Friday, October 26
There is talk in the office and the TV news is beginning to discuss “the left turn” hurricane (or tropical storm) Sandy is going to take. It appears on track for New Jersey, with New York in the path as well. In my mind I think about hurricane Irene.
It was just over a year ago when the media filled Lower Manhattan with anxiety over a hurricane that was expected to flood the city. I had been living in the financial district (near Wall Street) for over ten years and there was nothing like this predicted before. Zone A, the area surrounding the apartment I live (my building is Zone B), was evacuated. All businesses boarded up and sand bagged their establishments. After a good amount of day drinking, my wife and I, along with our Dachshund (the hot dog), bunkered down and were ready. When the storm hit the city the floods never came; instead, we were greeted with sunshine and lots of supplies we didn’t need. Other areas in New Jersey and upstate New York saw significant flooding, but for Lower Manhattan, it had appeared to be a storm created by Duane Reade.
Forgive me if I didn’t get too excited over the initial reports of Sandy.
Saturday, October 27
A beautiful day full of sunshine and family fun, you see, in the past year my wife and I had a child. Life had changed and now we were spending the day in TriBeCa and Battery Park City with our newborn son (and of course, the hot dog), celebrating Halloween. (READ: No day drinking.) A quick brunch with the family and then we were home. Meanwhile, the news reports continued.
Sunday, October 28 (Sandy Eve)
I don’t remember if it was the mandatory evacuation of Zone A or the shutting down of the subway, but sometime during these announcements nervousness began to set in. It wasn’t long after this that I was at Duane Reade for our first round of supplies: water, batteries, and granola bars topped the list of needs. Everyone from our surrounding neighborhood had to be evacuated by 7pm, the morning tide was to bring an initial storm surge that could potentially cause flooding. We went to sleep and woke up early the next morning.
Monday, October 29 (Sandy Lands)
The morning news had reporters in Battery Park. At high tide there was a splash over the side. Another bust it appeared, but the weather men continued to disagree and believed it will be the evening tide, which coincidentally would be the same time the storm would reach land that would cause the problems. Still, watching some water splash over the rail had a familiar Irene type feel.
It is impossible not to get sucked into the weather reporting hype. Whether it’s watching the guy on Fox with the big muscles or the guy on CBS with the rolled up dress shirt (you know he means business), they continue to build the drama: “This is the perfect storm!” Duane Reade on Wall Street is still open. I go and buy more supplies. Back on TV there is discussion of the storm surge, high tide, a cold front from the North, and a full moon as leading factors to why we need to be afraid. Every hour there is another update and every hour the report is the same: “The storm is gaining speed and intensity and is taking the turn.” I go back to Duane Reade for coffee, and more supplies.
Around 5pm the storm approaches Atlantic City, but doesn’t “officially” land. The tide begins to rise with high tide not expected until almost 9pm. The wind has increased, especially on the 19th floor where we reside. Our chandelier begins swaying, back and forth. Then the wind increases more. The chandelier is now swaying four to six inches right to left, right to left. I periodically grab it so that it doesn’t crash into the wall. Around 7pm our building emails us: The surrounding buildings have been contacted by Con Edison (electric company) and will have their power cut soon. No word on our building. Minutes pass, and right when we begin to celebrate…there is darkness. All power is out in Lower Manhattan. Now is when it gets crazy. The wind picks up, the water moves in. Ladies and gentlemen: Meet Sandy.
Our cell phone service was also cut when the power went. There is still a half bar of service, so every half an hour you will get email (between those times your phone just tries to update, draining your battery in the process). The building sends out an email letting us know that our power was lost (duh) and that we will not have running water for long. We turn on our radio. The winds are gusting at their peak, but no one is able to provide a miles per hour estimate because without power there are no readings. Outside the water rises over the walls and into Manhattan, filling the South Street store fronts, the Brooklyn-Battery tunnel, and subways to the brim. As water fills the underworld, transformers begin exploding into the air. Red! Green! Inside we have candles. Outside it’s a fucking nightmare presented by Macy’s. The winds are so strong our building begins swaying more and creaking back and forth, back and forth. Another gust of wind brings rocks bouncing off our windows. My wife is unable to stand still due to the shifting floor below her. After another gust we bring the baby into the bathroom and consider hiding under a table. On the radio reports of devastation are coming in and no one is sure when the flooding will stop or even if the storm has landed yet. Reports of explosions, water filled parking garages, and a flooded stock exchange fills the airwaves. Some later would prove to be false, but in the moment it was Armageddon. Over the next several hours we rode out the storm and eventually fell asleep unsure if all of Manhattan was under water or if the city would ever be the same. One thing we did know: Our supplies were already running low.
Tuesday, October 30 (Rescue Mission)
The reports were between not encouraging and dire. In addition to destruction of houses and businesses, Sandy was hailed as “the worst storm ever in New York” and initial reports had us wondering if the subway would ever run again or if power would be on before the holidays. What we knew for sure was that power would not be turned on Tuesday or Wednesday, and probably not Thursday. I went down 19 flights of stairs to check out the neighborhood. The water had receded and there was no more above street flooding. What I couldn’t see was all of the flooded basements and saltwater residue left behind. Nothing was open, no coffee.
