Lovely Rita, Meter Maid

Nothing can come between us...

This is Dad's account of his and Mom's evacuation from Houston last week, when Hurricane Rita hit. It is a great story, and it made me laugh out loud at more than a few parts. Mostly because I can actually picture him sitting at his computer writing it, singing along to the lyrics he included and bouncing around in his chair (or, more likely, the couch.). Hopefully it'll work for you as well, with or without the visualization. I have reposted it here in its entirety, with his permission.

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NOT SO RANDOM THOUGHTS ABOUT HURRICANE RITA, OR HOW I EXPERIENCED THE EXODUS FROM EGYPT.

Hurricane Rita developed just three weeks after Hurricane Katrina destroyed parts of southeast Louisiana and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Katrina did such a complete job of destruction that virtually the entire city of New Orleans evacuated – almost half of the residents of the greater New Orleans area came to Houston. When Hurricane Rita came across the Florida Keys into the Gulf of Mexico and was forecast to land near Galveston, Texas as a category 5 storm, Houston residents made and executed evacuation plans. Fortunately for Houston, but not for Beaumont, Port Arthur, Lake Charles and Cameron, Louisiana, Rita turned north and missed Houston almost completely. But the evacuation of Houston is the story I want to tell. Our story is not unique – some were better, some were worse, but this is our story.

Wednesday, September 21 was the day we decided to make plans to shut the synagogue down for the duration of the hurricane. That this occurred less than two weeks before Rosh Hashanah only added to our stress. Wednesday was the last day of school and the last day of normal office operations. Thursday morning we completed securing the synagogue and school, including moving more than 40 s’frei Torah and our white High Holiday mantles into the attic, collecting all Siddurim (prayer books) and Chumashim (Bibles) and storing them on tables, disconnecting all computers and electrical equipment and placing them on desktops and covering everything with plastic. We did a double tape back-up of our computer data so we could take each of the two copies in different directions. Our recently completed (one year ago) expansion and renovation had added a lot of storefront glass doors and windows – we decided we could not board all of this up, but we did board up the front entrance doors near the main sanctuary.

Robin and I initially thought about staying in Houston. Two weeks ago we moved into a three story, solidly built townhouse, so we could have easily stayed safe and dry, but the house is in a low area that has a tendency to flood a little – how much in a strong hurricane was unknown. But even though the house is four feet above the street and we would have easily been ok on the second or third story of the house, I didn’t want to be stuck there without power (read that – no air conditioning in 100 degree heat!). And I didn’t want to leave our cars in a low area to be flooded. So we decided to leave. We both filled up our gas tanks on Wednesday.

“Hello, Muddah…hello, Faddah…here we are at…Camp Grenada…”[1] We were initially going to leave Houston for Camp Young Judea in Wimberley, Texas, not far from San Antonio, about 180 miles west of Houston. Robin works in the office for CYJ and the camp director was opening the camp for people to take shelter. Wednesday afternoon I looked at the projected path of the storm, and at that time it was projected to make landfall near Matagorda, Texas, about 70 miles south of Houston and then track west and north through central Texas, right through San Antonio and Austin. Move right into the storm and stay at a camp in wood cabins in a low lying area? I don’t think so! My Momma didn’t raise no dummy! So we thought about going east, to Jackson or Gulfport, Mississippi where we have great friends. The drive to Mississippi would take 7 to 8 hours under normal conditions, so I checked with Southwest Airlines, but they were all booked up for flights to Jackson and New Orleans. I decided that if we were leaving, I needed to be closer than 7 or 8 hours by car. Also, the latest projection for landfall had moved to 60 miles EAST of Houston, not 70 miles south. So we decided to go to Austin – a 190 mile trip to the northwest – to stay with friends in a sturdy house (as opposed to the wooden cabins at CYJ). “Oh, you got to have frieeends, the feeling’s oh so strong. You got to have frieeends, to make that day last long.”[2] Besides I knew that our friends’ home had air conditioning and TV – Penn State was playing Northwestern in their Big Ten opener on ESPN2, and even though Penn State has been something short of a powerhouse in recent years, both teams opened the season 3-0 and had something to prove. I DO still bleed blue, even though I must admit my exuberance and confidence in the team and Joepa are down. “Fight on State! Fight on State! Strike your gait and win.”[3] So Austin it would be.

