By Jefferson Weaver
“We will be closed Saturday, Oct. 8, due to the storm. We pray everyone will be safe.”
There’s mold on the sign now, just as there is on much of the merchandise still visible in the store window. A handful of unfortunate insects became trapped between the paper and the window at some point, leaving behind a dried-out husks. I was early for an appointment in Fair Bluff the day I saw the sign, and went for a walk through downtown. My buddy George was the only business I knew was open, but since I’d already had lunch, I just went wandering. I grew up in towns like Fair Bluff, where small businesses and big ideas lined the streets. As tobacco and textiles fell by the wayside, some stores rebranded themselves, while others closed up shop. Fair Bluff wasn’t hopping, but it was still alive, when that sign was taped to the door on Oct. 7, 2016, as Hurricane Matthew brought a new brand of misery to thousands across our state. Miss Rhonda and I were but two of those survivors, as I have related perhaps too often. We didn’t get hit as bad as some folks, but we were hit far worse than many. We rolled through it.
But my friends and folks I just know in Fair Bluff – and Kelly, Rattlesnake, Canetuck, Currie and elsewhere, for that matter – some of them are still waiting for the help that was promised to them within weeks of the stormwaters finally falling enough that folks could see what was left of their lives. Most people I know have no desire to accept help from the federal government, but sometimes one has to swallow your pride and do so. Matthew was one of those situations, and many of us gave in to the hard-selling tactics and signed up for one kind of assistance or another. Assistance. The very word is embarrassing for anyone who works for a living. It was bad enough to have to ask for help, then get turned down, then ask again, then get turned down, then ask again to get approved, but that’s how bureaucracies work. Efficiency doesn’t guarantee job security. Now, we dropped out partway into the frustrating, humiliating process. We had friends who stepped up to help, in ways that often brought tears to our eyes. Some folks don’t have those kinds of resources, and that is where the government should have stepped in. Yet for some reason, despite promises that the nightmare lessons from hurricanes Fran and Floyd had been taken to heart, some portions of our state government still haven’t coughed up the federal money that was promised to help folks in Southeastern North Carolina. How much? The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) wrote North Carolina a check for $295 million. Our neighbors in that other, Lower Carolina got a similar amount, and their funds have nearly been depleted, rebuilding homes and businesses and doing what they can to prevent another hurricane from destroying what Matthew left behind.
Now, we have seen money from several sources – especially the Golden LEAF Foundation. A longterm fund like the LEAF shouldn’t have to be used to rebuild from a storm. The LEAF folks have a duty to help farmers and others affected by the loss of the tobacco industry, and they have done an outstanding job, in my opinion. Like the neighbors and North Carolinians who haven’t forgotten their roots, they jumped in when there were gaps that needed filling. The LEAF folks have made an incredible difference for a lot of communities in the wake of Matthew. But just because a firefighter tackles a bank robber, that doesn’t mean the police department no longer has to fight crime. In short, recovering from Matthew ain’t the job of the LEAF, but stuff needed doing, and they are doing what they can.
No one has been able to supply me with a solid answer as to why North Carolina’s leadership is sitting on the federal storm rebuilding money. I hear speculations and opinions, but I am not yet at liberty to make those public. If they are true, it’s a sign of exactly how insidious party politics have become, and how callous some folks in Raleigh are to those they are supposed to serve – and those who write their paychecks. More than half the counties in North Carolina saw some kind of effects from Matthew. We saw more than most others down here in the Southeast. While I don’t know of anyone sleeping on their front porch any more to protect what’s left of their home, too many people are still waiting to know if they’ll ever be able to live in their homes again. The wheels of government turn slowly, and are often out of balance, squeaky and not even designed to fit the machine to which they are attached – but they are still supposed to turn. I strongly suspect that some of those in charge of making those wheels turn have no desire to do so, since their storm damage has been repaired.
Meanwhile, folks are losing what’s left of their homes, buildings are shells as empty as the exoskeletons of the bugs trapped behind that sign, and entire communities are wondering why they ever believed someone spouting the old line, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.” There are those who had insurance, or rolled up their sleeves, counted pennies, and started over. There are others who have refused to give up, even though there is no sign of hope on the horizon. There are some who also just walked away, and will never again return to the small towns that were founded four and five generations back by their families. I doubt when that sign went up in the window of the store in Fair Bluff, anyone expected the downtown would be closed more than a few days. I know some folks who had to take a boat back to their home on the Black River after realizing that this time, the storm was going to be more than an inconvenience. Most of us have stories and friends and families and maybe even businesses that have been sitting here, waiting for someone to open the door and take down the sign that says “Closed Saturday Oct. 8”. And far too many are still praying, nearly two years later, than everyone will be safe.
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