After Hurricane, Signpost Symbolizes Long Connection for Port Charlotte Resident

by Whit Elam

Posted: August 27, 2004

This home in Port Charlotte, Florida was severely damaged by Hurricane Charley. Some 26,000 Florida residences were totally destroyed on August 13 by Hurricane Charley's 195 mph winds. FEMA Photo/Mark Wolfe, Port Charlotte, FL, August 16, 2004.

For the past 25 years, home #777 on a quiet street in Port Charlotte, Florida, has been the address of a kind man named Bill.* After a long career in public service, he found the palms on Florida's southwest coast more inviting than the cold winters of his native northern New York. So, without any family, Bill moved to picturesque Port Charlotte.

Today, Bill's manufactured home is splintered across the grid of roadways and cul-de-sacs of his neighborhood. Number 777 is one of the 26,000 Florida residences totaled on August 13 in Hurricane Charley's 195 mph winds. Palm trees that once proudly lined the streets lie across the roadways, stripped of their canopied tops and wrapped by pieces of aluminum siding, roofing and broken telephone lines.

My parents, recently retired, own a home in the same community as Bill. They've joined neighbors along the street to search homes, clear roadways, and salvage any identifiable personal belongings strewn about the sandy soil and soggy carpeting.

Goodwill of Others Eases the Shock

As they work alongside others to reclaim their once beautiful neighborhood, they report a sense of camaraderie. It's hard to put into words. Volunteers, construction laborers, and families from nearby regions seem to arrive at just the right time each day. They bring meals, cool drinks, and other small offerings to my parents and their neighbors. The goodwill of others eases the initial shock of destruction.

Another comfort is the sunshine. Paired with coastal breezes, it has made "cleaning up" a bit more tolerable. But the sun also brings oppressive heat during this region's warmest part of the year. The first population boom of retirees to Southwest Florida decades ago coincided with the invention of affordable home air-conditioning systems. But there is no air-conditioning now. Temperatures reach the mid-nineties every day, making physical labor a hardship for older adults. Stress, heat, and labor took their toll when another of my parent's neighbors suffered a fatal heart six days after the storm.

Optimism Mixed with Worry

We who see news reports from afar view the destruction differently than my parents and their neighbor Bill. The people on their street had a personal connection to the damaged stores, restaurants, churches and parks in their community. Perhaps they knew some of the 23 people who died in the storm. Many haven't yet heard about the safety or condition of their close friends in town. Yet they seem optimistic that the places and people they most enjoyed somehow survive.

Some homeowners on my parents' street have hurricane insurance; others do not. Regardless, it likely will take many weeks before insurance agents, adjusters, and bankers can begin making claim payments. Residents have been advised to take whatever items are most important, leaving the rest behind. That means Bill and my parents may or may not ever see what's left of their homes.

Bill worries that he cannot afford to rebuild. Construction regulations have changed drastically to keep pace with the population boom. Bill confides to my mother that any insurance money, accompanied by his meager fixed income, will be insufficient to build even a very modest a new home.

About a third of the homes on the street still stand-- barely. In this humid climate mold and mildew have begun their rapid attack on exposed walls, bedding, and sub-flooring. Unwelcome insects invade whatever is left. The next rains will complicate things. Storm drains and sewers are blocked. Roofs of remaining homes are punctured or torn away altogether.

The Perfect Symbol

In losing his house and his longtime neighborhood, Bill also lost his sense of community and his way of life. He is staying with a relative in an unfamiliar town, miles away. He can no longer run errands for his other older friends, delivering mail, bringing library books, or helping tend their lawns and patio gardens.

Bill and my mother went back to the site of his home for the first and possibly last time to find a "souvenir" of the life he had made for himself there. Like archaeologists, they uncovered artifacts of his life that looked strangely foreign. In the end, Bill chose his perfect symbol for the place that was his home for 25 years. Beneath crumpled plywood and broken flowerpots rested an iron signpost and plaque marking his former address in broad, bold lines. Wherever he lives next, he says, that sign will follow-- the symbol of 25 years of home: #777.

*"Bill" is not the neighbor's real name. The house number has also been changed. Whit Elam is associate editor with United Methodist Communications publications team.

See Also

News and Resources

• UMCOR Church Bulletin Insert: Hurricanes 2004.
• UMCOR Hurricanes 2004: Response News.
• UMCOR Emergency Kits: Flood Buckets and other needs.
• Florida Annual Conference Daily News, e-review.

Photos

• UMCOR Photos: Hurricane Charley Aftermath, August 24, 2004.
• UMCOR Photos: Hurricane Charley Aftermath & Response, August 20-23, 2004.
• Hurricane Charley Photo Gallery, Florida Annual Conference.