It’s something we never want to experience ever again. The news began reporting the appearance of yet another tropical disturbance, then storm, then soon, hurricane, with the name Rita. On Monday night after it was discovered that it was bearing down on Texas, particularly Galveston, our son-in-law called a little after my bedtime. (And here’s a note of advice for you dads of daughters. Once your daughter begins seriously seeing a young man and you know it’s going that way of marriage, sell or give away your large vehicles that can be used for moving!) Eric asked if I could go with my Suburban to Galveston to pack up their most precious belongings. What can you tell the boy? Of course, Eric we’ll be there Tuesday night. Nellie and I decided it would be best for her to help Saraí with the packing and she could stay with her the night and travel with her to San Marcos. Eric being on the force at Galveston PD had to stay and work the storm. I asked Matthew, our college ministry coordinator if he wanted to come along our adventure. He agreed and after work we started off for Galveston. We packed their belongings and we asked Saraí if she didn’t want to come with us. She said she wanted to, but having a quiz and homework due the next day at U of H she couldn’t. Eric asked if Matthew and I wanted to spend the night. We declined and started back with their stuff and arrived at the church at around 3:30 a.m.
Wednesday, the nightmare began. Eric, Saraí, and Nellie started off for the university. The plan was for them to return back to the island after the last class (7 p.m.). The traffic said otherwise. They traveled thirteen miles in two hours. (For your information, Interstate Highway 45 begins in Galveston and mile marker 1 is one mile outside the city limits). While waiting and trying to exit, Eric called the university and they informed them that classes had been cancelled as of twelve noon. Thanks for sharing. Saraí called the campus police and they confirmed the same. About an hour later they were able to get off the traffic headed into Houston and began the trek back to Galveston. They eventually got back to the apartment and packed, said their goodbyes and started their way to San Marcos. Asking dad which route would be best, Dad thought highway 6 might be the least congested. Saraí thought the Beltway. The Beltway was closed and traffic was at a standstill. Long story short: It took them 26 hours of stop and barely go, traffic to reach the outskirts of Houston. I called them at 2:30 a.m. to see if perhaps they were already in Luling and was shocked to hear they were just still inside the Houston city limits. I called again at 5 and they hadn’t moved much. I felt guilty going to shower and enjoy my breakfast while I knew my wife and daughter were in a car running out of gas, with no air conditioning, no water, no place to use their restroom. Their conversations with me revealed that folks were not in very good moods and showed this in their lack of courtesy in driving. The entrance ramps were closed onto I-45 and police officers warned that to get back on would take them 90 miles. Their weariness was evident on the telephone, which we were neglecting to notice was running quickly out of power.
On Thursday, I made the decision to drive towards them to find them, take them water, take over the wheel and bring them back. I asked Kit Tomlinson if he would accompany me on this journey. Kit agreed and said we could travel best if we used his Pathfinder in case we needed to go off-road. We bought the water here in town thinking quite naively that within minutes we would find them and bring them cool refreshment and snacks. The girls had not eaten since leaving Galveston. We drove out on Highway 80 and saw that traffic coming into town was a bit heavier than normal. We also saw the incoming sign that gave instructions to evacuees on which direction to head with the implication that they should not stop here. We drove onto Luling and found that the entrance onto eastbound 10 was closed. The gentleman from TX DOT said we could try using Hwy 90 or the feeders. The traffic coming on westbound ten seemed to be moving fast. This was encouraging. We called Nellie and she said they hadn’t moved much. Using hwy 90 and the feeders we reached what we thought was the end of our eastbound jaunt, mile marker 725 near the Brazos River. The feeder onto ten goes under the bridge and back westward. We pulled off the road and stopped there and sought shade near the bridges. We were in constant communication with Nellie and Saraí, mostly text messages (for some strange reason all circuits were busy?), and they were not making progress. Our mathematician daughter calculated at the rate they were traveling they would travel 25 miles in fourteen and a half hours. Not an acceptable answer! Thank God Kit carries a Texas map with some farm road marked on there and after studying it carefully, and this after about five hours of waiting along that road, decides we can travel up using some of those small roads and see about getting to where they were. Saraí believed they were still in the Houston city limits approaching Katy. They were naming hotels and car dealerships, but we wanted mile markers but they weren’t traveling fast enough to get to any!
