Storms
At three a.m. the annoying telephone rings
“Hurricane Kate will soon be making landfall;
Drive to Panama City, start collecting your things”
Microphones and tape recorders, I pack them all
Just one week till the end of hurricane season
“Thanksgiving’s coming,” I grouse as I hit the road
Scrub pines twist furiously; I know the reason
Five months of calm weather, but now the motherload
A drive that is usually two hours now takes five
Lightning strikes everywhere, brightening the night sky
Approaching the beach, I’m lucky to be alive
I sit in fascination; the waves are so high
The fisherman’s pier collapses into the sea
A spin-off tornado tears the roof off a school
Disoriented, a man wades through the debris
I invite him to my car so we can seek safety
A vivid bolt of lightning sends him to his knees
He covers his ears as thunder roars ominously
I toss my raincoat over him, watching him freeze
He can’t tune out the noise and acts irrationally
When we arrive at the emergency center
People gather round him and I ask who he is
“We call him Crazy Mazy,” says the director,
“He served in Vietnam, many medals are his.”
With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, he’s homeless
Living on the streets, Captain Jim Mazy seemed strange
The locals knew him well and offered him kindness
But to outsiders like me, he appeared deranged
For seventy-two hours, I stayed on the air
Talking to officials and those who assisted
As death reports came in, we bowed our heads in prayer
When I tried to talk to Mazy, he resisted
It was he I remembered most when I drove home
Members of the Capital Press Corps united
No longer on the street would this veteran roam
Compassion for a war hero had been ignited
Habitat for Humanity gladly pitched in
As did the public, when Mazy’s story was broadcast
Never again would he writhe in a hurricane’s din
Storms were behind him, Mazy had a home at last
*True account, written June 28, 2014
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