But first we had to secure our house. Not having lived there but for two weeks and not having experienced any flooding or heavy rains (heck, it hadn’t even rained at all in the two weeks we were there), we didn’t really know how high to move things, so we planned for the worst. We ended up moving nearly EVERYTHING to the second and third floors – all of our dry goods, bottled water to sustain us upon our return, clothes in the closet, our collections of menorahs and Wedgwood, pictures, books, golf clubs, most of our furniture – even the dining room table. The only things remaining on the first floor were furniture pieces too heavy for the two of us to move ourselves – the dining room breakfront, the living room couch, two living room end tables, my recliner, and the big TV. It was like we moved out just after moving in, but without the movers. We finally got to bed at about 2 am.

Thursday morning I went to the office at about 7 am. At about 10:30 we finished securing the synagogue. Robin came over and parked her car in the synagogue lot. The synagogue is reasonably high and did not take on any water during the floods of Tropical Storm Allison in 2001 – the worst flooding Houston had even experienced. The car had a full tank of gas and was loaded with water and food.

“Westbound and down, loaded up and truckin’. We’re gonna do what they say can’t be done…”[4] They were right – it couldn’t be done! We left town at 10:45 am. Robin started driving. I would eventually take a little nap. There are two main routes to Austin – Interstate 10/State Highway 71, and State Highway 290. Radio reports about traffic on both routes were bad. Even worse, though, were the reports on Interstate 45 north to Dallas. It’s a good thing we weren’t going there – reports were that it was taking 24 hours (normally 4)! I figured that Austin – normally a 2-1/2 to 3 hour ride (“…a three hour tour, a three hour tour…”)[5] – might take around 12. We had heard that just getting to Katy -- 20 miles to the west on I-10 was taking 6 hours. Knowing from experience that even on good days traffic on Interstate 10 going west from Houston to Katy was heavy, I decided to chance going south (actually west) on Highway 59 to Beltway 8 north to I-10, hopefully cutting out SOME of the worst traffic. All in all, and in hindsight, I think this was a good move. Traffic on Highway 59 was light all the way to the Beltway. We picked up the Beltway going north, and as I went up the access ramp I saw it was virtually a parking lot, so I crossed over the grass back to the frontage road. We stayed on the frontage road all the way to the entrance before the interstate, where we re-entered Highway 8, about 1-1/2 miles from I-10.

“I am a man of constant sorrow. I’ve seen trouble all my day.”[6] Then things got bad. Highway 8 approaching Interstate 10 was really a parking lot. There were two reasons for this – (1) the beltway intersection with the interstate reduced from six lanes to two, and (2) then you had to merge onto I-10, on which traffic wasn’t moving. This mile and a half took about 2 hours! Incredible! At this point we heard that TXDOT was opening the southbound lanes of I-45 to northbound traffic – the so-called “contraflow”. But even with that the northbound traffic wasn’t moving at all. Why TXDOT didn’t think of this a day ahead was unbelievable, but nobody ever accused the state government officials of ANY state of being the brightest kids on the block. I figured, though, that if they were opening “contraflow” on I-45 going north to Dallas, they would do the same thing on I-10 going west to San Antonio. I was right – they did establish a “contraflow” on I-10, but the only access to it was from the HOV lane – a single lane for high occupancy vehicles (3 or more passengers). Trouble was, you couldn’t get on the HOV lane unless you were already on it (you could get off, but that wasn’t very smart). So we watched with frustration as the traffic in the “contraflow” lanes moved along at 60+ miles per hour while we averaged 3 to 4 miles per hour at best. Smart officials!!! So we spent the time not moving more that we were moving, listening to traffic reports that went from bad to worse (no gas to be had), worrying if the car would overheat (“When you’re hot, you’re hot”[7]) and eventually run out of gas before we got to Austin. During one lengthy stop in the middle of the road, Robin and I switched places. “Back in the saddle again. Out where a friend is a friend…”[8]

Well, eventually we got to the Katy Mills Outlet Mall about 9 hours after leaving – normally about a 40 minute trip at worst. At this point I saw an opening to crossover to the “eastbound” lanes that were opened to westbound traffic. I had to backup into the normal HOV exit lane and cross into the “contraflow” – a “no-brainer” if there ever was one. What a difference – “flying” down the interstate at 65 miles per hour. Trouble was, it only lasted about 5 or 10 minutes before traffic backed up again (necking down from 4 lanes to 2). And now I was worried about how I would get off the interstate onto Highway 71 – if we ever would make it that far. There’s a rest area near Brookshire, about 5 miles past Katy. I thought that might be the opportunity to cross back over to the westbound lanes so I could exit onto Highway 71 at Columbus – whenever we would get there. I also thought that the rest area might be a decent place to take care of some personal bodily business. It was already almost 12 hours since we left. I saw an opening to re-cross the median and took it. It was still a half-mile or more to the rest area – only another 30 minutes! We eventually made it, pulled in to the rest area which was double-lined with cars. No toilet facilities, so we made our own. “Why don’t we do it in the road.”[9] Major relief!

