Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Post Script

P.S. A few artifacts from our time on Staten Island.

Here is the clothing I wore, bagged and ready to throw out. I purchased boots, socks, a hat and gloves for the trip over the Thanksgiving holiday in North Carolina at Tractor Supply Co. (I misplaced the gloves after Day 1.) I threw away these items, and my old jeans, after I returned. We were working around asbestos, and I don't want to give those particles even the slightest opportunity to spread in my apartment or my lungs. The Ariat boots kept my feet warm and dry. I recommend them highly.

I found the golf ball lying in the grass between the NYC emergency management HQ stationed in the Midland Beach parking lot and the sanitation department's makeshift dump. The cabinet door is from a built-in closet at the Davis residence. This door was up by the ceiling, where the floodwaters did not quite reach. I initially wanted to keep the door as is, showing the dust created by the clean up effort. I've reconsidered, however, and will scrub it clean. I really want to be extra cautious about asbestos contamination.

And the artifact I am most proud of:  the sledgehammer I used to remove sheetrock from the ceiling in the bedrooms and to demolish the little built-in closet. (I can only note the irony that I am now writing a post about destroying a built-in closet in the very blog where I have spent so much time praising the beauty and utility of built-ins. See My Favorite Room.) Tom and Barbara brought it back with them and later presented it to me as a gift on Christmas Eve. They added a brass plaque to it with an inscription of thanks. I will treasure this object forever. It commemorates our trip to the Island and the time we shared there. It also reminds me of the struggles and challenges I have faced this year, and how I have been working to overcome them. 

Watch out. I am stronger than I look.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Parts One, Two, Three, Four and the Epilogue.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Epilogue

A New York subway sign, found at the Davis residence
during clean up on November 27, 2012.

Many families on Staten Island continue to struggle two months after Hurricane Sandy made landfall. Unlike the Davis family, some don't have an another home to take refuge in while FEMA, the city and the insurance companies decide what the future holds for their properties. They are forced to live out the winter inside their battered homes. Already, they are dealing with snow, wind and the cold. Christmas and the New Year probably do not hold much promise for them.

A group of experts led by Housing and Urban Development chief Shaun Donovan met in Lower Manhattan on December 13 to discuss the broader picture that New York City and all coastal communities must address.

According to an article published in The Atlantic Cities, Donovan emphasized disaster mitigation to protect coastal inhabitants:

'This type of more thoughtful planning process ensures that we ask ourselves, Can we rebuild what was here before? And more importantly, should we?' said Donovan. 'These questions are not just complicated from a construction and planning point of view. They cut to the heart of how we define [our] communities and what gives us a sense of place.... We need to harness this momentum to address weaknesses we've known about for years. We have to recognize that homes that wash away and substations in flood zones must become a thing of the past.'

Are we ready to make these types of difficult decisions? And will the momentum continue, or will it get buried under different disasters and other headlines?

One final point. I want to note that Staten Islanders are incredibly warm and funny (Tom and Barbara Omholt are Exhibit A). Their sense of humor and companionship with one another could go a long way to helping them get through the coming years of hardship. During my two days of service, we had a great time joking around with April Davis, even though her childhood home and nearly all of its contents were wiped out just one month earlier. She was angry, but she wasn't feeling sorry for herself or her family. She was just trying to find solutions to each challenge, one at a time.

I spotted this hilarious restaurant sign, above, from the Omholts' car as we left the Island that Tuesday afternoon. I really wish I had taken a photo of the entire side of this building on Hylan Boulevard. It was covered with several other signs advertising authentic homestyle cooking from around the globe.

A great sense of humour, a strong sense of family, and nourishment from meals shared with one's closest friends can go a long way to helping anyone get through hard times. It has certainly helped me.

Staten Island residents, hit again by flooding, question next move, from the Staten Island Advance.
New York City Still Struggling to Recover, from the The Journal of Light Construction Coastal Contractor.
Even the World's Top Experts Aren't Sure What to Do to Prevent Another Sandy, from The Atlantic Cities.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Parts One, Two, Three, Four and the Post Script.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island: Part Four, wherein the title is finally explained

1943 post card showing the Outerbridge Crossing, which connects
Staten Island to Perth Amboy, NJ.
Image from Metuchen Edison History.

