Hurricanes Helene and Milton: Will They Be Another Harvey & Irma?

How I met Harvey and Irma (It Wasn't at a Dinner Party)

I was having a great time in the Single-Family Rental business and minding my own business when Hurricane Harvey stormed into Houston and disrupted my dreamy life. Harvey made landfall on August 27 2017 in Texas. Just 14 days later, Irma slammed into Florida. Though I had been out of the claims business for four years by then, my phone rang. Zack Meadows , CEO of Mid-America Catastrophe Services was on the line and calling for help. Zack, Stacy D. Story (COO), and other Mid-America leadership team members were my old running buddies. We ran the roads together from Calgary to Long Island, working hurricanes and hailstorms.

I told Zack I was happy where I was. He informed me he didn't plan to hang up until we had an agreement.

"You were always in our plans," he said.

Who can resist that and why would I?

I resigned from my post, packed my bags, and was in Houston, managing Harvey, within a week. Irma hit Florida and we moved most of our Harvey management team to Orlando. I remained in Houston until we no longer needed a help room and off to Florida I went. Those were wild and crazy days, exciting, exhilarating, exhausting.

Breaking the Silence

There have been a couple of busy storm seasons since 2017, but compared to hurricanes like Harvey, Irma, and Katrina, these have been mostly quiet seasons. I do not diminish or discount any suffering caused by the storms between then and now. No storm is quiet when it is your storm.

2020 was a busy year. So many named storms wanted in on America's COVID party that the storm-namers ran through the alphabet of names, went into the Greek alphabet, and exhausted it. Cristobal, Sally, Delta, and Zeta came to America's Gulf Coast to see what's up. Louisiana was especially rocked, pummeled, bruised, and battered.

But these two storms, Helene and Milton, look different to me. Helene stayed angry from Florida to North Carolina and Tennessee. As of October 6, she has accounted for 227 deaths and caused an estimated $30 to $47 billion in damages .

Now, we brace for Milton, which, as of this writing, is at CAT 5 status and eyeing Tampa.

The CAT Life Ain't No Joke

Willie Nelson crooned, The nightlife, it ain't no good life but it's my life.

The life of a catastrophe adjuster is as challenging as most occupations I can think of. We use the word "deployed" in the industry, which is appropriate. CAT adjusters deploy to storm sites, not knowing for how long or what they will encounter. Sometimes, there is no power. Water services are interrupted. Housing is scarce or nonexistent. Food is hard to find.

Katrina was my first storm. I slept three nights in my truck. When I arrived in New Orleans, the only place I could find to stay was a hotel that one would not stay in if everything were normal, unless you were up to no good. The first floor was closed because of flooding, but they rented five other adjusters and me a second-floor room. Six of us stayed a week in that room. The mandatory evacuation had not been lifted in the heaviest-hit areas. National Guard soldiers with M-16s patrolled the streets and manned checkpoints. We were there with the first responders. We comsumed military-grade MREs, dispensed from a truck in a parking lot.

Houses were swept off their foundations. In the 8th Ward, one such house sat square in the middle of the street. Mounds of debris and garbage were everywhere. There was the stench of trash and mold in the air. The humid atmosphere of the Crescent City added its own touch to the smell and feel of death and devastation.

I remember thinking, "This looks like a war zone in a third-world country."

When the Storm is the Norm...

Hunker down.

Over the years, I have addressed thousands of adjusters in hundreds of venues. One observation I make to the catastrophe adjuster is this: When you are in the storm, working 16-hour days, fielding and making dozens of phone calls every day, your phone ringing off the hook, insureds desperate to hear from you, managers pushing you to your limits, climbing steep roofs, breathing moldy air, driving through debris every day, sleeping on a slab the hotel swears is a mattress, waking up the rooster, burning the midnight oil, consoling, cajoling, counseling, and closing claims like they're timebombs (because they are), it feels like this is the way life is, like it is how the world works, like it was never any other way before and will never be any other way again.

I have spent hours talking with war veterans, some dealing with alcoholism or drug abuse, and others handling PTSD in different ways. When they tell their stories - if they can bring themselves to do so, it sounds much the same as the CAT adjuster's.

Combat Boots and Cougar Paws

In the 1980s, I was pastor of a church in Northern California. My favorite deacon and a great friend named Vic was in the church. He was a Vietnam veteran and an alcoholic. He fought the addiction as hard as he fought the North Vietnamese army. Vic was a good man with a great heart. He was a thin, wiry, leather-skinned man fellow stood no taller than 5'6". He was a giant in my eyes. His laughter filled the room and so did his personality.

After a brutal couple of hours of foxhole stories, I asked Vic, "How did you do it? How did you not lose your mind or die of fright?"

He said, "It was our life. It was all we knew. We just slept when we could, ate what we could, and fought like Hell for each other."

The storm was Vic's norm.

Then, like the other soldiers of that war, he had to come home to an ungrateful nation, to the hatred that spewed from some and the antipathy from others.

"That hurt me way more than the war," he told me.

So, there's a big difference, adjuster. When you are up to your armpits in alligators (I have a pic of one of my favorite adjusters holding an alligator by the tail. It was taken in Louisiana in 2020), swimming with the sharks (unscrupulous and dishonest contractors, opportunistic attorneys, etc.), and fighting for the insureds, remember the storm is only the norm until it isn't.

One fine day, you will upload your last file, load up your ladder, cougar paws, tools, and toiletries, and the next mile you drive will take you closer home.

My observation has a second stanza: when the storm is over, you return to your life, and it will feel like the storm never was. You will fall back into your daily routine with your family and friends.

What, then, was it all about?

Conclusion

Here is my answer.

While the storm is the norm, do your best to be your best. And when the storm is over, take the lessons and the money earned and do your best to be your best.

We had a song we sang in the churches where I grew up. The chorus went like this:

"And when the battle's over, we shall wear a crown, we shall wear a crown, yes when the battle's over, we shall wear a crown in the new Jerusalem."

Your life, dear adjuster, will not always be as hectic as the storm life. But it may well be defined by how you performed in the storm. Go. Serve the embattled. Indemnify the losses. Empathize with the suffering.

Earn your crown.