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I know you can hardly wait… so here is part 2 of the Gustav Journal. And this is where the storm rolls in. Oooh, it’s exciting!
MONDAY
5:15am – After sleeping with the sound of strong winds and rain outside, I hear the air conditioner in my room shutoff, meaning power is out.
8:00 – Meet crew in dark hotel lobby, get a cup of coffee and hit the road. Word is that the nearby town of Houma is being targeted so we decide to head in that direction, after first making stop along the Morgan City seawall.
9:00 – On road to to Houma, winds and rain begin to rage. Trees are down, and we’re in the only vehicle on the road.
9:45 – In Houma, we watch wind blow roofs off of buildings, down trees and send debris flying. Reporter records on camera piece in safe location when a gust of wind lifts her off of her feet. I dive and grab her legs for a clip of video that goes on air.
11:30 – After driving through Houma, we find closed shopping mall and pull car into its walk-in entrance which gives us shelter on three sides and over our heads. We are able to stand outside and watch northwest eye of hurricane blow through town.
Noon – Reporter gives live phone report to Noon newscast, while we stand in shelter of shopping mall.
12:10 – Decide to get the hell out of Houma.
12:30 – Drive out of Houma ranks up there as one of the scariest endeavors of my life. Roads that were bad coming in are impassible going out. We drive over downed wires, go the wrong way on one way roads and at times don’t take roads at all. The highway back to Morgan City is covered with branches and trees. There are no other cars.
1:15 – Get to Morgan City and take a nap in hot, muggy air conditioner-less room.
2:15 – Get back in car to find satellite truck now parked at Morgan City City Hall.
2:30 – Find truck and begin to write and edit piece for 5pm newscast.
4:00 – During editing process, editing machine stops working because of moisture. We feed unfinished piece to station for them to finish. Begin writing piece for 6pm newscast.
4:55 – With reporter in front of camera, video feed to station fails because of storm. Instead of live shot, reporter calls newscast on the phone.
5:05 – Re-establish video feed and begin feeding raw audio and video back to station for editors there to put together.
5:15 – Machine used to feed videotape fails and chews up videotape in process.
6:00 – Video feed fails again, reporter phones in live report.
6:05 – I curse and stomp my feet and curse some more, have a cigarette, and curse.
8:00 – Attempt to call station, but cellphone reception is gone.
We spend the evening writing a taped piece for our 11:00 newscast, feed it, and return to Morgan City Holiday Inn. Photographer decides to shower, reporter and I are too tired and wait until the morning.
TUESDAY
8:00 – Wake up to shower, only to find there is no water, because of tornado that hit sewage plant. To figure out what the plan is for the day, I reach for cell phone, but reception is still gone. I jump in car, and drive up the main street in Morgan City and find a working pay phone. Make call to the station, make plan for the day, and decide to enjoy not being able to call or receive calls for foreseeable future.
8:45 – Gas up car with one of the gas cans that we have been carrying on the roof. Four gallons go into tank, One gallon goes down the front of my pants.
8:50 – Change clothes.
9:30 – Go to City Hall to talk to Morgan City officials. Begin interview when camera fails because of moisture. While photographer tries to fix camera, I drive around looking for more damage. Find one gas station that is still open, get gas, curse previous effort to gas up using gas cans.
9:50 – Camera comes back to life.
We spend morning in Morgan City, talking to people who are cleaning up and find a mobile home that looks like it exploded. One family’s belongings are lying out in the open, next to other mobile homes that were unscathed.
1:00 – Head to location of satellite truck.
1:02 – Discover satellite truck is not there any more.
1:02:30 – Say “Hmm.”
1:03 – Start heading to other side of town to find Morgan City’s one working pay phone, along the way, see satellite truck. Truck operator tells us he’s headed to Houma, and we can meet him there.
1:04 – Hit the road to Houma. There’s no place like Houma.
2:00 – Arrive in Houma, shoot video of damage there, and then search for bathrooms.
2:30 – Fine members of Louisiana State Police Troop C allow us to use their bathrooms. I wash my hands and face with running water.
2:40 – We park near satellite trucks for other network, figuring we’ll at least see our sat truck when it arrives in town. I see phone booth nearby, get excited, until I realize it’s a booth, but no phone.
3:20 – We think it’s odd that we haven’t seen our satellite truck. I knock on door of other network’s truck and ask if I can use its satellite phone. After the requisite “how much is it worth” jokes, I call station, ask them to call other station which owns live truck to find out where said truck is.
