The floodwaters took almost everything that Stephanie and Jeff Spencer had struggled to accumulate. The waters reached above their fireplace. Here is Peter St. Onge's story about the Spencers and others in the aftermath of Hurricane Floyd.
They Were Always Helping Others; Now Who Will Help Them?
TARSBORO—The on-ramp to U.S. 64 is blocked, so Jeff and Stephanie Spencer park their white Dodge Dynasty on the grass near the orange traffic cones. "You think they'll let us down there?" the husband asks. The wife doesn't think so.
They get out of the car anyway.
What else is there to do?
They walk down the ramp and look up at the rain as it begins to fall. They walk onto the empty highway toward the next exit, No. 485, which would take them to N.C. 33, which would take them to their neighborhood—if it weren't all under water.
They are one family in one county in what will likely be the costliest disaster ever to strike North Carolina. More than 30,000 homes have flooded statewide, with 47 people known dead. Both numbers are sure to swell as floodwaters pull back.
In Edgecombe County, about 60 miles east of Raleigh, Jeff and Stephanie Spencer have lost most everything. Like many in their county, they didn't have much to lose, which is partly their choice: They often don't charge customers for the bookkeeping she does, the car repair he does.
Now they wonder who will help them. They walk up U.S. 64. They walk past a pair of sympathetic state troopers, toward a pack of wandering neighborhood dogs, and finally to a small sign. "Here it is," Jeff Spencer says. Tar River.
They are silent for a moment, then they lean forward and look to the right. Over there, they say, pointing toward where their neighborhood is, their house, their past and future.
All they can see is water.
. . .
Tropical Depression Eight was born a small swirl of a storm on the evening of Sept. 7 about 980 miles east of the Lesser Antilles. In less than a day it had a real name, Tropical Storm Floyd, and sustained winds of 50 miles per hour. Two days later, it was a hurricane, with winds up to 80 mph reaching 175 miles outward.
In Edgecombe County, N.C., Stephanie Spencer was already getting to know Floyd.
Spencer considers herself a bit of a hurricane buff. She follows most every storm from birth to death, tracking their paths through weather reports and weather service updates she has e-mailed to her home computer.
In part, her hobby is fueled by family: her father-in-law lives on North Carolina's Outer Banks. So by Tuesday, Sept. 14, she and her husband worried as Floyd ambled toward Florida, with forecasts pointing it up the coast toward the Carolinas.
The Spencers checked on Jeff's father, and just in case, they bought supplies for their house. They knew friends in mobile homes likely would come over to wait out the storm. They never turned anyone away.
Such is how Jess and Stephanie Spencer are known throughout the poorer parts of Edgecombe County. If your car has wheezed to a stop, bring it to Jeff's house. If your business records are in a jumble, go to Stephanie.
"They will do anything for you at any time," said neighbor Loretta Harper. "They won't take your money. They know if you can't really pay."
By Wednesday night, the Spencers were sufficiently stocked with supplies at their three-bedroom ranch, including a luxury purchase—a $300 generator they found at Kmart. Throughout the county, worried storm watchers took similar precautions.
In nearby Princeville, Willie Robertson picked up his mother from her mobile home and drove her to a sister's house in east Tarboro. He, too, lived in a mobile home near Greenville, and he preferred the safety a house provided from the winds. They would stay the night, he thought.
In Tarboro, Edgecombe officials activated their disaster plan, mobilizing police, fire and safety officials in an Emergency Operations Center at the new county law enforcement center. Some thought of it as not much more than a test run.
Charlie Harrell, chairman of the Edgecombe County commissioners, had different concerns. His two sons live in Myrtle Beach. "I was really worried for them," he said.
By Thursday morning, the frets seemed unnecessary. Floyd passed weakly through Eastern North Carolina, toppling some trees and power lines with wind gusts. Only the rain was unusual—Edgecombe county got 15 inches—but even that brought only some high water reports in low-lying areas.
"All in all, we thought we had escaped," Harrell said.
