Hull, Mass.: Shelter From the Storm?

Mother Nature had declared war and in so doing she left the nearby town of Hull a scarred battlefield. Until February 20, 13 days after the Blizzard of '78 had ended, army units were still blockading the two roads leading into the South Shore peninsula on which the town lies. Craters several feet in diameter pock marked the streets where sweeping tides had torn up the asphalt pavement.

The storm caused only one fatality in the town; nevertheless, the devastation was awesome. Geographically speaking, the storm could not have found a more suitable victim. Hull, Massachusetts consists of four drumlins--glacial hills--connected by seven miles of low-lying land. The town's width varies between a half mile and ten yards, and once the high tide had flowed over the seawalls, it rolled right across to the ocean on the other side of the town.

The 100-mile-per-hour winds and nine feet of flood waters destroyed about 100 homes and well over 200 cars; the ocean flooded another 1000 homes and the army evacuated 3000 people, housing them temporarily in the town's schools. Pieces of the concrete seawall, weighing hundreds of pounds, floated through the streets as though they were styrofoam surfboards. Emergency crews erected a 15-foot floodwall along the beach in case a second storm which weather forecasters predicted would come a few days after the first, hit the town. However, it seems unlikely that dirt would have succeeded where tons of concrete had failed.

Physically, Hull survived the storm. The question now is whether the working- and lower-middle-class community of 11,000 can weather the aftermath. Hull is strictly a residential community. Outside of the summertime amusement park and dozens of bars and liquor stores, the town has no industry or commercial tax base. Before the storm an estimated 40 to 60 per cent of the town's residents received some sort of public assistance. Since the storm the Federal government has declared the town a disaster area. Lining up by the thousands at the temporary relief center, the townsfolk wait for the food stamps and the Salvation Army's vouchers for heating oil supplements that have sustained them since the storm.

People's reaction to the destruction have varied, often reflecting the degree of chaos in which the storm left their homes. Those who were fortunate enough to suffer only minimal damage, or at least were able to return quickly to their homes, are facing the challenge of reconstruction with a modicum of optimism and determination. Those who lost their entire homes or suffered enough damage to have been relocated in a motel outside of Hull, are usually more depressed and uncertain about their future. Some have lost all hope.

Few would have survived the emotional impact of the storm had it not been for the material and psychological aid from volunteers, charitable associations, and the federal government. Mennonites from Pennsylvania and Congregationalists from Wellesley organized groups to help clean up houses. The Red Cross supervised all relief efforts and distributed soap, mops and clothing vouchers.

But most important of all, the government has sent experts and money to make reconstruction a possibility. The townsfolk grew up believing in the benificence of the federal government and the sanctity of the New Deal: they moved from Boston's decaying white ethnic neighborhoods to Hull with the aid of the G.I. Bill. Once again, they consider themselves entitled to aid to preserve their meager economic standing. Homeowners, 90 per cent of whom lacked flood insurance, will be paying up to $1200 annually for the next two or three decades for the government's low interest loans.

During the storm, while one evacuee bemoaned her fate, a local businessman said, in all seriousness, "Why, with all the federal and private relief, if you're smart, you can make money on this deal." Yet, since the initial shock of the destruction has taken hold, people have been left sorting through their damaged furniture and the ruined momentos of their lives. For the immediate future, at least, the residents of Hull have resigned themselves to a bleaker life, for a return to normalcy--let alone advancement--has washed away with the mud and salt water.