3:30 – Call back station, find out that sat truck might be near the intersection of Rt. 24 and Rt. 312.
3:31 – Ask local for directions, he doesn’t know.
3:32 – Type intersection into rental car GPS and follow blue arrow.
3:38 – GPS, named Marla by reporter, declares we have reached destination. Holy crap, there’s the truck.
4:00 – Feed every bit of videotape to station.
5:00 – Do first live shot without any sort of equipment failure.
5:05 – Find loaf of bread in back of car, wedged under cooler, make sandwich with a new form of flatbread.
6:00 – Accomplish live shot, with only minor equipment failure, system that allows reporter to hear anchor in her ear stop working. Instead I make contact with station and relay information to reporter with handsignals.
6:04 – Leave Houma.
6:20 – All cellphones in car beep at the same time as reception is restored.
7:00 – Return to Morgan City, and hear exciting new that water works, not to drink, but to bathe and operate “facilities.”
7:15 – Reporter and I go to gas station and attempt to bribe owner for beer. Attempt fails.
8:00 – Power comes back on.
8:00:10 – Reporter texts from her room “Yay!”
8:00:11 – Set my room air conditioner to “Meat Locker.”
8:30 – Confirm flight home originating in New Orleans. Travel office says we’re good to go.
8:35 – Hear on television that New Orleans airport will be closed until Thursday.
9:00 – After two operators and 25 minutes on the phone, I reschedule our trip home through Houston.
9:01 – Attempt to wind down for night.
I have lots of things to write about… but first, I have some catching up to do.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I was supposed to go on vacation, but got diverted instead to the Mother Of All Hurricanes.
Gustav didn’t quite live up to its expectations, but for me it was still a fun trip. I’ve been to 5 hurricanes now, and this was the first one in which I got to go through the eye-wall.
Covering a hurricane is a make-it-up-as-you-go experience. And I kept a journal. It’s rather long, so I’m going to break this up over a couple of posts.
Enjoy.
SATURDAY
Early afternoon – Station decides to go to New Orleans to cover the expected arrival of Hurricane Gustav, and asks me to go as the onsite producer.
3:00pm – Reporter and photographer are also selected, I make travel arrangements to fly from Philadelphia to New Orleans via Atlanta on American Airlines.
4:00pm – Start packing, shop for last minute supplies, cancel planned vacation to Canada.
8:00pm – Get call from travel division, flight changed to Continental Airlines, through Houston.
SUNDAY
7:00am – Wake Up and head to station.
9:00am – Shuttle takes photographer and me to airport where we meet reporter.
11:00am – Flight leaves for Houston.
Noonish – Flight attendants serve hot cheeseburgers and sodas, don’t charge for them like every other airline in the world, making Continental my favorite airline of all time.
1:15pm – Arrive in Houston, and decide we cannot get into New Orleans and get needed supplies. We tell Continental, my favorite airline of all time, and they somehow get our luggage off of the New Orleans flight and into our hands. They do it smiling and they refuse generous tips for pulling off the impossible. Continental is now, simply, the greatest American air carrier. (They don’t serve airline sushi though, so they aren’t quite number one worldwide)
2:15pm – Get on road from Houston to… well, we aren’t sure just yet. We head east with a destination to be determined. During the drive we find a Walmart, there are many of them in Texas, and buy loads of food, a cooler, cases of water, towels and toilet paper. Never forget toilet paper on trips like this. You just never know.
5:00 – On road in passenger seat, I make calls to our sister stations with satellite trucks in the region, figure out where those trucks are stationed, and based on those locations, and predictions made, not by meteorologists but photographers who have covered many hurricanes, we choose the town of Morgan City, Louisiana as our destination. It is about 4 hours away.
6:00 – Station calls, asks us to do a live shot for 11pm newscast. We expect to arrive in Morgan City at 10:30.
8:00 – After trying several locations, we finally find a store that has not run out of gasoline cans. We buy 4 5 gallon cans, fill them up, and strap them to the roof of our minivan using a very complex system of bungie cords. I remember that I never have really figured out how to strap them down and feel confident about them.
9:00 – Approaching Lafayette, La. we drive through the first band of storms associated with Gustav. The rain and wind are shockingly strong and a tornado watch is posted.
10:00 – Speak to photographer from sister station in Morgan City, ask him to find rooms for us.
