before the wind measuring instruments broke. What you are about to read is the actual account of Hurricane Andrew as it slammed into South Dade unexpectedly. The exact location of where this account occurred was less than one block from the above mentioned Coast Guard Station.

"We interrupt this program to bring you an emergency alert from the National Broadcast Emergency Center! This is an emergency alert! I repeat, this is an emergency alert! The outer winds of Hurricane Andrew have just reached the Florida coast. Hurricane Andrew has unexpectedly shifted five degrees south. I repeat, Hurricane Andrew has shifted five degrees south. Andrew is expected to strike South Dade within minutes. I repeat, Andrew is expected to strike South Dade within minutes. All South Dade residents should take immediate cover. I repeat, all South Dade residents should take immediate cover. This is an emergency alert."

I sat on the couch, scared out of my mind, as the television repeatedly blared out the emergency alert just minutes before midnight. My twenty-five year old son Eric, stood a few feet away, staring dumbfoundedly at the television screen like a mute statue. He arrived home about fifteen minutes prior to this, exhausted from working a double shift. His mouth suddenly dropped open but no sound came out. My hands began to tremble so badly that I accidentally dropped the cigarette from my hand. I leaned over and picked it up, noticing how my legs shook too.

The N

ational Hurricane Center had previously forecast Hurricane Andrew to strike Broward County, coming ashore either at Palm Beach or Ft. Lauderdale. The distant coastal communities were north-east of South Dade, far enough away for us to remain safe. The news media advised South Dade residents to expect gusting winds in the vicinity of 50 mph, without any significant flooding to the low lying land. Taping windows or boarding them up had been advised as a precaution against flying debris. We decided to board ours because the windows faced the grove.

For days I knew the ferocious storm was going to unexpectedly hit South Dade. Whenever I walked into the lime grove, I experienced one premonition after another of the destruction that lay ahead. I repeatedly warned Eric about the premonitions. We discussed seeking shelter in a concrete warehouse located in North Miami. A huge rock-solid building used by his band to store equipment in as well as a sound proof place to practice. Ideal for us to ride out the hurricane for the simple reason the building had no windows. Location wise, it wasn't ideal because North Miami resided closer to Palm Beach and Ft. Lauderdale.

On the day of August 23, Eric found himself bombarded by one problem after another at his place of work. His position as store manager made him responsible for resolving the unexpected dilemmas.

He called that afternoon offering to drive me to North Miami with our animals. Stating, he would not be able to remain at the warehouse with us. He didn't have a choice about returning back to work. His boss wouldn't grant him permission to take the rest of the day off. Not when the day proceeded to unfold with one urgent problem after another.

I sensed if Eric did this, he'd end up stuck in South Dade. Often his job required him to work sixteen hours straight through. By the time he got off work he'd be way too tired to drive. Forcing him to spend the night alone in the apartment, while I remained stuck at the warehouse. That wasn't something I wanted to risk with Andrew coming ashore. My son and I needed to stay together regardless of where we were.

As I leaned over to put the cigarette out in the ash tray, the emergency broadcast blared, "All South Dade residents are advised to stay put. Do not attempt to leave the area!"

Our pre-fab apartment building was not much bigger than a double width trailer. It had been constructed to safely withstand 90 mph winds but anything exceeding that was considered to be unsafe. At that precise moment I felt as though I were trapped in a plane flying thirty thousand feet above ground, and the captain had just informed us that the wings had fallen off. "I repeat, Hurricane Andrew has shifted course. The monstrous storm packing sustaining winds of 175 mph, with gusts expected higher, is not coming over the Broward County as forecast by the National Hurricane Bureau. Dade County is now under emergency alert. All South Dade residents are advised to seek shelter immediately!" "Oh-my-God! Oh-my-God!" my son suddenly blurted out."What are we gonna do! Oh-my-God, why didn't I listen to you! Oh-my-God!"

I looked at him as calmly as possible. Swallowing hard, I tried to steady my voice in a whisper, "We're gonna survive this mother if it's the last thing we do. Move the piano up against the front door. Come on. We haven't got much time!" "Oh-my-God!!" he gasped again in horror."Hurry, Eric!" I insisted, raising my voice to a command. "Shove the piano against the door. Wedge it between the couch so the door can't fly open. Come on. We haven't got any time to waste."

As I watched Eric react to the shock of Hurricane Andrew bearing down on us, I didn't realize I was slipping into shock too. Our safety now hinged on a plan I had rehearsed earlier during the day. The lights suddenly flickered as Eric pushed the piano across the living room floor. "Make sure it is squeezed in between the door and the couch as tight as it can be," I said quickly. With a sudden rush of adrenaline he pushed and shoved, wedging the heavy piece of furniture tightly into place. We could hear the winds suddenly start to pick up at an alarming rate. Each passing second hurled stronger and stronger gusts against the living room wall. The lights began to flicker on and off. Hurricanes weren't new to me, I'd been through them before. But I had never seen one hit this way. Hurricane winds gradually build in strength over a period of hours. That was not the case with the approach of Hurricane Andrew. Although the wind had started to pick up in the late night hours, we hadn't noticed any significant indications for sudden alarm. When the emergency alert aired on television, within minutes of the broadcast, Andrew struck out of nowhere exactly like a deadly tornado.

The four dogs lay on the floor, watching us with darting eyes and twitching ears. None of them dared to move. Their uncanny behavior signalled approaching danger.

Suddenly the living room walls began to shake as if an earthquake struck! I grabbed our sleeping cat, trying to scream over the sound of the wind, "Grab the dogs! Throw them in the laundry room! Hurry!"

I raced to the laundry room just off of the kitchen and scooted around the twin bed inside. Without hesitating, I opened the lid of the washing machine and put Piedmont in, closing the lid back again. Eric was right behind me, shoving two dogs into the small cramped area as fast as he could.

Back to the living room I dashed, grabbing the third scared dog by the collar. Too scared to move he wouldn't budge an inch. I pulled and dragged him to the laundry room, refusing to give up. Our giant schnauzer, the only remaining dog in the living room, jumped to his feet and bolted wildly through the apartment. Eric frantically tried to catch him but the frightened dog escaped.

"Stop it, Higgins!" I heard Eric shout, just before the darting toward the hallway. He lunged at the dog but again the animal managed to escape.

The lights went out leaving us in pitch darkness.

With the third dog safely in the laundry room, I felt my way back to the living room in hopes of finding the flashlight that had been lying on the wicker table. The moment my fingers brushed up against the familiar object I grabbed it and switched it on. The stream of light lit up the living room. "Higgins!" I heard Eric yell behind me. I turned to see the terrified dog backed up against the bathroom door. The instant Eric grabbed the dog's collar all hell broke loose. The floor beneath our feet began to shake and rumble!

