We often think of news people cold-heartedly “making a
record,” as they say, of our misery and tears, “pushing a microphone in my
face,” as one harried survivor of Hurricane Harvey put it, rather than lending
a helping hand, as any ordinary mortal might do.
Well then, here is a “man bites dog” story that almost
certainly will not make the evening news.
My wife’s sister Sandy, in whose marrow runs the blood of a
sturdy pioneer woman, lives quite alone in Naples, Florida, which last Sunday bore
the brunt of Hurricane Irma. During the storm’s course, many news outlets were
parked in Miami or West Palm Beach when the eye of the storm lingered over
Naples on a route to Fort Myers; Fox, CNN and ABC were reporting from Naples.
Sandy, not in the best of health, had taken necessary
precautions. She had food and water aplenty, an extra supply of oxygen tanks;
her house was hurricane proof, and one brave neighbor, Elvin, who had not high-tailed it – an American of
Turkish descent living across the street – could be called upon if things got
dicey. Even so, her sister Andree, my wife, tossed and turned all night in
anticipation of the phone call. Everyone whose loved ones are in danger fears
that call, which pierces the heart like a sword.
The phone rang in the morning – a call from her nephew,
Ernie, Sandy’s son. A slight pause, then: “My mother is OK, Aunty Onday.” Fear
fled, joy blossomed.
Worried about his mother, Ernie had called emergency
services in Naples. Could someone check
up on her? No luck, for obvious reasons. “We can check in twelve hours.”
Ernie put in a call to John, an associate with a major news
outlet then in Naples directing coverage.
The two had become friends over twenty years ago through their children,
and Ernie, like his Aunt, tenderly nurtures old friendships. Could John do something?
Fifteen minutes later, Ernie received a call. John’s car had been disabled by a
fallen tree, but he had rented a car and was on his way to Sandy’s house. He
would call again when he arrived, but his own phone’s battery was low, and the
rental car lacked a recharging point. Perhaps he could use Sandy’s phone, or
possibly her neighbor Elvin – like Sandy, a hold-out in a watery Alamo – might
have the use of a cell phone that worked.
The drive from John’s hotel room to Sandy’s house, normally
a half hour, took more than two hours. Trees were down everywhere. Power lines,
like black spaghetti, littered flooded streets. John was forced to detour over
lawns. Spotting a firetruck, he stopped to ask directions. Indispensable,
heroic first-responders were helping people in desperate need along the route. Midnight
was everywhere but for a house with its generator purring. John stopped for
directions from the householder, who obliged, pistol in hand.
On arrival, John found a safe spot for the rental, parked
the car, and waded across a street now roiling with thigh-deep rushing water,
towards Sandy’s house, shrouded in blackness, the light from his cell phone
showing the way. Only Sandy’s front door, he noticed, was damp. He rounded the
house, banged on the back door window, insistently calling out Sandy’s name. A
deathwatch wait, silence, and then a soft voice from inside answered,
confirming his reawakened hope. Later he would tell Ernie his most powerful
feeling was when he was banging on Sandy’s back window shouting out her name and
heard her faint voice responding to his call. “I will never forget that voice,”
he said, “or that feeling.”
Inside, he found all was well – no water damage. John’s
phone was dying, and there was no phone service at Sandy’s house. He would wade
across the street to see whether Elvin could look in on his neighbor once he
had left. Elvin did not brandish a gun at the stranger, and for some
inscrutable reason, he had cell phone service. For hours after, Elvin would
look in on Sandy, though the roof of his own house had suffered severe damage.
In times of trouble, we all depend on the kindness of neighbors and
friends.
Ernie will not forget John’s immediate response to his call
for help: “I’m gonna get to your mother, Ernie. She’s your mother.” Later, John
would tell others, “When Ernie asks you to go, you go. Why? Because he means
something to me. Anything for family.”
Mission accomplished.
The names above have
been changed. A valuable asset to his employers, “John,” modest by nature, did
not wish to become a prominent character in a news narrative.
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