New Orleans was hit by a disaster it feared for years, but it’s not the only U.S. city facing nature’s fury. Across America, there’s a chasm between the knowledge gathered by scientists and engineers regarding potential disasters and the tepid response public officials and average citizens have to the information. We don’t need to be paranoid. But it would be helpful if we surrendered the old habit of living comfortably in denial.
Over decades of covering natural disasters and community preparedness (or lack of it), I’ve asked emergency planners: What scenarios keep you awake at night? While their lists often began with New Orleans, other answers included:
A Midwest earthquake. While California’s risks are legendary, many Americans don’t realize that Arkansas, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Mississippi, Missouri and Tennessee also sit along a monster fault. In 1811-12, three of the most powerful quakes in U.S. history struck near New Madrid, Mo. The temblors were so powerful they temporarily reversed the flow of the Mississippi River. “Survivors reported that the earthquakes caused cracks to open in the earth’s surface, the ground to roll in visible waves, and large areas of land to sink or rise. … Damage was reported as far away as Charleston, South Carolina, and Washington, D.C.,” says the U.S. Geological Survey.
Unlike California – which for at least 50 years has been preparing for The Big One and educating citizens about what to do when one strikes – government policy and public education in the Midwest only now are catching up with what science shows. For example, in 1950 California adopted its first building codes requiring new structures to be quake-resistant; the state regularly updates the rules as science and engineering studies turn up new information. But it wasn’t until decades later that the seven at-risk Midwest states began adopting similar rules. Today, there are thousands of skyscrapers, bridges, etc., in the Midwest that could collapse in a major quake. Landslides could crumble the bluffs on which Memphis is built. While New Orleans got a 48-hour storm forecast, the Midwest may not get any warning of imminent disaster because earthquake prediction is in its infancy.
Mount Rainier awakens. This summer when I climbed Mount Hood, the snowy giant near Portland, Ore., my friend and I passed the Devil’s Kitchen, a place where smoke and sulfur fumes ooze from the mountain’s roiling heart. Hood clearly is sleeping, not dead. As we watched the dawn from Hood’s summit, I was sobered to really see how close the blasted-out Mount St. Helens is to another slumbering menace, the magnificent but formidable Rainier.
When Rainier eventually blows, it might make Mount St. Helens’ 1980 explosion look like child’s play. Huge clouds of ash could billow into the sky and rapidly melting glaciers could send deadly, fast-moving mud flows over nearby towns like Ashville and Enumclaw. Working with the USGS and FEMA, Washington’s state and local governments have put in place warning sirens and evacuation plans. But until there’s an eruption, it’s impossible to know if residents would heed the sirens or avoid panic.
The more sobering issue, though, involves the teeming Seattle-Tacoma area, about an hour’s drive west of Rainier. In certain worst-case scenarios, the urban corridor might be in danger. Would it ever be necessary to evacuate the metropolis of about 3.5 million people, who would be facing an erupting volcano to the east and whose backs would be to Puget Sound to the west? I never got a firm answer. (By the way, the Pacific Northwest also could get jolted by other earthquakes due to a geologic fault off the coast.)
Alaska. The last frontier is one of the most geologically active places on Earth. Anchorage, badly shaken by the huge 1964 quake, remains a concern.
California. Earthquakes. Wildfires. Landslides. Celebrities. (OK, the last is more of an annoyance than a disaster.) But the Golden State faces a quandary similar to Washington state. Its disaster plans look great on paper, but no one is sure how the public will act in a real event. For example, in New Orleans, the poor were disproportionately left behind after most residents fled, and untold numbers suffered or died. Cities like Los Angeles should review their disaster response plans for areas such as East L.A. where many poor residents don’t have transportation and don’t even speak English.
Coloradans shouldn’t feel smug. There’s a slight but disquieting chance an earthquake could rattle the Front Range where our buildings aren’t meant to withstand big temblors. But our more likely disasters include tornadoes (ask people in Limon about that), floods (ask folks in Fort Collins), wildfires (remember the Hayman blaze?) and blizzards (where were you in March ’03?).
When the tornado sirens sound, where do you go for safety at home or work? If a flood arrives, are your important papers, survival supplies and family photos up off the ground floor? Are tree limbs trimmed away from your roof to prevent damage? Do you have several gallons of water stored up? How long would your food last if you couldn’t get to the store? Do you have a battery-powered radio so you can hear what’s happening in the world if the electricity is out? If you said “no,” you’re a sitting duck, ignoring the basics of 21st Century domestic security, much like the unfortunate souls in the hard-hit Gulf states.
Penelope Purdy (ppurdy@denverpost.com. com) is a member of the Denver Post editorial board.