Eric quickly shoved Higgins inside the bathroom and closed the door before rushing back to the living room. He took the flashlight from me and stood in the middle of the room and listened. Waiting to see what was next. We could hear Hurricane Andrew bearing down on us as it careened through the lime grove! Slamming into us with the force of a speeding locomotive! The horrendous wall of winds crashing against our apartment like an exploding bomb!

The exploding impact sent glasses flying off the kitchen counter, shattering into the quaking floor! Hanging pictures suddenly plunged straight down the walls toward the ground! The huge hanging mirror crashed on top of the television set, spraying the living room with shattered glass! The entire apartment looked like the inside of a train, shaking fiercely, as we rumbled down a railroad track! The screeching winds transforming into the shrill monotone hum of a jet engine! Sounding as if we had been sucked inside! So deafening, all other noises ceased to exist. It looked and felt like a monstrous earthquake-and-tornado hitting us at the same time!

"J-E-S-U-S C-H-R-I-S-T!" Eric screamed at the top of his lungs. The horrifying sight was unbelievable. The entire apartment was shaking apart. We stood just a few feet away from each other but I could just barely hear him over the jet engine winds. I opened my mouth to scream back to him when suddenly a gust of wind pushed me backwards.

Eric instantly turned toward me with the flashlight shining on his face, yelling, "Did you feel that?"

"Yes!" I screamed with all my worth, hoping he could hear. "What the hell was it?" he yelled, turning to shine the light on the front wall. When the light beam hit the heavy metal front door my heart sunk. The steel door looked like a piece of wet limp paper. Peeling down backwards into the apartment. Down-down-down, it steadily rolled until it reached the top of the piano and stopped. It couldn't roll any further because of the piano pushing against it, backed by the heavy sectional couch extending to the kitchen wall. The line of furniture created a pole like effect holding the door in place. But it wasn't going to hold for long. All the living room walls shook from the ungodly force outside.

"H-O-L-Y S-H!!" Eric screeched, staring at the incredible peeling door. We could look directly outside. Raging, swirling clouds glowed in a ghoulish mint-green color! Monstrous bolts of green lightning flashed above us, whipping and sizzling through the hellish skies faster than the eye could follow! The sight of it took my breath away! The horrendous hum of the winds made it impossible to hear any sound of thunder! One bolt after another furiously exploded through the raging clouds! Dumping sheets of driving rains through the eerie sight! Spraying machine-gunned raindrops faster than the eye could follow!

I felt the sting of rain hitting my face as I stood there paralyzed by fear. Somewhere in the background I barely heard Eric screaming, "I don't believe it!" He cautiously took a few steps toward the open doorway.

"Eric! Get away from the door!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. He didn't hear me. "Get away from the damn door!" I frantically screamed again.

All of a sudden he turned to look at me. In the flashlight beam I saw a crazed look cross his face. An expression of utter horror? "GET BACK! GET BACK!" he yelled, wildly waving his arms like a madman! "GET THE HELL BACK!" Before I had time to wonder what he was screaming about, I heard the sound myself. It sounded like a gigantic missile speeding directly toward us! And within a split second, I experienced the horrible sensation of knowing we were about to die.

I tried to move my feet but they would not budge! I stood frozen in sheer terror. My entire body locked firmly into place. Aware that Eric stood by the door, off to the right side of the room. So terrorized, he could not move either. Time came to an abrupt halt. Instantly shifting from slow-motion action to stilled freeze-action. As if every single movement, every individual sound, slowly dragged on forever, from one frame to the next. My mind exploded with, "Oh shit! It's an electrical transformer pole!"

The gigantic two-story cement transformer pole torpedoed through the roof! Exploding the apartment upon impact! I watched from beneath as the living room ceiling buckled down into a perfect "V" shape, taking forever as it sagged grotesquely downward, bulging at the seams, until finally rupturing from the force of the titanic weight! The monstrous concrete column steadily plunging down toward me! While the shattered roof hurled log-size beams at me from all directions! And, enormous chunks of plaster board came crashing down like breaking icebergs! The massive cement transformer kept falling in line with me! Slowly, but steadily, aimed for my head! When suddenly out of nowhere, a flying roof beam crashed into the left side of my face! Knocking me off my feet and tossing me into the air! Pitching me away from the deadly transformer pole! I caught a quick glimpse of the transformer pole suddenly change direction just before crashing to the floor! The mighty winds sucking it back up! Straight up! And, hurling it out into the night! It disappeared from sight within a split second.

Potted plants flew past me! Clothes sucked up in whirlwinds flew into the night! Chunks of speeding plaster zoomed right before my face! My body suddenly slamming into the sectional couch! I toppled from the cushions and fell to the floor! The adrenaline pumping so quickly, I automatically struggled to get back on my feet! The pounding winds and driving rains repeatedly knocked me over! But I couldn't be stopped! I struggled not to choke on the warm gushing blood pumping inside my mouth, not knowing my jaw was broken! I looked up just long enough to see the winds whip through the tiny kitchen, snatching up everything in sight! A forty pound bag of dry dog food went flying through the air and slammed into the sink, exploding upon impact! My computer flew straight up and disappeared out of sight! My manuscripts vanished in whirlwinds of paper! Within a split second a lifetime of work, thrown to the voracious jaws of Andrew!

The second roof beam crashed into the side of my head before I could move! As I fell toward the mound of debris covering the floor, a third roof beam slammed into the back of my head! Each blow so powerful that the optic nerves to my eyes were instantly torn on impact. I lost consciousness by the time I hit the floor. Although I don't know how long I was out, when I came to there was the sudden realization the apartment had been annihilated. The roof had disappeared and along with it, most of the interior walls. The piano now lay upside down in the mass of tangled debris. Flying objects hurled through the night slamming into what had once been the living room. I rolled over to discover I was lying on top of a dead lime tree. The branches snagged into my torn soaked clothes and stubbornly refused to let go. Big pieces of twisted metal and sheared boards darted through the air like deadly spears, aimed for any target that got in the way. So much water covered the floor that I lay in a stream of floating debris.

It took several seconds before I realized I was now wide open to the hurricane. Demonic green skies raged directly above me, spewing lightning in every direction. The driving rain stung bitterly as it pelted against my skin. The damnable wind so ferocious I could barely breathe, much less move. My entire body ached in excruciating pain. I cringed with horror when I touched my arm. Big chunks of glass had impaled me like protruding knives. Embedded so deeply I could not pull them out. My dazed thoughts snapped back to attention when, through my blurred vision I noticed, one of Eric's high-top sneakers float by. "Where is Eric?! Oh-my-God, where is Eric?! Jesus-God, where is he?!" my mind erupted.

