The Unsung Heroes of Hurricane Recovery

The hum of generators, the whirring of chainsaws and the squeal of air brakes on bucket trucks have filled the air over the last week here in Central Florida. As of the time of writing this, my power just came back on last night after being out for three days!

Hurricane Helene — while merely grazing the West Florida Coastline as a storm, wrought havoc on it with the storm surge it produced. Native Floridians that I spoke with during the cleanup efforts — people who had lived in the areas I was in, such as Madeira Beach, for all their lives —  stated they had never seen anything like it. To a Midwesterner like me, Gulf Blvd looked like it had been hit by a blizzard, albeit a blizzard of sand, and this blizzard didn’t come from above, but rather blew crossways carried by ocean waves rarely seen on the West Coast, laying waste to everything in its path.

And earlier this week, Milton made its presence known. 

While the cleanup efforts from Helene were just beginning to take shape, the news — and then the reality — of the second storm broke. There was a general feeling of disbelief. Could this really be happening? Just days after historic devastation along the coastline occurs, another, perhaps even more serious, storm is on the way? 

This can’t be happening. Yet, indeed it was … and it did. People who had just begun to digest what had just happened, were forced to set it aside and prepare again.

News stories abound, my intention is not to simply add to the list, but rather to draw your attention to a group of people we all know well and their part in this gut-wrenching saga — construction folks. What I would like to affectionately call them here: the fixers.

But not only are they the fixers, they’re also the preparers.

Before Helene ever hit, construction crews of all kinds were called on to prepare, building flood walls at hospitals, boarding up windows and fortifying structures, filling sandbags by the truckload, making emergency repairs on roadways temporarily foregoing construction efforts and opening them up for evacuation, transporting untold amounts of construction equipment off of jobsites and battening down what remained to avoid it from becoming airborne. 

All of this takes people; people who also are in the path of the storm; people who also need to prepare their homes.

After Helene hit, it was these same people who went to work on recovery. The wreckage left behind by Helene needed cleaned up and the damage needs/needed repaired, and they went to work doing so, and then, while in the midst of it, they were told it was time to not only ramp up those efforts ahead of the next storm, but to again perform the same preparations they’d done only a few days earlier.

… and they still had to do so at their homes too.

Time was of the essence; duty called at work and at home. The hours not spent at work giving your all to help cleanup and protect the community had to be filled with protecting your home and your loved ones. During times like these you’ll hear certain phrases tossed about amongst those toiling away:  

“No rest for the wicked.”  

“Sleep is overrated.”  

“I’ll sleep when I die.”

If you’re in construction and have been a part of events such as this, you know this to be the case.

I’d really like to know the amount of energy drinks sold during the last two weeks here in Florida. It’s likely astronomical!

As I’ve witnessed from being a part of these efforts, I am reminded again of how absolutely critical the people who do this work are to the world as we know it, and they would love to hear it. Do the world a favor and head up to the gas station one morning around 6 and notice the work trucks filled with men and women grabbing their morning breakfast, energy drinks and perhaps even their lunch for later. Watch them as they gather their goods and get ready to face the day and, if you get a chance, tell them you appreciate them; tell them you recognize that the world we know wouldn’t exist without them; tell them you’re grateful.

That small gesture of appreciation could mean the world to these men and women, especially with everything they’re dealing with after the hurricanes.

 

Welcome to “Onsite,” a fresh perspective brought to you by contributing writer Matt Ohley, founder of Bluecollar Mindfulness. In this column, Ohley cuts through the noise and delves into the challenges encountered by those shaping our world through construction. Ohley offers a unique perspective, amplifying the voices of those who experience the daily pulse of life on the jobsite.

Onsite is our commitment to breaking down the barriers and misconceptions that shroud the construction profession. Ohley aims to initiate open and honest conversations, from job insecurity to the transient nature of projects, physical strain and often-overlooked mental health struggles.