Hurricane Audrey Remembered, History: Cameron Parish, Louisiana Source: Lake Charles American Press Aug 9, 2004 Pg. 1 Submitted by Kathy Tell Date Submitted: Jan 2006 **** Legal Notice **** ** ********************************************** Copyright. All rights reserved. http://usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://usgwarchives.net/la/lafiles.htm ********************************************** ** ~~~~~~ REMEMBERING AUDREY Into Audrey’s eye Hurricane remembered through eyes of state trooper BY ELVIN L. PIERROTTIE LOUISIANA STATE POLICE NOTE TO READERS: In the wake of Southwest Louisiana’s greatest natural disaster — deadly Hurricane Audrey, in the summer of 1957 — a Louisiana state trooper from Lake Charles, Elvin Pierrottie, wrote down his observations of the hurricane rescue operations. After several decades, the journal entries of Trooper Pierrottie resurfaced and appeared in print in 1996. They appear again today, in his own words. On June 27, 1957, at 4:45 a.m. the phone rang, a call from headquarters to report to work right away. Hurricane Audrey was beginning to blow, and we had lost communications with Cameron. I arrived at headquarters at 5:30 a.m. and was assigned by Captain Haas, State Police troop commander of Troop D, to get a patrol car ready. Trooper Burchman Fruge, who had also been called on duty, and I were to go to the Gibbstown Pontoon Bridge, which is about ten miles north of Creole over the Intracoastal Canal, and advise the bridge tender to keep the bridge open for any possible evacuation of the coastal area. He also stated that we had lost contact with Cameron at about 1:30 a.m. and that our patrol car might be of some help to the people of the area for communication or any other help that was needed. We headed south on La. 27. Wind and rain kept our safe speed at about 40 mph. The trees, high lines and telephone lines were either down or waving at us like ghosts in an awful nightmare. The visibility at that time was very bad, and going into the eye of Hurricane Audrey was a very frightening experience — an experience I shall never forget. We arrived at Big Lake School, where hundreds of families had already gathered to wait out the hurricane. Everyone seemed to feel safe and wished for the end of the hurricane, so each could return home and take inventory of his losses. We continued on south, arrived at the Pontoon Bridge and advised the bridge tender that headquarters wanted the bridge open for road travel under any conditions. The bridge tender was very disturbed because he had left his wife and children alone in the far eastern corner of Cameron parish. We knew as we traveled on southward through the marshlands that our job, not always pleasant, was going to be extremely difficult this time. At about 7:45 a.m., we figured we were about a half mile north of Creole, a small town along the Gulf coast and about 15 miles east of Cameron. The wind was now blowing about 100 miles an hour, hurtling rain mixed with grass and mud from the marshlands. Our visibility was about 20 feet, and our speed was perhaps 10 mph. Even though all the glasses in the patrol car were up, Trooper Fruge and I were getting soaking wet. By now lumber, storage tanks, logs and trash were flying in all directions. Horses, cows and pigs were walking on what had been a narrow 20-foot blacktop but which was now being eaten up by the marshes on both sides. It seems that the animals knew the only chance of survival was to get to and stay on the blacktop road which was now no wider than the patrol car. Chairs, tables, baby bottles, television sets and many other items were either flying through the air or bouncing across the marshes. A storage tank about 15 feet high and 30 feet in circumference came bouncing from the marshes toward us, nearly hitting the patrol car. The water was rising so fast that we knew that any minute it would force us into the canal which ran parallel to the highway. We knew if we were to get out, now was the time. We kept trying to call headquarters to give our location, but we had lost contact long before. Debris was blocking the little road we had just gone over, but with God’s help we turned around on that narrow strip, passed over debris, which by now was lying all over the road, and headed north to headquarters to report the area was in a dire state and needed help desperately. When we arrived at Big Lake School this time, we noted that the part of the school the refugees were staying in had collapsed. Again we felt the presence of God. They had been warned by a piece of the roof flying off and had all taken refuge in another part of the school. There were no injuries, and everyone seemed to be thankful of his good fortune. We finally arrived at the nearest telephone, which was in Lake Charles, called Captain Haas and advised him of the condition of the area. Captain Haas advised us to go back into the area and do what we could to help. In the meantime he had some Army ducks escorted from Fort Polk into the hurricane area to help with evacuation. When we returned into the disaster area, we could not get beyond two miles south of Gibbstown Pontoon Bridge, which was about 10 miles north of Creole, the town we had left no more than an hour and a half before. The canal that ran parallel to the blacktop highway now looked like an angry sea. We knew how bad it was when we noticed a house floating by in the canal. We estimated its speed to be 15 miles an hour. Personal things were floating everywhere: baby beds, clothing, stoves and many other items too numerous to count. Audrey did not even allow the dead to rest. We noticed a (burial) vault floating by us. The rain was just as strong as ever and the animals were still coming northward. As far as the eye could see southward was an endless sea of heads, all striving for survival. Lt. A.C. Lyles and Trooper Lionel Vellion arrived at the pontoon bridge with three Army ducks. After Lt. Lyles looked over the situation, he advised me to remain at the bridge with my patrol car and one Army duck. Trooper Fruge and Trooper Vellion were to proceed into , duck driven by Army personnel. He would follow in his patrol car. I was to be on the alert so that we could communicate with each other in case they ran into trouble. They continued blindly on southward. Soon they noticed another house floating by with some people riding on its roof. The house was