Driven by an incredible force I struggled to my feet, swaying unsteadily in the bombarding winds. Aware that at any given moment I could be swept up and hurled out into the deadly night. But that didn't matter. I had to find Eric! Both eyes were almost swollen shut. I strained and struggled to see shadowy forms nearby but I barely had any field of vision left. My mouth so swollen I could barely swallow. It startled me to discover some of my teeth missing. The taste of gushing blood made me nauseated but I couldn't take the time to vomit. I had to find Eric! I tried to open my mouth to scream against the horrific forces but couldn't. My lips had swollen shut. I was frantic! I couldn't see or hear Eric! "Oh-my-God! Where is he?!"

Eric crouched just yards feet away from me, screaming at the top of his lungs! Trying as hard as he could to see through the blinding sheets of rain! His every instinct telling him that I had been sucked up by the winds! Thrown out into the night to die a death too horrible to imagine! "OH-JESUS-GOD-HELP-ME!" he screamed out hysterically. But the jet engine roar sucked up his voice, making it impossible to hear. "M-O-M! M-O-M!? OH-GOD-MOM! PLEASE ANSWER ME!" Alone and terrified out of his mind, he kept on shouting for all he was worth. Tears streaming down his agonized face making it more difficult to see. "J-E-S-U-S! G-O-D! M-O-M! ANSWER ME! PLEASE! SOMEBODY ANSWER ME!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move by the floor. He turned and crawled over the debris as fast as he could! Trying to stay close to the ground! The instant he caught a glimpse of my silhouetted body struggling to stand, he lunged forward! Grabbing me with all his might! And, struggled to hold on for dear life! "I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE!" he yelled directly next to my ear. "GOD, I THOUGHT I WOULD NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN! ARE YOU HURT?" I nodded no, unaware I was in so much shock I did not realize the extent of my injuries. He hugged me tightly and yelled, "WE HAVE TO TRY AND MAKE IT TO THE LAUNDRY ROOM! GET BEHIND THAT WALL SO THE WINDS DON'T SUCK US UP!" What laundry room, I thought? We still have a laundry room?

He locked his muscular arms through mine holding on as tight as he could. We slowly crawled through the floating debris, inch by inch, while the winds pounded us without mercy. To my surprise the laundry room wall was still barely standing. The sagging ceiling threatened to rupture at any given moment. Above the ceiling another hidden danger lurked. An attic that stored heavy trunks threatened to crash down upon us. Streams of water gushed down the walls like miniature surging waterfalls. But the most horrifying thing of all stalked us relentlessly just beyond the doorway. Andrew fiercely hammered away at the kitchen! Lashing out driving rains and pounding winds into our tiny shelter! The entire apartment had been gutted. All three of our dogs nervously greeted us with whines and puppy kisses. Our fourth dog, Higgins, was not amongst them. It was impossible for us to know if the bathroom was still in tact, or whether it had disappeared into the night. Knowing that our beloved animal had been shoved into it, with the hope of protecting him from harm, was too painful to face.

Only fifteen minutes into Hurricane Andrew ... totally isolated from the outside world ... defenseless against the nightmare from hell ... forced to accept our fate. There wasn't a soul in the world who could help us. It felt as though the earth had tilted on its axis. We didn't have a shot in hell of making it out alive. In the pitch darkness of the tiny laundry room, we hugged each other as tight as we could, and whispered the only words that seemed important in lieu of our inevitable parting.

"I love you, Eric. I always have and I always will..." "I love you too, Mom... God, I love you!?"

Time seemed to stop, fading into the only thing that was lasting. Nothing had ever been more important than our love for each other. Our simple words felt comforting, like a warm snug blanket tucked all around us, despite the horrid threat of death. During those early morning hours the force of the winds ripped two corners of the foundation away. The battered building threatened to flip! The floor coming right up off the ground, rumbled and shook wildly before crashing back down! Tangled in a maze of dogs and flying debris, we flew through the air helplessly! Crashing from wall-to-wall! While huge gaping cracks sliced the floor wide open and gouged out crater size holes.

The eye of the hurricane saved our lives. It missed us by six blocks. Once it passed by, the winds shifted, bearing down from the opposite direction. Andrew began to hammer away at the other side of the building. We desperately hoped the two remaining corners would hold, knowing what would happen if they didn't. By morning, over six-and-a-half-hours after the first winds slammed into us, we were more dead than alive. We looked like ravaged zombies who just couldn't seem to die.

The last of the powerful gusts ripped through what had once been our apartment complex, now levelled to massive piles of scattered debris. Eric and I crawled out of the wreckage as soon as it was safe. Only to discover a badly wounded male baboon huddled on the ground close to us. His bloodied face a portrait too horrifying to describe. Every step we took posed a dangerous risk. The ground, a mine field just waiting to be detonated. Tangled debris hid electrical lines winding through felled branches like huge slithering snakes. Razor sharp daggers of ominous glass guarded the forbidden battlefield. Rusty nails jabbed upright, ardently perched at attention for unsuspecting feet. Broken gas lines gnarled their way through mounds of twisted scraps.

The earth no longer colored the ground in pleasing tropical greens. Rubbished beneath an endless garbage dump, the grass like everything else, stripped of all life. Stark bare trees lay lifeless in anguished silhouettes. Their brittle skeletons, the ugly remnants of all that remained. The stilled hushed air tolled in the silences of death. Hell's fury had purged South Dade.

The Hiroshima horror reached beyond catastrophic. Miles and miles of residential communities bombed off the face of the earth. The eerie silence deafened us. Too terrifying to endure. Even the once familiar aromas vanished without a trace. Our shell shocked minds had nothing to identify with. Our senses, nothing to be comforted by. Like prisoners of war trapped within a battle zone, we plunged deeper into shock with each passing moment. I stood in the midst of the wreckage, where the parking lot once had been, just standing there blankly staring at the endless gruesome sights. Nothing but twisted debris as far as the eye could see. No sights or sounds of human life close by or in the distance. I stood there quietly waiting ... waiting for people to appear. Not able to accept that what I once knew as my home had so quickly been destroyed. And, all the while there were no signs of any other life.

The rain ran down my battered face and dripped onto my blouse. A garment now of ragged cloth clinging to my body. I felt nothing but the presence of silent emptiness. A vast tomb that defied life. Within hours of the sun making its appearance, the stench of putrid death began to saturate the hot air. Remains of dead bodies and body parts lay scattered all about. I stepped on something oddly strange that caused me to stop. When I looked down, I thought the small hand belonged to a doll. But as I stood there staring at it, I realized I was wrong. The small severed hand was human. The horror there to haunt me for the rest of my life...