“On the road again: Just can't wait to get on the road again. The life I love is makin' music with my friends, and I can't wait to get on the road again.”[10] Back on the highway, we sped down the highway at a max speed of 10 miles per hour, but mostly less than 5. Now I’m worried about the traffic on Highway 71 – is it just as bad as Interstate 10, better, or G-d forbid, worse? The next exit was Sealy. There was a truck stop. I pulled off, not really expecting to find gas, but figured it was worth checking. There must have been 300 cars and trucks in the lot. I thought I’d get a Coke – they were out – SURPRISE! So I bought a Dr. Pepper for me and a Sprite for Robin.

“And comin’ off the line when the light turns green. Well she blows ’em outta the water like you never seen. I get pushed out of shape and it’s hard to steer, when I get rubber in all four gears. She’s my little deuce coupe, you don’t know what I got.”[11] Back to the highway, or close to it. As we peeled out of the Sealy truck stop at a NASCAR-like 3 miles per hour, I decided to stay on the frontage road instead of the Interstate proper. I actually thought I might recognize a road that would take me north a few miles and then cut west to Highway 71 something north of Columbus.

“…and all the Jag could see were my six taillights.”[12] At this point I glanced up at the three lanes of westbound traffic – all you could see were red taillights. Thousands of red taillights. Two to three million people leaving Houston to get away from Hurricane Rita. Barely enough time to fill the car with gas, food and water and hit the road. To escape the wrath of Hurricane Rita. Some even thought about turning around and going back to Houston.

As I pictured this, I thought of the Children of Israel leaving Egypt. “When Israel was in Egypt land…”[13] Two to two and a half million people leaving Egypt the morning after the Angel of Death passed over the houses of the Israelites, killing the first-born of the Egyptians. Barely enough time to grab the matzah and run. In a hurry, a big hurry. To escape the wrath of Pharaoh. And after they left, many had thoughts about returning to Egypt.

What is this? A parallel concept! Two million leaving Egypt in a hurry. Two million leaving Houston in a hurry. No time for collecting food and water. No time for waiting for the bread to rise. People leaving their homes, losing their tempers in the congestion of the moment, complaining about this and that. People leaving their homes, losing their tempers in the congestion of the moment, complaining about this and that.

But eventually we made it to Columbus and Highway 71. Surprisingly the road was almost completely empty; everyone else going straight on to San Antonio. Being able to drive the posted speed limit (65 miles per hour), making it to Austin at 5:30 am, still with gas in the tank. 19 hours to make a 3 hour drive.

A little sleep. Shabbat dinner (kosher) with good friends. “I get by with a little help from my friends. Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends. Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends, with a little help from my friends.”[14] Penn State beats Northwestern with a game-ending drive to start the season 4-0 and win their Big Ten opener for the first time in 6 years. “Hail! To the Lion, loyal and true. Hail! Alma Mater, with your white and blue.”[15] Drive home to Houston, in only 4 hours. “Goin’ back to Houston, Houston, Houston.”[16] No power; no air conditioning. Dayeinu!

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The footnotes are his, and they are at the bottom of this post. Dad reads this blog at least semi-regularly, so if you want to leave comments on his story, please do so below.

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[1] Alan Sherman, “Camp Grenada”

[2] Mark Klingman and Buzzy Linhart, “Friends”, as sung by Bette Midler

[3] “Fight on State”, author unknown

[4] With apologies to Jerry Reed, “Eastbound and Down” from “Smokey and the Bandit”

[5] George Wyle and Sherwood Shwartz, “The Ballad of Gilligan’s Island"

[6] Dan Tyminski, “I am a Man of Constant Sorrow”

[7] Jerry Reed, “When You’re Hot, You’re Hot”

[8] Gene Autry, “Back in the Saddle Again”

[9] John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road”

[10] Willie Nelson, “On the Road Again”

[11] Brian Wilson and Roger Christian, “Little Deuce Coupe”

[12] Jan Berry, Roger Christian, Artie Kornfeld, Brian Wilson, “Dead Man’s Curve”

[13] “Let My People Go”

[14] John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “With a Little Help from my Friends”

[15] James A. Leyden, “Hail to the Lion”

[16] “Houston”