"It Can't Happen Here"

"It Can't Happen Here"

The news this weekend is saturated with public officials calming urging people to evacuate in the path of Hurricane Irene. I've lived on the Gulf Coast all my life and am familiar with the drill: do we go this time, or do we stay? When we lived in Houston, the obvious answer always was to stay; we were 50 miles inland at 50 feet of elevation, so the winds were extremely unlikely to be truly dangerous and there was no realistic chance of storm surge damage. It's no picnic to suffer through downed trees, weeks of power outages, and widespread roof leaks combined with shortages in both workers and construction materials, but it's often a sensible choice to stay behind and try to keep the damage under control in person. The deadly Hurricane Rita travesty in 2005 (100 killed) was an object lesson in how much worse an unnecessary evacuation can be than the actual effects of the storm.

Now we live within a couple of miles of the coast at only 17 feet of elevation. We take evacuation notices very seriously, even though we know that an evacuation almost certainly will turn out to be needless. The problem, of course, is that a hurricane causes bad but tolerable damage within a very broad path -- and potentially catastrophic damage within a narrow and unpredictable ribbon. By the time you know where ground zero is going to be, it's far too late to evacuate. Even so, we think very seriously about staying behind unless a storm is quite large and very likely to make a direct hit. The storm shutters go up, and then we hesitate until the last hour that we can be sure the roads won't be under water, in this very flat stretch of Gulf Coast where you have to go quite far inland before achieving any noticeable elevation. We make reservations several days in advance at an inland hotel that will accept numerous large and small animals. In six years here, we've bugged out once, aborted one bug-out at the last minute, and put up storm shutters a couple more times just in case.

Here's garden-variety hurricane damage that you'd like to stick around and fix up yourself while you guard your house and your neighborhood against looting:

Here's utter destruction that left a lot of people realizing in their last moments of life that they'd made a horrible mistake (that one house left standing used to be in the middle of a neighborhood before Ike hit the beach town of Gilchrist):

Interviews with people who barely survived the worst part of a hurricane show a set of consistent reasons why they didn't evacuate when there was still time:

(1) They couldn't bear to leave their animals behind but hadn't made adequate advance arrangements to take them along.

(2) They had weathered storms before, though the simple good luck of not being in the direct path of the worst damage, which drops off dramatically away from the eye-wall. They couldn't believe they'd be right in the shotgun barrel this time.

(3) They didn't fully take in the knowledge of how fast the water comes up in a storm surge and how quickly it makes the evacuation routes impassable. In the 1900 Galveston storm, the water was said to rise four feet in four minutes.

(4) They couldn't comprehend the night-and-day difference between pretty high winds that most buildings will survive handily, on the one hand, and a storm surge and debris wall that would come through their neighborhoods like a giant bulldozer.

None of these things are easy to take seriously if you live in an area where hurricanes are rare. People move around all the time and don't necessarily have family members or good friends with vivid memories of the last disaster from a generation back. I worry about the East Coast, where hurricanes hit just seldom enough to leave the population vulnerable in its attitudes. New York City is likely to be a real mess, flooded and bereft of power and transportation. Their public officials seem to be doing an excellent job of preparation, but that's an awful lot of people packed into a small area, very few of whom really understand in their bones what could be coming. But it's not a very big storm nor packing a huge storm surge, so with luck things won't be too awful.

The truth is, I love hurricanes as long as no one's getting killed. Maggie's Farm quotes Walker Percy on the subject today:

It was his impression that not just he but other people felt better in hurricanes . . . . The hurricane blew away the sad, noxious particles which befoul the sorrowful old Eastern sky and Midge no longer felt obliged to keep her face stiff. They were able to talk. It was best of all when the hurricane’s eye came with its so-called ominous stillness. It was not ominous. Everything was yellow and still and charged up with value.