Twelve other survivors wandered into our area that day. A few had survived from the complex like us but the others straggled in from elsewhere. Each one suffered from shell shock, too traumatized to speak. We hugged each other repeatedly, not wanting to let go. The touch of another human being seemed to be our lifeline. Unselfishly we shared in tears that wept over and over again. Clinging to each other as we waited for help to arrive. We'd speak a few words, then suddenly stop, suspending them without finishing the sentence. We couldn't communicate coherently. Some, like myself, were in dire need of emergency medical treatment. But there was no way to escape the endless aftermath. Andrew had gobbled up our cars and spat them out junked. My son's Astro Van rolled about the parking lot with a full size tree speared through the interior. Massive gnarled roots jutted out the rear door. Roads had disappeared out of sight. Telephones were a thing of the past. Without water or bandages, there wasn't much we could do, other than sit there and wait in the suffocating heat.

So, we waited and waited. Each hour passing by wretchedly slow, while it took ten long days for President Bush to summon the Federal Troops to South Dade with life sustaining supplies. Unknown to us, twenty-one communities in South Dade had been completely devastated. Roped off from the outside world by Metro Dade Police and military soldiers armed with semi-automatic rifles, we had no idea what was happening beyond our immediate area. Like little children, we truly believed emergency help would quickly arrive. Airlifting out the injured and bringing necessary supplies. The agonizing minutes dragged into hours, and hours dragged into days. No rescue teams showed up. Slowly we had to accept the ghastly truth. No one was coming to rescue us.

It was the worst, gut-wrenching betrayal I have ever experienced. Where were the emergency rescue teams? Where was our government? Where were our families? Where were our friends? Why didn't anyone come? We had no water, no food, no medical supplies, or shelter. When the hot muggy skies clouded with afternoon thunderstorms, we huddled together under any make-shift shelter we could find. Lightning bolts blasted our shell shocked minds, while our bodies shook with each approaching squall.

The stench of death tormented us with each passing hour. Reeking the humidity with foul rotting flesh. It saturated our nostrils deep into our throat, causing us to gag with each breath that we took. Just within our immediate vicinity, the area within walking distance, over seventy dead bodies were discovered. I watched a military personnel truck make its way slowly past me, carefully steering around felled trees and smashed roof tops, as it rolled out of the trailer park area on the morning Andrew ended. Uniformed soldiers stared at me blankly from the rear of the vehicle, where filled body- bags lay stacked on top of each other.

Soon thereafter, thick torrential black smoky clouds rolled across the grove headed in our direction. The stench of burning flesh mixed with lime descended so rapidly we didn't have time to react. The rolling smoke blanketed us and choked us with coughing fits. Continuously blowing our way for days on end. Metrozoo was burning dead bodies around the clock, at the back of their property. Five days into the aftermath the fires still raged on, while we gagged on thick dark mucous being coughed up from our lungs.

Insurmountable problems escalated with each passing hour. We had no sanitation facilities. What little water we managed to find was contaminated. We competed against rhesus monkeys and big apes searching for salvageable food. Asbestos dust blanketed everything. Rusty nails poked us. Slivers of broken glass pierced our every touch. And then, there were the nights ...when we moved about in total blackness constantly attacked by swarms of mosquitoes. Cock roaches and scorpions took over. Rats ran rampant. Snakes slid out of nowhere. As the unbearable temperatures climbed higher and hotter, colonies of maggots nested in rotting food and animal corpses. And, it wasn't long before armed looters began to infiltrate.

While we remained roped off from the outside world by Metro Dade Police and the military, the news media reported grossly understated information from the first day onward. On August 24, 1992, the morning Hurricane Andrew ended, the Miami Herald's headlines broke with: Andrew Hits Hardest in South Dade. Five thousand people were left homeless by the storm, Metro Dade Police Director announced. They'll be moved into shelters in North Dade. August 25, 1992, Miami Herald's headlines read: Destruction at Dawn. Among worst hit in the Country Walk area of South Dade, few homes escaped at least minor damage and many were utterly destroyed. 10 killed in Dade.

August 27, 1992, Miami Herald's headlines read: The Toll Rises. 22 dead as the search continues. 63,000 homes destroyed. 175,000 homeless. 1 million without power. August 28, 1992, Miami Herald's headlines read: WE NEED HELP. Relief effort collapsing due to United States inaction, Metro charges. Aid us now or more will die, Feds told. As Dade County's hurricane relief effort neared collapse Thursday, more than 1,500 airborne U.S. soldiers were ordered into the county to cope with what is now being called the worst natural disaster in the United States history. The move came after a day of bitter snipping among agencies that share responsibility for the relief effort.

United States Aid Official, Wallace Stickler, stated, "Andrew has caused more destruction and affected more people than any disaster America has ever had." Dade County's Emergency Director pleaded for federal help, one angry voice among many that spoke in the dire terms of needs unmet. Frustrated to the point of tears, Kate Hale said, the relief project was on the brink of collapse, a victim of incompetence and political games. "Where the hell is the cavalry on this one? We need food! We need water! We need people! If we do not get more food into the south end [South Dade] in a very short period of time, we are going to have more casualties!" "We have a catastrophic disaster," Hale went on to say. "We are hours away from more casualties. We are essentially the walking wounded. We have appealed through the State to the Federal Government. We've had a lot of people down here for press conferences. But Dade County is on its own. Dade County is being caught in the middle of something and we are being victimized." "Quit playing like a bunch of kids and get us aid! Sort out your political games afterward!"

On the same day Hale made the desperate plea, Miami Herald Staff Writers, Martin Merzer and Tom Fiedler, wrote: The question echoed through the debris Thursday: If we can do it for Bangladesh, for the Philippines, for the Kurds of northern Iraq, why in God's name can't we deliver basic necessities of life to the ravaged population of our own Gold Coast? The short answer: Because no single person or agency is in charge. The result: A plane load of food and equipment is still a rarity. Instead of delivering goods, helicopter pilots shuttle government officials who just sit idle. Metro police turn away individuals trying to bring in food or water to a barren South Dade.

August 29, 1992, six days into the aftermath, the Miami Herald read: Problems Plague Red Cross. The man on the phone wanted to donate 100 electric generators, extension cords and enough tools to build a small subdivision. But the operator who took his call at the Red Cross Command Center in Miami had no idea what to do with the offer. "We get a call, we take a message, we give it to somebody, who signs it to somebody else," said the operator, Melitta de Liefd. "We have no idea what happens to it. The whole place is being run by senior citizens and college kids."

