Battered Galveston ready to rebuild after Ike

updated 5:40 p.m. ET Sept. 20, 2008

GALVESTON, Texas - The eight-pointed star on the wall outside Trey Click's office marks it as a "survivor." The squat, orange building withstood the ravages of the 1900 hurricane, which nearly flattened this barrier island city and still stands as the nation's deadliest natural disaster.

Click was born on the island. His great-grandparents were among the thousands who ignored warnings that a massive hurricane was pushing a wall of water toward Galveston, and still made it out alive. Last week, thousands stayed behind as Hurricane Ike battered the city with 110 mph winds and a 12-foot storm surge, chewing up landmarks, leaving hundreds homeless and preventing others who fled from returning to the stricken city.

Ike was another tragedy for a place that's had more than its share. But to Click, who publishes a monthly entertainment paper called "The Parrot," the Category 2 storm is just another hiccup in his city's long, slow rebirth.

"Galveston's going to survive because it's an island and it's on the water, and people want to be on the water," Click said as he aired out his muddy, moldering office. "It's going to be a different Galveston at the other side of this, whenever that is."

Galveston, population 57,000, has always wanted to be a glamorous beach resort, but somehow never quite made it.

'Most trying, horrible thing'
In the early 19th century, the island was headquarters for the pirate Jean Lafitte, who had been expelled from New Orleans despite his role in winning the War of 1812. A cannon mounted on the upper story of his mansion, "Maison Rouge," gave him command of Galveston Bay.

As the 20th century dawned, Galveston's future looked boundless.

Blessed with the natural harbor of Galveston Bay, the island became one of the nation's largest cotton ports, rivaling New Orleans. It was a popular bathing spot that boasted more than a dozen newspapers. And with 37,000 residents, it was Texas' largest city — far and away eclipsing the grubby oil town of Houston.

All that changed on Sept. 8, 1900.

Early that morning, winds gusting at an estimated 125 mph pushed a wall of water 15 feet high across the unprotected city. Houses were splintered, and the slate shingles flying from the roofs "became whirling scimitars . . . eviscerating men and horses," author Erik Larson wrote in the book "Isaac's Storm."

"I have passed through the most trying, horrible thing in my life," one survivor wrote to his wife. More than 6,000 people died — at least twice as many as perished during the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

Low-rent Riviera
Between 1902 and 1904, a 17-foot-high seawall rose along the Gulf. When another catastrophic storm hit the city in 1915, fewer than a dozen people perished.

The city rebuilt behind its protective armor. But Galveston never regained its former prominence, its reputation that of a kind of low-rent Riviera.

From the '30s to the '50s, one writer observed, Galveston was "every bit as thoroughly controlled by the Mob as Atlantic City." Much of that alleged activity revolved around the famed Balinese Room, a nightclub and casino that hosted the likes of Frank Sinatra, Bob Hope, Jack Benny and the Marx Brothers.

The nightclub stood at the end of a 600-foot pier, just beyond the flood wall. As the stories go, by the time raiding police officers made it to the end, the doorman had tipped off the revelers, and roulette wheels were flipped over to reveal ordinary looking dining tables.

The Balinese Room didn't survive Ike.

A couple of years ago, the city hired a marketing firm to help improve Galveston's image. In interviews, tourists and even locals repeatedly cited "dirty beaches" and the town's "unclean feel."

The firm's report advised: "Flaunt the uniqueness of your island. Your beaches and island are not dirty — they are colored with stories, history and culture."

Ann Leocadi has fond memories of coming to Galveston as a child from Houston and staying at the old Jack Tar Motel, a working-class getaway on Seawall Boulevard, where her family enjoyed the swimming pool and beach, then ate at Gaido's, a popular seafood restaurant.

"Growing up, that's what I liked," says Leocadi, a prison social worker who now lives within sight of her old playground.

This March, the 15-story tower Emerald by the Sea — with green-tinted windows and unit prices ranging from $375,000 to $1.5 million — opened where Jack Tar once stood, and survived Ike almost unscathed.

Galveston was slow to follow its Gulf Coast neighbors in embracing the high-rise luxury condominium boom, but it's making up for lost time. "It's inevitable," Jim Gaines, research economist for the Real Estate Center at Texas A&M University, told the local newspaper. "You can see it coming."

The well-off and the poor coexist in Galveston, which has a poverty rate of 22 percent, just behind that of New Orleans.

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