The Stormy Farewell for Rosemarie

March on Marco has always been windy. Beach kites are placed in storefront windows, sailors shorten sails, and fisher-folk swear that the wind is not their friend, but when it came to the Big Blow in March of 1993, and the death of Rosemarie Dehaime, not a living soul could have expected that hurricane force winds would batter our beaches, islands, and lives, for three days and four nights. 

Rosemarie was a Marco Islander. She was beloved on Marco and everywhere Rosemarie turned, she shined the good light of her life. Everyone loved Rosemarie, and when she became the director of the Marco Island Chamber of Commerce, she excelled in another part of her personality and generosity. When Rosemarie departed, it was as if the weather, the wind, and even the Gulf of Mexico, rebelled in anguish and fought with an onslaught unsurpassed in March.

Most cold fronts throughout the winter season arrive from the northwest. The weather systems begin when frigid Arctic air rushes over Canada and move downward into the Midwestern states. Gradually the cold weather loses strength before sweeping down through the Deep South and arriving on the Florida peninsula. Usually, when mild cold fronts arrive, chilly and windy conditions stall out around Tampa Bay and leave Marco, Goodland, and the Isles of Capri in the warm embrace of the tropics.

When the farewell for Rosemarie began, the weather did not approach from the Northwest as usual, and our islands were no longer under the protection of the prevailing winds. Mother Nature’s fury, instead, came racing out of the west to drive hundreds of miles of the Gulf of Mexico into breaking waves that were monsters attacking our beach.

As islanders, however, we were not without warning. During the days before the wicked weather arrived from the west, howling wind and blizzard conditions crushed the Great Smoky Mountains and spring break hikers were lost in the Appalachians. Heavy snow-covered Atlanta, and by the time islanders heard the news and learned of Rosemarie’s passing, airlines were canceling flights, vessels were to remain in port, and by nightfall of the first evening, scudding gray clouds and gale force winds obliterated any chance of a tropical sunset.

By midnight, the wind was a howling fiend testing every corner of every roof and hoping to find a weakness. For anyone taking shelter on the islands, a good night’s sleep was impossible. When dawn finally arrived, a strange amber glow quickly changed into the dreaded red of the famous fable: Red sky in morning sailor take warning. 

Beneath the eerie dawn, almost every swimming pool cage had streaming and shredded screening, and dockside boats were toys in the angry waves that were relentless even in the canals. By mid-morning, everyone on our windswept coast was wondering when the unprecedented weather would end.

At Marco Beach, gale warnings were up and the rock solid and salty wind was straight out of the west at 68 miles-per-hour. Every few minutes powerful gusts were howling ashore at well over hurricane strength. The waves driven before the wind were behemoth, ignoring all boundaries, and crashing into many of the swimming pools of our beachside condominiums. The entire length of Marco Beach was underwater.

Any flag left on a flagpole was in tatters and through the grapevine of rumors and local knowledge, every islander knew that to drive over the Marco Bridge might be an episode in disaster. Any wind chime remaining exposed to the tempest was only a memory.

Before the second night of the maelstrom, everyone was exhausted. The wind was tugging at every object and there was no sign of relief. During the second night the lack of sleep began to take a toll and muffled voices under the eaves was the wind conjuring worries that were hard to ignore.

On the morning of the third day, the wind was screaming like an angry choir, but it was time for Rosemarie’s funeral. One by one, cars converged on St. Mark’s Church, but there was more than one automotive door that was caught by the wind and torn from the hands of drivers and passengers.

Inside the sanctuary, islanders hurriedly filed in to pay their respects. Before finding a seat however, there were smiles in fond memory of Rosemarie, and compliments for her sense of humor. During the eulogy and service, upturned eyes looked to the ceiling of the church when the wind outside howled around the steeple and insisted upon intruding.

“I guess Rosemarie wasn’t ready to go,” was a comment heard by many. “It’s not often in March that Marco stops for a memorial,” was another mention in the list of many who came to pay their respects and say farewell.

After the service was over, an exodus to the cars began as falling palm fronds finally gave way and joined earlier casualties of leaves and branches that scuttled across the parking lot to find a refuge from the storm.

After attending the funeral service, and on the third night of the tempest, a newly wed Beach Boy and Girl climbed into bed in the bedroom of the new house they moved into after their wedding; to the house that took all the money in the world—to them. Both were exhausted and settled into their refuge to escape another night of the wind and the storm that still kept coming.

While the newlyweds slept, the howling wind from the gulf came ashore with a great gust and tore away an 80-foot section of the next-door neighbor’s roof. The flying section of roof that was lifted by the strength of a hurricane, flew over the newlyweds and the new house, and then over the power lines to land in an empty field a hundred yards away.

When the fourth morning dawned, the wind was gone but not forgotten and so was the western side of the neighbor’s home. Rosemarie and the tempest of her farewell, however, will always be a living memory.

Tom Williams is a Marco Islander and the author of two books: “Lost and Found” and “Surrounded by Thunder - The Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket Men.” Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.