In 1969, in Pass Christian, Mississippi, a group of people were preparing to have a
"hurricane party" in the face of a storm named Camille. Were they ignorant of
the dangers? Could they have been overconfident? Did they let their egos and pride
influence their decision? We'll never know.
What we do know is that the wind was howling outside the posh Richelieu Apartments when
Police Chief Jerry Peralta pulled up sometime after dark. Facing the Beach less than 250
feet from the surf, the apartments were directly in the line of danger. A man with a drink
in his hand came out to the second-floor balcony and waved. Peralta yelled up, "You
all need to clear out of here as quickly as you can. The storm's getting worse." But
as others joined the man on the balcony, they just laughed at Peralta's order to leave.
"This is my land," one of them yelled back. "If you want me off, you'll
have to arrest me."
Peralta didn't arrest anyone, but he wasn't able to persuade them to leave either. He
wrote down the names of the next of kin of the twenty or so people who gathered there to
party through the storm. They laughed as he took their names. They had been warned, but
they had no intention of leaving.
It was 10:15 p.m. when the front wall of the storm came ashore. Scientists clocked
Camille's wind speed at more than 205 miles-per-hour, the strongest on record. Raindrops
hit with the force of bullets, and waves off the Gulf Coast crested between twenty-two and
twenty-eight feet high.
News reports later showed that the worst damage came at the little settlement of
motels, go-go bars, and gambling houses known as Pass Christian, Mississippi, where some
twenty people were killed at a hurricane party in the Richelieu Apartments. Nothing was
left of that three-story structure but the foundation; the only survivor was a
five-year-old boy found clinging to a mattress the following day.
Qs Quarterly, Spring/Summer 1994, p. 10.