Adios 2008. Good riddance.

I know, it's only symbolic. Other than tax deductions and football bowls now too numerous to recall, there's not much special about the calendar change. Life goes on. Next month our President-elect inherits the biggest economic mess in modern history, what will hopefully be the end of the occupation of Iraq and the tar-baby Guantanamo Bay prison, a situation in Afghanistan that appears to be the result of the current Commander-in-Chief taking his eyes off the ball, and the lovely tit-for-tat behavior of Palestinians and Israelis.

That being said, Galveston will plod on in the midst of these global troubles.

On the day we were closing things up to do our annual trek to Colorado, I managed to mangle my hand between the tongue of a trailer and a steel dolly. No need for details; it was not pretty. My faithful wife piled me in the car and off we went to the ER at UTMB. In spite of an incredibly cheerful and sympathetic triage team, I had only one M.D. and a nurse practitioner to assess and treat my hand injury. It didn't take long to see the writing on the wall. Nobody there felt competent to deal with a hand injury where tendons were exposed.

So off we went to the mainland. The remainder of the day was consumed with a nice plastic surgeon putting things back together. The good news is that I am going to have full functioning of my right hand. The bad news is that our beloved, former Level 1 trauma center on the island is still woefully lacking what it takes to deal with anything more than minor emergencies and stabilization protocols. There is a growing anger within the community (and with UT faculty throughout the state) at the UT Board of Regents, who do not seem to get it.

As the other two Level 1 centers in Harris County are overloaded due to UTMB's predicament, the refinery industry in Texas City is screaming in protest as their emergency back-up for catastrophic circumstances is now gone. It will be interesting to watch this political/economic quagmire play out with fingers of blame pointing all over the place.

On a brighter side, I am including (with credits) the following uplifting story from Galveston:

Let the bells ring out for charity

By Michael A. Smith
The Daily News

Published December 30, 2008

One bright spot in all the bad news about Hurricane Ike and the economy is that people apparently haven’t gotten stingy.

Despite, and maybe because of, the hurricane and the faltering economy, Galveston County residents this Christmas dropped more money into Salvation Army kettles than in years past.

Maj. Elda Flores doesn’t have exact figures yet, but the organization raised more money, and with fewer kettles and bell ringers, than last year, she said.

Typically, the island Salvation Army operates nine kettles in Galveston but, because many stores remain closed after the hurricane, the agency operated only five kettles and on fewer days this holiday season, Flores said.

Even so, bell ringers reported that people were dropping change while thanking the Salvation Army for the food, cleaning supplies and gift cards the agency doled out after Hurricane Ike.

“People are grateful for what the Salvation Army did during the disaster,” Flores said.

“We fed a lot of folks during their time of need, and they are showing appreciation for what we did for them.”

Salvation Army volunteers with mobile kitchens served 1.7 million meals and 2.6 million snacks after Ike. They also handed out kits of cleaning supplies and gift cards at big-box retail stores.

With Thanksgiving behind us and Christmas approaching, the island is beginning to look more and more like the old place I remember. Although piles of debris remain, they are fewer and farther between. A few forty foot sailboats still adorn the curbside of 61st Street, but the boats strewn around the streets and parking lots are mostly gone. The University of Texas Medical Branch has concluded the majority of its layoffs, and the final tally did not reach the 3,000+ everyone feared. I attended a Development Board meeting this week in Houston where the president of UTMB, David Callender spelled out candidly what is facing the medical center. With 200 beds open now, the goal is to reach 350 in the near future. Whether John Sealy Hospital will ever have 500 beds again remains in doubt. A more likely scenario is that the graduate training programs will more closely resemble those at Baylor and the University Health Science Center in Houston – namely residents will rotate through a variety of hospitals as part of their training program. I am dismayed to learn that there are no immediate plans to open psychiatric beds on the Island. Inpatient psychiatric services have been a losing venture for years, but like emergency departments, have been seen as a necessary component to a full service healthcare system. For now, all acutely mentally ill people on the Island will be transported to the mainland for treatment. I will not belabor the complex risks this puts on emergency medical personnel or law enforcement, but suffice it to say this is a very troubling predicament. My admiration for the leadership at UTMB, who have had to weather rumors and innuendos, reminds me of the determination shown after the Great Storm of 1900. For those who aren’t thoroughly familiar, I will point out that the 1900 Storm also occurred in September and that there was great consternation about whether UTMB should open or not. Here is a copy of the telegram sent from then-UTMB president Prather to the head of the UT Board of Regents:

And this is the famous response of Beauregard Bryan:

Meanwhile the denizens of Galveston continue to suffer from a collective depressive disorder I view as a variant of Complicated Bereavement. I was recently interviewed by Islander Magazine, and my interview appears in this month’s issue. It’s flattering that my opinion is held is such esteem, but it is discouraging to see that this peculiar community malaise, like our economy, remains in an unrelenting funk.
Ah, but this does not mean we Galvestonians aren’t adept at trying to make the best of the situation. At the Barnhart household, twenty plus enjoyed Thanksgiving sans heat, and fifty of our neighbors will enjoy a similar experience at the Xmas party we are holding tonight.
Dickens on the Strand came off this year in spite of Ike, albeit smaller in scope. Similarly Galveston Bike Week, postponed but not cancelled is happening right now. It’s been as cold as a witch’s mammary appendage, but those tough bikers seem to be coming anyway. I suspect this year’s rally won’t match up to years past, but those in attendance that I’ve met seem determined to have a good time and cheer on this annual event.