And now you will finally learn why the title of this series is misspelled.

Two days before I was due to leave for the trip to Staten Island, my dad sent an email to me. Concerned for my health and safety, it ended with, "Be careful on your trip to Statin Island."

His message was so sweet, but I just couldn't stop laughing. My father is rather famous in the family for his creative spelling. Later that evening, my stepmother wrote in response (just to me, of course), "Don't you just love it? Sounds like a place where people with high cholesterol live!"

Well, as I discovered, the folks of SI do love their cooking. We passed a wonderful assortment of restaurants and markets on our way to and from the Midland Beach neighborhood on Monday and Tuesday. I noted that the Island's residents have an intense focus on cooking that comes from the old world. I saw more family-centered ethnic eateries than chain restaurants and grocery stores.

Roger Branstiter, a member of our St. Paul's crew, had his own observation about the forgotten borough of New York. "Basically, you need a passport to get on and off Staten Island."

It's different. In fact, it reminds me so very much of my home town of Endicott, New York, back in the 1970's:  heavily populated by Italian and Polish (or in this case, Russian) immigrants who are hard working, proud and mostly Catholic. Except for our little Lutheran enclave, of course. I really like the fact that the Island doesn't seem to have been homogenized by world events and popular culture over the past 35 years.

At any rate, Roger is right. Staten Island is a world unto itself. And before Hurricane Sandy, I suspect it was mostly happy to be the forgotten borough.

Previous posts:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Final posts:  Epilogue and Post Script.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Three

By mid-afternoon on Tuesday, I needed another breather. Our work was going to wind down for the day and I really needed some fresh air. So I removed the mask and gloves and went for a walk with my iPhone camera ready to record what I saw. I wanted to get a better sense of the context in which the Davis residence lay, and also to see how the storm affected other parts of their neighborhood.

This sign appeared on a storm fence surrounding the wetland
area shown immediately below.

Just 50 yards from the Davis residence, I found this wetland area, shown above and below. I believe this helps to explain at least part of Joe's concern about storms and flooding. As the Staten Island Advance article states, he "had a vivid premonition several years ago that a major storm would hit Staten Island." According to the article, this led to a failed attempt to shore up his property against such a possibility.

Tires and other debris rest in the wetland area on Freeborn
Street just yards from the Davis residence.

Flooding should be of great concern for residents of this neighborhood. Rising sea levels might very well change the Island's landscape in the next 100 years.

Freeborn Street, flooded after just a half day of steady, moderate rainfall.

I discovered many other artifacts as I walked through the neighborhood that afternoon.

New York Yankees knit hat on the fence of
the Davis' neighbors across the street.

A Christmas card on the ground in front of the
same house. This summed up my feelings, too,
after 23 hours of driving over five days of
the Thanksgiving weekend between Washington
 and North Carolina, and then Washington and New York.

An album found on the ground of the home next door.

More albums; classic 1970s.

Further along Hunter Avenue, a boat unmoored from its berth,
now lying aside a house.

I think this is an MG ....

It always pays to look up once in a while.
I spotted this umbrella hanging from a telephone cable,
deposited by the floodwaters. This is a stark reminder of
the height of the floodwaters.

A garden shed upturned behind a damaged fence.

Damaged homes marked by FEMA.

A garage, still standing.

I continued my way down the street. I could see Midland Beach in the distance. I was drawn to it, and decided to keep walking. I crossed Father Capodanno Boulevard and entered a large parking lot, where New York City had set up an emergency management center. All the official personnel there had taken shelter from the rain inside large trucks. So no one stopped me as I walked by, even though I'm quite sure I wasn't allowed to proceed through this area.

One of the vehicles at the NYC emergency headquarters
 for Staten Island.

The beach and FDR boardwalk were closed to all visitors. I heeded
the sign and turned toward some activity off to the right instead.

There I saw the newly made dumping ground for debris gathered
from the storm. I wonder where this stuff will eventually end up?
I'm sure it's full of lead paint, asbestos, and other toxins.

