It’s a funny old dog, this life we muddle through. Ike has devastated southeastern Texas, and it looks like there will be work there, but my Louisiana gig has ended, as it was specifically related to the evacuation and not long term cleanup. So rather than hang around the Gulf waiting for the phone to ring, I elected to slip back to Virginia, where, after a 12 hour drive I stopped in Bristol, Tennessee/Virginia, a town with a state line literally bisecting it. Enjoying a beer at the Stateline Bar, where I’m told you can straddle the border while sipping an adult beverage, my cell rang and I was asked if I wanted to go to New Mexico, a place to which some 12 hours earlier I had been 800 miles closer. But as it turns out I’m being “saved” for a larger challenge in Texas, and so for the moment I am back in the Old Dominion.
#####
Seeing pictures of Galveston Island, where I was living less than 3 weeks ago, is sobering even for a crusty cynic. The demolished Joe’s Crab Shack, a favorite CNN backdrop, was 50 ft. from my door. The hotel on stilts over the Gulf that provided background for many cable TV news shots was but a quarter mile away. I passed it on my early morning jogs and wondered about its fate in the event of a direct hit. It appears to have survived, although the roadway from Seawall Blvd. to its front door is gone. It’s virtually certain that my former accommodation is now flotsam bobbing in the Gulf.
#####
I had been on ice for so long I was beginning to feel like a fish. In the disaster response business, having able bodies (and in a pinch the not so able) close at hand and ready to roll is coin of the realm. And so when Gustav finally departed Louisiana and most of the residents were returned to their place of origin, I was told to “stand down but stand by” in anticipation of Ike, and thus until recently I remained parked in Baton Rouge. As I am not a first responder (I like to think of myself as a close second), I’m usually not deployed until the initial chaos abates. And so I sat ployed, awaiting marching orders.
At some point I will likely be heading to Texas, but everything depends on the companies I work with having contracts in the devastated areas. Many agreements are negotiated in advance, and “pre-positioned.” But for an intruder as rambunctious as Ike, there is always a scramble to put boots on the ground, and I am working to see that my steel toes are included.
In the meantime I watched My Cousin Vinnie for perhaps the 3rd time and continue my search for quality in film. I am currently watching Deep Impact, about to see the earth destroyed unless Robert Duvall can save us all. He ruined one of my favorite restaurants in The Plains, VA, so he owes me one. Postscript: Although the ending is a bit fuzzy, I gather that much of Europe, Africa, and the North American east coast were devastated, but California was spared. Hollywood lives!
#####
I prefer to patronize what are referred to as “budget” hotels (Ramada, Days Inn, Comfort Inn, etc), as I rarely use such establishments for other than slumber, and I find it unsettling to pay $150 and up to rent a mattress for 6-7 hours. The exception being long deployments where the addition of kitchen facilities (small fridge, microwave, stove, and a few utensils) is appreciated after a 13-14 hour shift, when the closest eatery is a smoky sports bar ass-to-tincup with good ole boys leaking testosterone.
It appears that the North American budget hotel industry has been taken over by former residents of the Indian subcontinent. I have been in a half dozen such establishments in the past 6 months, and all but one featured Asian management. This is solely an observation without prejudicial overtones, although I do note a tendency toward hyperactivity that makes the housekeeping staff edgy.
And perhaps I am subliminally biased, as a Mr. Patel recently ordered me from his establishment in Mississippi after I questioned his “special, preferred” $75 rate when I could book the same room on the Internet for $55, a 25+% reduction. I had never been banished from a public accommodation before, but when his agitation reached the level of threatening gestures and hi-octave shrieks, I decided that mediation would be inadvisable and negotiation fruitless. Wither the spirit of Gandhi?
#####
While driving north through Tennessee the radio treated me to John Lennon’s landmark song Imagine where I was asked, among other things to ”Imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can…” What I wonder is whether John wrote those immortal words in The Dakota, his $3 million Manhattan apartment, or perhaps on his private jet sipping champagne with Yoko. It’s striking how the entertainment elite with their staggering wealth are so anxious to lecture those beneath on the evils of commercialism and sloth. Kind of like Al Gore traveling 3,000 miles in a private jet to give a 45 minute speech on the dangers of global warming and conspicuous consumption. I’ll compare my carbon footprint to yours anytime, Al.
