I sure hope this guy isn't counting his chickens before they're hatched! "Jehovah's helpers." Are those like Santa's little helpers? The mythological ones?
Along U.S. 17, a storm's wrath
Published August 16, 2004
Sun-Sentinal.Com
At the beginning, along the mouth of Charlotte Harbor, I walked with motel owner Judy Thomas through the ruins of her life.
In the end, in a partly blacked out and heavily disrupted Daytona Beach, I heard Chris Paspalakis wax stoic in the shards of his shattered oceanfront store.
"That's the chance you take when you have a business on A1A in Florida," Paspalakis said. "But now everyone in Florida has to know that anytime a hurricane is anywhere, even the other side of the state, it can hit you. Hard."
After two long days and over 200 miles, I had finally taken in Hurricane Charley's full Florida breadth.
In between, I saw too many shredded roofs, crumpled mobile homes and frazzled faces to count.
Too many bruised businesses, snapped trees and scattered electric lines.
Too many uprooted and upended lives.
I saw people lined up for relief supplies distributed from the back of semi trucks in parking lots, and cows chewing their cud next to toppled power poles as if nothing had happened. I saw places named Little Willie's RV Park and Bill's Auto Body torn to tatters. I saw shirtless children playing on the fallen trunk of a huge oak tree, and countless McDonald's golden arches turned into spaghetti gibberish.
The idea was to retrace Charley's path across the state, from Gulf coast to the Atlantic, from Punta Gorda to Daytona Beach, from furious opening salvo to weakening -- but by no means weak -- parting shot.
The band of the worst devastation wasn't especially wide, ranging about 10-20 miles as the storm went northeast, but boy, did it run complete.
That, even more than the astronomical price tag and the tragic body count, is the truly mind-numbing thing about this storm.
This monster had one eye, huge lungs and legs that wouldn't quit.
As horrific as Andrew was, its obliterating blow was relatively contained, packed in a compact swath south of Miami to Homestead.
But this was a rampage that went on and on. And on.
Charley's path seemed rash and unpredictable on Friday, but in retrospect it was as precise as a car with On-Star.
North on U.S. Highway 17 from Punta Gorda to Sanford, about 170 miles. Then east on Interstate 4 for the final 35-mile dash to the coast. Charley barreled across Florida in 81/2 hours; it took me two days to wade through his wreckage.
To see Charley's devastation, all you had to do was drive these roads, through Fort Ogden and Arcadia, Zolfo Springs and Wauchula, Fort Meade and Haines City, Orlando and Lake Helen.
Highway 17 runs through small, forgotten towns that residents now fear might be overlooked during the massive rebuilding effort. But some of those towns looked every bit as destroyed as the bigger coastal communities, a shock considering how far inland they are.
And it was just as surprising seeing such damage in a landlocked city like Orlando, where the airport Crowne Plaza hotel sported a shattered glass atrium and a sheared side wall running 10 stories up the length of the building.
"I never would have thought this could happen here, but it did," said Carrie Britt of inland Bowling Green. "This storm just took it out from one end of the state to the other."
A travelogue from the days after ...
Port Charlotte, Saturday, 10:15 a.m.The street in front of the Pelican Cove motel is partly blocked with two overturned bread trucks, carried by the wind from a parking lot about 30 yards away. But that's not the most astonishing thing to Judy Thomas.
"Can you believe that?" she says, pointing to the unscathed dock on the harbor. "We just spent $20,000 putting that dock in, and it's the only thing left. That's the first thing I expected to lose."
Instead, she and husband Harry, who owned the motel for five years, lost everything else. The 10-unit motel was shredded, and their home, which doubled as their office, had gaping holes where the roof used to be. As she gathered her belongings to take to a friend's house, a heavy rain started to fall.
"Hmmm," Harry deadpanned as he looked up. "The roof's leaking."
Judy pointed to the pictures from happier times covering the front desk, of loyal patrons posing with fish.
"We used to have pretty good fishing here," she sighed. Then she looked at the mess around her. "The hardest part is just trying to figure out where you start. You just try to come up with a new beginning somehow."
Port Charlotte, Saturday, 11:30 a.m.At the Maple Leaf mobile home park, Marshall Seals of the Tamarac Fire Rescue Department sifts through destroyed homes making sure there are no casualties. He marks searched properties with spray-painted Xs on the front walls, if they're still standing.
