By Harold Brummett
Denmark Star Route

The rain has come and is about gone. It was a good rain that fell slowly on the parched ground. Other places
were not so lucky as the hurricane dumped feet of water almost at once. I watched on the television the
flooding, and am glad I no longer work for FEMA.

In a few days I will call some friends made from previous flooding, mainly in West Virginia. The town of Rainelle and the town of Hundred, both coal mining towns with high unemployment and lots of pride, comes to mind.

When I first went to Rainelle there was a large bulldozer pushing debris down Main Street. As an intergovernmental affairs specialist dealing with local elected officials, my first stop was the mayor’s office.

The mayor barely broke five feet tall, in her mid-seventies, thin as a rail but the heart of a lion. I walked into her office and she motioned me to shut the door. She sat down at her desk, I sat across from her and she started telling me the story of her town’s flood.

Not long into her story the stress of being up days on end, little sleep and the burden of leadership and decision making came to a head, let down her guard and started to cry.

I told her that if she didn’t stop crying I was going to cry with her. She didn’t and I did. We worked well together getting assistance for her hometown.

As it turns out this town had an Army Reserve unit. My mayor as the floodwaters rose and as more machines and manpower was needed, she went to the unit and commandeered them. Took charge.

Ordered these soldiers and their machines to do things and go places. They did.

Later as the bureaucracy of the Army slowly discovered that one of their combat engineer outfits (not state National Guard but Army Reserve) was under the de-facto command of a 70-odd-year-old lady
mayor was beside itself. The brouhaha went all the way up to Pentagon level.

My mayor was not in any danger of unlawfully possessing a military unit because of the circumstances
and as we used to say, sometimes it is better to ask forgiveness than permission.I am glad I am home and not in the middle of a disaster somewhere. My time of spending months away and working 20 hour days are past. Seeing the damage, the lives washed away and dealing with the hurt takes a toll on those who help. When the disaster is massive it will look too big to handle and so the work begins bit by bit.

Like the old saying, how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. I never could bring myself to sightsee someone’s misery. When there was help to be done, get in and do it, but gawking at misfortune seemed to me to be grotesque.

From my experience the emotional toll for the people who go through a disaster is great but it is also great for those who go in to help. I also know that in our country are countless mayors, responders, disaster relief workers that are tireless in their efforts who have the heart of lions for their communities.

When we were frustrated with the pace of recovery and the bureaucracy of our jobs we joked to each other, it is not a disaster until FEMA shows up. I’m glad they show up.