Adam Whitten
adam@du2.byu.edu
'It was the best of times and it was the worst of times,' wrote Charles Dickens in his novel 'A Tale of Two Cities.'
Dickens was speaking of Europe, but his observation could just as well be applied to the United States in times of a natural disaster.
As hurricane Georges unleashed its fury on the U.S. Gulf Coast last weekend, the nation's attention turned to the victims of the storm.
More than 380,000 homes were without power, the Associated Press reported. Twenty inches of rain fell within hours. For the people involved, it more than likely was 'the worst of times.'
Yet, every time a hurricane leaves its mark on the nation, I remember the positive results that came by way of a hurricane I was personally involved with.
Hurricane Hugo blew into Charleston, S.C., Sept. 21, 1989. I'll always remember that date because two hours later, Hugo left its mark on my Charlotte, N.C. neighborhood.
I remember waking up at 4 a.m. to the sound of a train whistle, or so I thought. I later learned it was the sound of tornados and the remains of Hugo.
My mom came into my room to sit through the storm with my brother and me. As the sun came up a little while later, we all walked downstairs to survey the destruction.
Fifty-foot trees were snapped in half. Houses were divided into two and four pieces in some instances. No lights. No cars. No sound other than the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees that made it through the storm.
Most of Charlotte would be without power for 10 days. In Charleston, some were without power, or a home, for much longer.
Luckily, our lights came back on the same night. Just a blessing of living near the owner of the NBA's Charlotte Hornets, but school was still canceled for a week.
As a result, our freezer turned into the community freezer. Five different families stuffed their food into one of two freezers we had in our garage.
My dad also took it upon himself to earn his lumberjacking merit badge during the recovery period Hugo forced upon my neighborhood.
I didn't realize at the time just what I was learning.
I was only a ninth-grader at the time, so I had visions of forts and clubhouses for the fallen trees, but my dad knew it was a great time to serve in the community.
He dragged my brother and I out of bed one morning and took us down the street to our neighbor's house. A huge tree had fallen in front of the house a few feet from the front door.
My dad told us the neighbors were out of town and we needed to help them out.
My dad, with his new chain saw in hand, cut the tree into tiny pieces, and it was our job to take the pieces and stack them on the street so the city could take them away.
With each bend of the knee to pick up a piece of wood, my brother and I complained to my dad about what was going on.
'Why can't they do it themselves?' I must have mumbled a dozen times.
After several hours (it was a BIG tree), the owner of the house pulled up into his driveway. The look on his face was one of astonishment.
'I don't know what to say,' he told my father. 'How much do I owe you?' he asked as he reached into his wallet for a $100 bill.
My eyes widened with excitement. Visions of Nintendo games and a new leather basketball filled my head.
'No,' my dad said. 'We're neighbors. That's what we're supposed to do for one another.'
I'll never forget that.
It wasn't just in our house either. The entire city came together. I don't remember talking to any of my neighbors before Hugo hit. Afterwards, waves and hellos became common instead of the occasional half-smile.
It was the best of times.
What is it about disasters that bring people together? Why does it take something terrible to bring out something good?
I don't totally understand, but maybe it's just a reminder from God that he's in charge, and the only way to make it in this life is by helping others.