NEW ORLEANS – As Hurricane Ivan closed in with 135 mph winds and frightening intensity, this flood-prone city scrambled yesterday to get people out of harm’s way, putting the frail and elderly in the cavernous Louisiana Superdome and urging others to move to higher floors in tall buildings.

Ivan made a slight turn north on a path that could bring it ashore early today at the Alabama-Mississippi line, near Mobile, Ala., but forecasters said everyone from New Orleans to the Panhandle should be worried.

Even the tiniest adjustment in the storm track could change where Ivan comes ashore by hundreds of miles.

The effects from Ivan could be seen across the Gulf Coast several hours before the storm’s expected arrival: The churning surf, ominous clouds, swaying traffic lights, and escalating winds were all the reminders some people needed to take cover.

The storm also claimed its first deaths in America, spinning off tornadoes that killed two people in Panama City, Fla. Others were trapped inside their damaged homes in the Panhandle city.

“We have a report from a deputy that it looks like a war zone,” said sheriff’s spokeswoman Ruth Sasser.

Hurricane-force winds extended out 105 miles from the Category 4 storm, meaning a large swath of the Gulf Coast could get slammed with a storm surge of 10 to 16 feet and up to 15 inches of rain.

After reaching land, Ivan threatened to stall over the Southeast and southern Appalachians, with a potential for as much as 20 inches of rain.

Ivan’s monster waves – some up to 25 feet – were already destroying homes along the Florida coast. Twelve foot waves boomed ashore at Gulf Shores, Ala., eroding the beach. A buoy about 300 miles south of Panama City registered waves over 34 feet high.

“We’re leaving today. All this is going under,” surfer Chuck Myers said along the beach at Gulf Shores. “We surfed it all day yesterday. It was glorious.”

Late yesterday, Ivan was centered about 125 miles south of the Alabama coast and was moving north at 14 mph. The storm has killed at least 70 people in all.

Of the roughly 2 million who fled the path of the storm, often in bumper-to-bumper caravans on highways turned into one-way evacuation routes, 1.2 million were from greater New Orleans, a city particularly vulnerable to hurricanes because it sits below sea level, between the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain.

In Louisiana, a cancer patient and an 80-year-old nursing home resident died after they evacuated and were caught in hours-long traffic jams.

Ivan’s 11th-hour turn may have spared this bowl-shaped city a direct hit, but officials warned that the levees and pumping stations that normally hold back the water may not be enough to protect the city.

“If we turn up dead tomorrow, it’s my fault,” said Jane Allinder, who stayed stubbornly behind at her daughter’s French Quarter doll shop to keep an eye on her cat.

Police began clearing people off the streets, enforcing a 2 p.m. curfew.

“I think it’s safe to say we will have flooding in this city,” said Mayor Ray Nagin. He contradicted a statement from his emergency preparedness director that the city needed at least 10,000 body bags to handle possible drowning victims.

Thousands of tourists were believed stranded in New Orleans, along with 100,000 mostly inner-city residents without cars.

The mayor advised them to resort to “vertical evacuations,” suggesting they take shelter in buildings taller than two stories. If that is not possible, he said, they should go into an attic and take equipment with them that would let allow them to cut through the roof and get out.

Rick Pfeifer, a salesman from Washougal, Wash., was stuck in New Orleans with no flights out and no cars to rent after arriving earlier this week for a National Safety Congress convention. His storm rations included as many chips, pretzels, and bottled water as he could buy.

“I’m going to ride it out in the high ground area of the city,” he said wryly. “Fourth floor in a good hotel, with a good bar.”

Frail, elderly, and sick residents unable to get out were moved to the 72,000-seat Louisiana Superdome, where 200 cots supplanted the dome’s usual tenant, the New Orleans Saints.

LuLinda Williams wept after dropping off her bedridden grandmother, who is on oxygen, at the Superdome. Only one family member was allowed to stay with each patient, so Williams left her daughter.

“I thought they’d let the family stay with them,” Ms. Williams said. “Where are the rest of us supposed to go now? How are we supposed to know she’s okay?”

Mr. Nagin later said the dome would also be opened as a one-night last resort for able-bodied storm refugees. The last time that happened, during Hurricane Georges in 1998, the 14,000 refugees nearly did more damage than the storm itself. Countless televisions, seat cushions, and bar stools were stolen, and workers spent months cleaning graffiti off the walls.

As the storm drew near, streets along Mississippi’s Gulf Coast were all but deserted, and homes and businesses, including its 12 floating casinos, were boarded up.

Only patrol cars and an occasional luggage-packed car or van could be seen passing Gulfport’s “Welcome to the Gulf Coast” billboard. Winds howled across Louisiana’s bayous with enough force to topple trees and knock out power.

Majestic live oaks that line many Mobile streets swayed in gusting winds as the port city of some 200,000 braced for a hurricane expected to be even more destructive than Frederic, which killed five people 25 years ago.

Mobile bar owner Lori Hunter said her business would remain closed “until the landlord takes the boards down off the windows.”

“We’re staying,” she said. “I’m from New York. This is my first one. Terrorists scare me, but not a hurricane.”