The corrugated tin siding from one home wrapped around the trunk of a palm tree looks like a bow on a Christmas present.
Around Cleveland, Saturday 12:15 p.m.With all signs blown away, it's hard to tell what town you're in. The storm may have followed this road up the state, but it was wildly indiscriminate in the usual hurricane way. A Citgo Gas station has been reduced to rubble as if a bomb exploded, but a barrel-tiled home next to it is almost unscathed.
Just past the DeSoto County Line, Saturday, 12:30 p.m. -- State troopers turn back all non-residents, saying the road to Arcadia is impassable. Instead of a 20-mile drive to Arcadia, I have to take a 100-mile detour.
Arcadia, Saturday, 2:15 p.m.Across from the nearly-razed DeSoto Village trailer park on State Road 72, a spray-painted sign sits at the driveway of a damaged home: "2 HORSES FOUND."
Edward Ayers, 63, and Harold Krejci, 77, look through what used to be the screened-in porch of Bob Dall's mobile home. Dall is a winter resident from Maine. Ayers looks after the property in the summer. Ayers' mobile home on the other side of town is also heavily damaged, with the roof torn off completely.
"This is sad," Ayers said. "This town is mainly retirees. I don't know what we're going to do."
Ayers doesn't have insurance, but he said he will rebuild with the help of his fellow Jehovah's Witnesses. He said one van filled with Jehovah's helpers -- carpenters, electricians, roofers -- was turned away by the troopers when trying to get into town earlier.
"Now I'm going to lose everything I've got because of water damage," he said, looking up. A heavy thunderstorm pelts the area over the next hour, adding spit to their wounds.
Wauchula, Saturday, 3:45 p.m.After an endless string of shuttered and shattered stores, an oasis in the post-storm desert: a Wal-Mart Superstore and the Hong Kong Chinese restaurant are undamaged and open for business. The Wal-Mart complex has its own generator. There's a long line to get in, with police allowing only a handful of customers at a time to avert a rampage of the shelves.
"My house is demolished," said Leonard Cochran, who drove from Arcadia to find something to eat. "I can't believe the amount of damage we got. They're saying it might be two months until we get electricity again. I heard Gov. Bush visited Punta Gorda and Port Charlotte today, but I hope they don't forget about us. It seems like everyone is focusing on the bigger cities."
Orlando, Saturday 7 p.m.There are huge pockets around the city without power, leading to a ghost-town feeling. Power poles are toppled, with wires snaking across streets. Tree limbs were the big menace here, with fallen branches causing damage to homes and cars. Along the U.S. 92/441 corridor, hotels and motels that would usually be teeming with tourists are closed. Getting from Point A to Point B is a nerve-jangling mess, as broken signals make for backups at gridlocked intersections.
Sanford, Sunday, noon"We're lucky," said Ken McGill, 46, as he cleaned fallen branches from his front yard. "This is just an inconvenience for us." The unoccupied house next door, just bought by a couple from Miami, has a fallen live oak perched against its side. Across South Park Avenue, Randy Allman is also bemoaning the loss of a beautiful 85-year-old live oak tree, but his fell harmlessly onto the yard.
"I teach middle school, and on Thursday I told my kids, `You don't have to worry about hurricanes, they only hit South Florida and the Panhandle,'" Allman said. "I'm eating my words."
Daytona Beach, Sunday, 1:30 p.m.Finding a functioning gas station is an adventure, with lines snaking for blocks. Across from the Atlantic, Chris Paspalakis, 36, watches a cleanup crew cart off debris.
"There's my roof," he says, watching a worker across the street scoop up gravel and tarpaper into a wheelbarrow. His store, Beach City, was one of those two-story glassy oceanfront emporiums that sold everything from film to tanning oil. He figures he has lost 80 percent of his $140,000 inventory and that it will take at least five months to rebuild the store. "I'm just hoping to be open for the races in February," he said.
"If there was ever a direct hit here, the whole town would be flattened," he said. "This town just wasn't built to withstand hurricanes."
For a monster like Charley, neither was this state.
Michael Mayo can be reached at mmayo@sun-sentinel.com or 954-356-4508.