We drove off from San Marcos that morning with a full tank of gas. Thank God the convenience store had a special on bottled water and we got four bottles. We quickly finished our water and were thankful for short cooling breezes that would occasionally make their way to where we were. There were cars stopped all along the interstate and on the feeder. Kit offered to help several as did several for us, and no one seemed to need anything. One man, who will forever claim the prize for quick thinking under fire, was driving an older model Mercedes who had idled in Houston traffic for countless hours and once the traffic started moving faster, the acceleration chain had broken and now he could only idle. He found a piece of wire and tried to fix it that way, but couldn’t. He finally got a strap from his luggage and as Kit provided the color commentary in our vehicle said, “No way, don’t tell me that dude is going to use that strap to hand accelerate his car! He is!” And after about three hours of sitting there he was moving with his pulling on this strap running from under his hood, through his open passenger window! And off he roared! Kit and I applauded and gave him the thumbs up sign. We prayed for him and others who found themselves stranded or near stranded along this hot interstate highway.
Kit’s new plan took us to Katy after we got Saraí’s last message of her battery going quickly and that they had exited off onto Hwy 99 and didn’t know what to do. They were running out of gas, hadn’t gone to the bathroom since 7 a.m. that morning and were thirsty, hot, and hungry. Nothing like putting the pressure on Dad and Hubby. With both their cell phones dead the adventure changed into a more somber realization. With God knows how many cars trying to make their way out of Houston, how would we find them? I had that text message of Hwy 99 and from what Saraí had told us earlier it didn’t correspond to their location. I still had some battery left and I called Eric and told him that we couldn’t find them. I asked if he could pull police strings and have the Katy PD or the Texas DPS find them. I forgot to mention that Nellie was due for surgery at what I thought was 6 a.m. on Friday. Kit had labeled this journey a medical emergency. And it was now becoming one. I feared for Nellie and Saraí becoming dehydrated. I feared for their finding gas as we had discovered for ourselves that there was no gas to be found along the roads, even on those small farm roads. Where people believed there was gas there were lines that rivaled those on the interstate. We had parked under one of the I-10 bridges and walked up and down the feeder to see if we could see them. And all this time, we were seeing vans with sliding doors open, babies only in diapers, people all red from heat, and so many cars with their hoods up. We could only imagine what the damage was being done to the bodies of the humanity trying to make their way to safety. We prayed that all had water and food to keep them going. Kit and I had run out of the water we had bought for ourselves, having thought nothing of bringing along an ice chest to fill with ice and water for others. We hadn’t even thought about bringing extra gasoline in case we or Nellie needed.
Having used business 90 and feeders, we found ourselves on a Dead End feeder near a creek and several vehicles trying to get back onto I-10. The prospect of becoming a part of a parking lot did not appeal to us, so Kit used his flashers and “medical emergency” thinking to exit from the freeway after crossing the creek and onto a road that seemed like rancher only used. We went up this “road” to a Love’s Truck stop at mile marker 737 and saw the carnival setting of tired, hungry, gas-seekers. We asked the police officer at the corner of this intersection if he knew how we could get to Hwy 99. He told us we had already passed it four miles earlier. We drove up and down that highway once we found it and decided to go back to find gas. At certain points Kit would say, I know some people where we can spend the night. Not an option would reply the concerned husband. We need to find them and get them home now. Not adding to our peace of mind was the horrible service that my cell phone provider (and that’s a funny word for something almost nonexistent) has in some areas. And when I did get a spurt of service, I’d get the obnoxious tone indicating or the voice saying, “All circuits are busy right now, please try your call again later.”