#####
This is not a happy time for private enterprise. The global left is giddy over America’s financial woes, and such bedfellows as Iran’s Ahmadinejad, American Trade Unions, and much of Western Europe are jostling to be first in the queue to denounce the excesses and rejoice in the fall of the “fat cats.” What seems to escape these “nattering nabobs of negativity” (thank you Spiro Agnew) is that the bulk of union pension funds are invested in the stock market, Europe will surely suffer more deeply in the long run (although they accept pain more readily than North Americans), and the more off-shore entities and foreign governments acquire
U. S. assets (considered a horror by many), the more they have a vested interest in America’s recovery. When the fat cats hurt the lesser cats also feel the pain.
But for the time being the “America last” crowd, as Ronald Reagan dubbed them, both within and beyond our shores, are having quite a party. Smirks and self-satisfied sneers abound, and we will surely see increased regulation as a result. Some is warranted and appropriate, but it will certainly be too much, too late. As in Sarbanes-Oxley, the much heralded “business reform” legislation whose ultimate end is driving more and more global commerce to Europe, Dubai, Singapore, etc., and away from American shores.
Liberals always want more regulation, more government. Conservatives crave the minimum. The ideal is somewhere in the middle, and the trick is finding that balance. We almost always overcorrect. Something about escaped horses and barn doors belatedly secured.
#####
An interesting quote has emerged from the campaign coverage: ”Don’t vote for a president who promises to keep you from being stupid.” I think that might exclude one and all of the current field.
…the adventure continues…
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
LOUISIANA 002
I promised myself when I started this Blog that I would not become a slave to it. As it happens, I don’t write when I am overwhelmed (understandable) or underwhelmed (questionable); but only it seems when whelmed, and that occurs less and less in my world. But when unencumbered, there is some motivation when encumbrance appears on the horizon. And so, as Ike looms, I move to button up Gustav.
#####
As is often the case, the goal was deceptively simple, its execution less so. Evacuate tens of thousands of Louisiana residents from the most vulnerable Gulf Coast Parishes and return them safely after Gustav. Transportation assets included over 700 coach buses, supplemented with school buses driven by National Guardsmen, paratransit vans, ambulances, Amtrak trains and both military and commercial aircraft, including 2 Ryan Air 737s, even though Ryan Air has no North American routes! Did they ferry from Dublin, I wonder?
I found myself in the Louisiana State Emergency Operations Center (EOC), a cavernous room in the State Homeland Security HQ. Some 600 souls working 12-15 hour shifts (I pulled a mind-bending 22 hour marathon at the height of the storm), including the Governor’s Office, DHS/FEMA, military (National Guard, Army Corps of Engineers), NGOs, political liaison (State House and Senate), Public Affairs, and at the core of the operation, 16 ESF stations. These are Essential Support Functions, originally designed by FEMA to cover critical needs in time of disaster.
My role in this monster tapestry is ESF-1, transportation. I work with the Louisiana state Department of Transportation and Development, arranging, documenting, monitoring, and troubleshooting the evacuation. By pure happenstance my station was located directly beside a makeshift podium, and several days ago I looked up to see Gov. Bobby Jindal readying a short “pump-up” speech to the assemblage. Several hours later I came face-to-face with DHS Secretary Chertoff delivering similar inspirational words. As he finished, my training as a White House Advance Man kicked in. I caught his eye and said “Thank You Mr. Secretary.” He turned to me, smiled, shook my hand, pivoted, and departed the room, leaving 600 people asking who the hell was the guy he shook hands with.
Shortly thereafter I was transferred to the graveyard (6pm – 6am) shift, and was therefore between the sheets 24 hours later when The Prez did his bit. No great loss, as I gather the crush to be photographed with The Man got a bit crazy. I have long believed that I was the only federal official in our nation’s history to have not a single grinning handshake photograph adorn my office wall.
Repatriation was more challenging than the evacuation, for while time pressure was not a factor, the evacuees were spread over substantial geography (6 neighboring states and northern Louisiana) and often not in the best of moods after enduring long days and uncomfortable nights days in makeshift shelters with overflowing toilets and no air conditioning. But return they did, and by most accounts the effort was judged a success. Then Ike appeared on the horizon.
