Hurricanes and Other Storms Unite Locals

As this column was written last week, Hurricane Bill was mulling around the tropical Atlantic Ocean with a well-defined eye and winds over 135 mph.
Bill was the first cyclonic action of the 2009 hurricane season to make it above tropical storm status. A thousand miles or so away from Cape May County shores seems a lot, but over warm ocean water, “it’s really just a hoot and a holler,” as an old West Virginian liked to say.
For those who are marking their calendars for things to do, Cape May County freeholders are hosting a Hurricane Preparedness seminar Sept. 22 at the County Administration Building, assuming, that is, that Bill hasn’t made 4 Moore Road in Crest Haven beachfront property.
Nothing cements Cape May County residents to communities more than hurricanes and other weather oddities.
Until you’ve endured high water and wind, and possibly lost a roof or car to a downed tree in a hurricane, you have nothing to commiserate with others in barber shops or doctors’ waiting rooms.
Hurricanes are the thing that melts hearts of natives, and makes them somewhat more forgiving of “outsiders.”
Locals, for instance, don’t drive through high salt water, because they know it will wreak havoc on their vehicle’s brakes. “Outsiders” thrill to the opportunity to speed through flooded roads, seeing how large a wave they can make, or how big a splash they can cause.
Locals know too well the big smiles and laughter of the “outsider” will turn to a frown when he or she faces the bill to replace the brakes, muffler and other rusty under parts of a vehicle.
Locals know the wind-whipped ocean has a knack for breaking down front walls and bashing oceanfront homes. They know well-established sand dunes are there for more than aesthetic reasons, like to protect barrier islands from the angry sea.
“Outsiders” have yet to learn that valuable lesson. They will. Time is a great teacher. Ma Nature may seem slow in coming, but when she is angered, well, remember, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
A Category 4 hurricane, like Bill, would change the face of Cape May County forever. Remember what the March 1962 storm did? Locals remember this county as “before the storm” and “after the storm.”
There was a Sea Isle City boardwalk with all sorts of shops rides, not a paved promenade. There was a grand Cape May Convention Hall and boardwalk. There were seaside structures in Cape May Point that fell into the ocean. There were wonderful sand dunes at Stone Harbor’s north end.
After that winter storm that had no name, just high tide upon high tide, flooding and pelting wind and waves, the county was forever changed.
Home construction has changed in the wake of other hurricanes, but many island homes, built before some of the new codes, will sustain considerable damage. Should a Category 3 or higher storm strike here, it would be much the same as a low-level nuclear bomb exploding.
Everyone who experiences major storms in the Garden State’s southern tip becomes a member of a unique group. Membership is exclusive to those who swap tales about what they were doing during and after the storm.
Some who survived the March 1962 storm may recall looking out second story windows and seeing water all around their homes. They cannot forget seeing nearby dwelling engulfed in flames. Firefighters were powerless to get through flooded streets to those flaming structures.
Such tales guarantee a local a sacred rank among peers. Those who escaped will never enjoy the same status, regardless of how much they have or ever hope to attain.
If you did not live through “the storm,” you are, and will forever be from somewhere else.
We have a county Office of Emergency Management that was absent from the earlier storm days. There are well-laid plans to evacuate the sick and disabled. There are plans to shelter the homeless in offshore schools and other large dwellings.
There are evacuation routes out of this peninsula, marked by road signs that no one seems to read.
Since hurricanes strike this county so infrequently, I can imagine what a looming Hurricane Bill would mean to local emergency officials. Should an evacuation order be given, I would bet 75 percent of island homeowners would refuse to leave.
They’ll play hard-head, and snub rescuers, “I’ve heard that song before, I’ll jus stay here and ride out the storm.”
Perhaps the only way to convince those folks, and we know there would be legion of them, to depart would be to have them fill out “Next of Kin notifications forms.”
I can hear the conversations right now, “OK, sir, if it’s your decision not to leave before high tide tonight, I must ask that you fill out this form so we can notify your next of kin. Once the storm sets in, we cannot come back to rescue you. Please, fill out the form. I have other residents to notify.”
With so many National Guard troops deployed to the Middle East, will we have adequate resources to call upon to help us here, if hurricanes as strong as Bill sweep across our shore?
If a storm blows across and the worst happens, we will find out just how brave we all can be. A younger generation of locals will be empowered by tales of what life was like before and after “the storm.”
The cycle of life in this county will start anew, hopefully wiser and with greater respect for Mother Nature than we had.