No altruists in the storm path

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No altruists in the storm path

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Despite the truism, there most certainly have been atheists in foxholes.

But it is absolutely true that there are no altruists in a storm path.

Over 45 years of living on the southernmost coast of South Carolina has taught me this. Refer to the maps at left for a very recent case in point.

You will see that at 11:00 p.m. on Monday, September 1, 2008, Hurricane Hanna was headed straight for my hometown of Beaufort, South Carolina. Whoa, nelly.

I spoke with a coworker who had just moved down from Pennsylvania and asked her if she had started to feel that heightened sense of reality that comes with the threat of a hurricane. A feeling akin to the instinct that leads animals into the hills well before a tsunami shock wave.

She said that yes, she had been feeling this strong and totally new sensation.

in the hurricane zones, there is at least a trace of this sixth sense from June through November each year. It sits in our lizard brain and watches and waits, as in the days when primieval herbivores lay low of T-Rex.

"The Feeling" is selfish, but hardly vicious. In fact, it shares much of the fair-and-square fatalism of the Lifeboat Syndrome. "If we're starving, it makes no sense for us all  to die. So, why not draw straws?"

Every time a new hurricane is named, every town in striking distance sits and waits for the storm itself to draw the straws. No whining, but a lot of suspense.

Nobody wishes the storm on any other town, but there is always a deep sigh of relief and outright joy when the Death Angel passes over your front door.

And what's the use of resentment, should the storm hammer home? It is the worst sort of bad form to whimper, "I wish that damned storm had gone to Florida instead."

Storm-zone folks would be right at home among Zeno, Marcus Aurelius and the other stoics of antiquity. It was Marcus who wrote:

"Adapt yourself to the things among which your lot has been cast and love sincerely the fellow creatures with whom destiny has ordained that you shall live."

In communities that have enjoyed good luck for years on end, you will hear: "We're about due for another storm." They take their knocks and start over again the best they can when that "other storm" finally hits.

Because we are all in the same lifeboat, our empathy and sympathy for other storm-struck communities is deep and genuine. No one is ever smug about having dodged the bullet.

And how, you may ask, can I maintain that there are no altruists in the storm path when I know full well that a squad of volunteers left Beaufort, SC for Mississippi just after Katrina, armed with chain saws and bearing food, building supplies and clothing?

Note that I said "after Katrina." Those same volunteers were not unhappy to learn that Hurricane Hanna was on its way further north of Beaufort on the morning after the "bullseye strike" forecast.

And I will say here and now without shame or blame that one of the highlights of my life was when Hurricane Hugo veered to the northwest in September 1989, changing course for a target just above Charleston.

... By the way, take a look at the uprooted live oak in the picture above the maps. It was torn out of the ground not during a hurricane or even a tropical storm. This tree -- and many others  -- fell during mere passing windstorm last August.

NOTE: Maps from weatherunderground.com