Shelter from the Storm
At one hundred ten years old, Gabriel Tompkins was the most well-known resident of the Beaumont Senior Citizens Home. He also became a respected local celebrity when a Houston television station declared him the oldest living man in Texas. Texans from as far away as Dallas, El Paso and San Antonio were routing for him to last another decade and set a new record for the oldest living person in the United States, which was currently held by Pennsylvanian Sarah Knauss who lived to the ripe old age of one hundred nineteen years and ninety-seven days. Thankfully, he was still in fairly good health, both physically and mentally, and stood a fair chance of accomplishing this feat.
Occasionally, his name and age were brought up by comedians and nationally known late-night talk show hosts. He was even subjected to good-natured teasing from the other seniors in the home for his longevity. People compared him to the biblical Methuselah; a Timex watch, which could "take a licking and keep on ticking"; and the Energizer Bunny, who keeps going, and going and going. Such jokes did not bother him; he took all the ribbing in stride. Frankly, his great age meant little to him personally. Gabriel did not care if he made it to his one hundred twentieth birthday or if he died in his sleep that night. He had lived a full life and did not regret that it was now coming to an end.
"I wouldn't want to live forever even if I could," he told a news reporter when he was interviewed on his one hundred tenth birthday. "I never like to overstay my welcome."
As for people left behind at his passing, there were none. Both his wives predeceased him as did all four of his children and three of his grandchildren. His remaining family members were spread out across the country—from sea to shining sea. With the exception of the obligatory greetings on his birthday, Father's Day and Christmas, he rarely heard from them; and had it not been for the photographs posted on the Tompkins family Facebook page, he would not know what any of them looked like.
That's as it should be, he thought philosophically. They've got their own lives to live.
When Gabriel woke one warm September morning in 2005, he stretched to relieve the stiffness in his back and reached for his walker. He did not have any mobility issues, but the nursing staff at the home thought it best he take precautions since a fall could be serious for a man his age. On his way to the dining room, he passed by the common area where the early risers were huddled around a television, watching the news. After downing a bowl of cold cereal and a glass of apple juice, he joined them.
Normally, he preferred reading to watching TV. Since taking up residency at the home, he had made his way through all Agatha Christie's mysteries, Edgar Allan Poe's tales and Charles Dickens's novels. The book he was currently reading, Nathaniel Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables, was on the nightstand beside his bed; and he did not feel like going to get it.
"What are you watching?" he asked as he took a seat in one of the four La-Z-Boy recliners.
"News coverage of Katrina," ninety-seven-year-old Emmeline Shandy answered.
"Who's Katrina?"
"Haven't you been keeping up with current events?"
"No. I don't read papers, and I rarely watch the news."
"Katrina is the name of the Category 3 hurricane that struck the Gulf Coast last week. It's nearly destroyed New Orleans."
Gabriel moved to a chair closer to the television so that he would have a better look at the twenty-five-inch screen. CNN was showing a video of evacuees from storm-ravaged Louisiana taking shelter inside the Houston Astrodome.
"That woman!" he suddenly cried as the cameraman panned the faces in the crowd.
"What woman?"
"I think I know her. She looks so familiar, but ...."
"Are you feeling all right, Gabriel?" Emmeline asked when she saw the paleness of his complexion and the far-away expression in his eyes.
He did not answer, for he had not heard her question. That unknown woman's face caused his mind to leave 2005 and travel back more than a century to the year 1900. There was no CNN back then to cover the hurricane that struck Galveston—at that time the largest city in Texas. The National Weather Service (known then as the United States Weather Bureau) had yet to give official names to weather events, so it came to be called simply the Great Storm of 1900. Although one hundred and five years' worth of memories had pushed many of his earlier recollections to the back of Gabriel's mind, including the ones associated with what is still today the deadliest natural disaster in U.S. history, seeing the devastation of Katrina brought them all back to him.
* * *
Five-year-old Gabriel Tompkins was excited at the prospect of the trip he and his mother were taking to Galveston. It was not visiting the island that thrilled him; it was the train ride from Beaumont he was looking forward to. He had never been on a train, and the hundred-mile journey was sure to be an adventure.
"Are we leaving soon, Mommy?" he cried, eager to be on his way.
"Net yet," his mother answered. "Our train doesn't leave until 9:45."
He repeated the question ten minutes later.
"In a little while."