At the end of this week, Kathy and I set off for the mountains and a respite from Ike's aftermath. We leave our keys with our contractor and hope to see ductwork, A/C, heat and new wiring in the near future. The distraction of grandchildren on Christmas morning and fresh powder on the slopes should add to our cheer. We will miss our island friends, but our mountain home beckons and the break will do us good.

Cheers...

Time to be thankful

We're ten weeks out now, and it's Thanksgiving week. Galveston's beginning to look a bit more civilized. We got a post office last week. Not a 'whole' post office, but not a trailer either. That's pretty good, isn't it?

And late last week UTMB finally opened the hospital. The fanfare was blunted considerably by the 3,000+ pink slips that went out the same week. To add insult to injury, the place was only open a couple of days before they had to close it again -- at least temporarily. You see, there were too many mold spores in the air. I don't understand all that. Seems to me all you have to do is stick in a bunch of HIPA filters and drive on, but I guess not. The surgical suites had to shut down, as did admissions. We're told it's not a big deal and that John Sealy Hospital will be up and running again real soon.

'Up and running' is technically right but perhaps a bit of an overstatement. A hospital that's had 500-600 beds before Ike is now a 200 bed hospital with services limited to women's health (too bad for us sick males), geriatrics (guess I can get a fake ID), and children (if I act immaturely, can I pass?).

But is this really time for cynicism? Best to push that aside for now and be thankful for all we have. I've got a family with enough moxie to decide to all come to Galveston for Thanksgiving. We'll have over twenty people here, not counting high chairs. Quite a showing of good sports, I'd say.

We're letting all our friends know that in lieu of Xmas gifts this year, they'll get a donation to the Galveston Historical Foundation in their name. To get an idea of what this group does as well as what they are now facing, take a look here:


http://www.galvestonhistory.org/

So raise a toast for our island this Thanksgiving. We used to be 60,000 strong; now we're about 40,000. But we'll be toasting life as well.

Cheers...

I heard one of those infuriating comments the other day from a Houstonian who had not been to Galveston. “Yeah, our neighborhood was really clobbered by Ike. Why, I’ll bet we lost twenty trees on our street.” Twenty trees. Imagine that. We have block after block with twenty business each that haven’t come back. We have plenty of neighborhoods of a hundred homes with only twenty occupied. Interestingly, most everyone who was missing after Ike has been found or the body recovered. Heck, there are only about twenty left to go, and the cadaver dogs are busy wrapping that up. Yep, things don’t seem so bad here when you hear about a guy whose street lost twenty friggin’ trees.

Yesterday, I found a note taped to my front door. It was from FEMA and read: “Are you currently living in this damaged dwelling? Please update and verify your FEMA case file.”

‘Are you currently living in this damaged dwelling?’ That’s sort of like, ‘Are you still beating your wife?’ or ‘Were you always that heavy?’ I’ve gotten more or less accustomed to my damaged dwelling. Why just this morning I fired up my little gas space heater to warm up the living room and sat down with my computer and cell phone connection to log on. You see, we don’t have heat or air-conditioning ducts nor internet service here.

But it’s a pleasant, crisp morning. A nice time to switch on NPR. No Meet The Press for us. You see, we haven’t had television for some time. But Kathy and I are getting pretty good at Scrabble, and we’re running right through all those books and magazines that have been laying around. I’ve got a Roy Rogers DVD I think we’ll watch tonight.

So yes, I am verifying it: We are indeed currently living in this damaged dwelling.

Cheers

The Galveston National Laboratory was officially opened on Veterans Day. I was one of many invited guests. Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison was a keynote speaker. She was born at UTMB, and Galveston is her hometown.



The man to her left is Dr. David Callender - President of UTMB. And that was yesterday. Today Dr. Callender was in El Paso along with the University of Texas Board of Regents to decide on next steps for UTMB. This afternoon the anticipated announcement was made: 3800 full-time jobs will be cut, severely downsizing the island’s only hospital. That's about a third of the payroll.

UTMB has been losing $40 million a month as it makes its payroll with no hospital from which to derive revenue - thanks to Ike. This was brutal news for employees who have been unable to return to work since the storm surge flooded 750,000 square feet of buildings, including the 550-bed hospital.

