In late September 1938, the New England states were lashed by a hurricane that took several hundred lives and caused extreme damage. The storm’s ferocity and northeastwards track took New Englanders by surprise, but we were very lucky in Maine.

Descriptions of the damage in the Twin Cities caused by the Great Hurricane of 1938 filled column after column in the Sept. 22, 1938, edition of the Lewiston Evening Journal.

Those reports covered the usual tabulation of destruction, but I found a very personal account of that storm with an unexpected family viewpoint. My aunt, Edith Labbie, wrote about it 25 years later in one of her weekly pieces in the Journal magazine section.

Here, in her words, is her memory of the event:

“There was something different about this storm. The women in the maternity ward of CMG Hospital (now Central Maine Medical Center in Lewiston) looked at the darkened sky and began to mentally check the location of their loved ones.

“This was no ordinary line storm. This storm had a voice. A horrible scream that constantly rose and fell. The lights in the hospital flickered off and on. Nervous laughter was heard as the elevators came to a near standstill when the flow of power diminished. The new mothers tried to remain calm. Suddenly, one young woman rang her bell in a frenzy and screamed, ‘I want my baby here! Bring me my baby.’

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“At that very instant the awning which had covered the top porch of the hospital ripped like tissue paper. The rending sound was terrifying. Even that solid brick citadel of healing seemed to be bucking the gate.

“There was a whispered consultation in the corridor between the nurses and floor supervisor. The telephone shrilled for attention. The ‘Super’ said, ‘Yes, ma’am, everything is under control. Yes, ma’am, right away.’

“Even as she spoke the lights dimmed and then went out. Then began a procession that will never be forgotten by those of us who saw it. Down the long corridor came the young nurses carrying flashlights and precious squirming bundles. Their white caps looked like halos.

“They came straight to our beds. The name on each infant’s beads was whispered and double-checked with our own identification bracelets. Not a single baby cried. My first born, Barbara, nestled closer seeking warmth and sustenance. The winds had not diminished but the fear in our hearts was lessened somewhat now that their tiny lives, so newly arrived, were within our maternal protection.”

I had never heard that story of my cousin’s birth only a few hours before the historic storm. Curiously, I found that account in one of a dozen or more scrapbooks filled with Edith Labbie columns that had been in Barbara’s keeping since her mother’s death. She brought them to me in hope that I might find some interesting material in them.

That’s the unexpected family connection I discovered to the Hurricane of 1938. The news stories of that day recounted many addresses where families endured property damage and near misses of physical harm.

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The Twin Cities were in darkness for a while that night because transmission lines at Gulf Island Dam were struck by falling trees. A Lewiston man got a gash on his scalp from a falling limb. A young man who was cleaning up debris the next day suffered a severe leg injury when his ax slipped. At Farmington, at the Franklin County fairgrounds a 150-foot tent blew away and at noon the next day it still had not been found. A steeple on the Paris Street church at Norway was blown off. The newspaper told of Auburn police transporting many people to their homes through streets littered with trees and wires.

The stories went on and on. No doubt, this column will revive memories for older readers or family members who heard about experiences of their parents or grandparents.

Compared to Florida and the Gulf States, Maine’s experience with hurricanes has been minor, and so far this year, the big blows have not materialized. If they do, we now have minute-by-minute forecasting capabilities that provide early warning and pinpoint information on the location and expected path of the storms.

It was the unexpected power and unpredictability of the 1938 hurricane’s course that led to much improvement in today’s weather predictions.

Dave Sargent is a freelance writer and a native of Auburn. He can be reached by sending email to dasargent@maine.com.


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