Hurricane Survivors’ Advice

Take it to the bank (if you can get there)

When it comes to men, women and children who have endured hurricanes, there is only one universal identity: Boy Scouts.

During hurricane season, anyone in Florida must be a Boy Scout because their motto is “Be Prepared.”

That’s especially true in coastal counties like Palm Beach, with nearly 1.55 million residents bordering the Atlantic Ocean, or Collier, Lee and Charlotte, with a combined total of almost 1.47 million shouldered against the Gulf of Mexico. For those who make their homes near beaches, lakes, rivers, streams, creeks and canals, preparation is a key to relative comfort during a storm — but also a key to safety and survival.

Here, Florida Weekly brings you advice, but not just any advice or our advice. We offer the sobered considerations of people previously hammered by a hurricane.

Their advice — their sense of what living in Florida means in the hurricane prone months each year — may or may not work for you. But it has a singular virtue: It’s based on very vivid personal experience.

Hurricane Ian flooded Jeff and Jenny Fessenden’s condo with 30 inches of water. COURTESY PHOTOS

Officialdom and ambivalence

Most people probably have heard the advice offered by their county’s emergency management services, which usually includes the following:

• Have your property tidy and trimmed in advance.

• now your evacuation zone and evacuation routes.

• Have a disaster supply kit that includes water, food, light, clothes and cash.

• Know shelter locations or (even better) have friends or relatives at a distance who can host you.

• Keep vehicles ready and fully fueled.

• In a power outage that can last days, stay informed by battery radios or well-charged cell phones of a storm’s progress.

But the words of storm veterans can be less predictable and sometimes justifiably ambivalent.

Charlie Williams (no relation to the reporter), a longtime resident of Palm Beach County, puts it this way. “Hurricanes will scare you, but what to do is problematic with things that tie us down, like homes, pets and other possessions — there’s the fight or flight response, and it’s hard to decide (on the proper action).

Frank and Teresa Desguin have survived several hurricanes in place.

Almost 20 years ago, he endured Hurricanes Francis, Jeanne (both in 2004), and Wilma (2005) for 13 months, describing them as “the least weather-related fun I have ever had.”

The scariest moment came after he’d boarded up all his windows except a little one looking out over the pool, with its screened enclosure and tin roof, from the bathroom. Hearing an odd sound added to the terrible wind, he went into the bathroom for a look. A 15-foot piece of tin roof was flapping like a sheet in the breeze, just hanging on by an edge.

“Since then, I’ve done the little things one can do — had impact glass installed all around, I try to keep things picked up and the shrubbery trimmed.

“Knowing how bad storms will continue to get as the oceans and the world heat up, they’re going to be scarier. The house has been here since 1953 — so I’m not sure whether to hunker down, or get on the road, only two roads, one in and one out. Getting in a car with millions of others trying to flee north or south doesn’t sound like a good idea.

Dan Budd and wife Bridgit Budd’s mom, watch Hurricane Ian hit Sanibel. COURTESY PHOTOS

“And getting on a plane and getting the hell out of Dodge? Then you have to contend with pets and with locking up the house and hoping it’s still there when you come back. So it’s a major decision. And when is the last plane out?”

His observation is candid, but his resistance to ambivalence is determined. “I don’t have a ready answer. Listen to what they’re saying. Don’t be panicked, but be sensible. Do as much hardening as you can in advance. Have things picked up so you don’t have to do it last minute — maybe the patio furniture is all you have to put away.”

Williams is taking his own advice now, like having light. Just last week, he received three GE chargeable LED light bulbs he ordered from Amazon.

Brigit and Dan Budd, with family on Sanibel.

“You screw them in, leave them for 10 hours to charge, and you have five hours of light when you need it.”

That’s a good start.

Keep your feet up

Jeff Fessenden, a Neapolitan who had lived through several hurricanes with his wife Jenny in a ground-floor condominium on a canal a block off the Gulf of Mexico, was treated to a disastrous education at the end of September two years ago when the most costly storm in Florida’s history, Hurricane Ian, crashed ashore on the southwest coast.

Storm surge, not the 145-mile-perhour winds, was what did it. Although the Fessendens were 20 or more miles south of where 10 to 15 feet of water surged across portions of Bonita Springs, Fort Myers Beach and Sanibel Island, they lost all their possessions.

