The news coming out of Texas in recent days related to the severe weather has brought forward many impactful stories of tragedy, personal loss and amazing rescue. Members of the CoSIDA family are among those who have felt the devastating pain and difficulty from driving winds and flood waters associated with Hurricane Harvey. Gerry Dickert, SID at Lamar State College in Port Arthur, Texas, agreed to share his family’s experiences that ended up driving them from their home in waist deep water. Thanks to Gerry for allowing us to share his story with all of the CoSIDA membership. As an organization, we are exploring ways to help our members who – like Gerry – are dealing with personal loss as a result of the hurricane.
by Gerry Dickert, SID/Public Information Coordinator, Lamar State College Port Arthur
As a longtime sports writer and sports information director, numbers have always been a critical aspect of getting the story right. Stats, lots of them, have passed through my life in a blur of first downs, batting averages and shooting percentages.
One number, of all those I’ve put on paper in my 30 years as a writer, is indelibly imprinted upon my psyche: 48. It’s the distance in inches from the ground to the bottom of my front door.
My name is Gerry Dickert and I am the SID/Public Information Coordinator for Lamar State College Port Arthur in Texas. Before that, I spent 25 years as a newspaper journalist, including a stint as the sports editor of The Beaumont (Texas) Enterprise.
On Tuesday, August 29, I was sitting at my computer at home, reading about the flooding taking place just to our west in Houston after Hurricane Harvey made landfall in Rockport, Texas. The images were right there in front of me, yet I couldn’t believe it was real. I sat there safe in Port Arthur with Houston’s devastation at arm’s length on my computer screen.
No one here realized then that just a day later, the region we fondly refer to as the Golden Triangle, made up of Beaumont, Port Arthur and Orange, would soon sink into Harvey’s abyss.
The rain began to fall early Tuesday and I headed out to find a few supplies. Even then, Port Arthur residents were preparing to hunker down to let the storm blow over. We have done it before for the likes of Hurricane Rita and Hurricane Ike. Harvey, now a tropical storm, seemed little more than an inconvenience.
I kept thinking about how I wish I had cut my grass before the rain started.
video courtesy: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/30/us/port-arthur-flooding.html
We live on Lakeshore Drive, which at one point was an area where the prosperous of Port Arthur made their homes. Now, with access to the waters of the Sabine-Neches Intracoastal Canal blocked by 15-foot seawalls, the street is lined with aging homes inhabited by the middle class.
Looking out the back door of our home, we often see huge ships pass by, tankers either en route to the Port of Port Arthur, or back out to retrieve more raw materials to be delivered.
In my mind, the seawall in our back yard is our protector. At that height, and with my property slanting gradually to the street, any flood water would head toward the drainage system. Three houses down there is a pump station that would ensure the water would never get high enough to truly affect us.
The rain kept falling, coming in pulses. It would pour buckets for 30 minutes then stop, replaced by sharp winds that rattled the old windows in our home.
Before anyone truly realized the severity of the situation, water had risen so quickly that escape was impossible. Steadily through the evening hours, the rain continued to fall. And the water continued to rise.
About 9 p.m., we finally lost power. Sitting in my bedroom, still in my office chair, my only light coming from an old Christmas-scented candle, I listened as wave after wave of rain blew into Port Arthur. Every 15 minutes, throughout the night, I would go to the front door to measure the height of the water on the front steps of my home. First, it was at the edge of the bottom step, then over the second step, then the third.
I nodded off for a moment in my chair when I awoke in a panic. The droning hum of the pump station just down the street was gone. The water had reached the station and flooded out the pump.
That’s when panic set in.
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| Photos show Gerry Dickert's neighborhood under water and then after the flood. |
With daybreak Wednesday came the realization of the severity of our situation. Water was now lapping at the edge of my top step. Another inch and we’d have water in our home. The thought of it was gut-wrenching.
Even worse, the messages I saw on Facebook on my phone were horrifying. People were begging for their lives. “No one is answering 9-1-1. Please help us! The water is above our waist!” “My mother can’t walk and we have no way to get out. The water keeps rising! Someone come get us!”
By midday, the rain had finally begun to diminish and as I stood at my front door, the water finally breaching that top step, there was a sense of complete helplessness.
Above us were four helicopters swooping down and plucking people off roofs, one at a time in baskets tethered to a winch. Flat-bottom boats floated by with the elderly and families with small children. They carried trash bags that contained what little bit they could grab as they evacuated.
A group of rescuers waded up to our house, the water reaching their chests. “Get out now! Walk! You have no other choice! GO NOW!” My wife sat on the couch and cried.
My wife’s cousin and her husband had come to my house two days earlier to escape Orange County and the flooding that was already taking place there. Now, the four of us, along with my step-daughter, were forced to step into the lake that once was my front yard. Much like walking in the dark, we had to feel for our steps and find the sidewalk that led to the street. The water was oddly cold. Unseen tree branches reached out to grab our legs.
To our right were our cars, water lapping at the door handles. In front of us, the homes of our neighbors … How could they be anything but a complete loss?
We waded, hand in hand, pulling our belongings behind us on an inflatable mattress. About half a mile later, we were on dry pavement.
We jumped in the back of a pickup and took the two-mile ride to the college. There we stood, soaked in rancid flood water, carrying a few belongings and wondering what to do next.
In the face of the disaster, normal, everyday people became heroes, saving lives and working to help the battered people of Southeast Texas start the steps to recovery. That process has just begun. It will take months, if not years, to completely overcome the physical devastation of this storm. Some people may never get over the psychological toll.
Today, streets are lined with dripping remnants of Harvey’s impact. Furniture, appliances, drywall and insulation are strewn in front of every house in every neighborhood, testament to the devastation that took place inside so many homes.
My family was lucky. We lost one of our two cars to the flooding. Ultimately, the water reached our doorstep but never came inside. Over a period of five days, the Beaumont/Port Arthur area received a record 47.35 inches of rain.
The distance from the ground to my top step is 48 inches. It’s a odd bit of obscure information but it’s something I’ll remember for the rest of my life.