This leaves families, some of whom also lost their homes, reeling, and businesses that depend on medical branch crowds, fearing for their futures. UTMB has been around for 117 years, and the regents have promised it won't go away. The new highly specialized infectious disease lab is the only such operational facility in North America and is a key piece of the research to be done on everything from bioterrorism to ebola and dengue viruses. But that's the research part. It was the patient care component that took the huge hit.

The medical center incurred $710 million in Hurricane-Ike related expenses and only $100 million in flood insurance, the most it could obtain. It was exciting to see the National Lab dedicated. Too bad it's overshadowed today with such heartbreaking news.

Things are gradually getting better. Our main streets are not totally free of the clutter of debris, but it's far less of an eyesore. The medical school and hospital are slowly moving ahead with services, although it will be some time before this island has the full services of a medical center.


This was one of two thirty acre dumps with piles as high as a three story building.



As of this week, here's how it looks.




It's Sunday, and church services go on, even on sidewalks when the buildings are still uninhabitable.

Fleshy thanks to FEMA

A good friend told me today that I need a vacation, to get off the island, to give myself a break. He could not be more right. And this weekend we're doing just that. We're leaving town to spend five days with friends elsewhere for good food and fellowship as well as a one of those election parties that require one show his party affiliation at the door.

And in the spirit of my friend's admonishment about my morose postings, it's time for something a little lighter - actually heavier, as you'll learn. You see, on the island we now speak of the FEMA five, or if you're particularly vulnerable, the FEMA fifteen. It's a term spoken with a pat to the belly, and here's how it works:

Remember when you were a kid and from the back yard you heard it coming -- the ice cream truck! Well here we have the meal trucks. They travel through the neighborhoods with a loudspeaker announcing their arrival. They pull up to a corner and open the window on a rolling source of sustenance. From out of the houses and alleys emerge persons of all walks of life, ready for someone else to take responsibility for meal planning. And here lies the rub:

Nobody will balk at your request for two of the Styrofoam-packaged meals. Even three. I saw one guy tell a story about his hungry family, then getting six of these things, only to turn the corner, sit on the curb and begin his feast. Just tell them how many, and out the window they come, no questions asked. Some days it's a hamburger; others chicken strips. How about a barbecue sandwich? Or maybe chili mac. Sorry, no tofu, no stir fry. No half-portions or egg beaters. Nope, nothing that resembles Lean Cuisine.

And so it comes to pass after all these weeks that one steps on the scale to discover -- the FEMA five. That belt is out a notch; those buttons seem a little more stretched; did my pants really shrink that much in the dryer?

Getting out of town can do more that give one a respite from the trash on every curb and the never-ending clean-up. It's a great chance to wallow in salads dressed with Italian Light, meat that isn't fried, and vegetables other than pasta, potatoes and creamed corn. It will be nice to escape this funk. Maybe I can regain more of my sense of humor. Heck, I might also turn loose of my FEMA five in the process.

Dumb to brag; dumber to have stayed...

Galveston's seawall used to be a twenty mile mural. Ike eroded a lot of it. Once higher priorities are addreesed, I hope our local artists will come in and fix it.

While walking the dog on the seawall Sunday, we noticed a crowd up ahead. These days that usually means a meal truck. FEMA, the grocery stores, some local churches, a mosque, and the Salvation Army give away hot food twice a day. But this group was a bit different. It was the Salvation Army all right, but they weren't giving away meals. Their band had taken its place atop what is left of a concrete stage and had begun to play hymns. I am not a religious person, so hymns take me back to my childhood and a simpler time.

This was a setting to behold. To stand there, in the midst of a cool sea breeze with the water uncommonly blue, stirred me to tears. Several van loads of folks from a Baptist church in Oklahoma joined the rest of us to take it in.

There was no proselytyzing, nor were leaflets and unwanted religious tracts littering the ground. There was just all of us - making the best of it and, in our own ways, conveying the same thing to each other --hope.

October 23, 2008

Did you see our mayor on the Today Show this morning? Al Roker was in Galveston as a follow-up, now that it's been six weeks after Ike. I’ve been telling those who ask that I thought it would take two years for Galveston Island to recover. This morning Lyda Ann Thomas, our mayor, was asked the question. She estimated it would take five. Not really the psychological upper I needed today.

Yesterday was filled with vehicular bummers as well.

My drowned motorcycle is off-loaded at Stubbs Harley Davidson where it will get its chance to pass muster for storm rehab. (No one there would even venture an estimate on what this is going to cost.)


My nephew’s pickup, which I’ve borrowed and is my only remaining motorized transportation, broke down at Home Depot a few hours later. Looks like it's a combination of a failing fuel pump and some gas with water in it. About $400 plus 2-3 days in the shop.



With Kathy out of town, I’m down to my tRUSTY bicycle.

October 19

My friend Harry needed some help moving his Catalina 30 to a secure marina. As you can see, there were a few obstacles between us and his boat.

