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Charley's vast ruins

When they say a hurricane's path is predictable, remember how Hurricane Charley suddenly jogged right and smashed into Charlotte County.

When they say a hurricane loses power over land, remember the town of Arcadia and city of Kissimmee, 35 miles and 120 miles east of Charley's landfall, shredded by its Friday night fury.

When they call Florida a "battleground state" before this fall's election, remember the casualties of Charley's brutal, northeasterly assault across the state's midsection.

The most devastating Florida storm since Hurricane Andrew lashed the mansion-covered islands at the mouth of Charlotte Harbor, brought violence and flooding up the Peace River, then surprised Orlando and Daytona Beach with its staying power.

When the sun rose Saturday, the communities in Charley's wake knew they had been in an overnight brawl.

Most residents deserted the island, as naked to attack as a man facing a firing squad.

Jerry Way just lit another cigarette.

He sat out the storm in his musty living room at 1148 Seagrape Lane, listening to his ancient wind-up transistor radio, at ease with the sea, confident in the stucco walls around him, feeling fine.

A day after the storm, the 65-year-old charter boat captain recalled his 50 years on Sanibel Island. His father used to run the local marina. He can remember staying on the island 44 years ago to ride out Hurricane Donna, the last major storm to hit Florida's west coast.

"When you're a kid, you're not afraid of anything," he said from his house, barely 100 yards from the Gulf of Mexico.

"When you're 65, you don't worry about anything, either. It's in-between that matters."

Panic set in when forecasters predicted Charley would turn south, toward Punta Gorda.

Pauline Somers, 89, loaded two cats and a poodle into pet carriers and dashed for her minivan.

But the weather had become so foul she headed back inside.

Later, through a window, she watched her neighbor's home come apart.

"The awfullest feeling," she said.

Then, she held on as wind gusts of more than 100 mph smashed her own home.

"I don't know if that was being stubborn or bad," she said. "I said if the good Lord wants it, we'll be okay."

Then: "All of a sudden, it was just as white as it could be (outside), and you couldn't see anything.

"I was hanging on to the refrigerator and the wall."

AutoZone was open for business Saturday - literally.

Hurricane Charley took off the roof and front wall. Most of the store merchandise lay in shambles on the glass-covered floor.

That didn't stop district manager Jonathan Cannon from selling or even giving away items to residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed.

"We've been giving away flat tire fixes," Cannon said as he swept up.

AutoZone was one of dozens of businesses along a swath on U.S. 41 in Port Charlotte that sustained heavy damage; some were demolished.

Not far away, Andy's Barber Shop lost its roof and front wall. Barbers' chairs and work stations had been scrambled, but the five large mirrors on three walls were unbroken.

At the bike shop next door, the front plate glass window had been blown open and the cash register looted, said manager Eric Thomas. Someone already had tried to steal a four-wheeler.

"They pulled it as far as the chain would go," Thomas said.

Christina Kirkland figured she was safe in her brick home, even after Charley changed course.

Then, about 5 p.m., the lights went out. Kirkland, a 59-year-old caregiver for an elderly man, moved him onto the couch in the living room.

Then she heard the proverbial freight train sound. She heard her aluminum shed rake across the roof. Shingles flew, then the roof started going up and down like a yo-yo.

That's when she started talking to God. Out loud.

"Please don't let it suck me out of here," she prayed. "I might die the next minute."

The entire roof snapped like a soda cracker and flew away. Kirkland grabbed a mattress and placed it on top of herself and the elderly man. When the hurricane started attacking the outside walls, they broke for a bedroom closet.

"Lord, just protect us," Kirkland cried.

She emerged about 6 p.m. to find her porch gone. Her fridge was in what used to be her living room. Her furniture, food, everything, was gone.

On Saturday, she sat on a pile of rubble outside her home. She waved at her neighbors, smiled and cried.

"I am blessed," she called out. "So blessed."

