For the thousandth time you mentally plot your location the midst of endless swirls of red and orange flickering from the TV, clinging to any optimistic nuance of the weathercaster’s analysis. The hurricane is coming. Like some living breathing monster it bears down on your world with random and unpredictable force. The media give it qualities of secret will and intent and, like you, it even has a name! Will the evil eye pick you to strike with all its malevolent fury, or will it pass mercifully to the east, bringing destruction on someone else, but leaving for you just a mighty mess?
The earthquake was easier. At least you’re spared the interminable anticipation of catastrophe and the accumulating misery of your grim imagination. By the time you realized it wasn’t a bus or dump truck going by, and that it might actually be an earthquake (in Virginia?), it was over. Oh my, what was that? Did you feel that? The terror really comes afterwards in the realization of the state of total helplessness you endured for an endless 15 seconds. You can’t prepare. You can’t steadily steel your nerve and resolve to survive as you can when the days of speculation preceding a hurricane continually keep you in that dreaded “cone of probability”. At some point when the storm is nigh, you know there is nothing more to be done, you’ve done all you can and your fate is now in other hands. You’re as ready as you can be.
But no one is ready for an earthquake. But from a global historical perspective, they are more inevitable. I wonder why they don’t give them names, only “years”. Maybe it’s because we hope they’ll stay more infrequent and we can continue to refer to them as “the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906”, instead of “Earthquake Mary”, with aftershocks “Little Henry” and “Baby Jane”. But from that perspective, lately it seems we should be naming tornadoes. They seem to be striking with disturbing regularity. And I wonder why they only seem to be in North America. You never hear of tornadoes churning up Europe or India or Patagonia.
Most of us were spared lasting effects of Irene’s visit to our shores. A mere “Category 1”, in a few years we may have a hard time remembering its name. But not everyone. For the families of the 43 souls that were lost to the storm across the Eastern Seaboard, Irene will always mean tragedy. Elsewhere the names Andrew or Camille or Agnes or Katrina evoke memories of loss and despair. Interestingly, we memorialize most of our history in museums and monuments, but there are only a few places where the mementoes of the great natural disasters are preserved. Maybe we really don’t want to dwell upon just how helpless and fragile we are when the earth flexes its muscles, but the thousands who helplessly perished in their wake deserve to be remembered, as do the heroes who came to their aid.
If you find yourself nearby, you might want to check out these places around the country that have sought to preserve reminders of nature’s power and man’s vulnerability.
• The National Hurricane Museum and Science Center, Lake Charles, LA. This is a project in progress, planned to open by 2012, to bring together historical exhibits of all US hurricanes as well as interactive displays of hurricane and weather science. http://www.nhmsc.com/
• Maritime and Seafood Industry Museum in Biloxi, MS has exhibits of 1969’s Hurricane Camille (remember Forrest Gump?) http://www.maritimemuseum.org/
• American Red Cross Museum in Washington DC maintains exhibits and artifacts on their support of those in natural disasters. http://www.redcross.org/museum/history/visitorinfo.asp
• Smithsonian National Museum of American History in Washington DC has a special exhibit on Hurricane Katrina and many other natural disasters. http://americanhistory.si.edu/
• The Louisiana State Museum in New Orleans’ French Quarter has an extensive Hurricane Katrina exhibit. http://lsm.crt.state.la.us/
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