survivor stories
Former paperboy loyal to route during Storm of ’62
Gerry Nadel
I can well remember the first day of the Storm of ’62, the fierce winds, rain beating down like sharp spears and the damage done up and down the shore towns. The next day’s paper showing shots of what once was the boardwalk at Rehoboth Beach, now reduced to splinters, looking like a warzone.
It was a devastating sight to behold, tree limbs everywhere, followed by days of more of the same.
But my main memory is more personal than any of the descriptions above.
March 5, 1962, was the first day of my paper route!
I had taken the route over from one of my older brothers. I won’t mention any names here; things would just begin to fester all over again, 60 years later.
I rode my bicycle around the town of Wyoming — with the papers folded and ready but, of course, to be completely soaked from the storm — then out on Westville Road, for what seemed like miles and miles.
I could recall that it was fairly common for my mom to drive my brother around on his route, even on nice days! But there I was, like the only person in the middle of the mess, riding my bike with twin rear baskets, tossing customers’ papers on their front steps, ready to be thrown away.
I have to stop this letter now; I’m sure anyone would understand. It was one of the most treacherous days of my 12-year-old life!
Letter to the Editor: Sussex resident recalls family in truck floating during storm
I was 5 years old at the time of the Storm of ’62, and my family and I lived near the end of Long Neck Road (Massey’s Landing). My dad didn’t think the water would get to us, but it did. We got in the pickup and started out, but about a half-mile later, we were floating in the truck.
Luckily, my dad’s friend, Mervin Doughty (rest in peace), saw us and got his small boat, hooked up to us and pulled us to safety as far as he could. My 1-year-old twin sisters were in the cab with us, and I can still see the diapers floating out of the truck bed.
Whew, what a time. Many heroes that day!
Teresa Adams Herbert
Ellendale
Letter to the Editor: Following ’62 storm, Rehoboth teens worried about summer jobs
March 5, 1962, I was living at 109 Rehoboth Avenue with my parents and grandmother. My father, Dr. Floyd I. Hudson, was in Buffalo, New York, at a public health conference. My mother was in Newark, with my brother and his wife, helping with a newborn grandchild.
That night, my grandmother and I watched a Philadelphia news program, where they reported a nor’easter for our area. We thought wind and rain, no big deal. All of a sudden, the electricity was off, and all the windows rattled. Since we were over three blocks from the ocean, we never saw the water surge, just wind and rain.
The next morning, there was no damage around our house. The girl I was dating lived at First and Baltimore avenues. Since the Army National Guard had been activated and stationed at the beginning of each ocean block street to keep people from accessing the area, I walked to her home, and we simply went out her backdoor, cutting through the yards to the beach. The boardwalk no longer existed. As we walked the beach in both directions, you could not comprehend the damage that this storm did.
North from the Atlantic Sands to the Henlopen Hotel, collapsed or damaged buildings. The same sight heading south, Belhaven Hotel gone, Playland damaged.
My father was the executive director of the state Board of Health, and he rushed back from Buffalo. He rented the building at 130 Rehoboth Ave. as an emergency public health field office. At that time, it was the Rice Chrysler dealership. Later, it became the Seahorse Restaurant and is now Lockwood Design & Construction.
I was just a normal 16-year-old, growing up in a beach resort. Since all summer jobs for teenagers were based on tourism, all the teenagers were concerned that no summer jobs would be available. By Memorial Day, Rehoboth was ready for tourists.
At the time of this storm, I had already lived through several hurricanes and nor’easters. What I saw made an impression that has lived with me my entire life. I tease my children and grandchildren that they haven’t seen a storm till they live through one like “the Storm of ’62.”
Joseph Hudson
Dover