From the air, the town looked like Arcadia, or Punta Gorda, or Port Charlotte. Few rooftops escaped Charley's winds.

Wauchula's main street looked like it had been bombed, its worst devastation ever, residents said.

Thousands of homes and farm buildings were damaged beyond repair. Four walls of a house lay flat with only the refrigerator standing.

Acres of trees - pines, citrus and decades-old oaks - had been snapped in half, uprooted or shorn clean of bark. Trucks and RVs were overturned, airplanes splayed across runways.

Dumitru Grosu, 52, witnessed the violence from ground-level Friday night, huddled in his concrete block apartment.

"It sounded like rockets, like rocket fire coming right at us," he said Saturday, surveying what was left of his Pine Cone Mobile Home Park. "Those awnings ripped off the trailers across the road and just came shooting through here, tearing off windows and walls. Then we got the trees. You can see what they did."

At least 10 of the 40 trailers in his park off U.S. 17 exploded in the storm. Others were crushed by oaks and buried under aluminum awnings.

By noon, more than 100 people had arrived at the battered State Farm office to file insurance claims. Others were calling, crying, begging. Couldn't someone please send some help?

Janice Helms, manager of the Fort Meade Mobile Home Park, estimates that 200 of its 241 mobile homes were damaged.

Her job: call the owners.

"I feel like the angel of doom today," she said.

Two adjacent mobile home parks, which contained another several hundred homes, also sustained heavy damage.

Helms and park residents said they were baffled by the randomness of the storm's damage.

"My place was fine. My mother's, it took two thirds of the carport off," said Gary Cavanaugh, a 62-year-old retiree. "They both had the same design."

Residents were busy sorting debris and piling up tree limbs. In the background, chainsaws whined.

"It's a risk you take," Cavanaugh said. "One of the reasons I chose this area is that it's so far inland. We have a buffer. I still feel that way."

Charley struck Kissimmee Muncipal Airport with such force that the giant steel beams holding up one hangar were ripped from their concrete moorings. Other hangars also were destroyed.

With thousands of homes sustaining major damage, it appeared the storm hit the Kissimmee area with the same force that leveled communities 100 miles to the southwest.

"My biggest complaint was I didn't know what was going on," said Brenda Ray, 59, who has lived in Kissimmee for 10 years. "I've got a hole in my roof, a lot of damage because of these trees. We don't have a phone to get a hold of insurance companies. You get spoiled.

"You think Kissimmee," she said, "that's not going to happen here."

The Maler family carefully set out hurricane supplies Friday night and settled in to wait for Charley.

The family of four, along with two evacuees from Lake Mary, gathered in their College Park living room to watch the storm from their picture window.

As the wind and rain picked up about 9 p.m., the power went out. Tree limbs slammed against the house. Fear set in.

Kathy Maler lit candles.

"All of a sudden there was one big gust that kind of shook everything," said Tom Maler, 43. "When we heard that whoosh, everybody got back."

A few hours later, Maler and Gerard Tejada, a family friend who had taken refuge at the house with his son, went outside to assess the damage.

The wind uprooted a three-pronged oak tree from a nearby yard. It was now stuck in the Malers' garage, piercing the roof of their Mercedes SUV. A utility pole lay on Tejada's car.

On Saturday morning Kathy Maler hurried down the driveway.

"I've got to get some donuts for the kids' breakfast," she said.

Like thousands of Tampa Bay area residents who fled east to escape Charley, Mildred McDaniel and her 16-year-old daughter Savanna DeLuca ended up in harm's way.

They came to the home of McDaniel's parents in DeBary, a town in western Volusia County.

"Was that a great decision or what?" McDaniel said.

All three generations of the family spent two hours Saturday morning cleaning up trees that had been ripped up. Savanna called Hurricane Charley a "real pain in the butt."

This report includes information from Times Staff Writers Sherri Day, Lane DeGregory, Brady Dennis, Tamara Lush, Ron Matus and the Daytona Beach News-Journal.