Mount St. Helens, the once serene, cone-shaped peak dominating the skyline in Southwest Washington, erupted with a force compared to hundreds of atomic bombs shortly after 8:30 a.m. on Sunday, May 18, 1980.
This was my birthday, and I was the program chairman for the Northwest Recovery Room Nurses Association’s Fourth annual seminar being held in Portland.
Mount St. Helens had been the center of attention in the Pacific Northwest since it awoke from its dormant sleep in March 1980. Volcano watching was the “sport of the year,” and almost overnight people were seen in
T-shirts saying “Where Were You When The Mountain Blew?”
Since Mt St Helens was only 50 miles to the north, we chose a small illustration depicting the mountain for the cover of our seminar program. It seemed fitting to do so.
When the telephone rang at the seminar on that Sunday morning, I could not believe the words I heard: “There has been a major eruption of Mount St Helens! Ash and debris has been blown 30,000 feet in the air! The I-5 freeway is closed northbound… major flooding is feared!”
Many of the nurses and doctors at the seminar were from Seattle, Tacoma,and other towns in the Puget Sound area. Others were from Yakima, Wenatchee, Spokane as well as towns in Idaho and Montana. How would they get home?
The keynote speaker at the 1980 seminar was Dr. Frank McKechnie of Winter Park, Fla. As we rushed him to the airport, I wondered if his flight would leave on time and what view he might have from the air. What a farewell following his first visit to the Pacific Northwest!
Nurses scattered… some to phones, others to their automobiles, others to the airport. No one thought of not reaching home by nightfall.
My husband and I left for home soon after the seminar adjourned at noon. We drove to a view area near our home. We watched with wonderment the monstrous black billowing clouds of ash rushing skyward. The magnitude of the eruption, the destruction in its path, was beyond comprehension!
The remainder of the day was spent glued to the TV in between my birthday dinner, ice cream and cake. I was safe, but my thoughts were about the many who were not, and I wondered what had happened to everyone after the seminar.
Telephone calls on Monday revealed that my sister and her family in Anaconda, Mont., were covered with volcanic ash, and our hometown had come to a standstill. Tuesday, I learned that the Spokane group was stranded in Portland, Several nurses from Tacoma reported it had taken eight hours to drive the 160 miles from Portland to Tacoma via the coastal route.
The Spokane group did not arrive home until Thursday. Nurses from Billings, Mont., arrived home on schedule by avoiding the Spokane area entirely, going to Missoula, Great Falls, and on to Billings ahead of the cloud of ash.
The Sunday holocaust will forever remain on my mind and the minds of many, including the 182 Recovery Room nurses in Portland on May 18, 1980: The Day The Mountain Blew!
