Hurricanes and I-O Psychology: Perspectives of Two Floridian SIOP Members
Editors Note: I watched and read in amazement about the devastation from the recent hurricanes and tropical storms in the southeastern United States. Several SIOP members live in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, North Carolina, Mississippi, and South Carolina, as well as other states affected by these natural disasters. To gather insight into the effects, I asked two members to share their experiences. It is apparent that in addition to personal lives, work and organizations are affected. As I read these perspectives, I ponder about the roles and responsibilities of I-O psychologists during these difficult situations. I encourage you to do the same.
The View from the PanhandleIvan the Terrible
Rosemary Hays-Thomas
University of West Florida
NIGHTMARE was the headline on the Pensacola News-Journal on September 17printed out of town because the newspapers offices were flooded. Today, just over 6 weeks since we were hit by Category 3 Ivan, the newspaper ran a special commemorative issue filled with pictures and narrative from the period since the storm. Those pictures still bring tears to my eyes, despite the fact that my husband and I are among the fortunate ones with only moderate losses. The destruction is so great and peoples lives are so changed that it is hard now to remember what things were like before the storm.
Hurricane Ivan was a Category 3 storm with 115- to 130-mph winds when it crashed into the Gulf Coast between Mobile and Pensacola. As a result, we were in the northeast quadrant, which is the worst place to be when counterclockwise winds come in over the Gulf, pushing waves and water into the land. This storm also spawned tornadoes and a 10- to 13-foot storm surge. Homes in low-lying areas and on waterways were either flooded (first and second floors), smashed like dollhouses, or washed away completely. Many other homes inland were crushed by trees that fell victim to sustained winds or tornadoes. Ivan was an equal-opportunity destroyerpoorly constructed or older homes, modest houses, and well-built, new, expensive homes, all were victims of place, wind, and water. In our two-county area, at least 13 people died as a result of the hurricane, over 6,000 homes were destroyed, 365,000 customers had no electrical power, the water and sewer systems were nonfunctional and/or unsafe, all the local bridges were damaged or washed out (including a -mile section of the I-10 bridge over Escambia Bay), roads were impassable, and we had suddenly become a subsistence society.
Of course we did not know all these details at first. Our only sources of information were our battery-operated radio, our land-line telephone (a miracle!), and our immediate neighbors. Driving was impossible due to downed power lines and trees. Most stores and gas stations were closed but our neighborhood was alive with residents wielding chain saws, rakes, and wheelbarrows and walking around the streets to survey damages.
A new sense of community developed, sparked by lack of air-conditioning and the presence of generators or gas stoves at some lucky houses. It occurred to me that researchers might find more support for Maslows hierarchy if they studied it in such situations!
How did we fare? A large pine tree came to rest on our second-story roof, nestled between two dormers. Fortunately it does not appear to have done structural damage and watching the tree professionals remove it without hurting anyone or anything was quite a treat! Our pool enclosure was destroyed as well as the pool liner and part of our fence gave way to a large oak tree that fell on it instead of on the house. Our 9th-floor rental apartment at Pensacola Beach is fine except for mildewowing to severe destruction all around it, lack of power and water, and beach closure for 2 weeks, carpet, beds, and upholstery have to be replaced. But we feel very fortunate.
Without electricity for several days, there was time for contemplation. I conceived of the truck-stage theory of hurricane recovery. Stage 1: An army of orange Asplundh trucks. Stage 2: A swarm of white local and regional power-company trucks. Stage 3: Lots of individual trailer trucks containing supplies and building materials. Stage 4: Debris-removal trucks (large and small, professional and improvised), cable and phone company trucks. Stage 5: Just ordinary trucks but potholes everywhere.
Our experience of time was altered: The day started when the sun came up, began in earnest with the sound of chain saws, and ended when the sun went down and evening curfew started. All my regular work stopped without lights, computer, and e-mail, and was replaced by cleaning the yard and managing our water, ice, and food. I tried to establish an island of normalcy by reading each night by flashlight
(Kecia Thomas Diversity Dynamics in the Workplace!).