10:15 – Rooms confirmed at Morgan City Holiday Inn.
10:30 – Find Morgan City Holiday Inn where satellite truck is stationed.
10:50 – Reporter prepares story. I check in to the Morgan City Holiday Inn. If you are ever in Morgan City, stay there, tell them John sent you. They are wonderful people.
11:00pm – Reporter does liveshot after having been on location for 30 minutes.
11:30 – Batten down the hatches and go to bed.
Forget all of that lovely stuff about the calm of Canada.
I’m heading south instead to New Orleans and will spend my Labor Day with Gustav.
I am sure I will have plenty to write about from there.
I’m heading up north… for a couple of weeks.
A while back I wrote about the rides I would take up to Canada with my grandparents. We would tune the easy listening station onto the car radio… every easy listening station between here and Kingston, Ontario… and make the 8 hour trek though Pennsylvania, New York, and across the border.
The ride took forever, especially for a 13 year old, sitting with two 70-somethings.
Once there, my grandfather and I would work on the place together. He always had a project underway. Something as simple as sanding the wooden railing from the main cabin to the bedrooms, or as complicated as rebuilding the outboard engine for the little boat.
At night, after he would go to bed, my grandmother and I would stay up late. We didn’t have a television back then, so she and I would tune in something interesting, often a far away AM station on the radio, and then talk, play games, look at pictures, or just read.
She died in 1998.
That next summer, he went up alone. I went up to visit him with my wife. As soon as we got there, I walked down to the edge of the lake and sobbed.
There was so much of Mema up there, her books, her clothes, her little scribbles she would make while chatting on the telephone. Then at night, after Bill went to bed, and my wife called it a night, I sat in the den and took it all in.
I am not terribly spiritual. In fact this same grandfather is the one who often said God is what is in your heart. And that night, God and my grandmother were in my heart.
Bill continued to go up to the cabin for a few more years, but conceded after 2000 that it was very lonely.
My wife and I visited when we could, but we worked, he was retired. He had a lot of solo time.
The one thing he always liked to talk about was the great time he and my grandmother had up there. “She loved it up here,” he would say. And he was right. She did. They loved being there with each other.
After Bill stopped going up, the rest of the family would go up without him. When we all talked, the first thing we would mention was how different it was without him. He was more a part of the place than anyone. Visitors would stop by, ask for Bill, and say that same thing. He had been going up since the 1950s. A summer on Bobs Lake without Bill Hobson just didn’t feel right.
We would call him a lot, give him the local gossip, talk about how great the house looked, let him hear the loons in the background. Once we got home, we?d show him loads of photos, each pretty much the same as the photos from the year before and the year before that. He would gaze at them, and remember.
Bill died this past winter.
This will be my first trip up since then. And while I have gotten used to the place without him, he was always a phone call away and I always knew that some of the fun was telling him about his wonderful legacy.
I know the first night that I am there, I will pour myself a bloody mary, using his perfect recipe, turn on the radio and sit on the deck to watch the boats go by.
And I will feel Bill in my heart, next to Mema.
What we believe God to be will be there too.
My friends live right on the beach, on the west coast of Okinawa. All around the clock there are SCUBA divers in the water out front, checking out a reef and the very cool fish and other water creatures that live in it (around it, under it, I don’t know).
At low tide, the shoreline reveals lots of tidal pools. There’s volcanic rock, covered with seaweed, and then these big puddles of seawater, filled with that same cool oceanic life. Only now it’s accessible to those of us in sandals rather than people with gear strapped to their bodies.
I went wading out yesterday and saw blue fish (not bluefish), starfish, sea cucumbers, and a blowfish that was right out of Finding Nemo.
It’s also a treasure trove of great shells.
I picked up a couple, peered inside, and saw they were still the homes of crabs or gooey things that live in shells, so I tossed those back.
Then I picked up a perfect spiral, with bright red streaks on it, swirling up to a sharp point. It was a keeper. I looked inside, didn’t see anything curled up in it, so I stuck it in my pocket and continued wading.
I got back inside an hour or so later, and put the shell on my dresser to dry out.
We went off to dinner, walked around one of the towns a bit, and got home a few hours later.
I went in my room, and the first thing I noticed was my shell, on the floor, a good 3 yards from the dresser. I seemed unlikely that I had knocked it that far.
My suspicions were confirmed when I picked it up.
