(Julie—Please file this under the heading Sh*t Richard Says)
BY: RICHARD GILBERT
This week, some old quotations came to mind as I watched a killer hurricane rip apart our third most populous state.
I was glued to The Weather Channel, hoping against hope; all the breathless reporting about a pending disaster on Florida’s southwest coast was the usual hype we’re used to on the cable networks. We were watching this from the relative safety of Iowa, where our top weather wish is that it stays moderate until the crops are in.
We have (had) a Florida winter getaway condo at a residential development known as Burnt Store Marina, which is part of incorporated Punta Gorda. There’s an Iowa enclave there, we’ve discovered. Allegiant has a direct flight from Des Moines to Punta Gorda, and an annual Iowa Potluck happens in the adjacent building’s party room, which generally draws a crowd of over 60 folks. At the last gathering, I wore a t-shirt saying: Is this heaven? No, it’s HyVee, and everyone got the joke.
Burnt Store Marina sets right on Charlotte Harbor, the second largest bight on the southwest side of the Peninsula. Hurricane Ian bore down after it devastated Cuba. On Wednesday a.m., l saw what no homeowner wants to see when following an approaching storm. There was Jim Cantore, The Weather Channel’s equivalent to Big Foot, doing a live shot from Punta Gorda, a short drive from our condo. Seeing Cantore, mic in hand, clad in his blue windbreaker, swaying in the wind gusts, was the harbinger of the worst yet to come. When Cantore shows up in your neighborhood, I told Julie we were pretty much screwed.
That afternoon the hurricane made its official U.S. landfall within about a three-wood shot from our condo.
Luckily, our building is still standing but needs repairs to the roof and some mechanicals—no water, no power (the generator didn’t work, so no elevators). Most importantly, none of our friends were killed, and no one was hurt. Again, we are fortunate. There is speculation that there could be as many as 100 dead or missing on Pine Island, just a few miles away from our place.
Old Sayings—
Here’s the first one. Not a saying exactly; it’s a verse from the New Testament (Matthew 7:24-26): “everyone who hears his words and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”
Author Carl Hiassen has been preaching a version of this verse for years. He was the Miami Herald columnist and best-selling author of funny novels with a continuous theme of over-developing the fragile (and sandy) Florida environment, mixing it with the very real specter of climate change. And while the latest massive hurricane was breaking news, it was not a big surprise. Building on the sand at the water’s edge does have consequences.
I do not mean to diminish the angst of those suffering significant losses. This is a painful time for so many.
The second saying is from J.R.R. Tolkien, author of Lord of the Rings:
“It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations if he happens to live near you.”
Hurricanes are live dragons, and all indications are they are getting bigger. Most of the several million of us who were personally impacted by the threat to our property and our lives could/should have calculated more about what to do when a live dragon shows up. Even the most prepared would probably tell you they weren’t prepared enough.
The third quote that came to mind as I watched the tv coverage was the line that even predates Shakespeare: It was an English proverb dating to mid 16th century: “It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.”
I thought of that while watching Florida Republican Governor Ron DeSantis, who is up for re-election in November, a race pollsters say he is likely to win. He has been giving a polished podium performance (try saying that fast three times). It’s a make-or-break opportunity to rise above politics and show leadership that merits re-election. Some sort of misstep could help his opponent, but it would have to be big to give Charlie Crist a shot. Crist is hamstrung because criticism of his opponent’s crisis handling will reek of politics. The first thing politicians want to avoid is looking like politicians.
Still, one is only as good as the current news cycle.
DeSantis, who is being touted as a presidential contender in 2024, has up until now been getting ink by out-Trumping Trump. Now, as he is seen on tv competently directing the state’s resources to deal with the aftermath of Ian, I am sure even the most MAGA diehard can’t help but contrast how their great idol would perform. Think back to the former president’s behavior when he went to supposedly comfort victims of Hurricane Maria that hit Puerto Rico in 2018. Trump tossed rolls of paper towels to people who had just lost their homes. (It didn’t make for good TV).
Suppose DeSantis avoids any missteps as Florida digs out. In that case, DeSantis can inherit the MAGA crowd along with other conservatives who see someone who might be a competent heir to a recycled Trump. Watch for DeSantis at the Iowa State Fair next year.
Some voters have more extended memory. They won’t forget that the Florida governor tricked a bunch of Venezuelan migrants into boarding planes that deported them to Massachusetts just a few weeks ago. Now his state needs all the help it can get to clear up the debris. Regarding the stunt to transport migrant workers to New England, maybe DeSantis would like a Mulligan.
Do you know about the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative?
Here are the members of the Iowa Writers Collaborative in alphabetical order.
Laura Belin: Iowa Politics with Laura Belin
Doug Burns: The Iowa Mercury
Dave Busiek: Dave Busiek on Media
Art Cullen: Art Cullen’s Notebook
Suzanna de Baca Dispatches from the Heartland
Debra Engle: A Whole New World
Julie Gammack: Julie Gammack’s Iowa Potluck
Beth Hoffman: In the Dirt
Dana James: New Black Iowa
Robert Leonard: Deep Midwest: Politics and Culture
Chuck Offenburger: Iowa Boy Chuck Offenburger
Mary Swander: Mary Swander’s Buggy Land
Ed Tibbetts: Along the Mississippi
Iowa Writers Collaborative: Iowa Writers Collaborative
Richard
rwgilbert@me.com
In 2007 I moved to Iowa from my waterfront home in NE St. Pete. I always figured the “Big One” would eventually wipe me out, yet they keep taking a heavy slice out counties to the south of Manatee County. It will happen to Pinellas County, Hillsborough too. My gut wretched watching the scrape away damage done. And the sense of complete disbelief of residence on the coast and inland. I tell everyone never go to Orlando.
In August 2020 Cedar Rapids had its horrible Derecho. I incurred severe damage to the attic of my condo, eventually causing the ceilings in my master bedroom and dining room to sag. There was six inches of standing water and mold one year still one year after the Derecho I had to have ceilings replaced and walls and floors painted and carpeted. It was only a two-month inconvenience for me for 50 minutes of 120 mph winds. And, as a seasoned sailor, I could tell those were the highest winds outside my condo. A small branch tore right through, and bent, the iron railing on my balcony. Another broke a window. The ceiling lifted and dropped for a good 20 minutes of the storm.
Down the street and around the corner was the brick and mortar Tires Plus building that was featured in the news across the country. The men had just piled into the bathroom, and, after the storm, they had to wait to be rescued. The entire building was demolished with the exception of that bathroom. They just recently reopened with their new building.
The beautiful canopy that covered the streets of Cedar Rapids left it looking forlorn. Sixty percent of the trees, many of them 100 plus years of old oaks, perished. And today there are still many trees that have not been cut and removed. Old forests no longer show the same beauty.
At least the wildlife has finally returned - deer, turkeys, skunks, and the other woodland creatures are now repopulating. The first year after the storm there were no birds. Not one. No chirping. It was eerily quiet. New nests are in the remaining trees and the City of Cedar Rapids is grinding stumps and replanting new trees that I will not see flourishing in my lifetime.
I still want to go back to Florida…
Richard,
You forgot to point out that De Santos as a young congressman voted against giving FEMA assistance to eastern shore states when hurricane Sandy hit them. Hmm. Jim Dale