Op-Ed Columns

We didn't go down because of the storm.

We had planned to go way before Hurricane Gustav was even a squall.

Labor Day is when Daddy and I open the football season. We've done it for years and hope to do it many more.

Gustav was incidental.

But there it was. And so were we. So I thought I'd check to make sure they were OK, dutiful son that I am.

Down in Southwest Alabama, up above Mobile, locals used to watch and wait for "September gales," a generic term for any fall storm up out of the Gulf. They'd sneak up on you. Go to bed to clear skies and wake up in the morning (gales always seemed to come in at night) to gusty wind and warm rain that would settle in for a few days and then be gone. Occasionally it would get bad, tornados would drop out of the clouds, houses and stores would suffer, but back then flattened fields of cotton were what farm folks feared most.

Today it is different. Warnings everywhere. For most of the week before we arrived, Daddy and Mama and Aunt Stella had all watched Gustav grow from depression to storm to hurricane — categories 1, 2, 3 and 4.

And did they get ready?

Nope.

Didn't have to.

Drop by any day and you'd find a pantry full of canned goods. Two refrigerators in the main house crammed to the gunnels with every conceivable commodity. A pretty-full deep freeze in the greenhouse — the outback barn painted, you guessed it, green. And in the Poutin' House a well-stocked cabinet for the thirsty and a gas stove in case the "current" went out.

Not that it would.

After the outages of Ivan, Dennis and Katrina, Daddy decided that he was too old to sweat in the dark, so he invested some of my inheritance in one of those propane generators that cuts on automatically when your power is off for more than five minutes or so.

Why was I checking on them?

They were better prepared than Mobile.

We got there after naptime on Saturday and settled in for the games. Supper done, Daddy retired to his bedroom recliner to listen to Auburn; once victory was secure, he went to sleep. I wasn't far behind him.

Up Sunday morning to bright sunlight and quiet. No wind. No birds.

Daddy pays attention to the birds. They have been acting strange. Not eating. Not chirping. Fighting. Especially cardinals. He figured they knew something.

So I set to tying up loose ends. Out in the Poutin' House were gallon jugs of water stocked when Y2K promised to shut down computers world-wide and set back on a shelf when it didn't. I brought them into the main house and put one in each bathroom for flushing, just in case. Then I went around to make sure there was nothing loose to fly about if the winds rose. Trees were no worry. Ivan and Dennis got most of them.

The rest of the day we watched TV. Local weather folks were gleefully using all the high-tech toys they had bought for just this occasion. Republican conventioneers popped on from time to time to tell us that they were so concerned that they were not going to party in St. Paul. (They were all up there in their rooms watching The Weather Channel — you betcha.)

Then about 3 in the afternoon the first squall hit — rain, wind, quit. Another came in about 5. We called Aunt Anne on the coast (that's Benny's mother), who reported all calm down there.

You remember Benny. One of Mississippi's law enforcement community, he was told to get ready, so he loaded his truck with water, flashlights, batteries and beer and waited for the phone to ring.

A call to fireman Bob in Puckett, Miss. ("home of 300 friendly folks and a few old soreheads"), revealed another problem — refugees. They were arriving without money, without gas and without a clue. Motels were full. Shelters were crowded. And more were on the way. (From the glorified perspective of those who watch from afar, everything was going smoothly. On the ground, things were a little bit different.)

Meanwhile, Benny got the call and was told not to go to the coast but to go to Natchez, where there was flooding and the power was out.

Safe and sound, I went to bed.

Up before dawn. Monday morning. Calm outside. Clicked on TV. Local weather folks had turned in shortly after I did and weren't up yet. Only The Weather Channel seemed interested in the storm.

Later that morning, we headed back to Jacksonville. On the way we passed power-company and tree-service bucket trucks heading south. But not to where we just left. Gustav slipped off further west, and except for some gusts and a little rain, my folks didn't feel a thing.

Not so for Benny. Stuck in Natchez, when he wasn't outside in the weather he sheltered in the cellblock of a federal prison. After 72 hours they sent him home — wet and worn out.

But back in Grove Hill, all that was left to do was rake up the leaves and put the Y2K water back on the shelf.

Ready for the next September gale.