What Can One Say?

After Hurricane Andrew ravaged Dade County in southern Florida in 1992, I was sent to Miami by the company I worked for to help out with the insurance claims effort down there. I arrived 4 days after the storm. Very quickly, the powers that be decided I had the chutzpah to handle field work at what we back then referred to as ground zero- Cutler Ridge, Princeton, Naranja and Homestead. I would be part of the first team to head out and set up shop in the parking lot of the remains of the Cutler Ridge Mall.

I was put up at a luxury hotel in Miami proper which suffered minimal damage. I had no idea what to expect that next morning when we were to head out at 5 am in an RV...I met with my group the night before and felt more confident about my ability to handle myself in what I knew would be a very traumatic and dangerous situation. I knew that I would see things that may upset me. I knew it was bad down in southern Dade but I was steeling myself mentally. I sensed that here was a chance for me to make a difference and really help people. I was nervous and excited to be a part of such an historic event, and proud to be one of the select few chosen from hundreds to be on the front line.

I had no idea - make that no FUCKING idea - what I was getting into.

That morning, on the 45 minute ride down to ground zero in the RV, my team leader Vince asked me how my stomach was.

"Fine," I replied.

"NO, I mean HOW IS YOUR STOMACH? Do you get queasy easily?"

"No," I answered, almost cocky. Because it was true- at that age, in my 20s, I just didn't have the stores of empathy that I do now at 40. I was in many respects, clueless to the plight of others. Until that point, I had lived in my bubble, consumed by my own existential life drama. It rarely occurred to me to put myself in another's shoes...until that day, anyway.

Curious, but trying to appear non-chalant, I glanced out the window as downed trees and rooftops with missing shingles made their way into view. Slowly but surely, the rooves appeared more stripped as we barrelled our way down the littered highway. As we moved on, the rooves all but disappeared except for a few skeletons. And then, then came the obliteration - miles and miles of desolate piles of rubble as far as the eye can see. Occasionally you'd see a palm tree standing, stripped of all fronds. Occasionally you'd see a large strip of wood spray painted : "Please help us." More often they'd read :"Looters will be shot."

We picked a space in the mall parking lot near Sears (which miraculously wasn't levelled), fairly close to a temporary National Guard field station. After setting up a table and putting up a sign to alert insureds as to our location, I settled in a seat under the RV's awning and had my first real chance to take in the scenery. Checkbook and pen in hand, I was ready.

Army and news helicopters hovered above - you heard them everywhere, all day long. It was loud and there were times you couldn't hear yourself speak. Remains of surrounding buildings were piles of matchsticks. Dust and small particles were constantly being kicked up by the wind they brought with them. There was a large pile of rubble- destroyed pieces of wood and building parts and car parts and tree limbs - about 20 yards away. National Guardsmen, locked and loaded, patrolled the lot in twos and threes. The air smelled of dampness, of moldy debris. People from McDonalds were busy setting up tents nearby - they were there for months, cooking food for anyone who was hungry for free. Dozens and dozens of porta-potties were lined up behind the Guard. Streetlights and street signs were gone, blown away to an undisclosed location. No poles/wires remained standing. A few lost dogs roamed the area, scavenging the polluted garbage piles for food.

As the hot Florida sun began its sweltering ascent into the heavy blue sky, people began to arrive. Like the officials in New Orleans now, our company had underestimated the impact of the storm. We thought we were prepared- we thought we were on top of things and doing all we could to reach out to our customer base - those who owned homes in South Dade.

We had no idea.

Adjusting claims that day quickly evolved into a check-writing campaign. As I sat in the impossibly heavy heat wondering when I'd be able to take a break and enjoy some of the AC in the RV, it dawned on me that the folks I was helping wouldn't enjoy any AC for quite some time. In fact, they wouldn't enjoy a meal nor a roof over their heads for the foreseeable future. A shower was out of the question. Medicine? Forget it. Gas? Their cars were gone or destroyed - no one was heading anywhere they couldn't walk. A good portion of the area residents decided to remain in the rotting shells of their roofless homes, guarding the few possessions they had left with rifles. Their decision was largely driven by the fact that no one was told where to go; no one knew where to go. There were no operating gas stations and no working ATMS nor open banks. Even if you had lots and lots of cash on-hand, it was only good for a $15 bag of ice if you were lucky enough to find a truck in your neighborhood. And that ice melted...quickly.

The stories these hot, dirty, smelly, sweaty, exhausted, traumatized, dehydrated people told me that day were gut-wrenching, sad, and frightening. Some came with bleeding gums (no way to brush your teeth), some had nothing to protect their clothing from their menstrual cycle. These were homeowners -people with some money and some means, not the economically disparaged. Andrew knew no class lines. The humanity was overwhelming. Yes, I was giving these people much-needed money to get by and rebuild, but somehow that wasn't enough. I could hook them up with a trailer and generator but for how long? Who would they find to rebuild their home from the ground up? How long would it be before they could shower? Before they could eat something other than McDonalds? There is no dignity in desperation.

