Sandy was a sobering reality
Last Monday night, sometime after water surged down our street and the power went out, my fiancé Aly and I knew it would be a long, strange trip and that we’d have to make the most of it. Surrounded by candlelight, we got drunk and played dice for change. Even when we noticed the building across from us was with full power, we didn’t care. Normally, we’d be catching up on DVR’d Dancing with the Stars so frankly, I was relieved. A little while later, that same building’s fire alarm went off and, with the fire department unable to maneuver the river that used to be our street so they could shut it off, it would continue to go off for roughly fifteen hours. While my neighbors and I usually don’t tolerate annoying noises in the late Hoboken night, instead we intermittently yelled out our windows to the increasingly rattled tenants, just to make sure they were okay. I later heard reports that the people in my building whose windows faced the other street played Hollywood Squares with the building across from them. Genius. Though we were doing it in very different ways, we were all doing what we had to do look out for each other, and to stay sane.
On Tuesday, we awoke to a sobering reality: things were really bad out there. Our block was completely surrounded by water and a whole bunch of it. Trees and light poles were down. Many people, including us, were stranded. With no power and minimal cell or 3G service, we had no idea what was going on in the outside world except for what we saw outside our window.
The fire alarm still sounding off, we couldn’t help the feelings of paranoia that would creep up inside of us but, the water outside the building waist-high and toxic, we were trapped. However, as we wandered the hallways, garage, and flooded lobby with our flashlights, we encountered other people in the building who were also looking for answers as well as comfort. Soon enough, we were swapping apartment numbers, in case anyone needed anything. Normally, everyone keeps to themselves and often, won’t even hold the elevator for one another, so this was groundbreaking stuff.
Later that night, we paid a visit to Taline and Lara, two sisters we met earlier that day who live two floors above us. It started out as an invitation to play Trivial Pursuit but morphed into a phone charging session in our car.
That is how The Great Garage Party came to be. As we stood outside the car as our phones got some juice, neighbors started approaching us asking if there was any way we could help them out. One girl, who had been turned away by another cell-charging neighbor, had been unable to reach her mom since the power went out nearly 24 hours earlier. With some battery power, she’d be able to. A guy who was on a first date with a girl from the sixth floor since Sunday morning happened to have an adapter on him (which, in a way, is even more presumptuous than bringing condoms on a first date). Still, now our charging party was even bigger. We sat around our garage in beach chairs, drinking beer, wine, and in Aly’s case, dirty martinis. With a mix of music and news in the background we talked about life, swapped stories, and just got to know each other. There was even an invitation to a Christmas party.
On Wednesday, the water went down enough where it was at least safe enough to leave the building. This was when things started to get a little more real. Whereas the three days prior we were able to act like kids (who drink) on a snow day, Wednesday was the day where we had to be the adults (who still drink), facing reality. As Aly and I walked up First Street, we saw the devastation. Flooding, downed trees and light poles, cars that were swept into random places and businesses that might not ever be the same.
We did not see one drunk girl but instead people that were soaking in what Sandy had done.
There was a lot of sadness and confusion, something I hadn’t seen before in this town. By the time we got to City Hall that’s when we saw the National Guard. Previously, I had only seen the National Guard in the news and movies about viruses so when you get the live experience, it feels a little different.
Helping after Hurricane Sandy in Hoboken
I had to help. Walking into that dark government building the chaos was evident. Whether you were a resident or a member of the National Guard, someone looking to help or someone in dire need of it, this was central command. I joined a group of volunteers who were heading to some of the high rises near the river that were without water or power. We walked up many, many flights of stairs to just bang on doors, checking on people’s medical and H20 needs (where I encountered the “Ice Man” mentioned earlier). Right before we got there, a woman had to be escorted into a hospital in the city because her water broke and the hospital in Hoboken was out of commission. For some reason, every time I think of that story, Lightning Crashes by Live serves as the soundtrack. Maybe it’s the ying yang of it all. While something tragic had happened, everyone but Mr. Ice, from those suffering to those helping, was pulling together to get through it. Just days earlier, I at best felt indifference towards my town but now, I could feel myself start to have a connection with it.
