was returned when his body was
found near Pahokee. Governor Martin said that the body of one of the
storm victims, C. L. Reddick, was found five days after the flood,
still guarded by the man's trusted dog. One local man, emotionally
numbed by the calamity, worked long hours in search of bodies, even
though he himself had twice been bitten by a water moccasin. Perhaps
most amazing of all, an eighty-three-year-old woman from Belle Glade was
found alive in a steel washtub on September 20, four days after the
storm. Unfortunately, because of the bad publicity Florida had
received after the 1926 storm and the economic bust that followed, some
officials at first downplayed the disaster at Okeechobee. But word of
the tragedy soon spread, and more relief poured in. The Red Cross was
well prepared for the storm's aftermath, having gained valuable
experience during the Miami hurricane and the flood at Moore Haven.
Local volunteer chapters went to work as soon as news of the storm's
impact in Puerto Rico was known. Well before the hurricane struck
Florida, the Red Cross had dispatched six experienced relief workers to
the state. After the storm hit, while the American Legion was busy with
rescue efforts and the search for bodies, the Red Cross set up
twenty-two emergency feeding centers. Soon thousands of refugees had
access to food, clothing, and shelter. The people of the glades were in
particular need of clothing, as the swirling floodwaters had left many
of the survivors nearly naked.
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