Hearts of lions leaders needed in disasters
By Harold Brummett
Denmark Star Route
The rain has come and is about gone. It was a good rain that fell slow on the parched
ground. Other places were not so lucky as the hurricane dumped feet of water almost at
once. I watched on the television the flooding, and am glad I no longer work for FEMA.
In a few days I will call some friends made from previous flooding, mainly in West
Virginia. The town of Rainelle and the town of Hundred, both coal mining towns with
high unemployment and lots of pride, comes to mind.
When I first went to Rainelle there was a large bulldozer pushing debris down main
street. As an intergovernmental affairs specialist dealing with local elected officials my
first stop was the mayor’s office.
The mayor barely broke five feet tall, in her mid seventies, thin as a rail but the heart of
a lion. I walked into her office and she motioned me to shut the door. She sat down at
her desk, I sat across from her and she started telling me the story of her town’s flood.
Not long into her story the stress of being up days on end, little sleep and the burden of
leadership and decision making came to a head, let down her guard and started to cry.
I told her that if she didn’t stop crying I was going to cry with her. She didn’t and I did.
We worked well together getting assistance for her hometown.
As it turns out this town had an Army Reserve unit. My mayor as the floodwaters rose
and as more machines and manpower was needed, she went to the unit and
commandeered them. Took charge. Ordered these soldiers and their machines to do
things and go places. They did.
Later as the bureaucracy of the Army slowly discovered that one of their combat
engineer outfits (not state National Guard but Army Reserve) was under the de-facto
command of a seventy some odd year old lady mayor was beside itself. The brouhaha
went all the way up to Pentagon level.
My mayor was not in any danger of unlawfully possessing a military unit because of the
circumstances and as we used to say, sometimes it is better to ask forgiveness than
permission.
I am glad I am home and not in the middle of a disaster somewhere. My time of
spending months away and working 20 hour days are past. Seeing the damage, the
lives washed away and dealing with the hurt takes a toll on those who help. When the
disaster is massive it will look too big to handle and so the work begins bit by bit.

Like the old saying, how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. I never could bring
myself to sightsee someone’s misery. When there was help to be done, get in and do it,
but gawking at misfortune seemed to me to be grotesque.
From my experience the emotional toll for the people who go through a disaster is great
but it is also great for those who go in to help. I also know that in our country are
countless mayors, responders, disaster relief workers that are tireless in their efforts
who have the heart of lions for their communities.
When we were frustrated with the pace of recovery and the bureaucracy of our jobs we
joked to each other, it is not a disaster until FEMA shows up. I’m glad they show up.