Once aboard, we were able to get the little diesel started and the boat out of the slip. With sails stowed below, we chose to motor down the ship channel to the boat's temporary lodging closer to Houston. Pleasant weather made the trip enjoyable until we came parallel with Crystal Beach on Bolivar Peninsula. About a mile offshore, we were inundated with flies, a grim reminder that this was an area of profound destruction and where most of the yet-to-be-found bodies are thought to be buried in debris.

Taking a break

Saturday, October 18

Kathy and I took a break from our cleanup today. Deciding we needed some fresh air, we joined a couple of hundred other volunteers from around Texas to help clean up the debris at Galveston Island State Park. It was our first drive down the west end of the island. The road had been closed due to the beach sand washed over the road. One of the pictures shows how road crews have pushed the sand to the sides and median to allow cars through. Although there has been significant damage, it’s reassuring to see so many homes intact or in the process of repair.

The cleanup project at the State Park was the consequence of a cancelled two-day bike ride we’d plan to take from the Anuac Wildlife Preserve on Bolivar Peninsula, through Galveston, then up to Houston. With Bolivar still closed and the ferry not operational, the bike ride had to be cancelled. But with the weekend already committed by many, someone with the Galveston Bay Foundation came up with the idea of the cleanup. The park includes ocean beachfront on one side and substantial bayside exposure on the other. Debris along the bayside portion of the park included everything from small chunks of styrofoam, plastic bags and children’s toys to a complete staircase, several walls from homes, a waverunner, furniture and scads of lumber.

The weather was nice – in the low seventies, and as you might expect, people who come to such work parties are of a pleasant disposition. But pleasant dispositions aside, many people here are still upset that so much of the country does not understand the magnitude of this storm.

Galveston Island State Park looked substantially improved as the group quit for the day. Park officials have been estimating it might take three years to get the park back up and running. We hope continued volunteer efforts like today's can shorten that timeframe. That evening the group celebrated with a dinner at the Moody Gardens. The only bummer to that was parking the car. The parking lot sets between Moody Gardens and a water park. The stench of fetid water and dead fish from the closed water park reminded us of how much work there is left to do.

Tough times for small business

October 16

City officials say about one-third of those who lived in Galveston lost their homes to Hurricane Ike. A lot of those were the beachfront houses on the west end, beyond the seawall. Those like us behind the seawall, fared better, but I'd still estimate about 80% of all the homes behind the seawall were significantly damaged. We've had adjusters from all the insurance companies here, although only the Windstorm insurance has actually paid a dime.

Today they finished a six-day project of tearing out all the molding old ductwork under the house. With that done, they can now begin to tear out the wiring. Meanwhile, along the seawall they are beginning to create piles of what can best be described as small boulders. These are the riprap that Hurricane Ike actually pushed over the seawall and onto the boulevard.

Trucks and front-loaders are still working seven days a week to pick up the never-ending piles of rubble that were once the contents of homes and small businesses. But there's a rumor spreading around town that Galveston was short on the money to pay these guys, many of whom have brought in equipment from out of state. There are fears that the reason some much unsightly debris remains on our main street, Broadway, is because a large portion of the crews left in anger when their checks were smaller than expected. Just what we need, further finanicial problems in the midst of a critical cleanup.

Today I went to buy a new tire for Kathy's bicycle. I swung into Academy Sports because it was handy. Once in a parking spot with motor shut off, I hesitated, then started up and drove off. About a mile away, I pulled in front of West End Cycles, a bicycle shop that's been in Galveston since the late forties. Kathy bought me my wedding present there in 1971 -- a ten-speed Raleigh Super Course with Weinmann center-pull brakes and a leather Brooks seat. That was top of the line at the time. I guess it says something about our relationship that such was my wedding present.

When I went inside, there were the two old guys who have worked there since that time thirty five years ago. What was absent was the inventory. They had two new cruiser bikes on the floor. Just two. They told me all the rest of their bikes were looted the night of the hurricane when their windows were blown out and somebody waded in and took their bikes. They are making do by repairing and tuning up the bicycles of a few loyal customers.

We chatted about how tough it's going to be for small businesses to come back. Then I paid $17 for a tire I could have gotten for $12 at Academy and $9 at WalMart. Man, that felt good.

Things keep getting better

Things here are getting back to normal. Survivor’s guilt compels me to comment that there are still 10,000 families in the county without electricity, and the tent cities will not come down until the end of October.

We got a land line yesterday. Now that I’ve grown accustomed to the phone service of Mexicans, Chinese and New Yorkers, I now must readjust to those of us who are supposed to rely on AT&T’s ‘other service’. I confess, it was almost decadent to send faxes again.

Tonight we sleep with air conditioning! Okay, it's pretty much jury-rigged by the A/C contractor who came by today to assess how we could get all the damaged stuff replaced. Seems compressors, air handlers and duct work are all in line to be torn out and replaced. Additionally all that historical wiring has to go also or we’ll never meet code again.(Who knows what knob and tube means? Sounds erotic, doesn't it?) That’s right. This ol’ house is going to be totally without electricity for a while as they pull and replace every wire in the place.

