What we have here is a failure to communicate

Today is Labor Day. We did our family celebrating on Saturday with a dinner at Kate and Ron’s and we are spending the day quietly before taking Lucy to the airport tonight to get her plane back to DC.

Naturally all the news sources, along with the thoughts and prayers of the nation and, I am sure, the world, are focused on New Orleans and the Gulf states. The scope of the disaster is incomprehensible, but those who have made it so far are beginning to get meaningful help.

Here in Michigan we have over the years faced little of the ravages of nature. I vow to be less oppressed by the brief periods of heat and humidity and cold and ice, which are usually causes for my complaints.

In the seventies we were twice without electricity for extended periods of time as a result of ice storms, and the major blackout of 2003, which affected Ontario and the entire NE region of America, is still fresh in our minds. The biggest frustration was not knowing what was going on. We have all become so dependent on TV, radios, and computers. After the initial shock - and there were few people who did not immediately assume a terrorist attack – we were inundated by practical concerns. No way to know which gas stations had generators to pump gas, which pharmacies were open to dispense vital drugs, if there were cooling centers for the sick and the elderly, whether the water was safe to drink, or even where there were supplies of batteries or food.

But electricity was restored in a little over 24 hours. We were somewhat comforted by the hope that this emergency was a rehearsal for a future disaster here or in another part of the country. These omissions of communication could be addressed. Solutions for dispensing information didn’t seem overly complicated.

Now we read accounts of total breakdowns in the passing on of information. Was the National Guard supposed to report to regional police authority or vice versa? Individuals took control and personal websites became sources of information, specific sites were set up to pass on news of survivors. There are sites for volunteering money, services and other help, but on the whole they are maintained by individuals. I am sure there are countless on-line journalers and bloggers who have personal tales to tell. Over the years I have linked to Eliza, who is not writing a lot, but who is playing a role in helping friends. I hope she writes more, but she is busy doing her bit.

The ripples are reaching Michigan. The governor is preparing to accept refugees from the south and the president of the university for which I worked for sixteen years and where Ernie taught for thirty years has offered to accept students who were enrolled at colleges in the afflicted areas. I smiled a little as I read the announcement that students who had already paid their tuition would receive a full waiver of fees. The scenario is all too familiar: “Sir, Mr. President, um Irvin, how do they prove they have paid their tuition?” “Just make it work.”

And they will make it work, they must make it work. But how happy I am that I am retired and can sit here imagining Steve, Barry and Cheryl and the rest of the gang in the Advising office facing weary students asking, “What courses can I take at Wayne State that will satisfy my requirements in the Electrical Engineering program at Xavier?”