MOBILE, Ala.--Of all the people I interviewed for the census, Mrs. M. is one that sticks out the most. I still visit her. She's an elderly lady that has lived in public housing for decades in a notoriously bad area. Her neighborhood is now practically empty, with most streets having fifty-plus units but with only three or less occupied. I can't tell you how many hours I've sat on her porch listening to her tell stories. The woman has some fascinating and usually pretty dark stories, I just wish I could remember them all.
So in mid-September, when Hurricane Sally hit the Florida Panhandle as a strong Category 2 (winds 96-110), we got 30 inches of rain. We all thought Sally would be an easy Cat 1 (winds 74-95), but the worst of the storm hit between Mobile and Pensacola. My family and I went to check on Mrs. M and other seniors I had interviewed as soon as we could do so safely. These areas like where Mrs. M live were hit just as hard as anywhere else in Mobile, but they were the last to get their power back, even though many had medical priority and were on oxygen or other life-saving machines. My family brought them ice and batteries for flashlights and went to all the houses we could get to. We didn't know what else to do.
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There were quite a few people I interviewed for the census that hadn't been through a hurricane and they were only thinking about NOLA after Katrina. I can't tell you how many people asked me about flooding or about one tree or another falling, or their roof blowing off. I could only refer them to the Mobile County flood zone maps and tell them that each hurricane is unique. I told them it's better to leave and at least not fear for their lives.
One mother I interviewed, and her disabled son, had only one old flip phone with 20 percent battery to get any information not shared from her neighbors, and they'd only turn it on when they needed something. No one could contact them by phone. I was afraid they couldn't call 911 if needed, so I gave them my cellphone charger, making sure they had a cord and knew how to use it and recharge it if they had access to power.
If you've lived along the Gulf Coast long enough, you get a routine. Mobile has the most rainfall of any city in the country, with an average downfall of 69 inches. With a storm threatening, you know to gas your car (extra if you have a generator), charge all devices and have plenty of batteries, get extra water and ice, and make sure nothing in your yard will blow away. But Mrs. M can't drive so she depends on her church, or, rarely, her kids. We've brought her everything from cat food to orange juice. I wish I could afford more.
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I worked until the day before the storm and I think I was begging to go back out in the field a day or two later. There were still areas blocked by trees. They said we could do phone interviews, but I didn't like doing those because it was harder to verify who I was. I wouldn't trust someone on the phone with no ID.
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Thankfully Mrs. M's house did fine, I don't believe she had any real damage. Last week her daughter took her to visit her mother's grave, something she's wanted to do for a while. Things seem to have gone back to normal, only with a few less trees. The rule in public-assisted housing here is that any resident has to pay several hundred dollars to get anything fixed. Many of the residents left because the roofs or even the floors fell in and the city wouldn't fix it right away.
Purely speculation, but are they trying to empty out the neighborhoods to sell to the airport or something?
It is really sad.
—Daveda Howell