Hardee County Sheriff’s Office deputies who traversed from their central Florida county to the Florida Panhandle to help resituate towns and cities hardest-hit by Hurricane Michael were once struck themselves when, in 2004, Hurricane Charley struck their jurisdiction and caused unspeakable damage. In Hardee County is a small city called Bowling Green; its police department was demolished, its police fleet tossed and reminiscent of a Godzilla flick. My department was assigned to assume police duties while the Bowling Green cops tended their families and regrouped their government. Now they are paying it back to other cop shops in similar dire straits. Law enforcement officials from all over poured into the Panhandle after Hurricane Michael poured untold volumes of crushing water, carving swaths of littered land where solid homes once stood.
On Thursday, as initial footage and photographs started to circulate from boots on the ground and choppers in the sky, businesses rekindled what was left and opened their establishments to citizens and public safety officials, Florida Governor Rick Scott followed suit by opening the governor’s mansion to state police —Florida Highway Patrol troopers— including meals and cots for sleep breaks. How’s that for a well-justified use of taxpayer dollars?
Stephanie Susskind of Florida’s WPTV News coined the slumber stay quite well: “SLEEPOVER AT THE GOVERNOR’S MANSION! Governor Rick Scott hosted 50 Florida Highway Patrol State Troopers for dinner as they prepared for deployment to the Gulf Coast to help with hurricane response efforts. After dinner, 35 troopers spent the night. The Mansion will be used as a law enforcement shelter for as long as necessary.”
Florida Highway Patrol Troopers are all en route to the Panhandle, from all across the state of Florida – to help those affected by #HurricaneMichael. If you see them, be sure to shake their hands and say THANK YOU! #LESM pic.twitter.com/rB7uNBudY5
— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) October 11, 2018
Also for as long as necessary (the state usually deems when law enforcement agencies from other areas can debrief and return home), the Polk County Sheriff’s Office was sent off by Sheriff Grady Judd. Unlike the governor’s stationary, stately mansion, the PCSO crews are staffing mobile concessions and equipment. On Thursday, October 11, Sheriff Judd announced, “…two PCSO teams of deputies and supervisors, with Polk Fire Rescue personnel, some cooks, and a mechanic, loaded up the mobile command centers, mobile kitchen, mobile showers, mobile bunks, generators, water tanks, and fuel trucks, along with our swamp buggy, airboat, surface drive boat, and ATVs, and headed up to Bonifay in Holmes County, Florida, to assist those affected by Hurricane Michael. It is our honor to be able to help out Floridians in need. We are blessed to have the type of equipment, manpower, and community partnerships, to provide what amounts to a self-sustained city and rescue vehicles for any type of terrain. Hang in there, panhandle. We’re coming!”
“You’re not alone. We’ll be there with you. We promise!” Those words spoken by Sheriff Judd frankly echoes the sentiments of all public safety agencies in our beloved nation. As Polk County Sgt. Wright astutely mentioned, his and other law enforcement agencies are, among myriad other purposes, primarily aiding police officers and deputies in the Panhandle whose homes were decimated by Hurricane Michael. Even if there is nothing left to piece back together, there are ample issues with which to contend, such as insurance processes, temporary housing, and ensuring welfare of loved ones while full-knowing that competent cops from elsewhere have the watch over what is left of their respective jurisdictions.
When I served in that capacity during 2004’s Hurricane Charley, which bowled over the Bowling Green Police Department and their quaint town, the Bowling Green cops offered so much with so little and few words. Torment on their faces told the whole story. Postures strained to hold firm; everyone understood the human dynamics as the surrounding landscape was eerily apocalyptic and morosely mashed down. The police spouses and families’ actions and modestly home-cooked meals offered our department blues far more than a five-star steak dinner could ever satiate.
I suspect they’ll be plenty of Bowling Green-like scenarios in Florida’s Panhandle as that regions public safety professionals try to reconcile what Mother Nature inflicted, certainly those who survived to ponder the fortune of living while watching uniformed personnel, not necessarily total strangers, sift the remnants.