Welcome to Red Cross headquarters - where the brains of Dade County rescue effort have been knocked almost unconscious most of the week. Callers offering services and supplies are put on hold. Others can't get through at all. The hurt and suffering plead for help over ham radio. August 29, 1992, one full week after Hurricane Andrew struck, the Sun-Sentinel reported 250,000 people homeless in South Dade.

The children in our small group were pathetic. Their small faces mirrored horror and fright. A six-year old blind boy joined our small group of refugees the day after Andrew ended. He and his mother lived in a trailer across the road from us. The same huge community trailer park that the military truck had picked up bodies from. Most families were sleeping in their trailers when Andrew unexpectedly careened through the lime grove charging at them. Somehow the little boy's mother managed to drag him outside a split second before the monstrous winds squashed their trailer flat. They spent the long horrifying night outside, desperately clutching the grounded hitch, holding it with all their might! The mother, lying on top of her terrorized child fought for all her worth. By morning, the entire trailer park was bulldozed into the ground. It wasn't even recognizable. The bodies of two dead teenagers lay sprawled out in plain view. Other mutilated bodies laid tangled in debris. I never saw the little boy let go of his mother's dress during the three weeks I was with them. He clutched it as tight as he could and always hid behind her. Any loud noise instantly threw him into the shakes. The poor little fellow lived in constant fear. So scared, he cringed whenever anyone touched him.

There were two more children we found, who were hidden beneath the debris at our complex site. When their apartment began to explode apart their mother threw them in the bathtub and crawled in on top of them. She screamed at the top of her lungs all through the horrifying night, begging God with all her might to spare her precious babies! The shattered roof caved in on top of her, burying them in debris. She saved their lives but by the time Andrew ended, she had completely lost her voice. She couldn't utter a single sound for over a full week. Her children didn't speak either.

Animals suffered right along with us. A critically injured horse stood quietly nearby, with a sawed off

two-by-four board impaled all the way through his neck. There was nothing we could do to help put him out of his misery. And so, he stood and stood, until he finally toppled over to the ground. Where he lay there gasping for breath in the excruciating heat.

Within twenty-four hours after Andrew ended, the twelve survivors of our group, including our animals, broke out in big raw oozing sores that burned and itched at the same time. We had horrible headaches, which made us so nauseated we got the dry heaves. Our stomachs cramped badly from sudden onsets of diarrhea. There wasn't any toilet paper available. With the soaring high temperatures, and no water to replenish our bodies with, we dehydrated very quickly. This added to our misery. The symptoms continued to persist for well over three months. I often think what a coincidence that Hurricane Andrew did one-hundred-million dollars worth of damage to Florida Power & Light Company's Turkey Point Nuclear Power Plant, damaging smokestacks so badly they had to be demolished immediately, a grim reminder of the Chernobyl tragedy. So strange, considering we were situated within the thirty-five mile perimeter of Turkey Point Nuclear Plant.

About the fifth day into the aftermath, a Red Cross jeep came into our area. The young driver wasn't on a mission to transport the injured out of the devastation. His sole objective was to assist with minor injuries. He inspected the chucks of glass still impaled in my skin, not knowing quite what to do about the situation. All the while, ignoring my severe facial and head injuries. Finally he asked three young men from our group to hold me down on the ground. He proceeded to make incisions with a scalpel knife and remove the glass. When finished, he discovered that he didn't have any stitches in his First Aid Box to sew up the deep wounds. Neither did he have any gauze bandages or antibiotics. With no means to stop the profuse bleeding, he tore a dirty shirt into strips and used them as bandages. He drove away that day never to return.

On the tenth day of the aftermath, the Federal Troops finally made an appearance. President Bush made a very brief appearance at Homestead Air Force Base and so did Presidential Candidate Bill Clinton. With a great show of force the military set up food stations for the survivors to walk to. Struggling to carry packaged food back to our site was no easy chore to do in 90+ degree heat. Clothes donated by outsiders were promptly dumped on the wet ground. Where they remained strewn about in heaps for the survivors to take. The clothes quickly became soaked with mud and smelly mildew from daily rains and constant high humidity. We already wore wet mildewed clothes so what was the point of gathering up more? We had no place to wash them or store them. Medical help was limited, restricted to the confines of mobile units, which were stationed sporadically throughout the devastation. Trying to get there by foot posed the same problem we had with trying to collect food. Our dehydrated bodies were way too weak to walk in blistering sun. Especially with bad injuries and the dysentery that constantly plagued us.

Three weeks into the aftermath, Eric and I tried to escape the devastation on our own. Homeless and penniless, and with no insurance to cover our losses, we slowly made our way north toward Broward County. Our only possessions were the clothes on our backs and our beloved animals. The long agonizing journey turned into another nightmare from hell.

Our fourteen year old beloved German Shepherd died in my arms one week later. Our beloved Higgins, who was shoved into the bathroom, survived Andrew but due to bad head injuries, we lost him shortly afterward. Over 4,000 names were listed as Missing in Andrew when we parted South Dade. I lost twenty-three pounds during those wretched weeks of being trapped in the aftermath and still had not received any medical attention. Little did I realize it would take another three weeks before a doctor would even agree to see me without any money or identification. By then, six weeks had passed since I had been injured. Most of my teeth turned a putrid gray color because the nerves had died as a result of the fierce blows. The final heartbreak came when a doctor discovered both my optic nerves had begun to die off. Which meant, as a result of the severe head injuries, I was going blind.

I buried my heart in South Dade during the year of 1992. My home and friends disappeared right off the face of the earth, like the lime groves I had loved so dearly. Never would I see them again. Just three months previously I had witnessed the most incredible sights of a lifetime, right there, beyond my front door. Sights of unexplainable beings, so wondrously phenomenal, I would always remain truly in awe of them. The groves now gone and with them, what little tangible proof I had of the encounters. For gone was the invaluable business card belonging to the Federal Agents, who relentlessly kept a vigil on me during those last few months.

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It may affront the military-minded person to suggest a regime that does not maintain any military secrets. ...Albert Einstein

The official number of dead listed from Hurricane Andrew is ludicrous. The news media botch-ups inadvertently fed and nourished the massive military cover-up right from the start. Both worked hand-in-hand creating a beast that ultimately manipulated the world and the survivors. Tragically, the final results stemming from the cover-up served to inflict more pain on those who had already suffered the most. Namely, the families who lost loved ones and the already wounded survivors.

