May 31, 2002, started as a usual Friday in Lawrenceville. Toward the top of 45th Street one could hear the eternal drone of St. Francis Hospital’s HVAC system mingled with songbirds and cawing crows from St. Mary Cemetery. Folks went shopping along Butler Street and Penn Avenue. They cut their grass, watched TV, talked with neighbors, and did a hundred other things that fill an ordinary day; however, this Friday would be anything but ordinary.
Things began to change a little before 7:00 p.m. About that time it became obvious that a storm was brewing. I remember closing the upstairs windows just as the storm burst. As I got the last window shut, a violent wind whipped the rain against the house. It came with such voracity that it seemed as though someone turned on ¬¬a fire hose ¬¬¬full blast against the bedroom window. The rain seemed to be falling horizontally rather than vertically or diagonally.¬¬ Sewers could not handle the force of incoming water, which gushed like a raging river down the street overflowing onto the sidewalks.
When the downpour stopped, I looked into the backyard to see if my peach trees were still standing. They were, but the garbage cans and rose bush were knocked flat. Mingled with the leaves and twigs that were scattered all over the grass lay the shattered ruins of my next-door neighbor’s roof. He and his family were out shopping when the storm hit. When they returned, I broke the news to him.
Electricity was out, so we could not know the full extent of the storm until it would come back on. Early news reports said that the storm was a “microburst.” Some said that it might have been a tornado. Further investigation showed that there was no evidence of any tornadoes. Since the storm stretched from Lawrenceville through Bloomfield, Shadyside, Point Breeze, Squirrel Hill, and all the way to Kennywood Park—where it destroyed a popular ride called the Whip and killed Stephanie Wilkerson—this downpour was deemed to be a macroburst, not a microburst. The difference is that a microburst is less than 2.5 miles wide, and a macroburst is more than that distance. The winds had reached 80 miles per hour. Hail accompanied the deluge.
The next morning as I walked up 45th Street I was greeted by an eerie silence. St. Francis Hospital had lost its electricity, and the patients had been evacuated. The drone of the ventilation system was absent. Gone, too, were the songbirds and the cawing crows. Even the ever-present car traffic was missing. Leaves, branches, and other debris were everywhere. In front of Cigna’s on Hatfield Street, Tony Cigna was making frantic calls to people that might have had freezer space. He had thousands of dollars worth of food and beer that would spoil, since his restaurant was without electricity.
People told me that a store gave away free popsicles and ice cream. Another Butler Street business hosted a hot dog roast for the people in the neighborhood the night before. Bands got together and played music to entertain the community, because there was no TV to watch.
The traffic lights were still not working on Saturday morning. Wherever you looked there was destruction. A trailer belonging to G. E. Capital blew into a fence. Telephone poles were leaning against houses. Windows were smashed from flying debris. A roof was torn from a house on Carnegie Street, and a tree covered a car on Stanton Avenue. The facades of the buildings being constructed on 51st Street were knocked flat. The Hanlon-Gregory plant along Butler Street was so badly damaged that it had to be demolished.
The roof and wall of Laurel Highland Theater, located at 91 McCandless Avenue in the old Whosoever Covenant Church, were blown into the street, smashing vehicles that were parked nearby. It, too, would eventually be demolished.
Allegheny Cemetery suffered enormous damage. More than 500 large trees were uprooted. You could see a ball of the roots from one tree sticking over the cemetery wall. A fallen tree smashed into the Soldier Memorial, wrecking one corner.
While the electricity was restored in a few hours for some, it took days for most of the afflicted region to regain power. All-in-all at least 54 people were injured throughout the county, and one was killed. Many of the injured were hurt by the hail. The cost of damage to vehicles and buildings, as well as clean-up and insurance claims, amounted to millions of dollars. It took months to clear away all of the wreckage.
The macroburst of 2002 has been the worst natural disaster to hit Lawrenceville so far during the new century. As the 15th anniversary of this catastrophic event approaches, let us hope that Mother Nature never again shows such fury.
Jude Wudarczyk has co-authored several books on Lawrenceville history as well as many articles that have appeared in local newsletters, websites, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, The Strip! magazine, and international journals.