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“Monster hurricane!” Irma is coming and right for us.
As I waited in line in the local supermarket for my ration of bottled water I began to understand what it could mean if we were ever under threat of a nuclear attack.
Escape? Forget it. Where? You are never prepared for these things. You watch the hurricane lumber across the Atlantic, growing daily in intensity. Once you realize that this monster storm is really coming for you, the ‘excitement’ drains out of you as you realize: “ this is no drill!” I could see people in the supermarket barely concealing their panic, as they nervously eyed the exits. For the first time in my life I knew we were going to lose the house and, maybe, our lives.
Anticipating nature’s onslaught, masses of people were fleeing the state, clogging the highways like those marching worker ants on Naked and Afraid, camping in airports for the last flights out of Florida. We were stuck and Irma was marching to our doorstep. Suddenly, I knew how those early Texans felt in the Alamo. No exit and no quarter! We left our house and hunkered down in my 90-year old mother-in-law’s secure, well-built apartment on a hospital electric grid in suburban Orlando, Florida. Even with a bit more security at her place, I had visions of covering my wife and her 90-year-old ‘granny’ over a mattress with my body.
And the local weather folks didn’t help. Around midnight, two broadcast meteorologists are happily revving up the audience like the preparation for some comedy sitcom: “And we’ve projected 100 MPH plus winds every hour for the next six…and we’re just getting started folks!” Please spare me your meteorological glee. “Folks, we are here to keep you safe.” How does that work? You are in your ‘bunker’ safe-room studio and we are literally “twisting in the wind” out here! “ Just expect some roofs flying off, trees traveling like missiles, massive storm surges and major damage to life and property.” “ But keep listening and watching, even though you will probably lose power.” “ But we are here to keep you safe.” Right!
Well, the storm did come and the worst did not happen. But when we returned to our house we found large oak trees fallen all over our yard like giant splintered bowling pins, downed power lines and thousands of branches strewn everywhere. The neighborhood looked like a battleground. As I gazed upon the total mess that was once a neat and tidy neighborhood, a sweating, middle-aged Hispanic man, dressed in a tee shirt, jeans and a red bandanna around his neck, approached me: “Senior, I can take care of all these trees and your yard.” I looked at him standing in front of a small, group of Hispanic men from 18-50 years-old, dressed in eclectic work clothes, bandannas, and hats with broadening smiles as they waved to me.
“Hmm..where are you all from?” “We come from Houston.” “We follow the work for our families” “OK.” “Do you have a card?” “Yes.” “Let me think about it.” My first thought was: “ I don’t know these people. They’re not local.” And ..can I really trust them?” “They are Hispanic.” I did not say this to myself but this was my prejudiced thinking. And I am damned ashamed to admit it. Here I was a Jew who had always felt like an outsider like I didn’t belong- stereotyping a group of people. After 67 years and being born in this country I still don’t feel like I completely belong. And I am sure there are plenty of ‘righteous’ people who would tell me so. How must these people feel? How could I be so judgemental?
Just as the sun rose the next day I noticed that the Hispanic crew started working across the street. And they worked from morning to night. I don’t think I ever saw men work so long and hard with so much joy. I walked across the street and hired the team on the spot. They arrived at our house before dawn and worked into the night for two days straight. As I watched them work I saw the precision and professionalism of their expertise. And I thought how small I was and how big they were. As I paid the work boss more than he quoted he thanked me as he proudly displayed a picture of his daughter at her graduation from medical school-thanks to the nobility of his Hispanic sweat.
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Photo courtesy of author