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First baby rides out a hurricaneBy LaVERNE HAMMOND
© St. Petersburg Times, It was September 1945. My husband and I were living in a small house at the Naval Air Station in Jacksonville. It was hurricane season, and we were expecting our first child. Back then, hurricanes didn't have names, but we took the same precautions that we do today. There was no television, but warnings were aired regularly on the local radio station. As instructed, we removed all the objects from our yard and secured our house. Later when the reports became more threatening, women and children were advised to take refuge in the local armory. I refused to go. I didn't want to be separated from my husband at a time like that. My mother, who had come to be with me at the birth of her first grandchild, agreed with me. We could weather the storm together, she assured me. The day before the hurricane was scheduled to hit was beautiful and sunny, but extremely quiet. There was no wind. No leaf stirred. The next day, the sky began to darken, and the wind gained momentum. Then came the rains, harder and heavier toward evening. That night I was so restless that I couldn't sleep because of the howling wind and driving rain. I felt a sudden sharp pain. I dismissed it at first, but later, I had a second pain. When the space between them became shorter and more intense, I told my husband that we had better get to the hospital. We aroused my mother, and soon we were on our way. I had to wear boots to get to our car because the downpour had produced water up to our running boards. My mother wrapped me in a small blanket. I chastised myself for refusing to go to the armory, and I prayed that we would make it. The going was slow, and the rain seemed to fall sideways. The windshield wipers couldn't disperse the water fast enough: Visibility was almost zero. Downed trees blocked many of the roads, which were becoming rivers of water. Several times we had to back up and turn around. At one point, my husband came to a complete halt because he couldn't see. It was a blessing, because a few seconds later, a tree fell in front of our car. Had we been in motion, it would have fallen onto our vehicle. At another point, when he was backing up, the car slipped off the side of the road and got stuck in the mud. My husband tried to get out, but the tires just spun around. Finally, my mother tore the blanket off my shoulders and suggested that my husband use it to get traction. It did the trick. My pains were severe, but I gritted my teeth. By the time we reached the hospital -- ordinarily a 15-minute ride that had taken us two hours -- I was semiconscious. The next thing I heard was my husband's voice: "It's a girl! And she's beautiful!" A couple of weeks later he came home with the hospital bill. "She's all paid for," he said proudly, "and a bargain at that -- only $24." That was a reasonable fee, even for a naval hospital, but when I looked at the bill, I insisted that we had been overcharged. "We couldn't have been," my husband said. "How could it be any cheaper than that?" "Look," I said, pointing to one of the entries: Circumcision: $6. - LaVerne Hammond, who divides her time between Wisconsin and Florida, is an octogenarian at work on her memoirs. Write her in care of the St. Petersburg Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg FL 33731.
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