April 17, 2009 - Friday
 | Current mood:  quietHi. I had an interesting day and I'm afraid it takes awhile to tell. About mid-morning today, I began hearing about a fire in the nearby small town of St. Charles. I learned more and more details as time passed and the events transformed. There was a major fire at a food processing plant, North Star Foods. It's one of the primary employers of the town. Everyone was safe, but the fire raged on. And on. And grew in intensity as the hours passed. At first, nearby houses were evacuated. Then an elementary school was evacuated. Word had it that the evacuees were at the high school gymnasium. Then the high school was evacuated. It seemed that there was a danger of tanks of anhydrous ammonia being ignited by the blaze that wouldn't be squelched. -Five tanks of ammonia. By 2 pm, various sources were reporting that there was a call to evacuate the entire town. I found a way to leave what I was doing and suit up. If they were trying to get all of the 3500 residents out of town, I figured they might need some help. http://minnesota.publicradio.org/collections/special/columns/news_cut/archive/2009/04/breaking_news_st_charles_evacu.shtml I've been to St. Charles quite a few times. I've been to family reunions there. It was also one of the flooded towns that I brought relief supplies to in 2007. I set out heading east on Highway 14, expecting to run into a road block eventually. From 15 miles away I could clearly see the black plume of smoke obscenely scarring the cyan sky. The roadblock was at Eyota. A patrolman standing in the road was stopping all vehicles from proceeding east and redirecting them elsewhere. When it was my turn to be re-directed (I was in-gear, minus the coat and mask), I waved him over and told him that I was looking to volunteer in St. Charles and help with the evacuation. He told me to pull over to the side of the road "for a minute". The clock ticked on as he re-routed long lines of cars, letting none through the roadblock. I saw a local TV station doing a remote shot at the roadblock. I hoped that I hadn't been caught in the background of one of their shots. The cop caught a break in traffic, but still didn't make a move to talk to me further. I figured that I was being jerked around and had had enough of it, so I took off in search of another route to St. Charles. I tried some rural roads south of 14, but nothing worked out. I kicked myself for not bringing the gps. I thought there was a route north of where the cop was, so I went back to his intersection and let him wave me on to the north. I found a gravel road parallel to Hwy 14 and took a right, heading east. It was a long road, but eventually it led me to a road that went right onto 14 and into St. Charles. I had called ahead to the police and was told that the command center was at the fairgrounds, but didn't know where that was. Avoiding roadblocks and looking as if I knew what I was doing whenever I saw city vehicles, I drove down the various hazy, deserted streets looking for anyone to help. It was a ghost town. -Just like those zombie movies where you see the downtown city streets with parked cars, but no one at all on the streets. I was carefully avoiding blatantly driving through any obvious road block, although there was no one on the smoke-filled streets to stop me. At times, my choices were limited and the path of least resistance directed my route. I made a turn and came upon the engulfed building, big as life and not three blocks from me. Through the smoke and steam I could make out a fire crew spraying all the water it had. Mockingly, smoke billowed and orange flames licked the sky. I'm a big believer in letting the experts do what they do best and staying out of their way, so I meandered away from the scene, still alert for anyone to assist. Convinced that the town was largely deserted, except for remaining emergency personnel, I started to head west. I saw a cop and pulled over to ask her about where to volunteer. She gave me accurate directions to the command center. As I headed to the command center on the west side of town, I realized that I appeared to have a bit of credibility, because I was coming OUT of the mess like an experienced person, instead of trying to head into it like a newbie. I asked the officer where to volunteer and he told me where I could park and who to talk to. I did NOT introduce myself as a real-life superhero, although I'm sure they thought I was odd-looking. I just told them that I wanted to volunteer if they needed any help. The guy told me to hang out with the other guys for awhile (cops, EMTs, city workers, the Mayor was there somewhere, too.) I waited for quite awhile. Whenever someone passed by, I said "Hi", "How's it going?" or "Whaddya think?", attempting to convey an appreciation for the serious situation in a sane way. There were a lot of media there. Local TV, newspapers, Twin Cities TV. They were kept at a distance at the opposite end of the parking lot from the command center. I could see them, but they were appropriately focused on the urgency of the story and didn't seem to notice me. The city guy (City Engineer?) waved me over to him. He was on the phone and I waited patiently as he finished his conversation. I heard that if the tanks were to all blow, everything within 250 yards would be dead. Anyone within 500 yards would have chemical burns and major lung damage. The town's water supplies were running dangerously low. They had re-routed water and tapped three wells, but it wasn't enough or fast enough. Even as I listened to his phone conversation, tanker fire trucks periodically screamed by back and forth bringing and fetching more water from nearby towns. He got off the phone and told me that if I wanted to, I could relieve the highway patrolman who had directed me into the command center. I walked over to the officer (Jason Owen) and said, "I've been asked to let you catch a break, grab some food and use the bathroom. I guess they figure I stand out almost as much as you do in your neon vest." He laughed and gave me quick instructions on who to let pass and who to re-direct and where. I think I did it right. I got a private thrill about telling a TV news van to go to the third drive-way with the rest of the media people and don't wander off. Yeah, it was just me beside the highway patrol car and stopping traffic... I only find it a little amusing now. I was dead serious and felt very honored with the responsibility. Officer Owen came back and he "took over" as we chatted awhile, leaning against the patrol car. I learned that the town had been evacuated before I arrived and at this point there wasn't much to do but let the firemen do their work. We watched the smoke continue to rise. Eventually, I got a non-awkward chance to explain to him that I'm called Geist and I'm an RLSH, blah, blah, blah... He was polite, but unimpressed. Which is cool, because I was deliberately trying to not sound impressive. Soon enough, I knew my moment of token usefulness had passed. I wasn't really needed to begin with and I was becoming even less-so now. Here's my take on disaster response: The focus is on the problem - not you. If you have a pedestrian version of your costume, wear it. I'm regretting wearing the bright shirt instead of the dark one. I would have fit in a bit more. All in all, I'm glad I went. I went there to find out what I could do and the answer at that time was: Not too much. As I drove back home, I've got to say that I giggled as I drove east past the cop at the road block who had turned me away before. _____________ Unfortunately, earlier this evening I heard that one of the five ammonia tanks has burst. I don't know what this will mean for the city or my opportunities to aid the people. This problem isn't over. I'll let you know if I can manage to be useful to the people of St. Charles. Take care, Geist |
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