“We’d been in our condo for 26 years and had just one high-water event in that time, during Hurricane Irma (in Sept. 2017). Water came up to the slab outside the lanai but never came onto the porch. But in Ian, in 20 to 30 minutes, we had 30 inches of water through the entire condominium.”

Bridgit’s new book, a compelling history of Ian’s aftermath in photos she took on Sanibel Island, is available at Suncatchers’ Dream, a gift store on Sanibel.

So his advice is a metaphor in four words: “Keep your feet up.”

In other words, do what you must to avoid the water, and if officials warn of storm surge, take them seriously.

“All our furniture, all our personal stuff, that was all gone. We own two condos and we’ve had them rebuilt, but we were put in such a financial hole from the storm. We’ve had trouble renting them. We’re crossing our fingers. If it happens again, we’re out of here.”

One other thing he recommends: Don’t think insurance companies will pay for all damages. Certainly, he says, do not ever depend on them. “Forget insurance because it always comes up short. They’re quick to kick you out the door. We’ve been let down by three of them.

“I would say nature has kind of set the tone here.”

In a recent television broadcast on NBC-2 Naples, an anchor offered this cheery report:

“If you live in Naples, this news may not surprise you: U.S. News and World Report just named Naples the Best City to live in in the country. Not too shabby.

“The outlet says the biggest advantages to living in Naples are the proximity to the beach, of course, the sunshine, and the fact that there is no state income tax — that’s a big one.

“The Fort Myers area ranked 37th in the country.”

There may be no taxes, but somebody in Florida or the United States is helping to pay down the estimated $113 billion in damage wrought by Hurricane Ian through taxes.

Fessenden adds that if you can muster personal savings for storm damage over time — your own personal tax or insurance — do so.

More insurance advice

Frank Desguin and his wife, Teresa, have been weathering storms for decades in Charlotte County, including the devastating Hurricane Charley, which destroyed much of the Punta Gorda and Port Charlotte communities in August 2004.

“I’m not a good one to ask because I’ve never left during a hurricane,” he says.

But after you’ve addressed the basics and understand the county’s emergency recommendations, especially for people facing hurricanes for the first time, “insurance first,” he advises.

Teresa, for example, owns a house. “We had an interesting thing with it,” he explains.

“If you have a mortgage, the bank does a good job taking care of the property. But she had no mortgage because she owned it. And she realized (only after the storm), the insurance company had canceled her insurance.

“So double check with the insurance company — make sure everything is okay. Something weird happened. At least you have it on record. She only lost a pool cage, but it could have been a lot worse.”

If you’ve never experienced a direct hit, there’s something else you should do, too, he advises: “Check with neighbors to see if their area is prone to flooding.” Sometimes, very dry-seeming neighborhoods, far from water bodies, can quickly go underwater from sheet flow or something like it.

“And as far as leaving — that’s the tough one,” Mr. Desguin says. “If you think you’re going to leave, do it several days in advance, and if you decide to stay, get yourself an inverter. It’s much quieter and more efficient. I have two of them.”

Those in the deep stay

Perhaps the most poignant and telling advice comes from two Hurricane Ian families who behaved like stormcocks — the little English thrushes that perch on fence posts and in hedgerows, facing into the wind when all other creatures hunker down or flee a storm.

Although each family survived — Pete Crumpacker and his wife Tina, on Estero Island, where Fort Myers Beach spreads out, and Bridgit Budd, her husband, Dan, and her mother, Linda Faust Miller, on Sanibel Island — it was close. The results for them were very different.

When Ian hit, the Crumpackers were seven feet above the ground, well prepared in their home, they thought, just as they had been in previous hurricanes. The Budds on Sanibel awaited the onslaught from 12 feet up.

Pete and Tina avoided appearing in black ink as a statistic reported by the National Weather Service only because when the storm surge cascaded into their home. They found themselves standing on tables and a refrigerator above the water, Pete punched a hole in the ceiling and created a space large enough for them to toss up their beloved cat, Tilly, and crawl into the attic behind him.

In the cool, emotion-free language of the National Hurricane Center, “Ian was responsible for over 150 direct and indirect deaths and over $112 billion in damage, making it the costliest hurricane in Florida’s history and the third-costliest in United States history.”

Further reports indicated the storm “destroyed more than 5,000 homes and 284 businesses. Another 910 businesses suffered major damages.”