With only half a bar of cell service emails were barely being sent (approximately one per every 30 minutes of lucky). Time was passing and it would be dark in only a matter of hours. With friends in both Brooklyn and midtown Manhattan (both with power and living as if nothing had happened) offering to put us up we agreed it was best to evacuate and before we knew it there was a taxi heading downtown. How they got the taxi to head down to the canyons of powerless, devastated Lower Manhattan? I’ll never ask. How did they get a taxi to wait for them to take all of us back? Apparently they threatened to charge him with kidnapping. This is why you should never ask.
I continued with trips down and then back up the stairs. On my fourth trip I reached the bottom and that’s when the rescue team (gracious friend) meets me and shined a light in my face, “it’s like a warzone out there”, he says and then flies by me up the stairs. As he moves he explains the taxi situation so I try to follow. If I had been any slower there is a chance I would have been thrown over his shoulder and carried. Rule #1 with a rescue mission – you don’t fuck around. We grab all of our bags, the baby, and the hot dog as quickly as possible and head out to the taxi. It is still there (NOTE: threatening kidnapping really does work) and there is rumor of a gas leak nearby. A few wrong turns near a battered South Street Seaport and then we were headed uptown, with all of our baggage, literally and metaphorically.
We settle in and begin watching the media coverage on TV. Governor Cuomo, Mayor Bloomberg, and Governor Christie all have their own styles (for example, Christie let’s his monogrammed fleece do the talking). In between reports we go to Duane Reade for basic supplies because we really don’t know what we need or what exactly was going on. NOTE: The hotdog was not allowed at our friend’s apartment so she would need to get sneaked in each time…truly living the life of refugees!
Back on television more coverage of the flooding and destruction. Bloomberg is happy to report there hasn’t been a murder in two days (maybe all of the guns floated away in the floods?). The Halloween Parade is cancelled, but the NYC marathon is still on. No word on the power and late at night we come to the conclusion that we will not be able to stay as guests forever and begin looking at hotels. This turned into a 4am hotel booking session that really should have had a white board and cigars.
Wednesday, October 31 (Operation: Milk)
Inside we are comfortable and treated well. Outside, in Midtown, everything is strange; new Dunkin Donuts, new delis, and different Duane Reade stores. Inside on the TV there is reports of areas of Jersey swept away by the storm and a Staten Island body count that continues to climb. Outside, it’s as if nothing happened. The lights are on, everyone is going to work.
Around noon we were certain that our power would not be on soon. We needed to get back to our apartment because there was frozen breast milk that was thawing, and if was going to be salvaged, needed to be rescued ASAP. Rather quickly I found a taxi with a group heading down to the East Village. With no traffic lights or cops or anything it was a little like the Wild West, or at least how I would have pictured it if they had taxis instead of horses. We ride down Lafayette through a ghost town formerly known as SoHo and then take Bowery down. I made it to Wall Street and was relieved to find that the LOVE coffee truck and corner cigarette guy were already back in business. I went up 19 flights of stairs and quickly packed up the milk and a few other supplies and then ran back down the steps. The whole operation took just over an hour and was a success. I felt a little bit like Bruce Willis going back for the watch, of course I didn’t run into a gimp on the way back…or at that’s the story I’m sticking to. The night ended with no costumes, no candy, and falling to sleep early. Happy Halloween!
Thursday, November 1 (Life as a Refugee)
In addition to the usual updates (no subway, no power) there is now no gas. Cars form lines for miles in New Jersey and New York looking for gas. Back at the safe house we are planning another trip back down to our apartment to get additional hot dog food, baby food, stroller, and a brush? Overall we are finding a routine with our new lives as refugees. Three more trips downtown and back and we would have been completely moved in. There is a hurricane playlist and I even have a hurricane beard going. NOTE: All hurricane playlists have to include The Scorpions “Rock You like a Hurricane”, it’s a rule. I would also include Tom Petty’s “Refugee” and Soul Asylum’s “New York Blackout”, but that is really just personal preference. I would not include anything from Justin Timberberlake because that would just make me angry.
Friday, November 2
On Friday we finally depart Midtown and head down to Battery Park City, the only area of Lower Manhattan with power. We check in at the Conrad Hotel, watch the NYC Marathon get cancelled, order a sub-par $25 cheeseburger, and take trips to both Duane Reade AND Rite Aid. At 2a.m. we receive an email that our power is back up and running.
Saturday, November 3
The next morning I make my way back to our apartment, trying to get around the large trucks pumping water out of neighboring buildings. I walk in and the lights are on, the chandelier is still, and as Glen Frye once said, “The Heat is on.” It’s time to bring the others back.
As I take the elevator down and walk west on Wall Street it feels like weeks have passed. I have accumulated 500,000 Duane Reade reward points. Around the neighborhood, the pumping of water and clean-up has started. The scene is somber, but the hard work and “deal with it and move on” approach is inspiring. I look down at my phone and see I have service again. I also have an email from the neighborhood liquor store welcoming me back and letting me know they will be opening at 2pm. The rebuild has already begun.
To assist those that have been impacted by hurricane Sandy please go to www.redcross.org.
David S. Grant is an author of ten books, rock columnist, travel writer, and NBA blogger. Follow David at .david_s_grant or visit http://www.davidsgrant.com
