Recounting the Historical Hurricane of 1938

In this article written in 2021 by Eliott Grover ‘06, we remember the courage and resilience of the Tabor community.

Most hurricanes are slow. The average one lumbers forward around 12 miles per hour. The storm that was barreling towards Massachusetts on the afternoon of September 21, 1938, was speeding at 47. It would soon become the deadliest hurricane to hit New England––an infamous distinction it still holds––and nobody saw it coming.

Meteorologists predicted it would make landfall in Florida the previous day, but the storm proved fickle. Three-hundred-fifty miles east of Daytona Beach, it made a sweeping right turn and raced hungrily up the Atlantic coast. After devouring swaths of Long Island and Connecticut, it set its sights on southeastern Massachusetts. The tip of the storm, with sustained winds of 120 mph and gusts over 180, approached Marion a little before 4 p.m.

Behind Lillard Hall, Tabor students and faculty huddled together on the seawall, all eyes transfixed on the roiling waters of Sippican Harbor. Boats were bucking like broncos. Before long, many were uprooted from their moorings and swallowed by the storm.

At 4:30 p.m. the Lillard pier was ripped off its stanchions. Students and teachers ran fearlessly into the water to try and save the dock, but they were powerless against the elements. The waves crashed against the seawall, unleashing a blinding spray of salt, and the ocean continued to rise. At 5 p.m. it breached the wall and flooded the campus.

Less than an hour later, the first floor of Lillard was under six feet of water. Students swam through the courtyard as they raced to secure buildings and save property. Despite the harrowing conditions, the students comported themselves with discipline and courage. Dodging fallen trees and runaway boats, they broke into teams and worked industriously to protect campus and the town’s neighboring residents. They pushed cars out of flood zones, hauled furniture and paintings out of the Lillard living room, and rescued the inhabitants of submerged homes.

One merciful aspect of the storm’s ferocious speed was that the assault was over before sunset. By 7 p.m. the water started to recede, and the gusts subsided. Darkness spread over campus and the exhausted students finally had a moment to catch their breath. As the adrenaline wore off, the first lucid thought on every mind was the same—food.

They had been toiling on empty stomachs and dinner was an unlikely prospect. Power was down across campus and the Lillard dining facilities were in disarray. Just when it seemed like they would go to bed wet, cold, and hungry, members of the kitchen staff emerged with a tantalizing bounty. During the chaos, they had managed to save fruit cups, chicken, and pot roast. The boys were elated.

The entire community ate together. It was dark, the only light coming from gas lamps that gave the setting the feel of a campfire. Depleted from their work but buoyant in their camaraderie, they feverishly traded stories about the events of the day. A few hours later, everyone was fast asleep. 

“When morning finally came, it revealed a scene of terrible destruction,” The Log recounted in an article the following month. “Bits of wreckage were strewn all over the grounds, a Herreshoff [sailboat] lay near the north entrance of Lillard Hall, and both piers were wrecked.”

The rowing team had managed to save their best shells thanks to “intelligent action during the flood,” but two fours and an eight were destroyed. In the Hoyt gymnasium, which took almost nine feet of water, the wooden floor was warped and ruined. The Lillard kitchen was decimated. In total, damages amounted to $100,000, the equivalent of $2 million today. Miraculously, nobody was seriously hurt.

Everybody pitched into the rehabilitation work, and classes resumed the following Wednesday. Although “the Great New England Hurricane of 1938” was a tragic historical event, one that claimed an estimated 682 lives in the region, it brought out the best of the Tabor community.   

“Everything has its bright side and this disaster is no exception,” The Log article concluded. “The boys acted admirably.”

(Article written by Eliott Grover '06 in November 2021, Photos courtesy of Tabor's Archives.)