Small, localized fires in October of 1947 morphed into one statewide disaster – and a wake-up call for unprepared, ill-equipped towns.
By ELAINE FREDERICK KILLELEA
Sixty-five years ago, the fall of 1947 started off so
glorious no one could believe it. October was like midsummer. We had
just moved back to Maine and had finally signed the papers on a
century-old summer cottage on the outskirts of Prouts Neck, so with no
heating system in place, we were grateful for each warm day as we
prepared to winterize the place. Swimming in October seemed a wonderful
treat. If we had heard of global warming, this weather would have made
believers out of us. Each day was sunny and dry.
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