It was right before school started in 1949 when the big hurricane hit. Back then they had not gotten around to giving hurricanes names like they do now. They simply numbered them in order. The center of Hurricane No.1 of the 1949 season hit “between Pompano and Palm Beach” about 6 p.m. on August 26. Winds had to have been over 150 mph when it hit because they were actually measured at 125 mph as the center crossed Sebring, Florida a few hours later. Dad had shuttered up our house and driven the family to Boynton Beach to ride out the storm at my maternal grandparent Horton’s house, next to Boynton’s elementary school. However, as the hurricane approached the coastline, the winds picked up, and Granddad Horton’s wooden frame house started coming apart. There was a large screened porch facing south, which was the first to go. The screens blew out and the roof started tearing off in pieces. My father, Marlin Eller, ordered me, my mother, Lorena, and my sister, Linda, to follow him. He held my little brother, Dwight, in his arms and started toward our car parked in front of the house. But the wind was too strong to stand up, and tree branches and coconuts were flying through the air hitting us. So Dad lay on the ground and started rolling toward the car. We couldn’t hear his specific instructions through the loud howling of the wind, but we just naturally started doing the same thing he was doing and rolled on the ground to the car. He got one door open on the other side of the car and we all crawled in. I remember Dad was shivering and seemed afraid. Mother was crying.
Dad started the car, drove a few blocks over to Federal Highway, U.S. 1, turned left and headed north. I remember him saying that this direction should get us out of the storm. We drove through heavy rains and winds, for what seemed like hours, until we got to a town called Fort Pierce. There, palm trees had fallen across the highway, coconuts and tree branches were flying through the air, and it was impossible to proceed. Dad turned into a gas station and parked, joining dozens of other cars parked there. There we spent the night, in the car, mother especially praying for safety. It came the next morning as the winds died down. We got gas in the car, headed home to Deerfield, working our way around fallen trees and power lines all the way. Granddad’s house in Boynton was essentially destroyed, and had to be rebuilt. Our house in Deerfield, however, with wooden shutters closed, weathered the storm beautifully. The lesson I learned was that you should build your house strong enough to handle any known potential hurricane wind force, and stay home during the storm. Many years later I did that exact thing as I designed and built my own house for 200 mile an hour winds. It cost me about 10 percent more to build, but I’ve never worried about it weathering a hurricane, even until today.
The next thing I remember about the summer of 1949 was that Dewy Bennett arrived in town. Dewy was my age, eight years old, and would be starting third grade with me in the fall, which meant that I would no longer be the only boy in my class at Deerfield Elementary School. Dewy came to my backyard one day in the summer of 1949 with his cousin Butch Bennet. They started singing a song that was popular on the radio at the time by Hank Williams which went: “Hey…good looking; what cha’ got cookin’, how’s about a’cooking something up with me!” I went out to meet them as they walked slowly over to the empty lot on the south side of our house, and started picking fruit off our guava tree. Seven-year-old Butch started talking first. He introduced me to his eight-year-old cousin Dewy, who he said had moved into town and would be in the third grade with me soon. Butch went on to say that he’d told Dewy about me beating him up (a few weeks ago), and that Dewy would settle matters with me. I looked at Dewy and figured he was about my same size. I asked him what he wanted to do. He said that he understood I had beaten up Butch, and would I like to try to beat him (Dewy) up. I replied that if Butch would stay out of it, “Sure”! With that we both went at it. His head went into my belly knocking me backwards as he swung both fists. But I soon got him into a headlock and rolled him over on his back. He pushed me over, and we rolled around in the sandspurs for a few minutes. But once I got my right forearm around his neck with my left hand gripping my right wrist, pulling a hard scissors grip on his neck, I knew I had him. He should have given up, but he refused. We rolled over in the sandspurs a few more times until we were both sweaty, exhausted and out of breathe. Finally one or both of us said, “I’ll stop if you’ll stop.” With that we let go of each other, stood up, and Dewy gave me a great compliment: He said: “You’re a pretty good fighter”. I said: “You are too!” We shook hands, and became friends, which continues even until today.

David Eller,
Publisher

Hurricane-force winds can inflict damage to homes
and plant life.

First Baptist Church in Deerfield suffers a blow from a hurricane.