44 Floors

For the anniversary of Superstorm Sandy I'm reminded of one memorable experience. I joined a group of film production people to the Rockaway Surf Club, an unofficial distribution center for the community. We brought basic supplies, toilet paper, snacks. We came in vans. We were ready to do whatever.

Most of the activity at the Surf Club centered around organizing and sorting donated goods. There were piles of clothes, shoes, soap, canned food,batteries.

We were asked to take a van to one of the highrise buildings on the island’s waterfront. We followed a guide down a stretch of empty road. We parked in a shopping center parking lot. Older residence came to our vehicle. They spoke to us in a whisper, a foreign language we didn’t understand. We showed them what we had. They took what they needed, thanked us, and continued on.

Inside the building we met with an organizer. He wore a kippah and glasses, he looked tired but ready to talk to anyone with a question. He asked us if we could carry goods up stairs. We told him we could. We broke up into teams of six. I carried a bag of bread. Another man took a case of water. The rest joked at my fortune and the other man’s plight. I told him we could switch.

Many of the residence were wary of opening their door. Most spoke only Russian. The one in our group who could talk to them addressed them politely but in a hurried tone. We had many to visit. Supplies were a courtesy, time was the only valuable.

One resident in particular broke my heart. We knocked on her door somewhere near the top floor of the building. She answered the door in more of a daze than most of the older residence. Our Russian speaker addressed her first but her stilted English words broke through.

“My husband, they took him!” she cried.

We were confused.

“He is sick,” she added.

He was too ill to stay after the power went out, we realized. He was taken somewhere else. She was left behind. She was lonely. She was scared. We had bottles of water. We had trays of hot food. And yet, we couldn't give her anything she needed.

She began to cry.

She caught herself. We understood if we stayed another minute longer we’d only upset her further. We left.