The storm finally passed a little after 2:00 a.m. It had kept yours truly awake all night. I heard a sound outside my second-floor bedroom window and looked down to see the hotel manager, who was also my uncle Drew, throwing up in my mother’s hydrangea bushes. He was fired the next day.
It’s worth noting that the storm of May 23, 1916 went down in the town annals as a full-fledged doozy. The dogwoods in the park were blooming but that night they were stripped and beaten bare by hail the size of golf balls. A proud old oak was toppled over, landing on the roof of the bandstand that Henry and his spaniel had used to drum up business. Across town, lightning struck the telegraph office but at least it was raining so hard that the ensuing fire was put out before any surrounding buildings could