His sons were fine in Myrtle Beach. He left the EOC on Thursday to take a look at flood-prone Princeville, where he found stoplights running and water drying. He went back up to his Tarboro home to clean up a tree limb that had fallen. He began to relax.
"At that point, I thought we were in great shape," he said.
Then a call came in from the EOC.
"All hell broke loose," he said.
. . .
The Tar River, already flush with rains from Hurricane Dennis, couldn't absorb the drenching Floyd delivered. On Thursday, the river swelled to more than 30 feet, well past the 19-foot flood level. Its effects were felt first in three low-lying subdivisions in southern Edgecombe, then in the Deer Run subdivision in the far western part of the county.
From there, the flooding moved eastward.
"It was a wall of water," said Charlie Harrell. "You could literally follow it through the county. It was one trouble spot after another."
On Thursday, Jeff and Stephanie Spencer were unaware of the floodwaters coming their way. At 7 p.m., however, friend David Foreman came to the Spencers' door. He and his family were flooded out of a nearby mobile home park.
"I've got my whole family with me," Foreman said. "My whole family."
"We'll make room," Jeff Spencer said.
At 11 p.m., two neighbors knocked on the door, concerned that the water was getting higher on N.C. 33. At 11:45, another neighbor got his truck stuck in a nearby ditch. Jeff Spencer helped pull him out, then saw 4 feet of water in the ditch.
"I came back and told (Stephanie), 'We got trouble,'" he said.
The neighbors decided to hold a vigil on one resident's porch near the river. They drank coffee and watched the river rise. They tried to stay upbeat: When someone drove a car past and sent water rippling, they yelled, "No-wake zone!" and laughed.
By 1 a.m., the water had reached the base of the porch.
By 2:30, 2 feet of water was in the house.
The neighborhood began evacuating. Jeff Spencer went to the homes of elderly neighbors and carried them through the waters to safety. One elderly man, Curtis "Pops" Staton, declined to leave. Pops said he was dying from lung cancer. What difference would it make if waters took him first?
"But even then, I didn't think our house would flood," Stephanie Spencer said. "It's higher than the rest of the neighborhood."
By 4 a.m., she was convinced otherwise. The water had risen to 4 feet in the streets outside their home. Her husband was now using his 12-foot motorboat to get from house to house. One couple, Jesse and Loretta Harper, tried to leave in their car, but were turned back by floodwaters. Stephanie Spencer gave them her minivan.
"The water was so high it kept hitting the side of the van," Loretta Harper said. "I closed my eyes and started to pray. I was so scared."
Stephanie evacuated soon after, driving her husband's '69 Chevy pickup to her parent's house in Tarboro. In the truck, she brought a picture of her daughter after high school graduation. She also took her computer's central processing unit, which contained her clients' records, and eight sets of t-shirts and shorts. "That's all I could bring out," she said.
Jeff stayed behind with Pops, who refused to go in the boat when it was dark.
"I'll stay with you," he told Pops.
He talked to Stephanie every 20 minutes.
At sunlight, Pops agreed to leave. The Spencers took him to a shelter at Tarboro High School. He is now staying in town with family.
. . .
By the weekend, as the Tar River rose to 43 feet, spirits in Edgecombe County sagged. At the EOC in Tarboro, initial chaos settled into a wearying assault of emergency calls. Police and fire communications, which had given out during the night, were restored, but officials scrambled to keep up with the cries for help.
"The phone never stopped ringing," said Charlie Harrell. "It was overwhelming, a nightmare."
An exception: On Sunday night, while making a final sweep before returning to the EOC, an Army National Guard helicopter noticed a small flickering light from the waters. The pilot turned for a closer look and found a man on his roof, holding a flashlight.
The man told the crew he had run out of water two days before, and had been out of food for three. He had almost run out of hope. The crew members took him back to the EOC, where they grilled him a steak and watched while he ate.
"Like proud parents," one soldier said.