It was only by the grace of adrenaline that I was able to finish that initial 16-hour work day with my stomach intact.

You see, before Andrew hit, the authorities mistakenly believed that south Dade would be a pretty safe place to evacuate TO, as initially the hurricane's eye was making a bee-line for downtown Miami. The storm turned left at the last minute, and all those people who thought they were safe and wouldn't bear the brunt of the storm actually did.

Andrew was a category five with insane straight winds of 165 in some places (I've long forgotten the actual data) and spawned dozens, if not nearly a hundred tornadoes. The eyewall shred an area from Naranja through Homestead. Literally shredded the landscape to render it more like a moonscape. There were no birds left. When the choppers left at sundown, the air was eerily silent.

After the initial looting (please don't judge all these people as criminals; many would have gladly paid money for that formula or those diapers had there been an open store within a 50 -mile radius). When your family is starving and no one is offering a place to go and there's nowhere to go, you do what you have to do. Yes, the looters who steal Nikes and stereos are beyond the lowest of the low. But many are just trying to survive the utter hell that their lives have become.

In South Dade, lawlessness was palpable; if not for the National Guard's presence I am not sure I would have reported back the next day. But I did, and remained there for 8 months trying my best to at least get money to the poor souls whose lives were destroyed. In doing so I met many amazing people and learned just how blessed I was to have what I did.

Two weeks later a coworker of mine was kidnapped at gunpoint from our site. A gentleman I was helping one day placed his gun on the table in front of me and pointedly advised me he'd like very much not to have to use it on (my company). Rumors were flying that the insurance companies were witholding funds from their insureds - and that couldn't be further from the truth. I have never met a more altruistic group of people - we really really wanted to help and handed out checks like candy - questioned very little. If you lived in a certain grid, you pretty much got your policy and then some...no questions asked at all. We didn't even go look at most of these properties. It was just too dangerous, and anyway- how would we find them?

Andrew's aftermath was horrific and dehumanizing and left me with indelible memories and life lessons. Words cannot describe the ugliness and destruction he wrought upon south Florida. I never believed it could happen again...or, be worse.

Take Andrew, add 30 feet of toxic cesspool water which doesn't go away, add murders and rapists and an urban setting and I can't even wrap my mind around it.

I truly can't.

I gave money today. Please do what you can too.

Comments

[susie]

Day, thanks for sharing your experience. I can't imagine working in such conditions for eight months, but I am so grateful that you did it.

It is so important to do what we can for these poor people who have lost everything.

[Janice]

I echo your sentiments.. what can one say? Our family was thankfully spared the devistation. My son lives in Mississippi, but far enough north to avoid the brunt. Only minor damage. A personal friend lost all in Slidel. Another friend is to arrive here in Oklahoma tonight with her husband and two small children to live with her Aunt.Her home was heavily damaged north of Gulfport. She said to me by phone... "you just have no idea". No, Thank God, I don't. Bless Them All.

[Dee]

Like you, my company also had me man our south Dade office in Kendall right after Andrew hit (transferred from an office in the central part of Dade county). We worked closely with FEMA to get cell phone towers back up and running and helped them coordinate their communications. It was surreal--tent cities, helicopters flying around the clock, looting, and just so much loss, so much devastation. It was hard to get your mind around it.

Last year, we thought we had it bad here with Hurricanes Frances and Jeanne. Yeah, there was a lot of damage but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't catastrophic. So we were without power for a while and gas and food were hard to come by for a few days...we had it good compared to the folks on our gulf coast now.

My heart goes out to them because even though my own loss wasn't so bad last year (our homeowner's paid out over $25K, replacing our roof, garage door, etc.), I remember all too well my feelings of complete helplessness, of wanting some semblance of normalcy back, of worry and fear, in the days before and after the storms hit. And in comparison, we here had it easy...and we were lucky it wasn't worse. I can't even begin to comprehend what they're going through. My thoughts are with all of them. How I hope they find the strength to go on, to rebuild, to have faith that it will get better (even thought it may get worse before doing so).

[wessel]

Thanks for writing this illuminating post. What a scary and life-changing experience. This hurricane has been a real eye-opener to me that in a moment, the ground under my feet could be gone, and total chaos and panic would be the order of the day. I just cannot imagine.

[Joy]

Thanks for sharing this experience. It is overwhelming as I sit here recently connected again with power and my sense of a manageable life. Desperation is truly awful and can ravage anyone--as I sat in the heat two days ago at eight months of pregnancy, my mind drifted to some ugly places. I encourage anyone to do what they can--every little bit will help.

[toffee]

Thank you for sharing your experience. I have been watch news / reading the paper today...my heart aches for all those suffering peope. It is so shocking and saddening esp in a country where we have so much but at the same time it is good to know about all those who are trying to help.