This was not your sweet little elementary school hermit crab inside. It was a long hairy legged, tarantula looking, angry crustacean, wondering why it wasn’t in its warm puddle of seawater.
I tried to scare it back into its shell. It was too pissed to be scared.
I retired from baseball this year. I couldn’t hit a 26-year-old’s slider anymore. I can still field and throw.
And I threw the shell through the living room door, across the street, over the beach, and right back into the China Sea.
I have no doubt the thing was fine. The nasty monsters always survive.
Did you know there are more than 1800 varieties of pineapples?
That as just one of the things I learned today at Pineapple Park near the city of Nago on Okinawa. It’s not as big as Disney, but boy are they able to pack in a lot of fun in just a little space.
The experience starts in a pineapple-shaped golf cart, and that’s where you feel the true magic of it all.
The cart drives itself!
It may be the power of pineapples that propels it, but somehow, the cart knows where to turn, when to stop and just the right speed at which to travel.
This part of the visit lasts about 10 minutes. Then, before you now it, you’re in the pineapple wine tasting room. Sweet, dry, and dessert are the three main types, and you’re allowed as much as you want, in thimble sized portions.
Honestly, it’s not all that bad. I wouldn’t pull out a bottle for a dinner party, but considering it’s from pineapples, it’s quite drinkable.
Then there’s the foodmart, but it’s not just straight-off-the-plant pineapples, there’s pineapple cake, pineapple jewelry, pineapple soap (I swear), and this horrific pineapple gel stuff.
And they also had sugar cane.
Oh… I also learned that pineapple has enzymes that help digest meat.
Which is good, because last night’s Japanese barbeque had a little extra something with it. We either ate nuggets of chicken cartilage or pig knuckles. We couldn’t tell and there was a major language gap. Whatever it was, it tasted ok, but calling it chewy would be an understatement. In fact, I could still be gnawing on it tonight if I wanted.
A little extra pineapple in my stomach will be a big help.
I know… I’ve been here for 4 days and I haven’t written a thing. Take that as a good sign.
This first part of the trip is in Okinawa, where my college roommate and his wife live.
So far I’ve eaten a lot of cool food, and only once have I had something gross.
I’m willing to try most things, so last night at the minimart, I grabbed a bag of these things that looked like green stars. They felt like they’d have a bit of crunch to them.
We were pretty sure, although not positive, that we hadn’t grabbed a bag of cat food, so as we walked up the street and opened the bag, we decided we’d just pop a couple in our mouths.
Again, realizing we could have some sort of exotic pet food in our hands, we looked closely at the locals, to see if they were watching us in horror, or laughing their asses off at the stupid Americans who were about to eat Kibbles ‘N’ Bits.
Not seeing that, we each took a bite.
It’s interesting how the brain works when it comes to identifying tastes. When you bite into a piece of fish, even if you don’t know what kind of fish it is, you’re prepared for a fishy flavor. When it’s a fruit, your tongue is prepared for fruit.
We didn’t know what to expect, and it took several seconds to identify the flavor, and to determine that we really didn’t like it.
They sort of tasted like cheese puffs, with a sugary coating. The consistency was of old meringue. There was also a buttery feel. And maybe a hint of mint.
The rest of the bag is in the glove compartment. I figure if my hosts ever get stuck in the wilderness and need some food to survive, they’ll eat the leftovers.
I have just landed in Tokyo… not really sure what day it is. And I still have another 3 hour flight to Okinawa.
Here’s what I wrote while airborne:
According to my little readout, I am at 34,000 feet, cruising at a ground speed just below 500 miles per hour, over the frozen tundra of Alberta, Canada.
My day started at 5am, eastern time. They say get to the airport two hours early for international flights. I’m sure they were doing something important behind the scenes, but I was through security and at gate D11 by 6:10, for an 8:02 flight.
As I wrote earlier, I do enjoy flying. I do not enjoy the complete lack of customer care that comes from the airlines. And it’s not just the big things, like lost luggage, sitting on the tarmac for hours on end, being shuffled from one gate to another. It’s the little things too.
Flight number one for me today was on United Airlines to Chicago. We boarded, and it wasn’t even close to being a full plane. As the flight attendants did their preflight scurrying, I asked one if I could move up to the emergency exit row. I have long legs, and I’m more than willing to be the man who kicks people in the ass if their too slow jumping through the emergency hatch while the cabin is on fire.