In east Tarboro, Willie Robertson and his family were awakened at 2 a.m. Friday by police pounding on doors and ordering an evacuation. Robertson took his mother and sister to a friend's house, then took his car to Tarboro High School. Already, more than 1,000 people were inside.
Robertson slept in his car.
Only for the night, he thought.
On Friday morning, Jeff Spencer and a half-dozen neighbors took boats into their neighborhood on rescue missions. They banged on windows and doors. A few people answered and were taken to safety.
The rescuers also went into houses for pets and precious items that had been forgotten in the rush of the evacuation. Jeff Spencer came upon two dogs straddling vines eight feet off the ground, just above the water. The tang of fuel and waste hung in the air.
Spencer also went to his home, where he found 3 feet of water inside. On Saturday, that water reached up to door handles. On Sunday, it was at the fireplace mantle.
By then, the Coast Guard had arrived. Private boats were forbidden from the waters. The Spencers, like so many others, could no longer check on their home.
So in the next days, as the Tar River finally began to recede, they started to piece together the rest of their lives. They filled out forms Tuesday morning for Federal Emergency Management Agency assistance, then more forms for the Small Business Administration.
That afternoon, they drove to Tarboro High School for information on Red Cross assistance vouchers. They had trouble finding a parking space; the shelter's population had risen to more than 2,000.
They parked two spaces from Willie Robertson's car.
Nearby, Robertson sat in on of the six classroom chairs clustered under a small tree in the parking lot.
He had been on this asphalt porch since Friday, sleeping in his car, which was stuffed with extra blankets, some leftover food, stray clothes. He rarely went inside the high school; it was too crowded with people who were too frayed from the flooding.
In the parking lot, he found some fast friends in the slow-moving days.
They sat in the chairs under the tree, leaned against their cars, talked about family, about flooding. They went to Food Lion or Kmart to browse.
They waited.
Robertson's home in Belvoir was still underwater, as was his mother's home in Princeville and his sister's in east Tarboro.
"It's going to be a long wait," he said. "What else can I do?"
Later, at her parent's home, Stephanie Spencer talked about people like Willie Robertson.
"I know there are a lot of them who don't know what to do and can't get in touch with me," she says. "Who's going to show them what to do? Who's going to help?
"Now I'm one of those people."
Her husband picked up a small, thin cardboard box. On its side was stamped "Salvation Army" and "Clean-Up Kit." He opened the bottom.
"We've never had to ask anybody for anything," Stephanie Spencer said.
He poured out the contents.
"You feel like you're taking someone's stuff," she said.
A mop. A broom.
"You feel like you should be the one handing out things."
He looked at her.
. . .
The river is receding now. Twenty-eight feet Wednesday to 24 feet Thursday to 20 on the weekend. As the water falls, the death toll rises, and officials fear they will find more people who tried to hide in attics or escape in cars.
It is just one of Charlie Harrell's dreads. His worst day since the flooding began? Thursday, when he settled down enough to think about the future.
"I got a sickening feeling in my stomach," he said. "I got my first chance to think about how many different levels this has disrupted life here—and how long it will take to recover."
Here is what he knows: His is a poor county, with its poorest population hit hardest in the past 10 days. They are, he said, people who have no flood insurance, no car insurance, no money to replace what the water shredded or swept away.
"So many of our people will be grateful for loans, but we need more than loans." He said. "Most of the people flooded out are hourly people. They live from week to week, paycheck to paycheck. They need money just to survive, and that's not even talking about getting into their homes."
And so it is for Jeff and Stephanie Spencer, who don't know yet when they'll move back into their home. They have no flood insurance. The life and businesses they slowly accumulated have been snatched from them. They will rebuild, they say, but only because there is no other choice. It is the best even the sturdiest spirit can offer hear.
So now they wait.
And they worry.
And they turn from the Tar River and head back to their car.
Behind them, a few of the stray dogs sniff at their heels, looking for food. "Hey fellas," Jeff Spencer says. Then: "You can't come with us." There is no place to go.