Finally a voice message from Eric simply said, “They’re at mile marker 737 at a Love’s Truck Stop.” This voice message reached us as we’re headed away from there and in a situation of finding gas for ourselves. We didn’t want to get in line with the lines already formed at the stations where I believe only the promise of gas coming sometime after six hours was keeping those people there. We had about a quarter of a tank left. Kit estimated we had maybe fifty miles left with that amount of gas. In conversations with my oldest daughter who was at our home now, she kept asking if we had found Mom and Saraí and where we were. At one point we’re in a long line of traffic heading to Bellville. Nellie tells us the parents of one of her coworkers live there and they have a farm where we could spend the night. Not an option says I, we need to get Mom to surgery in the morning. I ask her to ask the parents if they know where we can find gasoline or if they have some for their farm equipment. Most of this was being done through text messaging for that seemed to be the only way my cell phone worked best. And even then these messages had to be two lines long only. One message said the grandmother of the coworker had owned a gas tank for all the equipment but she thought granny had sold it. But she would check. The line we were in was not moving. Kit suggested we go back and try another route, trying to head back to Columbus.
Out of the blue Kit’s phone rings and it is our church’s lay leader, Kelly Allison. I’m hearing only Kit’s reactions to this conversation and he says, “No way, you have gas, where are you?” It seemed something prompted Kelley to round up all the gas cans he could and to fill them with gasoline. He knew his family from Houston would be needing gas and so with six five-gallon cans filled with gas, he knew he could serve somebody. And thank God, Whose hand I know touched Kelly, that somebody could be us. Kelly was hiding out in Columbus, moving around from location to location. It was now dark, but people needing gasoline could smell the gas coming from the back of Kelly’s truck. He sought refuge first at the First Baptist Church, but people started circling around him and his son. They moved again. Kit said we would go back and find Nellie and Saraí then head to Columbus. He believed we had enough gas to drive to the Love’s gas station and then back to Columbus through the side roads and feeders.
We knew just how to get to the Love’s for the side street fed from the I-10 feeder right into Hwy 90. So from this side street we drove into what seemed like the parking lot for a carnival or rock concert. People from all walks of life, mostly stressed out, were parked around the gas pumps and side parking lots. Of course the store was closed out of fear for what angered, frustrated motorists would do at finding no gas and very little else. We saw old people, babies, dogs, cars with hoods up, people trying to make the best of the situation with picnics and parties. Once we parked I prayed asking God to lead me right to my wife and daughter. Nellie had said in the times we had talked, that Saraí said, “Everything will be all right once Daddy gets here, right Mommy?” It had been now about 24 hours since they had gone to the bathroom or had cool water to drink. The little water they had was almost finished and about as hot as the radiator in their car. I knew I couldn’t give up the search and that I had to find my wife and little girl. (Okay, she’s married, but when do they ever really grow up?). I went through the parking lot to my right and saw all kinds of cars and trucks. I was looking for a silver Honda Civic. This parking lot seemed to grow bigger as I walked along, especially because I wasn’t seeing who I wanted to see. I came to the end of the side parking and started walking towards the store, nada. I came to the end of that parking and started along the side facing the interstate. I finally saw my bride standing outside the car and I thanked the Lord. I ran up to her and hugged her and I looked inside and Saraí was just waking up and she starting crying, “Daddy, I knew you’d come for us.” She came out and we hugged and kissed and I started dialing Kit and Kit said, “I see you all, I’m coming right at you.”
