March 2, 1998 |
The death toll from tornadoes that wreaked havoc across central Florida has risen to 40 and the search for one remaining missing person has been suspended, authorities said. Rescue workers in Osceola County found the 40th victim buried beneath hundreds of pounds of debris. He is believed to be college student Craig Paulsen, 23, said Osceola Fire Chief Jeff Hall. Paulsen's father and a family friend also died when their home was smashed by winds of about 250 mph.
March 1, 1998 |
Penny Hall and Kevin Taylor planned to be together in marriage. Instead, they were united in death, buried side by side, a week after they perished in a fierce night of tornadoes. More than 300 mourners came to the funeral for the couple and Hall's parents, Ed and Debra, who also were killed when a twister demolished the family's mobile home early Monday morning.
February 24, 1998 |
A line of ferocious thunderstorms roared out of the Gulf and across central Florida in the predawn darkness Monday, spawning up to 10 tornadoes that killed 38 people in what authorities called the deadliest outbreak of twisters in the state's history. The El Nino-related storm, one of a series to pummel the state this winter, struck while most Floridians were in bed. Hundreds of homes, many of them trailer homes, were leveled. Cars were tossed into living rooms.
October 8, 1995 |
Nearly a dozen people were found huddling in the wreckage of their homes on the narrow barrier island where Hurricane Opal charged ashore, rescuers said Saturday. At least two others are listed as missing. Rescuers using dogs and sensitive listening devices searched for a 51-year-old man who had called 911 to say he was riding the storm out Wednesday, said Tom Carr of the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Carr said the man's Navarre Beach house had been washed away.
October 5, 1995 |
Hurricane Opal lashed the Florida Panhandle on Wednesday like a steel whip, killing one person and sending 100,000 others into headlong flight from the worst blow since a storm that took more than 250 lives along the Gulf Coast in 1969. Opal struck just east of Pensacola at 6 p.m. local time. Wind howled at 125 m.p.h. and roared in gusts to 144 m.p.h. Rain raked across beaches, and surf pounded like a headache.
September 6, 1995 |
Despite the bright midmorning sun, it is dark inside Domingos Gonsalves' house. "I'm going to keep the storm shutters up for a few more weeks," he explains. "I feel safer." No particular storm threatened South Florida last week, but at the peak of a hurricane season that is already the most active in 62 years, Gonsalves and most of his neighbors in this area called the Redlands don't need to know which bully might blow in next.
August 4, 1995 |
Hurricane Erin snapped across Pensacola early Thursday like a whip, lashing Florida for a second day with spitting, roaring wind that wrecked buildings, cut off power to 700,000 people and left two dead and five lost at sea. Erin ambushed tens of thousands who fled inland, some into its path. Winds of 94 m.p.h., with gusts up to 100 m.p.h., shattered windows in homes, restaurants and offices.
January 27, 1994 |
Tent City, Lanark Park. Hundreds of the newly homeless wait in the afternoon sun as relief workers hand out milk, shampoo, oranges and canned food. Camouflage-clad soldiers play catch with little children. Fraternity brothers from Pepperdine flip burgers on a grill. Older folks retreat to their tents to steal some much-needed sleep. Cindy McCain, head of a team of volunteer physicians from Phoenix surveyed this organized chaos and felt a twinge of deja vu.
CALIFORNIA | LOCAL
January 27, 1994 |
Tent City, Lanark Park. Hundreds of the newly homeless wait in the afternoon sun as relief workers hand out milk, shampoo, oranges and canned food. Camouflage-clad soldiersplay catch with little children. Fraternity brothers from Pepperdine flip burgers on a grill. Older folks retreat to their tents to steal some much-needed sleep. Cindy McCain, head of a team of volunteer physicians from Phoenix surveyed this organized chaos and felt a twinge of deja vu.
February 24, 1993 |
Mounds of rubble still line most roadways, hundreds of local residents are still living doubled up with friends or relatives, and it could be years before the shattered trees again provide any shade in this sun-stricken town at the end of the Florida peninsula. "When someone drives in here for the first time, there is still a reasonable amount of shock," says Bill Kiriloff, an assistant city manager. "There is still a lot of debris, a lot of homes scheduled for demolition.