The challenge now is to convince those returned to harm’s way to flee anew. Even though Ike promises to be stronger than Gus, and could well have a significant impact on southwest Louisiana, anecdotal evidence suggests that many, particularly the poor and infirmed, i.e. the most vulnerable, will resist. Not a good sign.
#####
For years, decades actually, I have proclaimed that my favorite movie, the only one I would recommend, was Picnic, starring Kim Novak and William Holden. Factoring out the Tom Mix and Gene Autry matinees featured each Saturday at the Clifton cinema, where I spent my 25 cent allowance on admission (20 cents) and a Good&Plenty or the 50’s equivalent of Skittles, I haven’t been in movie houses more than a dozen times in my life, provided, of course, that aircraft do not qualify as theatres.
Something has changed, and it is surely me rather than cinematography. After years of believing that virtually all Hollywood products and the vast majority of foreign efforts are drivel unworthy of critique or even condemnation, I am discovering that there is indeed quality, however rare, in film. Within the past week I have been treated to Potter (Beatrix, not the kid) and Secondhand Lions, two outstanding stories of love the way is should be, not what it has become.
These are films I might have once been embarrassed to promote, and now enthusiastically champion. One might suggest that age or sentimentality are encroaching; perhaps, but I would rather believe quality discovered. Of course neither received Oscars. Each lacked the requisite brutality, vulgarity, and banality so prized in Hollywood.
#####
Ike threatens the very spot I inhabited less than 2 weeks ago. A favorite cable news shot location (with the hotel built on stilts out in the Gulf in the background) is less than 2 blocks from my recent Galveston digs. Ike may well be the 08 Katrina, and I am grateful to be out of harm’s way.
I’ll likely be heading out of here soon, exactly where, TBD
The adventure continues…
#####
As is often the case, the goal was deceptively simple, its execution less so. Evacuate tens of thousands of Louisiana residents from the most vulnerable Gulf Coast Parishes and return them safely after Gustav. Transportation assets included over 700 coach buses, supplemented with school buses driven by National Guardsmen, paratransit vans, ambulances, Amtrak trains and both military and commercial aircraft, including 2 Ryan Air 737s, even though Ryan Air has no North American routes! Did they ferry from Dublin, I wonder?
I found myself in the Louisiana State Emergency Operations Center (EOC), a cavernous room in the State Homeland Security HQ. Some 600 souls working 12-15 hour shifts (I pulled a mind-bending 22 hour marathon at the height of the storm), including the Governor’s Office, DHS/FEMA, military (National Guard, Army Corps of Engineers), NGOs, political liaison (State House and Senate), Public Affairs, and at the core of the operation, 16 ESF stations. These are Essential Support Functions, originally designed by FEMA to cover critical needs in time of disaster.
My role in this monster tapestry is ESF-1, transportation. I work with the Louisiana state Department of Transportation and Development, arranging, documenting, monitoring, and troubleshooting the evacuation. By pure happenstance my station was located directly beside a makeshift podium, and several days ago I looked up to see Gov. Bobby Jindal readying a short “pump-up” speech to the assemblage. Several hours later I came face-to-face with DHS Secretary Chertoff delivering similar inspirational words. As he finished, my training as a White House Advance Man kicked in. I caught his eye and said “Thank You Mr. Secretary.” He turned to me, smiled, shook my hand, pivoted, and departed the room, leaving 600 people asking who the hell was the guy he shook hands with.
Shortly thereafter I was transferred to the graveyard (6pm – 6am) shift, and was therefore between the sheets 24 hours later when The Prez did his bit. No great loss, as I gather the crush to be photographed with The Man got a bit crazy. I have long believed that I was the only federal official in our nation’s history to have not a single grinning handshake photograph adorn my office wall.
Repatriation was more challenging than the evacuation, for while time pressure was not a factor, the evacuees were spread over substantial geography (6 neighboring states and northern Louisiana) and often not in the best of moods after enduring long days and uncomfortable nights days in makeshift shelters with overflowing toilets and no air conditioning. But return they did, and by most accounts the effort was judged a success. Then Ike appeared on the horizon.
The challenge now is to convince those returned to harm’s way to flee anew. Even though Ike promises to be stronger than Gus, and could well have a significant impact on southwest Louisiana, anecdotal evidence suggests that many, particularly the poor and infirmed, i.e. the most vulnerable, will resist. Not a good sign.