Our hard work is beginning to aesthetically pay off. We actually swam in the pool yesterday. All the pumps and the hot tub's thermostat aren’t in yet, but we've got chlorine circulating, etc. Kathy came home from PetsMart yesterday with seven new fish for the pond. I’m looking for suggestions for names, although one has to be named Ike.

Curfew has been moved from midnight until six a.m. WalMart and Home Depot won’t let you in after 11:30. I chatted with a nice young lady who works at WalMart yesterday. She said everyone is working overtime and she got out of there the night before at 1:30, as it took that long to get the last shoppers to leave. Home Depot parking lot requires the cruising behavior of a big city mall, and inside it’s shoulder to shoulder, even though it’s been nearly a month. They have lots of extra workers from all over the country to help shoulder the load.

I would estimate there are about ten restaurants now open. No haute cuisine, but at least a variety of fried fish and hamburgers. The island is yearning for soul food and upscale menus. Maybe in November we hear.

A front page article in the Galveston Daily News today commented on the 200-300 mental health patients that have been lost. No one is certain if they are somewhere loose on the streets or in shelters in other towns. What is known is that records show they are about to run out of medication. These are chronically mentally ill folks who really require psychiatric supervision. I remember having to handle a number of these in the shelter in San Antonio after Katrina. I can only hope these souls get connected somewhere.

Next week Galveston Bay Association had planned its two-day bike ride from Bolivar Peninsula, through Galveston to a mainland destination. The ride was cancelled, and riders were offered a chance to let the entry fee be designated for rebuilding. Moreover, an invitation went out for interested riders to come volunteer for the two day weekend and assist in rebuilding projects. That’s where Kathy and I will be this weekend.

Farewell to a car. Hello to fresh water.

Things move slowly here

Downtown remains eerily closed. Crews of workers are still pulling debris from propped-up storefronts, and most of the sidewalks are now free of the concrete-like mud that still covers a few spots like the one above. The tent city shown here is on the grounds of a nearby elementary school. The majority of its denizens are displaced Galveston homeowners with no place else to go. Neighbors surrounding the property are on edge, complaining of the huge lights that stay on all night for security and the litter they find in their yards. Although there has been no significant looting, a shooting occurred two days ago just outside this location. Apparently a homeowner across the street got into a verbal altercation with a tent resident who had been a homeowner about ten blocks away before losing his house. The homeowner pulled a pistol and fired, causing a non-lethal neck wound to the man from the tents. This underscores the nagging tension throughout the island. By my estimation, this is not PTSD we're seeing but mass complicated bereavement.

Last night we had dinner with some friends whose waterfront house was completely destroyed. He is a physician and medical director for American National Insurance. So there he is, every day, sitting at a makeshift desk in a temporary office, with no home to go home to, part of a company that's trying to cut its losses.

I finish my third glass of wine and remark how all that training I had as a psychiatrist plus working for the Red Cross for 3 months in a Katrina shelter did little to prepare me for what it's like to stand in line to get a handout of ice. (I cried when the National Guardsmen asked me if there was anything else they could help me with.)

A couple of small restaurants managed to open in last few days. We had lunch today at El Gusto, a small family-run place. The 'menu' was handwritten on a piece of legal pad. About a dozen choices, with no prices posted, but who cared. They have cold Mexican beer and a helluva attitude.

Enough of this. I've got a fence to go fix.

Cheers

What greeted us on arrival:



































Mask and gloves required to dig this muck out. (The city is discouraging leaf blowers and power washers just yet for fear of creating toxic aerosols.

With each task completed, another appears

October 9, 2008


As the crews and their trucks continue to make dents in the piles of decaying rubble, the town is still coming to grips with what it will take to get things going again.

School started yesterday -- sort of. Only some of the school buildings were spared; none of the school buses made it. School officials with expediency rather than empathy on their minds directed children to operational school buildings according to the alphabet instead of region. So if your last name begins with B but your best buddy two doors down has a name that begins with Y, you won't be in the same school any longer. I suppose this could be viewed as a way to compel making new friends, but in the midst of so many other traumatic disruptions, was this really such a good idea? About 50% of the school aged children of Galveston are not here. Whether most will return or not remains to be seen.

Facing a multimillion dollar payroll and no hospital, The University of Texas Medical Branch is in dire straits. President David Callender, MD held a town meeting yesterday to a standing-room-only crowd, where 'bated breath held silence as all awaited confirmation or refutation of the rumor. The island's largest employer (12,000+) was rumored to be preparing to lay off 4,000 workers. Just what someone who's just lost his home needs to hear - "Hey, we no longer have any hospital revenue, so we can no longer hold your job."