They started sharing their story about how they had exited off onto Hwy 99 and didn’t where to find Hwy 90; they were almost completely out of gas and so coasted to this Love truck stop in hopes of finding gas. Saraí drove right up to a police officer and asked where they could find gas, the man said there was no gas anywhere. She then asked where she could find a phone and what was surely God touching this officer’s heart, he hands Saraí his cell phone and she called Eric. Kit may testify that I had said some cranky things including that I didn’t know how I would ever be contacted by phone but the one thing I hoped and prayed for was that my daughter would know her husband’s phone number by heart. She did. She was the one who called Eric after I had asked him to get an APB out for their car. Katy PD and the Texas DPS both had one out, which Eric cancelled right away. Kit moved Saraí’s car closer to where we had parked, while the three of us walked to the Pathfinder. We gave them the water we had bought early in the morning which because they had been mostly under the seat were a bit cooler than theirs had been. We had brought them snacks and these were not even touched. What they both ate were the peanut butter crackers. We knew that at midnight Nellie could no longer eat nor drink anything. Our daughter Nellie had managed to find the surgeon’s home number and warned her that her mom might be dehydrated in the morning, but the doctor said they would check that once she was in. I dialed Eric’s phone from my phone and then his mom; all had been frantic about this episode.
We decided we could not leave this new car in this setting. We would drive to Brookshire and see if there was gas there. We knew of course, there would not be. We came to a gas station where the line was not too big and that was because there was no gas. The promises of tankers going up and down I-10 with gasoline never materialized. The promises of state trucks with bottled water coming up and down I-10 were never realized, at least not by my family. We had driven up and down this portion of Hwy 90 that we knew exactly where the Brookshire police department was, so we left the car right across the street. For good measure I left my business card on the dashboard in hopes that the tow truck driver, if he was to come, would be a Christian or a UM and leave the car alone. We transferred their luggage to the Pathfinder and drove on to Columbus using the feeder along I-10. God’s hand was on us and with us, for the traffic on the feeder was almost nonexistent. At the first exit to Columbus there was a bottleneck because an 18 wheeler was challenged by a Cadillac to see who was the stronger of the two vehicles as the big rig exited off the freeway and the Caddy didn’t want to yield, but using his flashers and driving skills, Kit maneuvered right past this gridlock onto the exit. With keen eyes we saw a street called Old Hwy 90 which took us way past another line of cars back onto the highway and soon we got Kelly on the phone and found his new location immediately across the street from the Columbus Volunteer Fire Department. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, ten gallons of gasoline made their way from two of the cans into our vehicle. Several folks passed by and glanced in our direction wondering if their eyes weren’t failing them, but wasn’t that gasoline being transferred between vehicles? Kelly said he would move as soon as we left and keep trying to find a safe place to park while their family arrived from Houston.
We drove all of Hwy 90 back into Luling. No real traffic to speak of. Some idiots behind the wheel at small town intersections would decide that the left turn lane would be the perfect additional lane to right side gas lines. But quick maneuvering got us around them. We drove into San Marcos at 3:38 a.m. Somewhere along the drive, Kit was tired and stopped so I could take the wheel. I dreamed I drove I four-on-the-floor Pathfinder from that stop right to the church where I had left my car, thanking God all the way!
We arrived home, and I asked Nellie if her surgery was at six. No, she said, it’s not until eleven and they want me there by nine. Nine sounded great so I set the alarm for eight. At 7:33 the hospital called and said, “We want your wife here as soon as she can get here!” Great. Off we went.
Nellie could have slept through the operation without the assistance of anesthesia, but she doesn’t even remember getting the sleepy medicine. Dear sister Pat Ray came to “hold the pastor’s hand” and kept me company for a good part of the time I was waiting for any news about the surgery. Rev. Merlin Starr, the hospital chaplain came and prayed with Nellie prior to the surgery and came to check on me as well. These two were very comforting to me. The surgery was a success and my three daughters came to be with me when they could and we all got to see Mom when she was taken to her room. Her having a private room made it possible for me to stay, I won’t say sleep there, for every hour on the hour the light would come on and the vital signs were checked. By eleven o’clock we were home. After lunch, Saraí asked if we could get her car back sometime. Now is as good as even and we left at 1:00 p.m. We found the traffic in Luling backed up for ten miles (we were right by the sign!). This would have been a good time to turn back, but I knew the back roads!
We had her car home, safe and sound, by 7 p.m.
God’s hand was on us and with us. To God be the glory, great things He has done!