#####
For years, decades actually, I have proclaimed that my favorite movie, the only one I would recommend, was Picnic, starring Kim Novak and William Holden. Factoring out the Tom Mix and Gene Autry matinees featured each Saturday at the Clifton cinema, where I spent my 25 cent allowance on admission (20 cents) and a Good&Plenty or the 50’s equivalent of Skittles, I haven’t been in movie houses more than a dozen times in my life, provided, of course, that aircraft do not qualify as theatres.
Something has changed, and it is surely me rather than cinematography. After years of believing that virtually all Hollywood products and the vast majority of foreign efforts are drivel unworthy of critique or even condemnation, I am discovering that there is indeed quality, however rare, in film. Within the past week I have been treated to Potter (Beatrix, not the kid) and Secondhand Lions, two outstanding stories of love the way is should be, not what it has become.
These are films I might have once been embarrassed to promote, and now enthusiastically champion. One might suggest that age or sentimentality are encroaching; perhaps, but I would rather believe quality discovered. Of course neither received Oscars. Each lacked the requisite brutality, vulgarity, and banality so prized in Hollywood.
#####
Ike threatens the very spot I inhabited less than 2 weeks ago. A favorite cable news shot location (with the hotel built on stilts out in the Gulf in the background) is less than 2 blocks from my recent Galveston digs. Ike may well be the 08 Katrina, and I am grateful to be out of harm’s way.
I’ll likely be heading out of here soon, exactly where, TBD
The adventure continues…
Monday, September 1, 2008
LOUISIANA 001
Dawn broke with deceptive calm over New Orleans on 30 August. I was ensconced in a 3rd floor corporate apartment technically within the New Orleans city limits, but just a shot-put throw from Metairie, quite close to where I spent several months in 2005 working for the Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps was under tremendous pressure, facing allegations ranged from shoddy work 4 decades ago when the original levees were constructed, to malfeasance surrounding the current restoration. Academics, activists, and a broad assortment of stakeholders (and stake wielders) weighed in on both sides of the argument.
That debate continues today, immeasurably heightened by Gustav’s imminent visit to the Crescent City. Cynics posit that Gustav might well be the final judge of the Corps’ work. The engineering challenges are huge, and I have no doubt that the Corps’ efforts have made the area safer. Whether safe enough is Mother Nature’s call.
#####
Well, there’s nothing like a strong Cat 4 hurricane to get my phone ringing. Yesterday I toiled in anonymity, virtually ignored by one and all. Today (August 30)I am a highly trained response professional in heavy demand. Three hours ago I was in New Orleans reposing on a Barkalounger watching a Mayor Nagin press conference. Now I am in the Louisiana State Department of Transportation Emergency Operations Center in Baton Rouge, getting briefed on the plethora of plane, train, and automobile transportation being mobilized to evacuate up to 30,000 residents from Gustav’s path. The current emphasis is on special needs residents -- those infirmed, physically or mentally challenged, and those without transportation. In the time it took to drive the 75 miles to Baton Rouge, Gustav bulked up from a middling Cat 3 to a strong Cat 4, and he appears to be going for 5, the Grande Enchilada on the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane scale.
#####
It is now 5am on 1 September, and the first rain and wind squalls are lacing my hotel parking lot. If the government (federal, state, and local) richly deserved condemnation for their collective response to Katrina/Rita/Wilma, so far the response to Gustav has been impressive. In the area I am working, a collection of federal, state, military, and private sector contractors have mobilized and dispatched some 700 busses (coach and school), Amtrak trains, countless ambulances and special needs vans to move thousands of residents to north Louisiana, and to Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee and beyond. Tourists were bused to Louis Armstrong airport, and military aircraft were placed on alert to move stragglers and anyone caught in a last minute surge. All this with qualified drivers, sufficient fuel, accurate directions, medical personnel, pet accommodation, etc., and so forth. Wags and talking heads will analyze the effort, and it will be found wanting (as wags and talking heads always seem to find), but it is immeasurably improved from what it once was.