(Reprinted with permission from The Charlotte Observer. Copyright owned by The Charlotte Observer.)
Heroes of a Storm
by Peter St. Onge
The man lived two towns over, in a mobile home park somewhere in Magnolia. That, and his name, was all he told rescue workers that day. Perhaps it was all he was able to tell them. He spoke little English, if any.
And so one morning when the floodwaters allowed, Judy Piner and her two sons set out to find Erasmo Mencias. Chris, the oldest son, knew a little Spanish, but when they found a mobile home park populated by Hispanics, he was met mostly with blank smiles and shrugs.
Finally, he found a woman who spoke a trace of English. He tried again. He told her his name was Chris Smith, and that he was looking for Mr. Mencias. He told her the man dove into the floodwaters on the day after Hurricane Floyd and rescued his brother Gary.
He was a hero.
"Do you know where we can find him?" Chris asked.
The family hasn't been able to say thank you.
. . .
In Edgecombe county, a man drives to the center of his small community and blares his truck horn until neighbors come outside to see floodwaters approaching. In Greenville, a utilities official devises a plan to keep electricity on in his city, even with the main substation 9 feet under water.
Heroes have been easy to find in the wake of Hurricane Floyd. Rescues, gifts, goodwill—the tales have surfaced throughout North Carolina, softening the larger story of damage and death.
In Wallace, on the morning of Sept. 16, Mitchell Piner and his 15-year-old stepson, Gary Williams, left their house in Piner's new pickup truck. The night before, Hurricane Floyd had blown through Duplin County, downing trees and power lines, but sparing the Piner's house. At 8 a.m. Piner and Gary grabbed a chainsaw and a toolbox and headed out to help a friend.
The route to their first stop was blocked by a tree, so Piner took N.C. 41, the main road in and out of Wallace. After a mile, they came upon water in the road; Rockfish Creek had flooded near the golf course in town. The water didn't seem to cover much of the road, and there didn't seem to be any real current. "It wasn't deep," Gary says. His stepfather drove the truck slowly through.
Halfway in, the truck began to slowly turn sideways, pulled by an undercurrent Piner and the boy hadn't seen. The engine stalled, choked by the splashing water.
Soon, the current shoved the truck to the side of the road, then down into a ditch about 6 feet deep. What was slow turned fast. Water rose up the side of the pickup. Gary pounded on the window. It wouldn't break. Instead, he squeezed through the sliding window in the back of the pickup's cab, with his stepfather close behind. The truck sank quickly into the creek. "We were just... just afraid," Gary says.
Ahead, the boy spotted a tree and paddled toward it. He grabbed at his stepfather's shirt, which was heavy with water. Piner looked up at him.
"Gary, I can't swim," he said.
When they reached the tree the boy grabbed at a branch and pulled himself close to it. Piner grabbed at another branch, but it snapped. Piner was swept away, his arms folded in front of him as he was pulled under the water.
The boy held onto the tree, the water splashing at his face. "I was screaming, yelling," he says. Thirty minutes passed. He thought of school starting the next Monday, and he thought about being the kid who doesn't return to classes, the one who people mourn.
Then, he saw a man at the water's edge, back at N.C. 41. Erasmo Mencias and Luis Rodriguez had been driving past on the way to a friend's house. They stopped at the water on the road and heard screams. When he saw the boy, Mencias stripped off his shirt and dove into the strong current, which he steered through toward the tree. There he turned the shivering boy around so the water would hit their backs, and he wrapped his arms around him and held on.
The pair tried to communicate, but language was a barrier. Mencias asked if Gary lived nearby. Gary tried to tell Mencias about his stepfather. Mostly, they stayed silent and waited.
Finally, 45 minutes after Mencias reached the boy, rescue workers pulled the pair onto their boat. They searched briefly for Mitchell Piner, but gave up and went back to the road, where Gary Williams went to an ambulance and Erasmo Mencias to his pickup.
"He walked one way, and I walked another," Gary says. When the boy looked for him minutes later, Mencias was gone.