Why the survivors? Well, individuals who suffer from severe shell shock need to heal. The only effective means of healing from mental trauma is to talk about it. Communicate it. Release the horror inside. Psychologists and psychiatrists will agree. The inevitable situation created by the cover-up is that survivors cannot speak the truth because the world does not believe them. Doesn't this have the familiar sound of Vietnam? What the survivors lived through and witnessed does not jive with what the world was intentionally led to believe. Trying to tell the truth under these conditions doesn't work. The survivor is tagged as either a liar or a loony. Six of one, half-a-dozen of another, it doesn't really matter. At the end of the day the truthful guy is silenced. This is the crux of all major cover-ups. It works. It's fast. And, it's efficient. A nice tidy little package all wrapped up in one.

This is a specific example of what I mean. Recently, I received a long distance telephone call from a friend in the State of Arizona. They spoke of homeless shelters there, which housed a few Hurricane Andrew survivors. Survivors who are now catatonic and who are also homeless. This makes logical sense considering those who have lost the ability to communicate can't possibly hold down a job. The end result being that they are forced into the streets. Quickly becoming another face amongst the millions of homeless. Such a pitiful ending for those who survived so much. Yet, from the point of view of those who intentionally designed the cover-up, victory has been achieved.

No lie or cover-up merits a human life, regardless of how important it may seem to be. Life is the most precious gift on the face of this earth. To intentionally destroy it is an inhumane atrocity. Hitler taught us many painful lessons we need to use wisely. Another major factor that fed the cover-up resided in the ethnic groups populating South Dade. The devastated areas were inhabited by a large number of Spanish speaking Cubans and Mexican migrant workers, who spoke little or no English. This presents problems with communication all over again. How does one convey the truth when one speaks a foreign language?

At the time Andrew struck, the State Attorney of Florida was Janet Reno. Her office located at the Dade County Courthouse in the City of Miami. The President of the United States was George Bush and the Vice-President was Dan Quayle. Bill Clinton was running for Presidency, with Al Gore running for Vice-Presidency. The late Lawton Chiles was Governor of Florida. His successor turned out to be Jeb Bush, the current Governor of Florida who ironically enough is President Bush's son. In addition to this, Texas Governor George William Bush (who is running for the next Presidential election) is also the son of former President George Bush.

To get a realistic handle on what it was like to survive the aftermath of Andrew consider this. What if, immediately following the tragic Oklahoma bombing, the building had been roped off from the public without any survivors having been removed? And what if, those survivors had to fend for themselves for ten long days without any food, water, or medical supplies, no matter how badly they were injured? Horrifying thought isn't it? Yet, this is exactly what happened when Hurricane Andrew struck South Dade in August of 1992.

Here's an interesting tidbit available for public information. The Dade County Planning Department registered a population census of South Dade in the year 1992. According to the census survey taken right before Andrew struck, which reflects the devastated areas, the official population of South Dade totalled 414,151. This leaves me to wonder what were the accurate numbers of those left homeless in the aftermath of Andrew?

Here's another interesting tidbit. The number of deaths reported by the news media differs depending upon which source one uses. The figures range from 15 to 59 officially listed as dead. But in my small area alone, there were over 70 dead bodies picked up by uniformed soldiers and police. Something seems to be askew here.

On August 27,1992, the Miami Herald ran a small article printed right next to "the official death toll" for Hurricane Andrew. Bearing in mind only 22 names were listed, the article has an interesting twist. It stated, and I quote: All day Wednesday, doctors at the Dade medical examiner's office scurried from case to case, performing autopsies on Andrew's victims, some of them bodies without names. Side-stepping the coroners, investigators tried frantically to figure out how many people had died in...or, later, because of...the storm. New cases arrived in a dreadfully steady stream...

Dade County's Medical Examiner's Office is a huge facility located next to Jackson Memorial Hospital, one of the largest hospitals in the State of Florida. I don't think "22 bodies" would exactly constitute doctors at the Dade Medical Examiner's Office to "scurry" about ... not with a facility that size! Neither would "22 bodies" be considered as "cases arriving in a dreadfully steady stream." Over a full year later, September 9, 1993, NBC's local news broadcaster, Bryan Norcross, stated on air, "15 people died as a result of Hurricane Andrew."

If, the aftermath of Andrew looked like Hiroshima, felt like Hiroshima, and had almost identical population to Hiroshima (480,000) then how could such a small number of causalities have occurred? Perhaps the answer lies with the survivors, who still have not had the opportunity to come forward as witnesses. By survivors, I refer to those who were trapped within the roped off, restricted areas of the aftermath. As news of the aftermath spread across the television media, many people came forward claiming to be Hurricane Andrew "survivors" when in fact they had been on the outer edges of the devastated areas, sustaining little or no damage. Kind of hard to interview real shell-shocked victims who can't communicate.

In October of 1992, two months after Hurricane Andrew, I participated in a revealing conversation with the wife of a retired Coast Guard Officer. This is an extract from our conversation. "So what part of South Dade were you in?" she asked curiously. "I lived on SW 137th Avenue, right behind Metrozoo. A couple of blocks away from SW 152nd Street," I explained. "Oh yes, I know exactly where that is,"she answered. "You were near the Coast Guard Station on SW 137th Avenue."

"Yes... The Coast Guard Station was located next door to the complex where I lived." "My husband works for the Coast Guard,"she said. "He was summoned down there during the first ten days of the aftermath when the area was roped off. He said it is just unbelievable. Everywhere you look there's miles of devastation."

"It's horrible," I nodded."The public has no idea. A lot of people died," I sighed. Tears instantly began to spill over my eyelids. "They took 60 bodies out of Country Walk. Another 6 out of the trailer park across the road from me. Two were teenagers. And, then another..." I paused, trying to fight off the flow of tears. "I know,"she gently interrupted. "I know all about the deaths. The Coast Guard called my husband down there to help collect the bodies out of the water... You know, the lakes and Biscayne Bay. They pulled 1,500 bodies out. My husband said they couldn't be identified. It was horrible. Just horrible!"

I wiped the tears from my eyes, barely able to choke out, "It was... You can't imagine..." I had to pause a moment, hoping she wouldn't see my quivering lip.

"... How many bodies did they find on land..." I finally asked. "I don't know,"she replied. "I just know the Coast Guard pulled out 1,500 from the waters alone. Men ... women ...children ... babies ... My husband said it was the worst thing he has ever seen. Most were mutilated. No one knew where they came from. They found a lot of body parts too. He said the winds ripped bodies apart and threw them everywhere. There were even dead bodies out in the Everglades. God almighty, it must have been so horrible." I sighed heavily, "It was..."