#####
While still in New Orleans I spent some time with the Red Cross and found it no less dysfunctional than my Katrina/Rita/Wilma experiences. A stark contrast to the rigorous efficiency I am surrounded by here in Baton Rouge. I have told senior Red Cross officials in Washington that the overwhelming volunteer composition of the organization is both its greatest strength and most obvious weakness. But there is massive resistance to change. In the aftermath of the horrendous 2005 season the Red Cross brought on board as President a retired army general to improve operational efficiency. She lasted less than one year; she didn’t fit the vaunted “Red Cross culture” so passionately embraced by headquarters staff. It is a caring but dysfunctional culture that does not well serve its clientele – the poor, disadvantaged, dislodged, bedraggled victims of Mother Nature and international terrorism.
#####
The big question this morning is whether Gustav will become a quatre cinq? Apparently not. And the thought occurs: Gustav und Hanna. Awfully Teutonic sounding, or so it seems.
A lady on my TV just questioned whether Gustav would bring “The Rapture.” Now there’s optimism for you.
If there has been an overreaction to Gustav, so much the better. New Orleans Mayor Nagin, with his penchant for hyperbole called this “the mother of all storms” in one of his many press conferences. A bright spot in Katrina’s dark cloud is that she focused attention on the potential depth of Mother Nature’s wrath. A good thing.
The adventure continues…
That debate continues today, immeasurably heightened by Gustav’s imminent visit to the Crescent City. Cynics posit that Gustav might well be the final judge of the Corps’ work. The engineering challenges are huge, and I have no doubt that the Corps’ efforts have made the area safer. Whether safe enough is Mother Nature’s call.
#####
Well, there’s nothing like a strong Cat 4 hurricane to get my phone ringing. Yesterday I toiled in anonymity, virtually ignored by one and all. Today (August 30)I am a highly trained response professional in heavy demand. Three hours ago I was in New Orleans reposing on a Barkalounger watching a Mayor Nagin press conference. Now I am in the Louisiana State Department of Transportation Emergency Operations Center in Baton Rouge, getting briefed on the plethora of plane, train, and automobile transportation being mobilized to evacuate up to 30,000 residents from Gustav’s path. The current emphasis is on special needs residents -- those infirmed, physically or mentally challenged, and those without transportation. In the time it took to drive the 75 miles to Baton Rouge, Gustav bulked up from a middling Cat 3 to a strong Cat 4, and he appears to be going for 5, the Grande Enchilada on the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane scale.
#####
It is now 5am on 1 September, and the first rain and wind squalls are lacing my hotel parking lot. If the government (federal, state, and local) richly deserved condemnation for their collective response to Katrina/Rita/Wilma, so far the response to Gustav has been impressive. In the area I am working, a collection of federal, state, military, and private sector contractors have mobilized and dispatched some 700 busses (coach and school), Amtrak trains, countless ambulances and special needs vans to move thousands of residents to north Louisiana, and to Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee and beyond. Tourists were bused to Louis Armstrong airport, and military aircraft were placed on alert to move stragglers and anyone caught in a last minute surge. All this with qualified drivers, sufficient fuel, accurate directions, medical personnel, pet accommodation, etc., and so forth. Wags and talking heads will analyze the effort, and it will be found wanting (as wags and talking heads always seem to find), but it is immeasurably improved from what it once was.
#####
While still in New Orleans I spent some time with the Red Cross and found it no less dysfunctional than my Katrina/Rita/Wilma experiences. A stark contrast to the rigorous efficiency I am surrounded by here in Baton Rouge. I have told senior Red Cross officials in Washington that the overwhelming volunteer composition of the organization is both its greatest strength and most obvious weakness. But there is massive resistance to change. In the aftermath of the horrendous 2005 season the Red Cross brought on board as President a retired army general to improve operational efficiency. She lasted less than one year; she didn’t fit the vaunted “Red Cross culture” so passionately embraced by headquarters staff. It is a caring but dysfunctional culture that does not well serve its clientele – the poor, disadvantaged, dislodged, bedraggled victims of Mother Nature and international terrorism.
#####
The big question this morning is whether Gustav will become a quatre cinq? Apparently not. And the thought occurs: Gustav und Hanna. Awfully Teutonic sounding, or so it seems.
A lady on my TV just questioned whether Gustav would bring “The Rapture.” Now there’s optimism for you.
If there has been an overreaction to Gustav, so much the better. New Orleans Mayor Nagin, with his penchant for hyperbole called this “the mother of all storms” in one of his many press conferences. A bright spot in Katrina’s dark cloud is that she focused attention on the potential depth of Mother Nature’s wrath. A good thing.
The adventure continues…
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