I appreciate the fact that the images I am publishing here of property destruction are sensitive. They represent people's lives, and possibly I have published photos of properties where the residents may have died. I thank all whose property I have photographed and hope that these photos may help to remind outsiders and Staten Islanders alike that, even when this story moves to the back pages, it will affect these lives for decades to come.

As I had made my way down Hunter Avenue earlier, I spotted these wooden stars fixed to successive telephone poles. I don't know whether these were placed there by an outsider who came in to help, or by a resident.

"You're braver than you believe,
Stronger than you seem."

"Learn from yesterday,
Live for today."

"Lean on me."

For a week afterward, I kept singing the classic Bill Withers tune to myself, over and over again. For any and all who have needed to lean on a friend or loved one this year, as I have done, keep this song in mind and never hesitate to ask for help. That's what the Davis family did.

Previous posts:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part One and Part Two.

Next post:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Four.
See also:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Epilogue and Post Script.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Two

My final pair of gloves and mask, resting on the dumpster
 in front of the Davis residence.

We went right to work Monday morning.

Even though only a few of our group had experience working with each other on previous relief efforts with the St. Paul's group, we divvied up tasks quickly and got down to business. By around 2:00 or so, I was ready to go outside in the sunshine, take off my filthy mask, and get some fresh air.

Joe Davis, the homeowner, was sitting on a bench at the end of the walkway. I went over to say hello and chat for a moment.

"You know," he said to me, "My wife is Lutheran. We were married in a Lutheran church in Brooklyn."

Really? I thought. That's interesting. Tom Omholt, our pastor, had his first parish in a Brooklyn church.

I don't know what prompted me to ask the next question, or even think of drawing some kind of association between the Davis family and Pastor Omholt. After all, there must be plenty of Lutheran churches in Brooklyn, a large borough full of churches. But I do tend to look for connections everywhere I go these days. I also tend to ask a lot of questions once I start interviewing people.

"When was this, Joe? And what was the name of the church?"

"St. Paul's Lutheran Church. We were married in 1983."

Wow. I thought I remembered that Tom's former church was also called St. Paul's. The timing also seemed to be about right. I could feel my pulse quicken slightly.

"Just a minute," I said to Joe, and ran up the ramp into the house.

"Tom, what was the name of your old parish in Brooklyn?"

"St. Paul's," he said. "There are two of them. It was the one near Flatbush."

Could it be? I thought.

"Joe," I said, returning outside, "what was the location of the church where you were married?"

"Avenue J, near Flatbush."

Incredible.

I ran back inside to convey this to Tom. The buzz started in the house as we began to realize that there could be a connection. Tom and Joe finally conferred face to face, and it was indeed confirmed:  Tom was most likely the pastor who married Joe and his wife, Trisha, 29 years earlier.

The Davis' youngest daughter, April, had come by the house again by this time. We excitedly told her the news. She promised to look for her parents' wedding photos that evening. Seemingly, so much time had passed that Tom and Joe just didn't recognize each other, nor did they recall each other's names.

The next day, the wedding photos confirmed what we now knew had to be true. Thomas Omholt was indeed the presiding pastor that April day in 1983.

Trisha Davis, Pastor Thomas Omholt, Joseph Davis

Trisha and Joe Davis

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the sublimity of this amazing discovery. That's a big part of the reason it has taken me three weeks to finally sit down and write this post. It would be easy enough to call this a coincidence, but as a very good friend of mine says, "I don't believe in coincidences."

So, call it what you will. It's still incredible to think that, 29 years after a certain Lutheran pastor, born and raised on Staten Island, presided over the marriage of a couple in Brooklyn, moved to Washington, D.C., and then returned to the Island to help this same couple restore their lives after the complete devastation of their home nearly three decades later .... Well, what do you call that?

End of Day Two. Left to right:  Tom Omholt, Barbara Omholt, Roger Branstiter and Tommy Omholt (both back row), Front:  Dawn Davis, Lexy Mueller, Karen Sease (in mask) Diana Lingel, Robert Hershey (in mask).