Ten minutes after that, he asked again.
"Very soon, dear."
Rose Tompkins was a loving mother who always dealt with her inquisitive son with patience and good humor. A widow since her boy was only two, she was a devoted single parent whose life was centered on her only child.
"I think we ought to take an umbrella," she declared after looking out the window at the dark clouds on the horizon. "It looks like there's a storm coming."
She was not about to let bad weather put a damper on their trip. Rain or shine, she was determined to enjoy their holiday at the beach. After three more choruses of "are we leaving soon?" it was finally time to go. Rose, wearing her favorite dress, the white one with blue polka dots, picked up the suitcase and the umbrellas and headed for the front door.
By the time the carriage pulled into the train station, a light drizzle began to fall.
"Here comes the rain," Rose announced as she hurried her son onto the nearest passenger car.
The train was crowded, so they grabbed the first two seats they could find.
"Can I sit by the window?" Gabriel asked excitedly.
"May I sit by the window," his mother corrected him. "And, yes, you may."
The closer the train got to Galveston, the harder the rain fell and the stronger the winds blew.
"It's getting dark outside, Mommy," the five-year-old observed. "Is it almost nighttime?"
"No. It's dark because the rainclouds are blocking the sun."
As they neared their destination, Rose turned to her son; and with a smile on her face, declared, "We're almost there."
Within moments of her statement, the train slowed to a stop. The conductor walked down the aisle between the two rows of seats, informing the passengers that the tracks ahead had been washed out by the storm.
"We're going to have to back the train up and find another route. We apologize for the delay."
"Aren't we going to Galveston?" Gabriel asked, clearly disappointed.
"Yes, but we're going to get there later than we thought. But don't worry. We'll probably be there in time for dinner."
However, the tracks that were clear only ten minutes earlier were now under water. The train was forced to remain where it was: stranded on the Bolivar Peninsula. Meanwhile, the rain and winds battered the cars. Lightning rent the sky, and the accompanying thunder roared.
The conductor appeared again and announced that there was a ferry that could take all ninety-five passengers across the bay to Galveston. When the boat arrived, though, the fierce storm caused the captain to abort his attempt to dock.
"I'm afraid we'll just have to wait out the storm here, folks," the conductor said.
"That could take some time, hours perhaps," one of the passengers objected. "As I recall, there's a lighthouse station around here. Isn't there?"
"Yes, the Bolivar Point Light," the conductor replied.
"Perhaps we ought to see if the keeper can put us up for a while, at least until the track is clear or until the ferry resumes operation."
Few passengers wanted to leave the train to venture out into the raging storm. Their quarters might be cramped for space, but at least it was dry inside the car.
"Well, I'm going," the man declared. "Is anyone coming with me?"
Rose looked over her son's head at the water surrounding the train. At the rate the rain was falling, the level was sure to rise. She had to make a decision that would force her to choose between two evils: remain on the train, possibly all night long, or venture outside to seek the shelter of the light station. If the evacuees hoped to make it to the lighthouse, they would have to leave now.
"We are," she told the man. Then she turned to her son and said, "Come on, Gabriel. You and I are going for a walk."
"In the rain?"
"Yes."
"It's a good thing we brought our umbrellas."
Rose knew full well the flimsy umbrellas would not withstand the gale-force winds, so she left them in the car and firmly grasped the little boy's hand as she exited the train.
Besides the mother and son, eight other people from the train trekked through the floodwaters to the lighthouse where more than a hundred people from Port Bolivar were already gathered to seek protection inside the iron lighthouse. When the sole door to the structure was opened, people rushed in to get out of the rain. Mother and son were separated, and the boy, nearly trampled by the adults, was carried along with the stampede of pushers and shovers.
"Mommy!" he cried, but his voice could not be heard above the shouts of the adults and the din of the great storm.
More than one hundred and twenty people, soaked to the skin, crowded into the confining space of the tower. Since there was no more room on the inside and the waters were rapidly rising on the outside, the heavy door was pulled shut. The refugees sat two-by-two on the steps of the circular staircase, huddled together as one hundred twenty mile-per-hour winds buffeted the towering structure. Although the beam continued to shine above them, all was dark within the lighthouse. Gabriel whimpered with fear as he listened to the howling winds and felt the structure sway. He was certain it would eventually topple over and kill everyone inside.
"Hush, sweetheart. You're safe now," a familiar voice whispered in his ear as loving arms protectively encircled him.
