As I emerged from the basement of my Menasha apartment building at 12:13 p.m. July 27, I could hear neighbors exclaiming surprise at the damage a tornado had caused.
We were awed by the power that had ripped trees from their roots and felt a “survivors’ bond.” In those first moments we had no way of knowing that blocks away, our neighbors were still trapped in their basements. I walked to the east and could see the damage was worse. The ambulance sirens started then.
These are some lessons you learn from experience:
- If you are in a position to help your neighbors immediately, you do that. That’s why an army of guys with chainsaws appeared like they were carried in by the storm, and why a neighbor knocked on doors to ask if anyone needed help.
- If you can’t help immediately, you prepare for what’s next. By the end of Monday, there were volunteers gathering and distributing water and installing generators at sites destined to become relief centers.
- It’s imperative to stay out of the way. Knowing I could be of more use outside Menasha, I left Monday night. My heart goes out to those who struggled to get home only to find out they couldn’t.
The initial chaos of a disaster defies planning. Inevitably, authorities expand the emergency zone as the scope of the disaster is revealed. And they find what worked in the first hour isn’t working in the third hour. They adjust tactics and communicate, asking for patience as they solve myriad problems.
But soon there is more organization and a chance to really shine. People show up with water and meals instead of phones and drones.
By Wednesday, we learned, miraculously, there was no loss of life. When I returned to Menasha that day, the conversations were gentler and more compassionate. There was a realization by many of us of how lucky we were: We didn’t lose a house or business; we didn’t end up in the hospital.
I found opportunities to help, and I listened to people sharing their trauma and grief. It’s a terrible but important way to bond with your community. You show up for them and realize they are there for you too.
On Saturday of that week, I stood shoulder to shoulder with friends listening to a band at Mile of Music in Appleton. I knew some of the people standing among us had lost their homes. It was not just the healing power of music that drew them; it was also the healing power of community.
Moments like these create stronger bonds and stronger communities.