By Thursday morning, whatever charm there was in eating Spam in the candlelight had worn off and the walks through the neighborhood were emotionally getting harder. There’s a small pharmacy across from our building that got hit really hard and, when I saw the owner had finally got in to try and put the pieces back together, I went down to help (humble brag #2). As we scooped toxic sludge out of the bathroom, Jafir told me his vision for a true mom and pop operation, where he knew the face of every customer, how he had been hit hard by Irene the year before and that he just wanted to get up and running soon to help the neighborhood get back to normal. Clearly, I had helped the right guy. When it was time to leave, Jafir gave me a huge hug. Always a sucker for bromance, I couldn’t even remember my bad feelings about Hoboken and, in fact, I was more than ever feeling a part of it.
All that aside, Aly and I needed to escape so, we went to my mom’s house in Central Jersey.Tearing out of town, it was as if we were fleeing armageddon. Once we got there, it felt like the scene in Cast Away when Tom Hanks gets rescued and he just takes hot showers and eats like a king (instead of crab legs we had a 10lb ham and rice). Still even with the food, the comfort of being taken care of and being able to watch TV, I couldn’t help but miss home a little.
On Friday, with reports of power coming back to parts of Hoboken, we decided to roll the dice and head home. As with nearly every other bet I have ever placed, we lost this one as well. We pulled into our garage at 4pm in total darkness.
Waking up Saturday morning in a 30 degree apartment on my first day of a new job was not a fun way to start a new chapter in my life. As I washed myself with the assistance of if a sponge and a bucket, the thought of being intimidated by new co-workers seemed trivial.
Late Monday morning, more than 48 hours later and seven days after the ordeal began, we finally got our power back. Those last two days, when we were really on the verge of losing it, Aly and I were in a way saved by the kindness of two friends and one stranger. Our friends, Ryan and Jess got their power back on Saturday. Thanks to them, we had a place to shower, enjoy good food and wine and, with their son LJ as an excuse, watch old episodes of The Muppet Show. Earlier that day, Aly wound up in a conversation with a total stranger and, when her new friend found out we were without power or hot water, immediately offered us a place to shower and recharge.
It’s stories like those that, combined with the fact that we can take showers at home again, are making me kind of crush on Hoboken, the place I still call home, just now not so reluctantly. For every annoying drunk person or person cares about nothing but having ice, there are a ton of people looking out for each other. We have a long way to go. There’s the clean up, homes in dire need of repair and businesses that have to start all over.
But for those of us going through a tough time, it’s nice to know that somewhere, there’s a neighbor who has your back.
Post: http://gregdelucia.com/2012/11/13/my-week-with-sandy-without-light-seeing-my-town-in-a-whole-new-one/
Thanks for sharing, Greg!
On the first Friday night in a post-Sandy world, I passed by a few drunk girls and frat dudes at The Shannon, one of the many drinking establishments near my apartment on First Street in Hoboken. Normally, I would shake my head at these people because the girls are overly Valley and annoying and the guys give me douche chills. Inevitably, they will wake me up via fistfight or J-E-T-S chant at 3 am on their way home because they can’t handle their drink. But not Friday. On Friday, these people inspired me. Somehow, they were able to find happiness in an otherwise bleak situation.
November 14th, 2012 |
Greg’s right about the culture in this city, and beyond being good at brunch, they’re Facebook experts too. What a slamming resume of skills.
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November 14th, 2012 |
Very nice article, however I 100% disagree about your comments in regards to Hoboken.
Being a white, suburban 27 year old I could take your comments to heart. Yes, I do love a good brunch, however have you ever taken the time to talk with a stranger in a park, or chat with fellow dog owners in the dog run, or even taken the time (besides helping the pharmacy) to speak with local business owners? Maybe you have not been fortunate enough to take in all that this city has to offer. Or maybe you have not seen the kindness and generosity (prior to the storm) of the residents. Whether it is the Steven’s students that have helped carry groceries or the anonymous resident that saw my car vandalized (and left a note which ultimately led to the vandal), I have never been more appreciative of where I live.