Our beautiful University of West Florida campus lost over 2,000 trees, sustained some damage to 95% of the buildings (including some historic properties), and was closed for over 2 weeks while crews cleared the campus, restored power, and checked buildings for safety. Damage to the campus was estimated at $30 million, some of which will be covered by FEMA. The homes of over 80 members of our faculty or staff sustained catastrophic damagein some cases, they are just GONE.
What about people, jobs, organizations, and the community?
People of means realized with a shock that they were truly disaster victims, entitled to free water, ice, and MREs (Meals Ready to Eat).
We grieved not only for people and pets, but for trees, beaches, buildings, precious things, gardens, and
experiences that were gone forever.
Suddenly, there were lots of jobs in tree removal, debris hauling, roofing, fencing, pool maintenance, and constructionand in insurance adjusting. Many out-of-staters came to Florida, planning to stay up to 2 years while things are rebuilt.
Motels that were in working order were filled with displaced residents and with local businesses that had to move from their ordinary quarters. Professional firms and local government ran newspaper ads telling the public the temporary locations of various departments.
About 12,000 people in our county filed for unemployment insurance in September, compared to 900 in September 2003. Many of those were employees of the hospitality industryhotels, restaurants, beach businesses. Others worked at small businesses that could not reopen after the storm. Some larger companies kept their employees on the payroll but asked them to volunteer in disaster assistance and cleanup while the company prepared to re-open.
The tourism industry, one leg of our three-legged economy, shut down indefinitely with 80% of beach residences deemed uninhabitable. Six weeks after Ivan, water and electricity have yet to be restored to most of our beach area.
Pensacola Naval Air Station, our economys second leg, sustained damage in the hundreds of millions of dollars, and training activities were suspended indefinitely pending cleanup and recovery.
All three hospitals, the third economic leg, were damaged.
The usual blue of swimming pools disappeared; instead, there were temporary blue roofs placed on houses by FEMA and the Army Corps of Engineers: nearly 37,000 so far, with 6,0009,000 left to be covered.
Gulf Power, with assistance from many other utility companies, rolled out a disaster recovery plan that restored power to most areas in 2 weeks rather than the estimated 3. Hooray!
It took over a month for the debris trucks to make their first pass through all the city neighborhoods. Streets were reduced to one lane by the huge piles of debris on each side. Those debris-banks turned into mountains at the dropoff locations. With the yard debris gone, it is easier to see the piles of carpet, furniture, bedding, and appliances that still await pickup.
Those who were better off organized to help those who were not. The Red Cross and the Salvation Army sprang into action. The symphony and the chorale held a free concert; churches gave out free meals. Neighbors and friends helped clear debris, made emergency repairs, and took in others whose homes were unlivable.
The dark side appeared as well: looting, scams, and price gouging.
Hospice, local mortuaries, and readers of obituaries noted a sharp increase (perhaps 50%) in the death rate from natural causes in the month after Ivan. Domestic violence and substance abuse increased as well.
Local attorneys provided a community hotline and seminars for people with legal questions about insurance, leases, and other poststorm problems.
Productivity plummeted as people returning to work found they could not concentrate or remember where they left off before the storm. Frequent interruptions were necessary for adjuster, contractor, or roofer visits.
Heres my stage theory of the hurricane experience (already shared in another newsletter): (a) Day 1: Extreme fear and stress from immediate danger; (b) Day 2: Shock and awe at the devastation; (c) Day 3: Coping with subsistence needs; (d) Days 4 to N: labile emotions and a sense of being overwhelmed as communication improves and new examples of loss are discovered; (e) Days N to X: Return to aspects of prehurricane life, interspersed with sharp or dull periods of depression (like peeking out of the lead sheet when your teeth are X-rayed); also community division into those with lesser losses and those still dealing with adjusters, relocation, and reconstruction issues; (f) Eventually: Things return to a new normal, and the community is divided into Those Who Remember and Those Who Came Later.