The guy told me no, no I couldn’t. It seems that United now charges people extra to sit in that row. I understand that there is a premium economy class on United. Pay $40 extra and you get a few extra inches for your legs. They have a special section.
I didn’t know that the cheap mother fuckers were now charging people to sit by the escape hatch. I thought the responsibility of all of those lives would weigh heavily enough on my shoulders, and that would be the burden I’d carry in return for not having my knees forced back into my chin.
Update… we just cranked up the speed a notch… we’re doing 512mph.
Now I am on flight two. Air Nippon from Chicago to Tokyo.
On this one I am in the exit row and it’s glorious. I couldn’t touch the wall in front of me if I wanted to. No one else is in my row, I have my own little video screen on the arm of my chair. It’s great.
I just finished Casino Royale. I think he’s the coolest Bond in a long time. Some of the movie was a little, well, not so good, but whatever. I’m on a 13 hour flight. There will come a point where I’ll be willing to watch Barney episodes.
I was saddened a bit by the meal we just had. No airline sushi. It was sweet and sour fish, noodles, salad and a cup of Haagen Daz. Yes, I know, it’s better than anything US Airways will ever serve, but come on, I want maki.
I’m two days away from my great Japanese voyage.
(Burglars take note, I may be out of town for two weeks, but I’m leaving hungry poisonous snakes in my apartment, so don’t even think about breaking in.)
I’m a good packer, for the most part. It’s a little easier for this trip, because for the first week I’ll be staying with friends, and I’m pretty sure they have laundry.
What always stumps me is the carry-on luggage plan. My airline will allow one carry-on bag, but I think that really means two bags, one bag bag and one purse-like personal carrying system. Because the flight takes a really long time, I need to pack entertainment, a clean shirt, a toothbrush, and more entertainment.
I am not rich enough for first or business class, but I did get an emergency exit row. Should we make a rough landing in the Pacific, I’ll be the guy standing on the wing, heroically leading my fellow passengers into the shark infested waters. It’s a small price to pay for a few extra inches of leg room.
I actually like flying, and this airline even serves sushi on board. Airline sushi is something I must try.
There are two minor questions I have with the carrier, however. For undisclosed reasons, the FBI raided their American offices a month ago. I’d like to know why. If there’s an issue with the flight attendants serving airline sushi past its expiration date, I’d like a heads up before I order the blowfish. Also, a few mechanics were accused of making repairs on things they weren’t actually qualified to fix. Again, if the plane’s rice steamer was worked on by someone who is not certified, I want a warning.
I checked the flight route. It’s fascinating. I’d always sort of thought we’d fly west over the U.S., head out over the Pacific, see Hawaii out the window and hit Japan that way. Apparently not. We’ll head over Canada, Alaska and skirt the east coast of Russia, heading southwest to Japan.
Still, looking out the window won’t keep me entertained for all of the 13 airborne hours.
So I’ll have crossword puzzles, books, magazines, IPod, audio books, and my laptop.
What else do I need?
No, that’s not rhetorical, seriously, what else do I need? Any suggestions?
A few days ago I wrote that there is no bad music.
I may have overstated it.
Several months ago, on a flight from Egypt to the U.S. I had a layover in Frankfurt. The plane sat on the runway for about an hour and a half, for whatever reason that planes just sit there. It was hot and we were tired and sitting on coach on Lufthansa isn’t all that comfortable.
While we waited, the airline pumped the same song through the speakers, over and over again. It wasn’t very loud, just enough volume to hear what sounded like an off key European singer repeating the same annoying melody over and over again. We couldn’t hear the words, just the tune. Just the annoying tune.
Again.
And again.
For the entire time we sat on the runway.
That was back in October.
The song has made its way stateside.
Last night’s musical guest on SNL was a woman named Lily Allen. I’d never heard of her so I turned down the volume, I couldn’t hear the words, just the tune.
All of a sudden this sense of tension built up inside of me. I couldn’t help but wonder when we were going to takeoff, why the air was so stagnant, why I was so uncomfortable! Odd thoughts for someone sitting on a comfy couch in his own living room.
I slowly turned to the screen and turned up the volume.
It was the song. It’s called Smile, and just thinking about it is filling me with a sense of rage.
Maybe it’s not the song itself, (although I think it is) maybe it’s the environment in which I first heard it. But it’s stuck in my head again and I’m not at all happy about it.
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