Hurricane Hilda made landfall in St. Mary Parish on Oct. 3, 1964.

The storm first struck Cuba just prior to daybreak on Sept. 29, before entering the Gulf of Mexico later that morning. It would intensify rapidly, reaching peak wind strength of up to 150 miles per hour by Oct. 1.

Thankfully, Hilda weakened to a Category 2 hurricane by the time it reached Louisiana (just southeast of Burns Point) on Oct. 3, with sustained winds of 105 miles per hour. The eye passed over Franklin at around 6:10 p.m. Vermilion, Iberia, St. Mary and lower St. Martin parishes took the brunt of Hilda’s hurricane force winds, with gusts of up to 120 miles per hour reported.

Hurricane force wind gusts were also felt further north across Lafayette and northern St. Martin parishes. The Lafayette airport reported a peak sustained wind of 69 mph.

In Erath, a 125-foot-tall water tower collapsed onto the Erath City Hall, which Civil Defense personnel were using. Eight people were killed inside. 

Storm surge across Iberia and St. Mary parishes reached as high as six feet, with readings of up to 10 feet measured across Terrebonne parish and at Point au Fer Reef Lighthouse near Eugene Island just off the mouth of the Atchafalaya River. Rainfall of 10 to 17 inches caused considerable flooding across South Central and Southeast Louisiana, with the highest reported total of 17.71 inches northwest of Jeanerette.

Hilda’s eight reported tornadoes were the storm’s deadliest aspect. At 6:30 a.m. on Oct. 3, one of the strongest and deadliest tropical cyclone tornadoes ever recorded in Louisiana occurred in Larose, killing 22 people and injuring 165 others. 

The storm caused 38 deaths and $125 million in damage.

“As the storm continued to rage outside, the winds growing even stronger, the ghostly howling coupled with the eerie reflections of our flashlights and lanterns in the window panes reminded us that when we’d first moved into our house, someone had told us it was haunted,” wrote Teresa Bates for The Daily Iberian, recalling her first hurricane after her family moved to south Louisiana. “But the only haunting presence was named Hilda. What we wouldn’t know until the following morning was what Hilda was doing to our neighborhood. Like an army of angry poltergeists, she was laying a wide swath of destruction across most of Acadiana.” 

Information for this story came from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and The Daily Iberian.

This piece first ran in the Oct. 3, 2024 edition of LaPolitics Weekly. Wish you could have read it then? Subscribe today!