Hurricane Andrew...30 Years Ago Today.

Thirty years ago today, we woke up to the Miami Herald’s blaring headline: Destruction at Dawn.

Of course, what we saw in those pictures of a community flattened to timber did not do justice to the devastation that took place across the southernmost reaches of our community. Nor did it speak to the horrific challenges that would occur over the next few days, weeks and months as we attempted to survive.

August 24, 1992. Thirty years ago.  

I was a 24-year-old newbie, having just moved to Coral Gables over the July 4th weekend, some eight weeks prior to that fateful day. I had lived in Florida since I was 14 but had never experienced any type of major storm. I am not even sure I can recall a tropical storm or watch or warning during that decade prior. It was just not on my radar or in my sights.  

Yet, here I was now in South Florida, right in the bullseye of Hurricane Andrew. My short tenure at the University of Miami was mostly about getting ready for the students (new and returning) to arrive and move into their dorm rooms on campus (August 22/23) for what promised to be an exciting year.  

 I was nervous about these new beginnings – not only for our students, but for me as a newly minted graduate from the University of Florida. I had received my master’s in education degree in May and had been lucky enough to secure several job offers. I chose Miami over Charlotte and Baltimore and New Orleans and as my big July move approached, I realized Miami had also chosen me.  Little did I know how true this would turn out to be.

 Mid-week prior to the storm’s arrival, word began to spread around campus that a storm was brewing in the Atlantic. It was a potential monster, a storm we had not seen in more than 50 years. Miami had avoided any significant hurricane activity for decades, with most long-time Floridians recalling only Donna back in 1960. We also did not have the sophistication we have today in terms of multiple storm models, stronger building codes or everyone’s favorite meteorological phrase – the Cone of Concern.  

At UM, we had RSMAS (now Rosenstiel School) and Dean Otis Brown. Now, as a junior staffer in the Division of Student Affairs, we had little to no contact with administrative higher-ups, VPs and Deans. So, when I was invited to a big pow-wow at the law school on Friday to talk about a hurricane, well, it was a big deal. The meeting was short and sweet. It was also horrifying. The Dean used a 1960’s era overhead projector with a single transparency slide on it to show the path of now named Hurricane Andrew (note the A as a first of the season in late August), and Miami was in its sights. We were the storm’s bullseye and there was nothing to steer it away – no La Nina, no wind shear, no steering currents or Saharan Dust - just very warm August water to fuel its fury. 

 I looked around the room at my new colleagues and wondered if those from Arizona, Vermont and Georgia were as ill-prepared and scared as I felt. They seemed wide-eyed and I (the adopted Floridian), equally so. But, it was time to go into crisis mode and get ready for the known and unknown – welcome to paradise, Mark.

Within a few hours, we had a plan and briefed our student staff. Move-in would still happen, but we would be ready as early as 6am to open the doors to students, parents and families on Sunday. We would also house and feed everyone that had a flight back home later in the week. Most of the hotels were not going to allow guests to stay overnight in a CAT 5 storm, so we became their home, their lifeline, their refuge. By 5pm, the decorations had been taken down, the windows shuttered, and we had sent everyone to the cafeteria to eat dinner. After another briefing, we sent everyone to bed at 9pm. Students, moms, dads, sibs, abuelas, aunts and uncles – everyone.  We would wake them when the winds reached sustained 35+ miles per hour on campus and move them into the hallway to ride out the storm. 

 From its initial landfall, Andrew was a menace, moving at 16mph and thankfully not as likely to drench everything in its path. There would still be massive storm surge and tornados, but we would be there to protect our precious cargo. At 3am, we woke everyone. They moved mattresses, sheets, valuables and family members into the hallway. Mattresses were laid end-to-end. They put towels under the door to limit water intrusion and debris. They tried to sleep. By 5am, the howling and high-pitched whistling came. My entire building had been either shuttered or boarded up by our amazing physical plant and maintenance team. But that meant you saw nothing, just the vibrations, and the sounds of fury and chaos.  

By 9am, it was all over. The storm had passed. I remember popping the front door open to Eaton College and seeing the sun. But everything was gone. Trees were down or stripped of their bark. Cars were covered in debris. My own had black marks caused by exploding rocks hitting the car and catching fire. A clear view across campus to the East to Ponce de Leon where there had once been lush foliage. And eerie silence. Not a sound. Just heat and sunshine.

At that moment, our recovery began. Families were waking up, asking what happened, and we were making sure everyone was OK and accounted for. They were.  

 We had survived. Slowly, we would send students home and school would re-start on September 14. We put our international students to work. We reached out to faculty and staff. We had moved from survive to thrive.  

 Our finest hour was to come.

Written by:

Mark A. Trowbridge | President & CEO | Coral Gables Chamber of Commerce