"Everyone called down there to work on the body-pick-up had to take a sworn oath. The Oath of Secrecy, that's what they call it. Those who took it can't discuss what they saw or did during those first ten days of the aftermath. Not with anyone, family included. My husband was so depressed he had to talk. So he talked to me. He's still so depressed. I'm worried sick about him..." "Why won't the government tell the public?" I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders, "My husband said the government doesn't want to cause mass panic. It's the same way with Metrozoo. I have a close relative who works there. Metrozoo told the news media only a few animals died but that's not true. At least 95% of all the animals at the zoo died during Andrew. The deaths were horrible." "I know," I answered softly. "We watched the fires burn at Metrozoo for days on end. I'll never forget the stench of those burning bodies with the lime."

"And, what about the rhesus monkeys? And, the big apes that escaped? They were infected with the AIDS virus," she continued. "The news media keeps saying this is just a rumor. Some rumor. My relative told us the monkeys and apes are infected with the AIDS virus. There's a research center on the back property of Metrozoo that no one was supposed to know about. And, experiments were being conducted there with deadly viruses." "We had rhesus monkeys living in the debris with us," I said. "And, an injured baboon. Before Andrew struck, none of us knew there was a research center on Metrozoo property. But we found out differently after Andrew struck. Did they ever catch any of them?" I asked. "They found two dead rhesus but that was it," she answered. "The rest are still running loose in South Dade." "I wonder how the government plans to keep all the deaths a secret? I mean, there's a lot of survivors who witnessed the bodies being picked up during those first ten days." She looked at me and said, "I don't know. All I know is that thousands of people died in Hurricane Andrew ...Thousands ... And, there is no way of identifying them."

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Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead. ...Benjamin Franklin

How does one heal from something like Hurricane Andrew? Possibly it isn't so much a matter of healing, as much as it is being forced to live with it. Deplorable as conditions were in the aftermath, there was one saving grace, which instantly ceased to exist once I escaped to the civilized world. Victims trapped in the devastation bonded with one another in a special way. We had to in order to survive. We seemed to have bonded as a family of human beings. Selfishness, greed, and hoarding didn't exist amongst us. Our humanness stripped down to the seams of our souls, we truly cared for each other. I had never witnessed this type of behavior before and I doubt that I ever will again. Whatever it was, it certainly gave credence to the preciousness of each individual life.

Once I left the aftermath, things changed. Entering the outside world was a shock I couldn't handle. The callous rudeness of others slugged me in the face repeatedly. One incident in particular stands out vividly in my mind. I stood in a checkout line at the grocery store in Broward County, waiting for my turn. I couldn't afford to buy much food so I stood there without a cart. Besides, I couldn't afford to take a taxi back home, restricting what I could carry.

The two women standing behind me spoke loudly to each other in thick New York accents. "I am so God-damned tired of hearing about Hurricane Andrew victims! Every time I turn on the television there it is being shoved down my throat!"

Her words stabbed me in the gut. The pain so immense I could not move from the spot where I stood. Tears began to stream down my face faster than my trembling hand could wipe them away.

"Such bullshit!"she added disgustedly. "Such damn bullshit! What the hell do I want to watch that crap for?"

I wanted to race out the door and keep on running! But what I overheard stunned me so much, I couldn't seem to move. The last thing I wanted to do was to see their faces. So, I stared straight ahead at the little old woman standing in front of me, trying to focus my attention on her instead of the creeps behind me. She meekly stretched her hand across the counter, handing the clerk some money. While she waited for change to be handed back, I couldn't help but notice something strange on her bare arm. There were burnt-black concentration camp serial numbers branded deep into her flesh.

The sight of the little lady's branded arm snatched away my breath! Without thinking, I reached over and gently touched her arm. Her head jerked up quickly and swung around. And, there we stood locked eye-to-eye, seeing nothing else around us. "... I'm ... I'm so sorry," the hushed words choked out of my mouth. "So terribly-terribly sorry..." I'm sure the sight of me crying was one she hadn't expected to see. For a brief instant her eyes clouded and then she quietly nodded her head. I took my hand off her arm and quietly nodded back. The quiet nods stated many things without a word being said. "...Thank you," she barely whispered as one lone tear slowly rolled down her cheek.

"Here's your change ma'am," the clerk interrupted. The little lady brushed the tear from her face and turned to look at the clerk. I set down the items I held and walked away from the check-out line. I kept on walking right out of the store and never turned to look back. Crying, all during the long five mile hike back to my tiny apartment. There were times when I did try to communicate what I had witnessed in the aftermath. The obvious glances of disbelief stifled my every effort."Well, we didn't hear about any deaths or anything like that," I heard repeatedly. And every time I heard the words, "South Dade is on the road to recovery," I immediately wanted to puke.

Whose recovery? Surely they didn't mean mine. Or, the families who lost loved ones but had no dead body to bury. Or, the little blind boy still stuck back in the aftermath of South Dade. Or, the thousands of other victims still trying to survive. Hurricane Andrew had barely left Florida heading for the State of Louisiana, when the Division of Tourism placed a $47,000 advertisement in the magazine called USA TODAY. "Florida, we're still open,"it read. "Most people have very short memories. We're all sort of banking on that," said Donal Dermody, Director of the Nova University Center for Hospitality Management. South Florida's annual thirty-one-billion dollar tourism trade carried more importance than the people of South Dade. Kind of puts a big damper on belief in the human race. Hide the truth, ignore the suffering, do it for a dollar!

I suppose after having been homeless on the streets of Miami Beach, and then surviving the horror of Andrew followed by the aftermath, it isn't difficult to understand why I withdrew from society and fled to the seclusion of the Ocala National Forest. When trust is broken in mankind the hermit flees to safety.

My wounds were deep and badly scarred. I wanted to be left alone. All I wanted was for the pain to stop hurting. Deep into the forest I fled, rarely leaving my poverty-stricken trailer, which was all I could afford to rent. The dreadful thing was such a junk I fell through the kitchen floor more than once. I didn't have a heater during the long cold winter when temperatures dropped below the teens. And so, I spent long grueling hours searching for dry branches to burn in the small pot-belly stove. I was so cold that winter ... so dreadfully cold and poor. I searched for food at the garbage dump, salvaging what remnants I found. Stale bread and rotting potatoes frequented my cracked dinner plate. A special bargain I discovered at the dumpster, free for the taking. The sight of empty kitchen cabinets scared me so much, I gathered discarded food boxes from the dump and took them home to store. At least I didn't have to look at the emptiness any more.