. . .
Mitchell Piner's body was found Sept. 19 in an eddy created downstream by the floodwaters of Rockfish Creek. Piner was 42, and he liked to fish and fly model airplanes. He worked as a maintenance supervisor at Carolina Turkeys in nearby Mount 0live, which like many poultry plants employed a large number of Hispanics.
Many of the workers lived in Duplin County, but as it is in many counties, Hispanics and Americans are mostly disconnected, separated by language, culture and often suspicion. And so his family's search for their hero was not nearly as simple as it could've been. But last week, Smith heard back from the woman he'd spoken to at the trailer park. She knew of Mencias and found him working constuction in Wilmington. He wanted to meet the boy he rescued.
Mencias, 51, is a native of Sava, a banana-rich village in Honduras. Contacted Friday, he said he wasn't afraid to jump in the water.
He had prayed for strength beforehand.
On Saturday, he drove into Wallace, accompanied by a translator and her husband. Smith met the pair at a Hardee's in town, then led them to his driveway.
Gary walked out his front door to meet them. He began to cry.
"Thank you," he said. Erasmo Mencias smiled. "You're welcome," he said before the translator could speak, and they walked inside to talk.
(Reprinted with permission from The Charlotte Observer. Copyright owned by The Charlotte Observer.)
by Peter St. Onge
To accomplish that, however, you need to find the right subject. The most effective stories I've read involved ordinary people confronting the challenges of daily life. Perhaps that's because readers want to identify with characters in stories. They want to connect, to ask themselves how they would respond if they were the characters' place. Give them too much of a hero—or villain—and the story loses a bit of its relevance.
I spent two days with Jeff and Stephanie Spencer, mostly driving through their waterlogged town, meeting family and friends, and talking. I learned through their neighbors that they were known as kind folks, not at all wealthy but generous with their time. They were, simply, the type of people you think of as neighbors in a small community. Now their house was gone. They needed help. I'd found my protagonists.
But if a newsfeature tells a human tale, that tale needs to be buttressed with news. This was, after all, a story about flooding, so I talked with county commissioners, emergency management officials, rescue workers and Army personnel who had been called in to help. When I got back to the newsroom on Friday, I had two stories: First, I had the flood, from its origin to its toll. Also, I had Jeff and Stephanie Spencer, illustrating that toll. The trick with newsfeatures is to weave the two elements together, giving readers both information and intimacy.
Why intimacy? Again, if readers care about a story's character, they'll stick around to find out what's happened to him or her. But it's important to let the reader know right away what the story will include. Wander anecdotally or play it too straight and you might lose your audience. In this case, the lead introduces the Spencers walking toward the river near their neighborhood, which is covered by water. It introduces the theme: these generous people now need help. It also gives the news: homes damaged and people killed statewide.
The lead also leaves something unanswered: what really happened and, most critically, what's next? Our tendency with news is to not hold information from readers, but a powerful newsfeature introduces tension, a question that will keep the reader reading.
By the end, this story's answer is that is there are no answers. The Spencers will rebuild because, like most victims of disaster, they have little choice but to do so. It's not a happy ending, but it's a resolution, which all stories should have.
The "Heroes of a Storm" story was a similar assignment, done for the next Sunday. The premise was that this awful event brought out the best in some of us, and we wanted give examples. Initially, the idea was to find five or 10 "heroes" and tell their stories in tight vignettes. I reported and learned of Erasmo Mencias, a Hispanic worker who dove in the floodwaters, rescued a teenage boy, then left before the boy could even learn his name. Suddenly, the story was something different. It was about a family that wanted to say thank you, like so many people did to all the heroes of the floods. Instead of simply cataloguing a half-dozen heroes, we had both news and intimacy again.
Each of these Sunday stories were done in four to five days, but I'd like to think they offered readers the same thing longer-term newsfeatures do. Limited time doesn't mean your newsfeature can't have characters, plot, tension, a sense of universality and, of course, news.
