As a retired newspaper reporter. who for 15 years covered disasters of all kinds, including hurricane Andrew in 1992, I’m looking at the forecast for the Tampa Bay area and saying to myself I’m glad I’m not a reporter anymore.
I remember Andrew very well. Our newsroom was mobilized, everyone was on call, pickup trucks had been rented, but the storm was overwhelming as was the job. The damage in south Dade County looked like Hiroshima.
I spent the day before the storm riding with the Fort Lauderdale Fire Department. The day was calm, but we were out all night answering fire and rescue calls. Power lines were down and transformers were exploding with blue flashes everywhere and we weren’t even in the major storm area.
Miami was 10 times worse. Houses were flattened for miles. More than 63,000 homes were destroyed and 125,000 damaged. Sixty five people died.
After the storm cleared the next morning, a photographer and I loaded our pickup with gallon jugs of water and dozens of loaves of bread and headed south.
We were awestruck by the devastation. People were crying in the streets. There was a story behind every door that was left. People spent the night in their bathtubs with mattresses over them as their house blew away.
We spent days in the area. It was exhilarating; thrilling to be part of such a big story, but exhausting.
And, though you are supposed to be neutral as a reporter, it is impossible not to empathize with people in distress.
That’s why I say I’m glad I’m retired. These kinds of stories are very difficult to cover, physically and mentally. You don’t even know where you are because all the street signs are down and all other landmarks are obliterated. This was before GPS, of course.
People have outstretched arms and are thankful for a bread and a gallon of water while they try to clear out their homes in the hope that they can salvage something.
It’s a very sad situation and one that makes me glad Eric and I and most of friends aren’t in the danger zone tonight.