There was solace in my numbness. Comfort in solitude. My journey into the wilderness helped me through the grief. The animals there to quietly share my silenced need to speak. They listened when humans did not. I spoke to the great bald eagle who visited every day. Landing in back of the trailer, he rested on a wooden post, while I sat on the ground nearby and poured out my betrayed trust. I spoke with the great wise owl who constantly watched over me. Perched on the old oak tree, there by my sliding glass door, she watched as I moved about inside and stayed when I came out the door. I wept there in front of her, not shamed in my misery, and she listened very thoughtfully when I cried, soon I would no longer see. She built her nest in that tree right by my sliding glass door, and when her babies soon arrived I stood there and smiled with joy. When her babes were ready to fly they perched on that old oak tree, and spread their wings just as far as they could and glided right down to me. She watched them land on my shoulder and never batted an eye. I laughed aloud at the adorable clowns when they nibbled away at my hair. While she perched on the limb above me without a worry or care.

Slowly, my life began to awaken.

August of 1995 found me still living in the same run down trailer tucked in the heart of the forest. Making it three years to the month, since Andrew's force devastated my life. One evening in particular began the start of a new cycle. Another unexpected August evening whereby, things changed.

As was my usual habit, I wandered to the back bedroom and turned on the television to watch a program before going to sleep. I sat down on the bed and watched as Fox Network began to air something called the Alien Autopsy Footage. I didn't have the foggiest notion as to what this related to. The commentator explained the footage about to be shown related to the UFO crashes in the year 1947. The same year of my birth date certainly caught my attention! As I listened he went on to say, the dead bodies were allegedly filmed by the United States military forces, during the alien autopsy performed after the Roswell, New Mexico, UFO crash. The moment the body of the alien came into view my mouth fell open in astonishment! The same kind of being I had witnessed in the lime grove lay right before my eyes! I recognized the facial features immediately. Then those six incredible digits. And, those awesome powerful legs.

Memories suddenly flashed back to those treasured moments in the lime grove! That exhilarating chase through the grove...those precious moments at the window...and the sheer rapture of it all! Those three gentle, timid, beings who had so wondrously entered my life and changed my entire perception about it!

As I sat there alone that night, my feelings of sheer astonishment were overcome by the memories of my past. As the camera shifted to the lifeless hand, I suddenly remembered the spectacular sight of our reaching hands...the nurturing caretakers...the protectors of life... who had crossed the boundaries of fear and stepped into the realm of trust. The miraculous moment that cradled me then, and always would.

I suddenly broke down and wept.

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Through the years 1992 to 1995, I had recounted the lime grove encounters to enough people to substantiate I had witnessed six-digit beings three years prior to the Alien Autopsy Footage broadcast. One of those individuals was Curt Collier from the television program called Sightings.

Shortly after my first public release of the lime grove encounters, in the beginning of 1998 on Linda Moulton Howe's radio program called Dreamland, followed by the live broadcast on the Art Bell Show called Coast To Coast AM, I received an interesting call. Curt Collier phoned about video footage that had been shot in South Dade, shortly after my encounters. The video depicted a group of UFO's hovering around the Turkey Point Nuclear Plant. A distance of about fifteen to twenty miles from where the lime grove encounters had occurred. There were two different segments on the video, each shot on a different night but filmed from the same location. In each segment the UFO's appeared plainly visible. He informed me the footage had been proven real and authentic by a gentleman named Greg McCormack, who resided in Pennsylvania. Curt was kind enough to put me in touch with him.

McCormack wasted no time in getting a copy of the video to me. Viewing the footage helped to further reinforce my convictions of going public with the lime grove encounters. Obviously others had proof of strange things going on in the South Dade area. I felt a great sense of relief in knowing I was not alone.

History proved to be the best teacher I had in terms of gaining insight and wisdom. I realized explorers like Christopher Columbus, Ferdinand Magellan, and Ponce de Leon had been challenged by similar situations such as mine. From that point onward my entire perspective strengthened.

In the year 1513, Spanish navigator Ponce de Leon discovered the coast of Florida. Imagine the shock he experienced the first time he set eyes on an alligator. Alligators didn't exist where he had come from. No one had ever heard of such a thing, much less seen one! What was it? Where did it come from? How could he ever describe a thing like this to his fellow countrymen back in Spain and Portugal? Would they believe him? Could they believe him?!

Curious how the same problems still exist in our modern world. It takes courage to expose new discoveries and yet, they are such a necessary part of man's evolution. On more than one occasion I have heard it stated, "Homestead Air Force Base is closely linked into Area 51." Area 51 is notoriously known for being a secretive military base located north west of Las Vegas, in the middle of the Nevada desert. Many sources have come forward claiming this military installation has been conducting experiments with UFO's and ET's out in the desert for years. I don't find this difficult to believe. Neither do I find any secretive activity involved with the Homestead Air Force Base to be shocking. Mainly because of three distinct predominant factors. The first one has to do with some shocking information I was forced to deal with directly. Unknown to any of us at the time Hurricane Andrew was approaching South Dade, bearing in mind the National Hurricane Bureau predicted the massive hurricane would strike well north of us by Palm Beach County, the United States Government evacuated all the military families living on Homestead Air Force Base. But none of the civilian residents of South Dade were ever advised to do the same. My son and I had no idea the base had been evacuated. And, neither did any of our neighbors. As far as I know, none of the local news stations ever broadcasted the information. I was shocked when I discovered this after escaping the aftermath. Why were military families forced to evacuate, while civilians in the same area were never so much as "advised" to evacuate?

To further substantiate this, a peculiar incident happened during the late afternoon hours prior to Andrew striking. I had just walked out to the garbage dumpsters, located by the parking lot, to throw away some garbage. I turned to head back to the apartment when the horn of an oncoming car began blasting away non-stop. I looked up to see a familiar resident, whom I had spoken to on many different occasions, heading directly toward me. This particular individual worked at Metrozoo. Because he was affiliated with wild animals, he frequently stopped by to ask questions about the behavior of certain species. He sped right up to me and then slammed on the brakes!

"Come here!" he whispered excitedly, summoning me closer to the car. I walked over the driver's side and leaned close to him. "What's the matter?" "Listen!" he paused to look around nervously. "You've got to get the hell outta here now!" "Why?" I asked puzzled by his behavior. "I haven't got time to explain," he whispered. "But I just came from the National Hurricane Bureau in the Gables. Gotta friend of mine who works over there. Big wig, know what I mean?" "Yeah?" I nodded. "Well, this isn't for public information, if you get my drift," he went on rapidly. "But the National Hurricane Bureau has known all along that Hurricane Andrew is going to slam into South Dade! They're telling the public it's going to come in at Palm Beach