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TIME: Almanac of the 20th Century
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TIME, Almanac of the 20th Century.ISO
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1990
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92
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jul_sep
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0907990.000
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1994-02-27
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<text>
<title>
(Sep. 07, 1992) Hurricane Andrew
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1992
Sep. 07, 1992 The Agony of Africa
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
THE WEEK, Page 14
NATION
Mother Nature's Angriest Child
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Andrew, costliest hurricane in U.S. history, cuts a destructive
swath
</p>
<p> It's an odd practice, this naming of hurricanes. Yet
anthropomorphizing nature's brutal forces somehow seems to help
people cope with the otherwise incomprehensible devastation
wreaked by these storms. So it was with Andrew, a simple name
for people to curse, fear, blame and remember. Andrew proved a
most powerful, if petulant, child, rampaging across the Bahamas
and the populous tip of southern Florida and into Louisiana's
Cajun country, with strength enough to hoist trucks atop
buildings, destroy houses and vaporize mobile homes, impale
yachts on pier pilings and even strip paint off walls. With
winds up to 164 m.p.h., Andrew proved more expensive than Hugo,
which ripped through the Carolinas in 1989, and more destructive
than any of the recent California earthquakes--in sum, the
costliest natural disaster in American history.
</p>
<p> As Andrew's tantrum swirled around the home of Jo and
Bruce Powers in Naranja, Florida, a Miami suburb, they hid with
their two children, Jo's sister Karen Brocato and several
neighbors in a couple of small bathrooms. For two hours Bruce,
his foot braced on the sink, pressed his 200-lb. frame against
the door to keep the hurricane from ripping it open. They heard
glass shatter and stick in the walls. Water poured in around the
medicine chest, and the tub rattled itself away from the wall.
Roof tiles flew under the door. "I've never been so scared in
my life," recalls Brocato. "I hope I die if I'm ever that afraid
again. We all dirtied our pants."
</p>
<p> Almost like a tornado, Andrew cut a 20-to-35-mile swath
south of Miami that leveled entire city blocks and left
residents without electricity, phones, drinkable water, sewage
treatment, food or shelter. Armed troops patrolled the streets
to stop looters, some of whom brought in rental trucks to haul
away their booty. The response by state and federal government
was slow and disjointed. But by week's end President Bush had
ordered 14,400 troops into the disaster area with mobile
kitchens, tents, electrical generators, water and blankets. Now
hundreds of thousands of the newly homeless--some sleeping in
their cars or in campers--must try to pick up the pieces of
their shattered lives from the rubble. Even those lucky enough
to have homes may not have electricity for more than a month.
</p>
<p> Despite hard times, Americans have been rushing money and
supplies to the damaged areas. But in the long run, pluck and
perseverance will no doubt prove to be the most trustworthy ally
for Andrew's survivors. Mitch and Penny Burke, newly wed,
emerged from a closet after the storm ripped through their
comfortable home in southern Dade County to find they had lost
almost everything--dining-room furniture, bed, clothes,
wedding gifts. The damage was so bad that their entire
neighborhood may have to be razed. "We've got new wallpaper, but
no walls," said Penny with resolute humor. "I told the neighbors
not to bother knocking when they come visit."
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>