Later that day, there were murmurs of a potential renewal of vows, with Pastor Thomas Omholt presiding once again. I also suggested that we might consider donating a wheelchair for the Davis' oldest daughter, Debra, for whom the handicap ramp had been built. She is using a sub-par chair right now, and it would seem only fitting for us to offer to assist since we had already become so invested in the life of this family.

April Davis contacted the Staten Island Advance the next day to relay the news. The paper published the story a week later, giving further details of the Davis family's struggle following Hurricane Sandy. In it, you'll learn how Joe's long-lost wedding ring reappeared from behind a radiator while a previous volunteer group was there to begin the initial clean up and tear out of the sheetrock.

Now I understand why Joe Davis left his jacket and lunch sitting on the bench outside his devastated home that Monday afternoon, only to be drenched in the cold day-long rain the following day. He was overcome with awe and barely able to manage his emotions. He left us without even saying goodbye.

Previous post:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part One.

Next up:  Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Three. See also Part Four, the Epilogue and the Post Script.

All photos copyright 2012 by Alexis H. Mueller.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part One

Newspaper clippings on display in the narthex of
Messiah Lutheran Church.

No, that's not a typo in this story's title.

To understand its meaning, however, you'll have to read to the end of this six part series.

It's easy to become distracted by fading resolve or indifference when the call comes to assist during times of great crisis. When I contacted my pastor, Tom Omholt, within days of Hurricane Sandy's impact on the Eastern U.S. to see if our church planned to head to New York to assist with relief, neither of these distractions stood in the way. This seemed to be the right moment to just do something.

I didn't fully understand why, however, until I got to Staten Island four weeks later.

Yes, Tom said, we are seriously considering going up there to help with relief work. He reminded me that his wife, Barbara, and he were both born and raised on SI. It turns out that they grew up on the eastern and southern shores of the island, the ones most affected by the storm's fury. Therefore, there was no question as to why they were called to action.

When we learned from Tom just a couple of days from our departure date exactly where we would be working, my stomach sank. We're going to help out in the Midland Beach area, we were told. I already knew from following the news that this was the hardest hit area with the greatest number of casualties and property destruction. Would I be strong enough to handle what I saw there?

I could only offer up two days off from work for the effort, so my plans were to stay through Tuesday night. A couple of others in our group also left before the week's end, and the rest of the group left first thing Friday morning.

Our group headed north on Sunday, November 25, following the 11:00 service at St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Washington, DC. One more joined us from New York, our pastor's childhood friend, Donald Thoms.

What on Earth does this story have to do with 'design and domestic tranquility', or the nation's capital, for that matter (see my masthead)? Actually, it has everything to do with this statement. My ideas about home and the design of our environments was brought into sharper relief than ever following our experience at 141 Freeborn Street and in spending time with the family of Joe Davis. And our DC-based group, most of us with some kind of tie to New York (upstate and otherwise), made a tiny difference for one family just four hours north of us.

Early Sunday evening, we settled in to the Hampton Inn in Woodbridge, NJ, just on the other side of the Outerbridge Crossing to Staten Island. We arrived at a hotel filled with Allstate claims adjusters. Dressed in navy blue polo shirts with the Allstate logo, they packed the hotel lobby and conference rooms armed with their cell phones and laptops. They appeared to be dogged in their determination to assist their clients and were at work from early in the morning until late at night. (Oh, and they loved the fresh baked cookies in the lobby. Karen Sease, our vicar, became pretty good at determining the exact moment the cookies would appear so we could grab one before the polo shirt crew could empty the tray.) Barbara asked one of the agents when he had arrived. "November 9," he said. "How long will you stay?" she asked. "Probably until mid-January."

Two-and-a-half months at the Hampton Inn in Woodbridge. 

On Monday morning, we were immediately treated to Omholt family history  Our first stop:  Messiah Lutheran Church. This is where our pastor met his buddy Don Thoms (somewhere around second grade or so), played basketball and was confirmed. We even located their confirmation photo in the narthex. Pastor Omholt hasn't changed a bit. OK, he doesn't have that nifty pompadour any more.

Thomas Omholt, back row, third from left;
Donald Thoms, front row, second from right.

