I've been leaving comments in a variety of places to describe to people how bungled the New Orleans emergency plan was, but that's becoming a less and less efficient way to spend my time. Looking back in the blog, I see I never told "my Charley story" in-depth, so now is the best time, I suppose.
A few notes as a preface: I'm not a government official at any level, just an ordinary citizen. But in Florida, we try to take hurricane season rather seriously. All our schools drill the mechanics of hurricanes into science classes and TV stations repeat the basics of hurricane safety endlessly, even during the dry months. ("It's never too early to establish your hurricane plan!" yadda yadda) When it comes to hurricane season, there are commonly understood to be two kinds of Floridians: the ones who've lived here long enough to have a good hurricane plan, and the yahoos who haven't been scared enough by one yet to have figured out that they can get killed. In 2004, my North Fort Myers home ended up in the path of Charley, and we spent the next four weeks dodging Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne. It didn't take longer than the day Charlie hit for me to stop taking hurricanes half-seriously and get down to business.
We now pack a hurricane kit on June 1, and we won't touch it until we need it or November, whichever comes first. Gasoline is always filled in the car tanks between 24-48 hours before approach of a storm. When we get storm warnings, the hurricane shudders go up. (Actually, that part is fun, because it makes for great movie-watching, even in the middle of the day.) There's a thousand other steps involved, but the point is, we don't mess with Mother Nature.
One more thing: some people seem confused by the idea of "mandatory evacuation". No one is usually forced to evacuate by the sheriff. "Mandatory evacuation" means basically "don't come blaming us when you're dead", and "if you're caught in a fire, you're going to burn to death, because we ain't sending the fire department out to save your stupid ass." There's usually no actual force involved. It's the force of the word itself that usually gets people moving, as in: "Oh, you mean it's so dangerous and imminent, I really don't have a choice?" Right - you don't have a choice if you want to be sure you'll be alive tomorrow.
However, that's not to say the authorities are toothless. If you have to cross a bridge or pass through a toll booth to get off your property and/or come back, "mandatory evacuation" means: when this bridge or toll booth is closed, nothing comes back. If you're on an island when the storm hits, you're there for the duration. If you're off when it arrives, you're not getting back until the authorities say so. No matter where you are, when you're in an area hit by a storm, there's a curfew after dark (sometimes even during the day), and our law enforcement doesn't screw around with those curfews.
You should be getting the idea that I - like thousands of my fellow Floridians - are safe in our homes tonight because last year our Governor proved he isn't a spineless twit and our Emergency Managers proved they aren't drooling idiots. We have emergency plans and... shockingly... we follow them.
Here's the heart of my Charley story: North Fort Myers is in Lee County. You'll notice in this news story (from a Charlotte newspaper) about mandatory evacuations, Lee County isn't mentioned. That's because the storm took a wicked right turn at us about two hours before coming ashore. Of course, our local weather broadcasters and emergency authorities had been telling us to evacuate if we felt the need, especially if we were in a Cat 2 flood zone or if we had special needs, like elderly people on oxygen. Most of all, they said to be prepared for anything, so we were - I was fairly obstinate that I wanted to stay, but if I was told to, I was gonna get out of Dodge.
[EDIT: Long day, and frustrated as usual. Lee isn't mentioned in that report because it's the Herald-Tribune, which we don't read down here in Lee, so they left out mention of our mandatory evacuations (iow, D'OH!). This news report however, is typical of the evacuation orders we got, which included "a mandatory evacuation notice for the coastal/barrier islands including Bonita Beach, Estero Island/Fort Myers Beach, Sanibel Island, Captiva, Pine Island, Matlacha, and Boca Grande." Below, I do allude to the fact that these people (about 8-10 miles west of me at closest) were evacuated. My point was that my home wasn't in a mandatory evacuation area (i.e. "The storm appears to be heading towards landfall in the Tampa area...").]
I got up that morning, looked at the weather report, and said, "You know, if it just takes a slight little swerve, the angle it's coming at at the coast could send it right at my nose. And though it's only a Cat 2 now, one of the weather guys says it could strengthen at any time, maybe even to a Cat 4." I live in a Cat 3 flood zone. It was time to be smart and not wait to be told.
I turned off the TV, woke my kids and told them they had 10 minutes to dress and get in the car. It took a bit longer, but in about 2 hours, I was at Steve's house in Naples, about 40 miles south, and pretty much out of danger. The first thing we heard from the TV when we came through the door was: "It's just taken a slight turn to the east, but because of the angle it's coming at the coast, that's all it took to be headed now right for us in Fort Myers. Everyone get indoors and brace yourself NOW. If you haven't left yet, it's too late."
In fact, the storm took a little jog to the west again and my home was maybe 5 miles outside the core. Fort Myers Beach, Sanibel, Captiva, and Pine Island (all closer to the coast) got much closer, and Charley barreled right up Charlotte Harbor to pummel Punta Gorda and Arcadia head-on.
When we got home after the storm passed, there was no power, no water, no air conditioning, eight trees were down in our yard and one was slammed into our roof - but no significant damage despite 125 mph winds, as reported by a neighbor who rode it out. But we were lucky, and took glamour shots the next morning. Several of my coworkers from Punta Gorda weren't so lucky, and had nothing left of their home but a slab of concrete. Others had gaping holes in the roof and significant water damage. But no one I know was seriously hurt because we obeyed instructions.
It took four days to get water, another couple for power. During this time we ate food and drank water from our hurricane pack. Some people had to go to the authorities admitting they didn't prepare a hurricane kit, and were fed by the county, but not many. The radio stations were broadcasting relief information on simulcast from the TV studios. Everyone in the community shared information about where to find ice and gas. It was hot, sticky, smelly, mosquito-plagued, and in retrospect, not really all that bad. But it wasn't bad because we were prepared, our leaders knew what they were doing, provided leadership, and we followed their directions. Yes, sometimes tempers flared. Yes, some people were more than inconvenienced. Some people lost everything. But most people helped one another out and we all hung together.
Oh, by the way, FEMA inspected my house about three to four weeks later. I don't recall how long it took for them to arrive in town, but when they could, they went straight to Punta Gorda and concentrated there. We got attention when Charlotte Harbor towns, Arcadia and the islands were secure, and not a moment before. And when tempers flared, I don't ever recall anyone expecting FEMA to do more than hand them a check - everything else was handled locally, or by the State of Florida. And those people didn't seem to stop moving, helping, organizing, for weeks.
Three months later, I needed a new car because my old one was on its last legs. I drove to Arcadia, on a tip that they had some good deals, and because I wanted to bring them some business. In many parts of Charlotte and DeSoto, you'd think the storm had hit two or three days before - it was still a mess. I'm NEVER going to cut it anywhere near as close as I did with Charley, ever again.
As for New Orleans... pfft. They get my compassion, but none of my sympathy. That would require me to comprehend what they're going through, and man I haven't a clue what those people are thinking.