The bad news did not come, but like the Obama/McCain debate later in the evening, nothing new of much substance emerged either. What was clear was that things will not be the like they were for a very long time. One of the oldest medical schools west of the Mississippi does not have a hospital- for now. It was only a few months ago that I had lunch with Dr. Callender and heard about the new multi-million dollar surgical tower that was coming off the drawing board. Now he speaks of a scaled-down facility of maybe 200 beds with more empahsis on mainland ambulatory care, research (always a big part of UTMB) and a nebulous vision of something new and different. Whether the UT Board of Rengents and the Texas Legislature will step up to the plate or not remains to be seen. We are told again that there is no plan to move UTMB to Austin, but how that translates to additional financial support is as fuzzy as the mold growing in every island nook and cranny. Bottom line - dispelled rumors notwithstanding, many Galvestonians are about to lose their jobs. I do not envy Dr. Callender's job.

Three hard-working men, whose immigration status I do not question, have been pulling all the water-logged ductwork from under our house. They quit last night at 6 pm, more filthy than any persons I've seen, even on this messy island. They've been at it for two days and tell me (in Spanish) they've got one more day to go. Before any new ducts and air-conditioning can go it, the wiring must also come out. That's next. What electricity we have in the main house now will temporarily disappear with the rewiring job.

The black, mucky swamp that had once been our pool was pumped dry this week. Whatever that organic matter was covering the plaster was so thick the surface had to be taken back down to the gunnite, then replastered. In another day or two it's going to look like a pool again. Of course, to keep it looking that way, all the pumping/filtration system will be replaced as it was setting in saltwater long enough to be destroyed. A word of insight: neither flood nor homeowners insurance covers flood damage to swimming pools.

So shall we feel sorry for ourselves? My goodness, I've had water in my four-car garage. My Mercedes SL (insured of course) was destroyed. My swimming pool is ugly. And we don't have air-conditioning. Oh woe are we!

Four or five blocks away is a shelter of tents on the playground of what was an elementary school. Half the island is still without electric or gas, although the water is now potable. Thousands of my fellow Galvestonians who were near homeless now appear to be soon jobless. Kids are sitting in strange classrooms with strangers in the adjacent desks. Our island continues to grieve. There is no place for self-pity at our house - way too much to do.

Home again; grim reminders

October 5, 2008


Why we should have fantasized that all that crap would be cleared up when we got home is a mystery for the psychologists. Mountains of debris still line most streets and even larger mountains of furniture, refrigerators and indescribable 'stuff' now are piled on every vacant space.

Our friends try to stay composed as they tell of giant jaws picking up the remains of their grand piano and dropping it in a huge dumpster.

I met with State Farm today for a benign debate over how much my car was worth. We were within a couple of hundred dollars of each other, so the debate had about as much lackluster enthusiasm as the first Presidential debate.

Only after we'd settled on a figure did the adjuster, who regularly works catastorphes, learned that I am a psychiatrist who volunteered with the Red Cross to help Katrina and Rita displaced persons. It turns out this woman was having her own share of problems with Galvestonians.

Galveston (excluding the very affluent West End) is a relatively old community. Lots of seniors. Lots of old folks who own their homes outright. Now think about it: If you don't have a mortgage, nobody is making you buy flood insurance. If you're on a limited fixed income, what a temptation it must have been to shrug off the exhorbitant premiums. So today I learned what a monumental impending problem we are about to face here. We are a town that has yet to acknowledge our new group of homeless - the elderly with homes sans mortgage and sans contents.

It is only a matter of time until many of the denizens of this island will begin to show the inevitable sequelae of this trauma. No doubt there will be a need for those who deal with infectious disease, minor traumae and tetanus shots. But I suspect the real morbidity is going to be associated with the mental stress of this ordeal. The PTSD issues will be less than that I saw among Katrina victims, but it will be significant. More troubliing is the likelihood of emerging medical issues tied to psychological stress. Heart patients, diabetics, those at risk for stroke -- look out.

How to escape a hurricane ravaged city

October 1, 2008

Go to another hurricane ravaged city, of course. Kathy and I decided we needed a break from muck and misery. We stuck everything away and headed off to The Big Easy. What better place to commiserate than New Orleans?

We joined Colin and Diane (son and daughter-in-law) for a respite. They flew in from their home in New York City for a refreshing break filled with gustatory decadence and alcohol overindulgence.

Coincidentally, we connected with our old friends the Paces and Bairds, further reinforcing the value of friends and how inconsequential our transient troubles will probably seem some time in the future.

Of course we indulged at Gallitoire's, Bayona and Acme. We spun around the Carousel bar at the Montlione and drank Hurricanes at Pat O'Brien's. But we also visited the Ninth Ward where homeowners with far less than we are still busily rebuilding their neighborhood. Whites and blacks, next door neighbors, kids playing in the yards, all inspiring us to what Galveston can certainly do if these guys can.