"Mommy! I didn't know where you were."
"I'm right here by your side. Why don't you close your eyes and try to get some sleep?"
"Is it my bedtime already?"
"No, but we've had a hard day. I know I'm willing to call it a night."
Gabriel closed his eyes, and despite the pandemonium around him, he soon fell asleep as his mother sang a lullaby to him. At five, he considered himself too old for lullabies; but hearing her soothing voice that night comforted him, so he did not object.
Young Gabriel not only slept through the night, but he remained asleep until the floodwaters that surrounded the base of the lighthouse receded. It was as though he had fallen under a spell similar to the one cast on Sleeping Beauty or Rip Van Winkle. It was no kiss that eventually awakened him, however. His eyes opened when he felt someone gently shake him.
"Wake up, son," a male voice called.
"Where's my Mommy?" Gabriel asked.
"I'm sure she's around here somewhere. Come on. It's safe to go outside now. We'll go and look for her."
When the door was pushed open, however, the sight that greeted them cast a pall over those refugees exiting he lighthouse. At least a dozen bodies were piled up near the door. Apparently, the poor souls had unsuccessfully tried to find safety inside and had drowned in the storm surge instead.
Holding on to the man's hand, Gabriel looked up at the faces of the people he passed, searching for one among the many.
"I don't see her," he told the man beside him.
It was the white dress with the blue polka dots, his mother's favorite, that caught his attention. But why was she lying down?
"Mommy?" he called but received no answer.
The man immediately grasped the situation and his grip on the little boy's hand tightened.
"Your Mommy is sleeping," he said gently. Then, noticing that Lightkeeper Harry Claiborne and his wife, Virginia, had brought food to feed the refugees, he asked. "Are you hungry? You must be. None of us has had anything to eat yet. Why don't we let your Mommy get her rest, and we'll go have breakfast?"
Gabriel Tompkins reluctantly let the stranger lead him away from his dead mother's body.
* * *
Looking back at that time with more than a century worth of life's experiences, Gabriel now understood why no one believed the crying child who swore his mother had been beside him on the lighthouse's circular staircase throughout the night. Those who heard his tale had just lived through a Category 4 hurricane that had killed more than six thousand people in Galveston alone and destroyed approximately seven thousand buildings. Storm surges of eight to twelve feet and one-hundred-forty-five-mile-per-hour winds nearly leveled the city. The eighty-five people who had remained inside the train from Beaumont all drowned when the water overran the tops of the cars. Meanwhile, all those who sought shelter in the lighthouse survived.
If only my poor mother had made it inside, he thought as he recalled the still figure in the white dress with the blue polka dots, soaking wet and spattered with mud, lying outside the door of the Bolivar Point Light.
Not even he could explain the voice that comforted him during that long, terrifying night.
It must have been my imagination.
Yet, he was not entirely convinced this was so.
"Were you there?" he asked aloud.
"What's that?" Emmeline Shandy called, adjusting her hearing aid. "Did you say something, Gabe?"
"Were you there with me during the hurricane?"
The old woman's face clouded with confusion.
"Hurricane? Are you talking about Katrina?"
"I heard your voice. I felt your arms around me. Were you really there or was I only dreaming?"
"What are you going on ...?"
Emmeline's voice changed midsentence. It became softer, much younger.
"Yes, I was. Just as I have often been beside you—unseen—in the long years that followed."
Mrs. Shandy looked at Gabriel's face and was frightened by its pallor.
"You don't look too good!" she exclaimed and called for help.
By the time Nurse Heloise came into the room, the oldest man in Texas was gone. Although many people were disappointed that he would never beat Sarah Knauss's record, they took comfort in knowing he had had a good, long life and that his passing had been swift, peaceful and painless.
As the ambulance pulled up to the Beaumont Senior Citizens Home to transport his aged body to the morgue, the spirit of five-year-old Gabriel Tompkins was getting off a train in Galveston. He tightly held on to the hand of his mother, who was wearing her favorite dress, the white one with the blue polka dots.
"I guess we won't be needing these umbrellas after all," Rose Tompkins said, looking down at her son. "There's not a cloud in the sky."
Not a single drop of rain, much less a hurricane, threatened to ruin their long-awaited holiday.
When Salem read the rough draft of this story, he ordered a lighthouse cat condo from Amazon—just in case.
