We knew it was coming. The whole country knew. But there were some who chose to “ride it out.’ And I think, without exception, those who rode it out wished to high heavens that they’d made a different choice.
I recall having attended church the evening before the storm rolled in, and offering a prayer request that “those poor people in the path of Hurricane Andrew would be spared, or at the very least would avoid damage to life and limb.” For whatever reason, it never occurred to me that before 24 hours transpired, I would find myself in the company of those poor people.
As I recall, my phone rang after I returned from church that night, and my section sergeant informed me that I had less than an hour to report to the armory. And as you might imagine, my mobilization with the Army National Guard automatically canceled any, and all of my plans for the beginning of my normal civilian work week;… (since I was no longer a civilian).
A hundred other privates, non-commissioned officers, and officers heeded the call, and we assembled on the drill hall floor. As a Staff Sergeant I found myself on the right side of 1st Platoon, 1st Squad. Our Battery Commander informed us that we had been called to state active duty for what was thought, (at the time) to be no more than “a few days.” The formation was “short and sweet.” We were ordered to report back the next morning, and in the meantime to “get your stuff together.
Pt. 2
As the captain dismissed the formation, he encouraged each section to check out their vehicles, and to make sure their respective rolling equipment was in running order. SFC Hoehne, my section chief, and I walked out into the darkened motor pool, and sought out our jeep, or truck, or whatever we drove at the time. (At this juncture, I have forgotten).
Bob checked the oil, I cranked the engine, and we checked the belts and tires, and everything seemed to be “A-Okay” and “Good to go.”
As I drove home that night, I think I was in the state of shock, since a decade and a half in the National Guard had never required anything more from me than a weekend a month, and two weeks in the Summer.
As our convoy neared Miami, and subsequently Homestead, I began to wonder “what all the fuss was about.” Houses and trees along the interstate looked intact. Not a sign of damage, anywhere. Until, suddenly, it was all around us.
I suppose we were twenty miles from Homestead, and it was as if an angry giant had taken a drunken stroll through the countryside. Trees were broken like proverbial matchsticks. Houses of every size, color and variety were battered and beaten. Windows blown out. Demolished walls. Missing roofs. As we soon discovered, virtually no structure within 20 miles of the epicenter had been spared some level of damage.
I no longer needed any convincing.
Pt. 3
The nearer the convoy approached our intermediate destination, the more devastated the environment, and the “anxiouser” I felt about our mission. We finally rolled into,… well, honestly I don’t remember. At any rate, this location proved to be temporary mobilization site, and after a few hours, we were redirected to, (of all places)… The Metro Zoo.
Even on the grounds of the zoo, in which one would expect lavish landscaping, trees and bushes and flowers galore, we were greeted by the most dismal array of flora that you can possibly imagine.
Palm trees stripped bare of their fronds. Oak trees standing like stark skeletons in the desert. Hibiscus and carnations and rose bushes utterly deprived of their flowers and any hint of green.
Homes and businesses mere shells of themselves. Windows blown in. Collapsed roofs. Rubble in the parking lots. Ornamental shrubs so badly mauled that no account could be given of their genus.
And it occurred to me that only as the result of a natural disaster could that which I was seeing before me been made possible; since in Florida the loss and replacement of leaves, (with the exception of oak trees) is so subtle as to be almost non-apparent to the naked eye.
And as the trees, and bushes, shrubs and flowers around me had been so desperately impacted, it became all too apparent how desperately the lack of vibrant color to which I had grown accustomed exercised its handiwork on my visual sensibilities. For as the hours gave way to days, and the days gave way to weeks, an unaccustomed fatigue overwhelmed my physiology and would not turn me loose.
Pt. 4
Forty days and forty nights. Rather fitting given the dispensation of the biblical flood, and the parallel season during which dry land appeared and the animals went forth from the ark. All the more fitting that our little troop had previously set up camp on the grounds of a zoo.
As we walked across the parking lot chatting and reminiscing, a bald eagle drifted over our heads, flew the length of our compound, and disappeared on the horizon. Tears again filled our eyes. The tour was done, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.
We were back, but we would never be the same. We could only be the better for that which we had seen, that which we had experienced, and for those brave citizens we had met.
We had returned to our natural environment. The air seemed fresher. The flowers more colorful. The sky a bit bluer. Oh, how thankful we were on the other side of the storm.
And what of those we left behind? Their lives were budding again. Just as surely as the trees of their city began to bud anew; after being so rudely stripped of their leaves.
(to be continued)
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 67. Copyright pending
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