Eddie Huntington Cvrcko likes hurricanes

Eddie Huntington Cvrcko

HOUSTON - Hurricane Ike, a colossal storm nearly as big as Texas
itself, began battering the coast Friday, threatening to obliterate
waterfront towns and give the skyscrapers, refineries and docks of the
nation's fourth-largest city their worst pounding in a generation.
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As the storm closed in, it trapped 60 people who had to be rescued
from the floodwaters by helicopter, sent towering waves smashing over
the 17-foot Galveston seawall, breached levees in rural Louisiana, and
tossed around a disabled 584-foot cargo ship in the Gulf of Mexico.

About a million people in low-lying coastal areas were ordered to get
out well ahead of the storm. But authorities in three counties alone
said roughly 90,000 of them refused, despite a warning from
forecasters that those staying behind in Galveston faced "certain
death."

"I believe in the man up there, God," said William Steally, a 75-year-
old retiree who planned to ride out the storm in Galveston without his
wife or sister-in-law. "I believe he will take care of me."

At about 600 miles across, the hurricane was one of the largest in
recent memory, taking up almost the entire northern half of the Gulf
of Mexico.

As of 5 p.m. EDT, Ike was centered about 135 miles southeast of
Galveston, moving at 12 mph. It was a Category 2 storm, with winds of
105 mph, but was expected to strengthen to a Category 3, or at least
111 mph, by the time it hit land.

Forecasters predicted it would come ashore somewhere near Galveston
late Friday or early Saturday and pass almost directly over Houston.

Because of the hurricane's size, the state's shallow coastal waters
and its largely unprotected coastline, forecasters said the biggest
threat would be flooding and storm surge, with Ike expected to hurl a
wall of water two stories high =97 20 to 25 feet =97 at the coastline.

To avoid highway gridlock, authorities instructed most of Houston's 2
million residents to just hunker down.

Still, authorities warned that the storm could travel up Galveston Bay
and send a surge up the Houston Ship Channel and into the port of
Houston, the nation's second-busiest port =97 a complex of docks,
pipelines, depots and warehouses that receives automobiles, consumer
products, industrial equipment and other cargo from around the world
and ships out vast amounts of petrochemicals and agricultural
products.

The oil and gas industry was also closely watching Ike because it was
headed straight for the nation's biggest complex of refineries and
petrochemical plants. Wholesale gasoline prices jumped to around $4.85
a gallon for fear of shortages.

The storm could also force water up the seven bayous that thread
through Houston, swamping neighborhoods so flood-prone that they get
inundated during ordinary rainstorms.

Bachir Annane, a scientist at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric
Administration's Hurricane Research Division, said Ike's surge could
be catastrophic, and like nothing the Texas coast has ever seen.

"Wind doesn't tell the whole story," Annane said. "It's the size that
tells the story, and this is a giant."

Ike would be the first major hurricane to hit a U.S. metropolitan area
since Katrina devastated New Orleans three years ago. For Houston, it
would be the first major hurricane since Alicia in August 1983 came
ashore on Galveston Island, killing 21 people and causing $2 billion
in damage.

In southwestern Louisiana near Houma, Ike breached levees, threatening
thousands of homes of fishermen, oil-field workers, farmers and
others. Crews struggled to plug four breaches. "We've got a bad
situation," said Windell Curole, levee manager for Terrebonne Parish.

Before the storm even arrived, rescue crews were being tapped. Because
of high winds, the Air Force and Coast Guard aborted plans to send
aircraft to the Gulf of Mexico in a daring attempt to rescue 22
crewmen adrift on a stalled freighter in rough seas 90 miles off
Galveston.

And Coast Guard helicopter crews plucked 60 people from the town of
High Island on the Bolivar Peninsula, a 32-mile spit just up the coast
from Galveston, after rising waters covered the only road.

In Galveston, a working-class town of about 57,000, waves crashed over
the 11-mile seawall built a century ago, after the Great Storm of 1900
killed 6,000 residents. That hurricane remains the nation's deadliest
natural disaster.

The sight of the storm's fury frightened some people who initially
intended to stay.

"We started seeing water come up on the streets, then we saw this. We
just loaded up everything, got the pets. We're leaving," 33-year-old
Tony Munoz said in Galveston. "I've been through storms before, but
this is different."

While the beachfront is dotted with new condominiums and some elegant
beach homes on stilts, most people live in older, one-story bungalows.
The National Weather Service warned "widespread and devastating"
damage was expected.

In Surfside Beach, a town of 800, the police chief asked one stubborn
couple, David and Dondi Fields, to write their names and Social
Security numbers on their forearms with a black marker in case
something bad happened to them.

Dondi Fields, 50, wrote "I heart U" and "for my kids" on her arm. But
the couple finally decided to leave. Police used an aluminum boat to
reach them, and a National Guard truck carried them to safety.

In Freeport, Drew Ryder, 47, took no chances. He left his plywood-
covered home, heading north with coolers filled with food.

"It's coming, so I'm going," he said. "It's not smart to be here."

Houston's streets were eerily quiet, emptied of the usual weekday
traffic. Skyscrapers were darkened, and sandbags protected the lobby
doors to some.

At the Flying Saucer Draught Emporium, a bartender secured plywood
over windows as two dozen customers drank beer, ate burgers and
watched scenes of Galveston on giant TV screens.

Andy Weeks, a retiree who serves as the homeowners association
president in the eight-story building, spent the morning knocking on
doors and reminding neighbors to bring their patio furniture and
plants inside. The windows were bare of any plywood or other
protection.

"It's pretty tough to get outside to board up your windows," said 64-
year-old Weeks, who lives on the sixth floor.

Gloria Dulworth, who lives on the seventh of a high-rise apartment
building, refused to let the storm dampen her plans to celebrate her
81st birthday.

"We're surrounded by glass, so I'm taking my crystal candlesticks
down. It's been suggested that we roll the rugs away from the door,"
in case water seeps in. Other than that, said Dulworth, "I'm going to
get some fresh veggies. I have cereal and canned milk. I anticipate
being without air conditioning for a couple of weeks, but you can't do
much."