Another Near Miss for Manatee County

Like many monster storms, Ian proved as indecisive as a neurotic diner at a 96-item buffet, and it wasn't until shortly before landfall that it became clear that Lee County would bear the brunt of its wrath. I've always found the relief experienced when a savage storm chooses another target to be a strange phenomenon. We're all in it together until it's time for the beast to take final aim, at which point all but those holding a bonafide death wish are either silently or loudly begging the oldplease, please, anywhere but hereplea.

This time around, Fort Myers Beach seems to have suffered the most catastrophic consequences, with large swaths of the barrier island resort town literally obliterated by what was very nearly a category 5 hurricane by the time it bore down and showed its teeth. Photos of the storm's impact can only be described as apocalyptic and it isn't too difficult to imagine that same fury having erased any of our own barrier island towns, especially since we'd been given such dire storm surge warnings for AMI in the hours leading up to landfall. In the end, it seems as though eastern Manatee may have gotten the worst dose with Myakka City experiencing around 100 mph winds and some 10 inches of rain, which led to catastrophic flooding in some areas.

On Tuesday, we raced to put together an early and abbreviated Midweek Update while there was still power, internet, and useful information to put out to the public. The roads were abuzz with the frenetic energy that always accompanies an approaching hurricane, as residents waited in line for ever-dwindling supplies of gasoline, or a record number of county-provided sandbags, while others jockeyed among frantic shoppers hoping to score what was left of the bottled water and non-perishable goods. The hardware big boxes were doing almost as much trade as the liquor marts, as nervous residents gobbled up plywood and handles of the sort of liquor that could be used in either a hurricane party cocktail that evening or a stiff drink poured neat should they be forced to suffer prolonged power outages and limited access to ice cubes.

Although the storm's course was firmly set by the time most of us lost internet service and cell signals, the heavy winds that came on Wednesday were enough to wonder whether the eye of Ian had made a post-landfall detour and headed north. Those winds were sustained for hours on end and when I finally got to bed that evening, sans power and with a belly full of Yuengling, bottles of which I'd been pulling from a cooler, I was far from confident that my home would be fully intact come morning–Just not the brand new roof, Ian! I beg you. I'm on Citizens! My deductible is nearly as high as the storm surge!

Somehow, I managed to sleep in later than I would have ever expected, and while I awoke to still strong winds, a non-responsive clock on the dresser, and the musty smell of a boarded-up house that hadn't had air conditioning for the better part of 20 hours, things were far less ominous in daylight. The old and long branches on the many giant oak trees on and surrounding my property had mostly remained intact, while the ones that had fallen did so almost as if they were taking care not to suffer further by way of additional impact on the way to the ground.

A quick assessment on foot revealed that Ian had spared me and my neighbors almost completely. A panel of fencing had been blown off its posts and there was considerable cleanup to be done, but there would be no claims to file, no agents to deal with. The power was out and my belly was rumbling, but I soon remembered that there was propane in the grill I'd secured.

What little non-perishables I'd had in the house had survived in my large, decades-old Igloo cooler, and soon I was drinking fresh, hot Columbian coffee from the French press after boiling water on the side burner, while firing up some breakfast tacos on the grill. It was by no means a gourmet experience. Still, it hit the spot much in the same way as when a modest but hot meal would unexpectedly replace the MRE one evening in the middle of a field exercise back in my Army days, reminding me that pleasure isalwaysrelative to circumstance.

On Friday, I was able to set up shop at a Starbucks fortunate enough to have both power and internet, and we started coordinating a special alert to get vital info to readers fortunate enough to access it, while simultaneously trying to build the Sunday edition through slow, oft-interrupted connections. Somehow, it all worked out, even if I now owe a small fortune to the swear jar.

By early evening, the weather was actually serene, a mild breeze pulling through the air at the golden hour, vanilla skies with impossibly vivid orange edges having replaced the sinister, pewter-colored clouds of the preceding days. It made it difficult to even imagine they played host to the destructive events that had only just passed. After work, I decided to grab some restaurant food while taking in a bit of live music, which was already surprisingly easy to find. The energy was surreal, people everywhere drunk with a brand of gratitude and zest for life that only seems to exist in the moments following a crisis averted.

There's much to be said for Manatee County's response to the catastrophe, much of it good, especially on the ground, where dedicated, hard-working professionals undertook a historic relief effort, some risking life and limb to do so. There were many hiccups in terms of the communication of vital information, however, and I think this speaks directly to the over-politicization of county government and the loss of institutional knowledge our county bureaucracy has suffered in just these past 18 months.

The county did a poor job of pushing out information regarding evacuations and water shut-offs. Push notifications were sent out for the mandatory zone A evac, but not for zone B once it was added. Mobile Homes, which are historically included with zone A evacs, were noticeably absent from that alert and, apparently, the county made the so-far unexplained decision to shut off water to mobile home parks and did so without telling residents who were more than a little perturbed when they returned to their homes not having made proper preparations. Islanders likewise complained of not being told the water would be shut off until after the fact, and there was much confusion in the days that followed as to whether "east county" residents with well water could safely drink it.

Anybody who pays attention to County Administrator Scott Hopes knows that there are few things (if any) he enjoys more than being in front of a camera, especially if he can do so while showing himself to be "in charge" of something. Hopes ensured that he was indeed the face of Manatee County Government during the hurricane, while his benefactor, County Commissioner Kevin Van Ostenbridge, did his best to jockey into frame and utter ominous movie line phrases like, "Hurricane Ian presents a clear and present danger to Manatee County" (yes, heactuallysaid that). No word yet on whether the commissioner's dubiously-acquired bougainvillea survived the storm, but I suspect we'll hear more on that in the near future.

This is not to say that those figures didn't work hard and sleep little while under the pressure of providing the community they've asked to serve with the public safety it expects and deserves. It's to say that, like most other people who don't have decades of experience in emergency management, they weren't the right folks for the job, and we should all consider it to be an even bigger stroke of luck that the storm took a hard right turn south of our location.

It hasn't been two months since Public Safety Director Jacob Saur, a 20-year county veteran, was "let go" by Hopes and company–reportedly at the behest of County Commissioner Vanessa Baugh. Baugh apparently didn't feel Saur had done enough to keep her off the hook after orchestratingVaccinegate, a national scandal in which Baugh attempted to subvert the BOCC's approved method of vaccine distribution, seemingly for her own political gain.Manatee County's longtime Director of Utilities (arguably equal in importance during such an event) was similarlylet go, also for political reasons, shortly after.

During a state of emergency, the county's public safety director is actually in charge of the county, and while Saur's presence over the past few days may have dramatically reduced screen time for Hopes and Van Ostenbridge, things would have almost certainly gone much more smoothly in terms of communication, given how many rodeos Saur has already ridden in.

However, as our elected officials are so keen to remind us,elections have consequences ...sometimes, terrible, terrible consequences. Hopefully, there will be enough elections between now and the next major hurricane– perhaps the one thatdoesn'tspare us the brunt of the burden–and enough fed-up citizens voting in them, for us to restock the depleted roster among those who do the most important work during such catastrophes. But that's the thing about experience. It isn't something that's simply billed or decided upon. It's earned over time through hard work, which is what will make our current predicament in which it is being chased out the door in favor of friends and allies so dangerous in the long term.

Dennis "Mitch" Maley is an editor and columnist for The Bradenton Times and the host of ourweekly podcast. With over two decades of experience as a journalist, he has covered Manatee County governmentsince 2010. He is a graduate of Shippensburg University and later served as a Captain in the U.S. Army. Clickherefor his bio. His 2016 short story collection, Casting Shadows, was recently reissued and is availablehere.