Staying tough

September 30, 2008

Living in Galveston these days is quite an adventure.

No land lines, DSL, or faxes are available anywhere on Galveston Island. Maybe half the island behind the seawall is still without electricity. There are no utilities anywhere on the west end, beyond the seawall. There is no natural gas anywhere. I was able to shut off my gasoline generator a couple of days ago when we got hooked back up with power. Of course my two central A/C units went under water, so all we've got is a window unit. At least fall is in the air and nights are cool.

They got cell phone towers running last week although their performance is compromised. Thank goodness I have one of those Verizon Aircards, or I wouldn't be able to do email, etc.

The wind damage was no big deal as coastal towns are pretty much set up to handle the wind forces. Although the hurricane was only a high Cat 2 or low Cat 3, the storm surge was the largest since the 1900 storm! Basically wiped out downtown, which was under over six feet of water. The guy that towed my flooded vehicle off yesterday said there were 20,000 flooded cars on the island. That doesn't even count what's on the mainland.

Given the nature of small business and what is going to inevitably be a tightening of the credit markets, I worry about how many of the current small businesses will be able to come back.

The Red Cross and Salvation Army are doing a great job keeping people fed. FEMA is actually functional - kudos to Michael Chernoff.

We have a couple of supermarkets that opened this week as well as 3 gas stations. Randalls Supermarket was giving away barbecue sandwiches yesterday. The National Guard is distributing ice and essentials to those that need it. Three restaurants are open on a partial basis, plus a Whataburger. Lots of people are cooking outdoors on charcoal.

The port is opening this week which is good. The medical school and hospital won't open again for at least another couple of months. Longer yet for the research facilities. We have a rudimentary emergency room and a small ambulatory clinic that's mostly giving Tetanus shots and dealing with minor injuries. The yacht basin looks like a bomb hit it with multimillion dollar boats catawampus or sunk. We actually still have a couple of large boats setting in the middle of the main esplanade onto the island, and hundreds of watercraft from jet skis to shrimp boats line the sides of the Gulf Freeway coming onto the island.

The storm surge traveled well up Galveston Bay and the Houston Ship Channel. Hundreds of miles inland Ike dumped enough rain to create floods and misery. As of earlier this week, there were still over a million people in Houston without electricity and Houston's about fifty miles inland. Unbelievable!

You still have to drink bottled water or boil it. About 80% of the homes, by my estimation, have sustained some damage - including mine. There are mountains of furniture and personal items lining almost every street. Itʼs incredibly sad to see so much of people's lives at the curb. The citizens of Galveston are a tough bunch, however. The island looks like an ant farm with people scurrying around, tearing out damage and rebuilding. Tents and camper trailers abound. Cold showers are the norm. Everyone is filthy, and stained tee shirts are now fashion de jur everywhere on the island. Each morning and at dusk a huge migration of cars move on and off the island. Galveston is still under a curfew. It's weird to have dead silence after dark here.

The camaraderie cannot help but get you choked up as we are all in this together. Friends come by to see how we're doing, and we periodically take a break from our work to do the same.

Cheers,

Home at last

September 26, 2008

It was a solemn time, driving onto the island. With debris and boats all along the roadside, we were psychologicallly unprepared for what we were seeing. Coming off the causeway - a firetruck parked aside the road with a crude sign handpainted on a 4x8 piece of plywood saying, "Welcome Home from the GFD".

And so we arrive to view the damage. Worse than some, better than most.


I had to find ice today as we have no electricity (or natural gas, or phone lines, or drinkable water). Driving around the island, there was no ice to buy. There was, however, ice to have. All one had to do was go to one of the crisis centers and ask. That's right - ask. Ask for help. Ask for ice. Ask for food. Ask. I'd never done that before. Have you? Imagine the smiling faces of National Guardmen as they toss generic boxes of soap, ready-to-eat meals and ice into your vehicle. They don't ask what you need or why. They don't question your motivation. They only tell you, "We'll be here tomorrow if you need anything." If you can accept this charity and not cry, you are far tougher than I.

Tonight will be our first night in the house. We have no television, so Kathy and I decided to cruise town looking for a bar with a TV so we could watch Obama and McCain kick each other for the first time. Then we remembered: 8 pm curfew. I felt like our grandparents, sitting around a radio and listening, listening. It was interesting hearing content without body language.

Finally a go-ahead

September 23, 2008

The mayor has said we can return tomorrow. We're probably going to get in line on the Gulf Freeway about 5 am. Hopefully they've got enough ID check lanes to get traffic moving well. I figure we'll spend the daylight hours cleaning up stuff. We're going to spend tomorrow night back on the mainland, then bring back the other car and probably stay on the island thereafter. I just want to be sure we have a toilet that works.

