was another issue: I had moved my
car to high ground in the parking lot,
about 100 yards from the beach. Had
it been spared?
“
I just started mine and it was
OK,” Chris said. Chris, my neighbor
on the second floor,
his wife, and their
newborn son had
decided to ride
out the storm like
everyone else. “Go
out and try it, I’m
sure it’ll be fine;
everyone else’s is
OK.”
“
Are
you
leaving?” I asked.
“
Where would
we go? It’s flooded
from here to East
Rockaway”.
Running up 3
flights of stairs, I grabbed my key. To
my relief, when I touched the door
unlock button, headlights blinked
and the door unlocked, just like they
were supposed to. I opened the door,
and tested the seat and floor. They
were both dry. Key in ignition, my
breath held, I turned it. She started
right up, as if nothing ever happened.
Wow. Later on, I heard a knock at
my door. George walked in, frazzled.
“18
inches of water! I lost my car! By
6
PM, the water was half way up my
wheels!” His frustration punctuated
every word. “Baldy and I just sat on
the top step and watched it rise.”
When queried as to how everyone
else did, all he could say was, “Done,
flooded and everyone’s car is dead.”
Later on that day, I decided
to take a short walk around the
neighborhood. The once-grand Lido
Towers stood among ruins of broken
seawalls,reeds,and sand.Wrecked and
flooded cars were pushed together,
some up on curbs, while houses stood
dark and silent. This was not the city
I loved and embraced.This could not
be home; this was a foreign land.
Waterlines marked each and every
house and high rise, as weary people
started the daunting task of removing
soggy belongings. The following day,
my street corner remained flooded.
“
Go out through the secret exit”,
“
Alfredo said. “Go across the street,
through the complex and out on
Broadway.”
“
Is your car ok, Alfredo?”
“
Yes,” he said. “It’s fine.”
I ran upstairs, got my keys and
wallet, and went to the car. It started
once again, and I pulled out of the
parking lot. After following Alfredo’s
directions, my first stop was George’s
house.He wasn’t there, but a neighbor
told me that he and some other
neighbors “went into civilization”.
Rockville Centre, a town 15 minutes
to the north, had power. All this
time, I was frantically trying to reach
people, anyone, via Facebook, text,
phone. Nothing worked. Driving
north was the only way I could hope
to be able to reach my family and
friends, to let them know that I was
OK. I drove toward my friend Mira’s
house, in Oceanside, about 4 miles to
the north. SIGNAL! YES! Out went
the text messages, updates and calls.
All failed. My heart sank as I reached
her house, and saw the terrible
sight of rugs and
furniture heaped
upon her front step.
Devastation
had
found its way here,
too. I knocked on
the door, but there
was no answer. I
grabbed a piece
of paper and pen
out of the car and
scratched out a
note, saying that
we were OK, but
needed a place to
stay, as we had no
water or sewer. Her
dogs were barking
inside the house, so
I knew that they would be back.
By the time I got half way back
home, I got her precious text message.
“
We got flooded and lost the truck
and the Infinity. Mom lost her Civic
and her apt ... but we have room! We
have water! More importantly, WE
HAVEWINE! See you tonight!”
Getting back to Long Beach, I
said to George, “Pack a bag, we are
going to Oceanside. It’s paradise.
They have flush toilets, a generator
and wine. We can come back here
during the day, but this is where we
will go at night.”
None of us knew it at the time, but
this “adventure” was just beginning…
The story continues in the
Summer Issue of Discover Smith
Mountain Lake.
afternoon wore on, and the robo-
calls kept coming, by the hour, urging
people to leave. Then came the final
call, which said, “The time to evacuate
is over. Stay where you are and don’t
go outside.”
As night fell, the winds started
to pick up. I went to the lobby to see
if I could get a better vantage point.
By 7 PM, the Atlantic, relentlessly
pounding, had broken the fence that
stood on top of the sea wall. In my
parking lot, we noticed a car that had
been battered by sea water and part of
a broken fence.
My building super, Alfredo, and a
few others were in the lobby. “I have
to put more sand bags by the door,”
he said. “Come with us; we can go
outside through Apt 1-D”.
Stepping into the court yard was
an adventure, as it was
flooded. It was high tide,
with winds higher than
I had ever experienced
in my life; so much so,
that it was hard to draw
a breath. The sea wall
offered little protection
from the 17-foot storm
surge; the ocean just
swept right over it as if it
weren’t even there.
I went back upstairs
and turned on the TV.
The news was covering
the storm from Freeport,
Staten Island, and yes,
Long
Beach.
They
reported a multi-home fire in the
canals section, which had been
flooded since earlier in the day. The
blaze had been ignited by a parked
car, when salt water touched the car’s
electrical components.
Then the power went out.
As my windows rattled, I closed
the drapes and tried to get into bed.
With my attention riveted to my old-
time walkman radio, the horror was
starting to unfold. Disastrous news
repeated over and over again: massive
flooding, fires, and destruction.
Welcome to hell.
Then I did something I had never
done before: I took the cushion from
my lounger, a blanket, and a pillow,
and laid down in the entrance by
my front door. There’s a half wall
separating the foyer from my kitchen,
and interior walls to the hallway. I
considered this the safest place to be.
I tried in vain to wait for it to stop, to
be over, to be done. After a few hours,
it wasn’t, so I mustered up the courage
to get into bed. My cat had retreated
to her “safe zone” under the bed. She
was terrified, and so was I. Still with
no concept of the true devastation
that I would soon see, at this point, I
was just scared.
The next morning, I got up and
turned on the water. Nothing came
forth from the tap. I walked over and
looked out the window, whereupon I
saw the trashed courtyard. Brickwork
had been tossed around like Lego
pieces.Beach lockers had been pushed
up against an exit door. I threw on a
pair of sweat pants and a sweatshirt
and hurried downstairs.
“
Very little water in the building,”
Alfredo said. “Boiler and electrical
panel is OK!” The view out on the
street told a very different story.
Long Beach’s sewage system had
gone down during the storm; as such,
we had no water or sewer service in
the city. “They are saying 2 weeks,
maybe,” Alfredo added.
I was unsure of how safe it was
outside, in view of all the downed
power lines, flooding,
and about 6 inches of
sand covering the streets.
In the building next to
mine, the wall of their
underground
parking
area had been breached
by the sea. All storage
items had been swept
out onto the street, and
were lying in puddles of
seawater. I now knew that
the flashes of light that I
had seen the night before
had not been lightning,
but rather the hideous
pyrotechnic display of
exploding transformers.
At this point, we
were essentially cut off from the rest
of Long Island. We had no water,
power, cell or landline services. The
trappings of modern technology were
all gone. The street was flooded, so I
could not even get out. Then there
Sandy Continued...
Discover Smith Mountain Lake |
www.discoversmithmountainlake.com
Discover Smith Mountain Lake | Spring 2013
19
18