the nation that government forces were doing everything in their power to assist in the coastal evacuation. When asked specifically about Long Beach Island, he gave a wholly honest reply—he had never heard of it. He quickly added that he was deeply concerned for everyone who lived there.
All along coastal New Jersey, towns were being evacuated at a frenetic pace. Red lights swirled and sirens blared. Although teams of experts were certain the path of the tsunami would carry it to LBI first, surrounding communities such as Seaside Heights to the north and Margate to the south were emptying fast. Casino owners in Atlantic City cringed at the thought of losing all their customers, even if only for a few hours, but had little choice.
Back on the island, the first of the New Jersey National Guard troops began rolling in, their camouflage fleet forming a long, pulsing convoy along both sides of the Garden State Parkway and down Route 72. They brought all the large vehicles they had, the plan being that they would go onto the island and bring back as many people as each could carry. The designated dropoff spot was the enormous parking lot of Home Depot, on 72’s eastbound side. The commander of the operation prayed to God that it would be far enough inland. The Rutgers people said the tsunami’s waves would roll in and then draw back, so, theoretically, there would be very little flooding, especially since there was a bay on the other side of the island to act as a barrier to the mainland. But still…. Against the urgings of his advisors, he refused to bring the residents any further. Doing so would take more time, and in the end if it turned out he missed saving just one more truckload of people because he had taken the others farther than necessary he would have to carry that burden into eternity.
Traffic swamped the Causeway within minutes of the first public announcements. Local police stood in the roads frantically waving their orange batons and yelling for people to keep moving. Whenever some idiot would stop to ask a question, the cop, under strict orders, would shake his or her head and reply, “No questions, keep moving!” Every vehicle was ordered to carry as many passengers as possible, and those with children were always given the right of way. Strangers suddenly became close friends. If you had a car or a truck with an empty seat, you had the chance to be a hero.
Three of the four lanes on the bridge were designated outgoing—two on the westbound side, and one of the two on the eastbound side. The other eastbound lane was kept clear for incoming rescue transports, which had to be empty and ready to take another load at one of the designated pickup points along Ocean Boulevard. When they got down to the last fifteen minutes, this lane would revert to another outbound route. It was doubtful anyone would be willing to go in at that point anyway, under military orders or not.
Every police officer from every town in Ocean and Atlantic Counties had been called in for duty. While some managed the traffic, others were dispatched to comb their respective neighborhoods in search of residents unable to get themselves out. The older and more experienced cops were given this assignment. They’d know who was too elderly to have a driver’s license, who was handicapped, and who worked at night and slept during the day with the phone turned off.
LBI residents were informed with brutal honesty that they should not expect to see their homes again. “When you’re deciding what to take and what not to take, remember that,” Mayor Harper announced over the radio and on television. Most residents acted sensibly and simply left, realizing they weren’t so much running a race against a tsunami as against time. Across the island, they gathered up their loved ones, pets, and a handful of cherished personal items and jumped into the most reliable vehicle they owned. If there was a choice, Harper instructed, clunkers were to be
All along coastal New Jersey, towns were being evacuated at a frenetic pace. Red lights swirled and sirens blared. Although teams of experts were certain the path of the tsunami would carry it to LBI first, surrounding communities such as Seaside Heights to the north and Margate to the south were emptying fast. Casino owners in Atlantic City cringed at the thought of losing all their customers, even if only for a few hours, but had little choice.
Back on the island, the first of the New Jersey National Guard troops began rolling in, their camouflage fleet forming a long, pulsing convoy along both sides of the Garden State Parkway and down Route 72. They brought all the large vehicles they had, the plan being that they would go onto the island and bring back as many people as each could carry. The designated dropoff spot was the enormous parking lot of Home Depot, on 72’s eastbound side. The commander of the operation prayed to God that it would be far enough inland. The Rutgers people said the tsunami’s waves would roll in and then draw back, so, theoretically, there would be very little flooding, especially since there was a bay on the other side of the island to act as a barrier to the mainland. But still…. Against the urgings of his advisors, he refused to bring the residents any further. Doing so would take more time, and in the end if it turned out he missed saving just one more truckload of people because he had taken the others farther than necessary he would have to carry that burden into eternity.
Traffic swamped the Causeway within minutes of the first public announcements. Local police stood in the roads frantically waving their orange batons and yelling for people to keep moving. Whenever some idiot would stop to ask a question, the cop, under strict orders, would shake his or her head and reply, “No questions, keep moving!” Every vehicle was ordered to carry as many passengers as possible, and those with children were always given the right of way. Strangers suddenly became close friends. If you had a car or a truck with an empty seat, you had the chance to be a hero.
Three of the four lanes on the bridge were designated outgoing—two on the westbound side, and one of the two on the eastbound side. The other eastbound lane was kept clear for incoming rescue transports, which had to be empty and ready to take another load at one of the designated pickup points along Ocean Boulevard. When they got down to the last fifteen minutes, this lane would revert to another outbound route. It was doubtful anyone would be willing to go in at that point anyway, under military orders or not.
Every police officer from every town in Ocean and Atlantic Counties had been called in for duty. While some managed the traffic, others were dispatched to comb their respective neighborhoods in search of residents unable to get themselves out. The older and more experienced cops were given this assignment. They’d know who was too elderly to have a driver’s license, who was handicapped, and who worked at night and slept during the day with the phone turned off.
LBI residents were informed with brutal honesty that they should not expect to see their homes again. “When you’re deciding what to take and what not to take, remember that,” Mayor Harper announced over the radio and on television. Most residents acted sensibly and simply left, realizing they weren’t so much running a race against a tsunami as against time. Across the island, they gathered up their loved ones, pets, and a handful of cherished personal items and jumped into the most reliable vehicle they owned. If there was a choice, Harper instructed, clunkers were to be
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