Hoboken is a true community and if you haven’t realized it before, I am glad that you can see the positive in this tragedy and to realize the true joy in being a Hoboken resident!!
In response to 212transplant who said:
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November 14th, 2012 |
Always interesting to hear someone else’s perspective. I am a writer as well; here was my experience if anyone cares to read it:
http://saltinwound.com/2012/11/09/hurricane-in-hoboken-my-story/
In response to Shayyho who said:
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November 14th, 2012 |
Thanks for sharing your thoughts. In a town where everyone lives so close it seems we were all so far apart prior to the storm. Neighbors have gone out of their way for each other and this is how it should be. I guess we do take care of our own. Hopefully this bonding stays around even after we rebuild.
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November 15th, 2012 |
Hi. Loved reading your story as I shared the same harrowing experience. I would like, if I may, to provide a bit of historical context that your story lacked. I was born and raised in Hoboken. Yes a dreaded “BNR”, an epithet that my generation at 40, actually has come to own, much like the modern day “Y’at” of New Orleans. We are an unusual variety of “BNR”, our generation, as we are indistinguishable from the more recent transplants to our city. The city in which I was raised, oddly, was the antithesis of that which you characterize. It was like Brooklyn but Brooklynites feared and chastised it due to an over abundance of “diversity”. A term embraced by the sheltered, suburban raised middle class who romanticize what in the 1970′s was a euphemism for the more accurate “poverty”. Hoboken then was wonderfully “diverse”. I a French Creole/Metis with family from Quebec to Baton Rouge grew up speaking fluent Spanish, spotty Italian, and with a thorough working knowledge of the East and West Indian cultures in which I was raised. There was no color line. We often referred to outsiders as “white” (although I am, what I suppose you would characterize as exactly that) because we were without color, or more accurately of the generic colorless patina that is poverty and the experience of a failed blue collar community. There existed at the time a wonderful thriving food scene from every corner of the New and Old Worlds and with the arrival of “urban pioneers” in the late 1980′s a thriving arts and music scene. Actually the City often reminded of New Orleans. Another City near and dear to my heart. Old, the product of antiquated tradition, having fallen on hard times, but somehow turning some of that misfortune into an admirable “grit”. I sometimes call Hoboken The Vieux Carre of The North. I have met a New Orleans resident from New York who refers to “The Quarter” as “Hoboken by the Gulf”. So what happened? A lot. I recently read a bloggers piece in which a New Orleanian was offering advice, post Sandy, to New Jerseyians. “Beware carpet baggers that will transform your community into their vision of how it should be rebuilt”. This is sadly what often occurred in New Orleans post Katrina. In Hoboken it occurred much earlier. In the late 1970′s and early 80′s as the “diverse” homes and apartment buildings were eradicated, often by accidental? fires, to make way for more pleasing and appealing homes. The gritty, quirky, tough, colorful, “diverse” (read poor) Hoboken was razed. To be scooped up by developers. Characters straight out of “Treme”. Making homes for the generic, white, suburban residents you describe. People who moved here simply for convenience but, to use your own words “thought nothing of it”. In many ways the events of Sandy, to someone like myself, was the physical drowning of a native culture that died many years before. The current residents (including myself) who could not believe what has happened; who have felt the range of emotions from fear to helplessness to anger now understand what the older residents felt culturally and emotionally some 20 to 30 years ago. It is my hope however that the positive experience that Sandy brought yourself can create something new in Hoboken. A phoenix to rise from the ashes (to use such a cliche). Perhaps the shared trauma, want, humiliation, and sense of the death of what was “normal” that we have now all experienced (the BNR’s now both culturally and physically) can unite us into something resembling more of what Hoboken once was.
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