about 100 feet from the road, being tossed about like cork. The water was churning and boiling so nothing could hold a true course. How the house stayed together was more that we will ever know. It finally came to a rest, jammed in debris. One of the ducks went out to rescue the people from the house top. It became jammed, becoming a helpless hunk of steel in all that debris and current. The second duck attempted to go to the rescue and became as helpless as the first. Nothing could stand up to Hurricane Audrey. She was in command and it appeared as though she would be for quite a while yet. Lt. Lyles knew how hopeless the situation was and was forced to return to where I was. We both knew it was no use to send the third duck out there to become as helpless as the other two ducks and the marooned family. But we had to try something, just for our own satisfaction. Every effort to reach the other ducks or family was in vain. We had to retreat to the Gibbstown Pontoon Bridge and pray for the end of the hurricane. We attempted many times to reach or see the ducks or family for the next three hours, but inside we knew that the hurricane had to let up before we could accomplish our goal. About 4 p.m., the hurricane seemed to be abating; and we made a final attempt in the last duck. Sam Guillory, a photographer for the Lake Charles American Press, the Army personnel driving the duck, and I set out to reach the other two ducks and family. When we had traveled about a half mile, we noticed them traveling toward us. How hard those men must have fought to live! The seven people marooned on the house, the men and all the ducks were now safe. There had been eight on the house at one time, but one had lost his hold and slid away to his horrible death. During the three hours that had gone by, Trooper Fruge and Trooper Vellion and the Army personnel had worked continuously to free themselves and rescue the family on the roof. The two troopers had to get out of the ducks and walk on the debris, which was now thick enough to hold them. They took a wench line from one duck and walked on the debris to the other duck. One misstep or misjudgment from the two troopers and they would have slid away under the debris forever. When the ducks were free, they drifted toward the house and rescued the family. They all fought together to reach the blacktop road and return to where we were. It was getting late, so we made the family comfortable and headed toward Lake Charles and the hospital. The seven on the rooftop were the only human beings we saw and saved that day. There was nothing that could be done to get to the people of Cameron Parish at this time. We had tried everything, since we knew thousands of people were scattered all over . was no possible way to get to them until the next day. June 28, 1957, was the day evacuation started. Trooper Fruge and I were assigned by Captain Haas to go back to Gibbstown Pontoon Bridge and work off the bridge. When we arrived about four miles north of the bridge, we could go no further. The road was covered with everything: dead animals, tables, chairs, refrigerators, beds, radios, TV sets, etc. We had to have a road tractor pull us through as it cleared the road in front. After what seemed an age, the tractor got us through. They were having the same trouble at many other points of evacuation. When we arrived at the bridge, there were tugboats and many other small boats of all sizes and description all over the Intracoastal Canal bringing in people from all over the marshlands. The dead were coming in, too, but we had to set them aside and give our attention to those that were still alive. It was a horrible sight that day on the bridge: people wanting water and food, this one wondering about loved ones, that one about his possessions, and mothers crying for milk for their babies. Everyone seemed to be in a state of shock. Most of them had been out in the water and snake-infested areas all the preceding day and all night. They were coming toward the bridge from all sides and by any method they could use; on foot through the marshes, in skiffs, in helicopters and in all the available boats on the Intracoastal Canal. You could see some of them stranded on small mounds in the marshes waving at us or to the boats and the helicopters overhead. Those were a strong-willed people. We knew that was the same sight at other points of evacuation. There were private automobiles from Lake Charles and surrounding towns lined up north of the bridge to take in the first group of refugees. Volunteers came from everywhere when they heard the request for help broadcast over the local TV and radio stations. The refugees were loaded into personal cars and taken to Lake Charles to the refugee center which had been set up there. After the first load, the Army trucks arrived and made our job much easier because they could disregard the debris and get right onto the bridge. Mothers wanted to know if we had seen their children, and fathers were looking for members of their family. Everybody was looking for his loved ones. We could be of little consolation to them because we had to tell them that they had to be taken to the Refugee Centers in Lake Charles. Their names would be taken and families reunited in the centers. That must have been a long drive to Lake Charles for most of them, wondering if a member of their family was living or dead. These same sights were seen over and over that day on the bridge. The bridge reminded me of a ship in the middle of an ocean rescuing people from the clutches of death. First aid stations were set up on the bridge, and food and water were brought in by large trucks. Everything seemed to be going on in an orderly manner. There was very little talking going on among the workers because there was nothing one could say. We evacuated 800 to 1,000 people that day: a job we were glad to do but hope we will never have to repeat. The scene on the bridge that day will live in the minds and hearts of those who were there. God have mercy on others of the same fate. Elvin Pierrottie died last Thursday at age 76, as this feature story was being prepared for re-publication. His law enforcement career with the State Police and Calcasieu Sheriff’s Office spanned 42 years. During Hurricane Audrey, he helped rescue a half-dozen people from a rooftop. His funeral is at 10 a.m. today from St. Margaret Catholic Church.