Here's something to piss you off: I tried to buy a gasoline generator on our trek back to Galveston. First stop - Santa Fe, New Mexico. All generators had been purchases en masse by a couple of 'entrepreneurs' who were planning to take them to Galveston and sell them for a profit. Same story in Amarillo. Fortunately, the morning we were leaving Amarillo, I got to Harbor Freight just as a truck was unloading eight generators. I bought the first one. The folks there said the others would all be bought up by some guys who always did this when there was a disaster somewhere. Seems they were also interested in turning a profit over other's misery. Nice.

Waiting for the word to get home

September 18, 2008

To all our friends,

First, we want to express our appreciation for the barrage of concern we've gotten since Ike hit Galveston. Although the news channels seem to have pounced on the disaster, the following link will give you some visual idea of the devastation:

http://geology.rockbandit.net/2008/09/14/hurricane-ike-aftermath-galveston-photos/

From what can be determined, although Ike was just under a Category 3 when it hit Galveston, the storm surge was greater than anything measured in the past 100 years. If you saw the storm on the satellite feeds, you saw that the storm was as large as the state of Texas.

We are currently staying at a friend's home in Richmond, Texas, about seventy miles from Galveston. We have not been able to get on the island to personally assess the damage to our home. However, we were fortunate to have a couple of friends who were on the island briefly and able to go by and inspect things. We came our far luckier than most. It appears that if water reached into our house, it just got to the floorboards, then receded. There's a chance it didn't even get our rugs wet, which would be incredibly lucky. Our garages and the Tiki Room did not fare so well. The description we got was that it looked like 'a bomb hit it'. Thus we are bidding farewell to our cute little Mercedes, a couple of motorcycles, lots of power tools and all those other sundries we all store in garages.

The pool is filled with debris and black. Big deal. The yard is covered with limbs and crap. Big deal. The fence blew down in spots. Who cares. The fish pond is sans fish. Sad for the fish. Hope they swam off to someplace peaceful.

Our plans remain up in the air. For now, here's what we're thinking: We will stay with our friend Linda for at least a couple of weeks. We have a trip planned to meet Colin and Diane in New Orleans in about 10 days. Seems like a good diversion, so we're still going. Thereafter, we'll come back here and hopefully there will at least be water and sewer on the island.We have a big generator and lots of gear to get going on the clean-up. We have an upstairs game room with its own kitchen and air conditioning. We can live there. We anticipate a protracted, frustrating ordeal with insurance companies.

Clif has volunteered to serve as an emergency physician with FEMA/Red Cross. Some of you know he did this back in the Katrina/Rita fiasco. He is waiting to hear if they need him.

Once things are fairly secure, we suspect we will close up and head back to Crested Butte for a while.

We consider ourselves far luckier than most. We have our health, our resources, and most importantly our friends and family. Please consider contributing to those who need help far more than we.

http://www.redcross.org/

On the road back to Galveston

September 15, 2008

All we can get is sketchy, second-hand info. Virtually everyone on the island got some level of flooding. (This appears to have been the worst storm in Galveston in 100 years.) My 85 year old house has never seen water in it. From what I can gather, I got somewhere between a few and 18 inches in the house. I have a four car garage that is about five feet below my house. Thus my cute little Mercedes, a couple of my motorcycles and a lot of power tools are toast. Ditto for my exercise room. I'm figuring all that stuff got about 4 -6 feet of water.

We have one friend who has fish in his living room and a big sailboat rammed through the side of his house. Guess that makes me one of the lucky ones.

I picked up a generator in Amarillo and am now in Fort Worth, where I suspect we'll be for a couple of days. After that we're heading to a friend's house near Houston. She has electricity and water. We'll stay there until they open up the causeway and we can get in a further assess things.

I spoke to the command center at the medical school last night. They are looking for physicians who live on the island to relieve their staff who have been on duty since the storm. I may get back on the island a bit earlier as I've volunteered to go in and help them out.

Ah, such an adventure. Thank goodness it's only stuff....

September 14, 2008

We are still in Colorado, winding down from our summer in the mountains, when Hurricane Ike takes a nasty turn north. It's an uncomfortable feeling to wish a hurricane would hit someone else. You know it's going to get somebody, why me? Right?

With the storm heading straight for Galveston, frantic phone calls are made to try to get somebody to secure the house. As a mandatory evacuation is quickly called, there's only 24 hours or so to get ready. Since everybody on the island is trying to secure his own place, all I could get done was plywood over the doors and pool furniture in the garage. Then it's just sit and wait.

The next morning it's all over the news. A storm the size of the state of Texas has made a direct hit on where we call home. It was either a strong Category 2 or 'weak' Category 3, depending on where the wind speed was measured. But what clearly set this storm apart was its storm surge. Although it did not reach the dreaded twenty feet some had predicted, it was over ten and massive in size. Information is still coming in as we try to plan our next step. There's talk of keeping people off the island for a while, so an argument can be made to simply stay put.

But there's a homing drive that's part of the human condition. There's an urge to get back, even in the face of danger. People hate the unknown, and we're no different. We have to get closer.