View From The East Central Coast
Art Gutman
Florida Tech
I live in Melbourne on the east coast of Florida in the center of the state. At first, I thought wed get away lucky. Tropical Storm Bonnie missed us, as did Charlie. Frances hit us squarely but did not do nearly as much damage as Charlie did in Southwest Florida. Ivan went wide left and hit our friends in the Florida Panhandle. As for the last one (Jeanne) -it looked like it was going to dissipate. It sat out there off the Atlantic coast for a week before it did an about face loop and hit us squarely, and with much more force than Frances. I have a two-story, five-bedroom home with two attics. Both were blown in and two of the bedrooms on the second floor were destroyed. There was also damage downstairs. The worst partmy wife, son, and I were in the house while this happened. What a scary night. Here are some thoughts (five to be exact).
First, I have a better understanding of posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Ive had nightmares and flashbacks of what could have happened to my family. Ive seen it in the faces of others. I know some who lost electricity for 2 weeks after Frances who had it back on for less than a week before losing it again for another 2 weeks. I know homeowners and business owners who are seriously considering packing up and leaving. I saw stress in the faces of my students and colleagues. This was a major psychological shock to the system of everyone, even those who experienced minimal damage.
Second, why didnt we evacuate for Jeanne? We did for Frances. Although major damage was done in some places, Frances was relatively small when compared to what Charlie did in southwest Florida. While sitting in a hotel in Kissimmee (near Disney World), I watched in horror as news teams spoke of destructive winds and rains in the Melbourne area. I had every reason to believe that when we returned, our home would be flooded, if not washed away. Not even close. The media exaggerated Frances in a way that angered many residents in the beachside towns. They spoke of 20 to 30 inches of rain on the coast and it was only a fraction of that. So as Jeanne approached, many folks in my area took the warnings as a false alarm. As it turned out, Jeanne did much more damage than Frances, and many people who evacuated for Frances stood at ground zero as their roofs literally fell in. In short, the media exaggerations of Frances endangered many folks (like ourselves) who did not take Jeanne seriously.
Third, what about looting? I saw reports by media on both Frances and Jeanne that such activity was rampant. More exaggeration. Fact is, it was minimal. The real human story in the aftermath of these hurricanes was the outpouring of help, in many cases, from total strangers. I saw people with generators extending lines to people without generators. I saw people with power making ice for people without power. I saw city officials working 20-hour days figuring out how best to deliver emergency services. The real story was the goodness of the overwhelming majority of people, not the badness of a very small handful of looters. In fact, one of the reasons looting was limited was that people were looking out for others.
Fourth, the hurricanes devastated the local economy. As in other areas of Florida, hospitality is a major business. Hotels, restaurants, and attractions rely on visitors. In addition, this was peak season (beginning around Labor Day in the case of the earlier storms). Many hotels on the beaches were damaged and closed, some for indefinite periods of time, others for good. Restaurants lost the better part of a month of business and are only slowly coming back. Many of the affected people are small business owners and employees who are hourly and out of work. Fortunately for many, FEMA has stepped in to provide living expenses for many of these people. So, thats another good thing, a federal agency that seems to work.
Finally, there is my university (Florida Tech). We lost about a week of classes because of Frances and the better part of 2 weeks because of Jeanne. Here we are now scrambling to find extra class time to make up for the lost time. The same is true in the local schools. That just adds to the existing pressure and stress level.
OKyou get the picture. Lots of bad things happened. However, lots of good things happened, too. I will remember that my family could have been hurt badly, but wasnt. I will remember how people helped each other in the time of greatest need and are still helping. I will remember how government was actually working, for a changefederal, state, and local. But most of all, I cant help feeling that no matter how bad it seemed for most of us, it still could have been worse. My glass is half full after all.
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