The first stop was to drop off supplies at Messiah Lutheran Church collected
by St. Paul's members. Left to right: Nancy Morrison, Diana Langel, Tom Omholt,
Karen Sease, Don Thoms, Roger Branstiter, Robert Hershey.

Next was a brief stop to drop off Nancy Morrison at FEMA Staten Island headquarters. Nancy's back condition wouldn't allow her to assist with mucking out houses, so her goal for the week was to help at a distribution center. Unfortunately, this location was no longer taking volunteers, so they referred Nancy to a location at a nearby church.

The FEMA headquarters location used to be an airfield.
Left to right: Barbara Omholt, Tommy Omholt, 

Roger Branstiter.

Once Nancy was situated, we continued on, passing by many more Omholt family landmarks:  the Reformed Church where Tom first attended services with his grandmother, Barbara's high school, the beach where they used to hang out, and lots of other places loaded with personal meaning. Sadly, the bar where Tom and Barbara famously met no longer exists. (Hi, so what do you do? I'm a Pastor. Hah! Is that so? Well, I'm a nun! Yup, we never tire of hearing that story.)

Then we continued on to the Davis residence on Freeborn Street.

Barbara Omholt standing on the deck of the Davis residence.

Initially, 141 Freeborn was condemned because of two minor cracks in the foundation 
(the red card). The Davis family appealed and authorities revised 
their assessment to allow the owners to rebuild (the yellow card).

View showing the ramp built for the Davis' oldest daughter,
who uses a wheelchair. This ramp was very handy for
removing dozens and dozens of wheelbarrows full of debris. Without it,
we would not have been nearly so efficient and it probably would have 
taken us twice as long to accomplish our task.

Two other groups had already come through before us to remove
furniture, personal effects and much of the sheetrock and plaster 
from the walls.

My friend, the trusty wheelbarrow, 
with Roger Branstiter standing in the background, left.

Homeowner Joe Davis, left, with Barbara Omholt and her son, Tommy, 

surveying conditions.

The kitchen, ready for additional demolition.

Barbara Omholt and Don Thoms, getting ready to put on gloves  
and masks to start work.

A bathroom.

It didn't take long for Barbara to start horsing 

around. She is a very bad influence on me.
Here, we take pictures of each other.

Pastor Tom Omholt and I stop working for a moment 

to have our picture taken.

Don works on the kitchen ceiling.

I lost those gloves at the end of the first day. Luckily, Barbara brought a 
box of blue industrial strength plastic gloves that I liked even better.

The Red Cross would come down the street each day to hand
out lunches to any and all workers.

The Dunkin' Donuts and coffee break (this was on Day Two). 
Our vicar, Karen Sease, and Barbara try to keep warm on that 
very cold day. It rained all day Tuesday.

Pulling up the floorboards revealed original asbestos tile. It will 

be good to get this stuff out of the house.

The other deck (which Joe did not build), which was destroyed 
by the floodwaters. Joe's deck, on the other hand, held up just 
very well. He is a fine craftsman.

Joe is a schoolbus driver. He came by on Monday to say hello
and explain what their goals are for their home, which assisted us 

with planning our work.

The sanitation department removing our first pile of debris. Later, 

they dropped off a dumpster for us.

The first load in the dumpster. We filled it up twice.

Incredibly, mail was being delivered to abandoned and condemned
houses, in addition to others here and there that are still occupied. Even more 

curiously, a meter reader came by earlier that day to read the electric
meter. I know he was just doing his job, but I couldn't help myself:
I gave that guy a piece of my mind.

The NYPD set up streetlights at many points. The 
neighborhood is entirely without electricity.

A neighbor's boat from five houses away landed in the 

Davis' backyard.

And a shopping cart landed right next to it.

Here, a bike is chained to Joe's sturdy deck.

But this story is just getting started. A most unexpected turn of events occurred during an afternoon break on that first day. For the most incredible part of this story, see Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Part Two.

Greetings from Statin [sic] Island, Parts Three, Four, the Epilogue and the Post Script.

All photos copyright 2012 by Alexis H. Mueller.