The Crumpackers knew four of the 150 lost souls.

In the end, they’re gone forever after decades living on Fort Myers Beach. They take up new lives instead on Hanson Street in Fort Myers, next to a house they bought for their son and his family, with two of their grandchildren.

Tina has never been back and can’t bring herself to go.

Bridgit and Dan Budd watched the water rise close to the floor under them before receding. They were the owners and proprietors of The Pecking Order, a celebrated fried chicken restaurant on Sanibel. They lost the business when it went underwater. Now, almost 20 months after the storm, they’re finally about to reopen it in a different Sanibel location nearby, on Palm Ridge Road.

The Budds never left the island. In the immediate and long-term aftermath of the storm, Bridgit went out every single day on a bicycle, photographing and videoing what she saw. She became a one-woman aid organization, helping and organizing help for anybody she could in immediate, dire need.

She’s published her photos in an 80- page book, “Sanibel After Ian: Through My Lens,” available with other books and products she sells on her website, www. Bridgitswildlife.com , or at Suncatchers’ Dream, a gift store on Sanibel.

Advice from the hardest time

When Pete Crumpacker heard a generator advertisement last week, he could only chuckle — which is progress. There was likely no chuckling in the weeks and months immediately after the storm.

“Keep your generator in peak condition with the expert service and repair team at Sarlo,” the ad reads. Sarlo is a well-known lawnmower and power tool company in Fort Myers.

“We’ll ensure it’s ready to start, generate electricity, and keep you powered when it matters most. Call us… to get your generator ready for hurricane season!”

Pete now speaks with both the proverbial and authentic voice of experience: “That’s great — if you have a generator,” he says. “Who didn’t have a generator? We all had generators. But if you’re submerged, that’s another thing.”

Remembering those days, which is not an amusing pastime but a sometimes undesirable necessity, leads to some straightforward advice.

“The basic thing: Go to higher ground,” he says. “You can argue about that before or after a storm. If you know a place that hasn’t (ever) gotten wet before today’s date…” you might want to have quick access to it.

That’s one thing. Another is cash.

“Not being able to get cash money soon after — that was a problem. I had $30 in my pocket. For a week, it was kind of a backward way of living. The lights on U.S. 41 didn’t work. I couldn’t get to an ATM. The National Guard (with food and water) didn’t get there until Sunday, like four or five days later. From there, you want electricity.”

“The whole other thing about staying is, there are people who love and care about you who will worry. And keep worrying. My poor mom (she’s 96), still has nightmares about being in a tsunami and trying to push me a piece of wood.”

So his advice is: Don’t.

One last thing from Pete, though, if you do stay: “Have a dry bag for all your crap. Be realistic. You’d like to use your phone, so if you want to get in water or put up with winds that are 160 miles per hour, keep it dry.” The dry bag could include cash, I.D., and any medicines.

For the Budds on Sanibel, who say they will never leave for a storm, the first advice is, “heed the impending threat of a surge — this was the first time we got hit with that. We were not prepared for it,” Bridgit explains.

Also, “we would keep comp and collision insurance on our vehicles. We didn’t have it because we don’t believe in insurance, it’s generally a racket, and we try to insure ourselves when we can. You have to get homeowners, and we still have not seen a penny for our roof. But all four of our cars floated away, and we got zero for any of them.”

“A couple of other things: My husband had stored our generator and gasoline and bikes in the back of his truck for safekeeping, and we lost all of that, along with the vehicles.

“We would plan for the surge and store things on higher ground — we’ve been looking for places to park our cars high.”

With technologies and information, none of it will likely be as disastrous a killer as the 1928 Okeechobee hurricane. In the early morning hours of Sept. 17, 96 years ago, it made landfall in West Palm Beach, ultimately killing more than 4,100 Floridians, many of them caught with no warning.

Even Hurricane Katrina paled by comparison, with its 1,390 deaths, in Aug., 2005.

We now have plenty of warnings and plenty of good advice. The trick for contemporary Floridians: heed the former and take the latter.

Perhaps adopt Pete Crumpacker’s philosophy: “This is a different dream, now. The old dream of our lives was to live on the water. Now, we have a new dream, a new reality” — they have a family compound of sorts next to their two grandsons, ages 4 and 1.

“There are lessons, and there are gifts,” he says. “And sometimes you have to make them up for yourself.” ¦

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