"There is beauty in the bellow of the blast, there is grandeur in the growling of the gale.” W. S. Gilbert’s romantic depiction takes me back to Ocean City, Maryland’s close encounter with a killer hurricane. Born in Africa’s waters Aug. 29, 1960, the disturbance quickly organized into Category 5 Hurricane “Donna.” On Sept. 9, Donna swiped the Florida Keys at Category 4, made landfall at Fort Myers, then plowed east across Florida to Daytona Beach. Thirteen people died.

“Deadly Donna” then paralleled the East Coast.

College started late, giving me the rare chance to linger in Ocean City with September’s bright blue weather. While President Eisenhower was declaring Florida a disaster area, revenue-conscious Ocean City elders decided not to scare vacationers by mentioning Donna. Secrecy was easy to maintain.

TVs piped one fuzzy cable channel from Salisbury, broadcasting only farm reports of chicken prices. Snagging radio stations from the ether was difficult. Baltimore papers stopped delivery after Labor Day.

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On Sept. 11, I went to the ancient movie theater to watch Charlton Heston part the Red Sea in “The Ten Commandments.” Arriving home at 10 p.m. I saw a woman on a second floor motel balcony, hurling clothing first, followed by empty, flapping suitcases, dodged by her wide-eyed husband as they crashed on the parking lot. Her apartment door slammed, catching her nightgown, holding her fast. She raised her arms to the heavens and let loose a primordial scream. A man pushed past her, pouring detergent from a clutched upside-down supersized box. The panic began.

My adventurous house guests, John and Julianna Conroy, both 70, decided to stay with me. We covered all windows and doors with pre-made winter boards, working through the night to secure this home with only a 150-foot sliver of beach separating it from the Atlantic. Monday, Sept. 12 at dawn, howling like a hound of hell, Donna lumbered into town.

The fury of a direct hit inspires awe with its order and timing. Thankfully it was low tide as Donna struck from the east at 135 mph, driving water through the cracks of the window boards as if a giant fire hose was pressed against them. We threw down blankets and sheets. At 9 a.m., within a matter of moments, complete calm reigned. We exited an unboarded rear door. The wind was negligible, the sun strong, the skies brilliant blue and cloudless with seagulls flying in a northerly direction, caught in and traveling with the eye. Refugees from hurricane parties, drinks in hand, poured onto the boardwalk and stumbled around. Police ignored their misdemeanors and made bullhorn announcements to find shelter. Thirty minutes later, within the span of 60 seconds, the winds rose to hurricane force, coming this time directly from the west. It was high tide but the gale blew against the ocean. In the scramble to get back inside, five confused drunks came with us.

The second half of Donna was most fearsome as we stepped over prone, snoring strangers to stanch rising water forcing its way in. Exhausted, with the demonic sound of 150 mph gusts ripping at our shuddering shelter, I gave in to overwhelming fear that evolved into deep peace. With teen-logic, I reasoned I had lived a good long life and was prepared to die.

Suddenly the roar ceased but a released ocean surged over the boardwalk in a powerful rush to meet the bay three blocks away. Knocked off their feet, emerging tourists were swept past our home. I was able to reach into the surge and grab one man by the leg as he skimmed by.

Inspection revealed that the house and my car were sandblasted completely clean of paint. I escaped with minor injuries.

In its long 17-day life from Cape Verde to Maine, Donna killed 364 people, including 50 Americans. It ranks sixth of the top 10 strongest 20th century U.S. hurricanes. In deference to its severity, the name Donna was retired.

Stephanie Esworthy was director of media and public relations and the Baltimore City Film Commission for former Mayors William Donald Schaefer and the late Clarence “Du” Burns and served as head of Baltimore City’s Bureau of Music in every city administration since Mayor Theodore R. McKeldin. Her personal experiences in local politics started in the early 1950s as the daughter of state’s attorney and chief judge of the Circuit Court for Baltimore City, Anselm Sodaro, now deceased. She may be reached at steph21093@verizon.net.