All Roads Lead to Lumberton...

Growing up in the south, I've experienced my share of hurricanes. So when my city, Charleston, SC, was evacuated due to hurricane Mathew I wasn't that alarmed. I packed my dog, Ninja, a cooler with water and food, a big flashlight and extra batteries, and drove North to Richmond, Virginia where I have family and friends. No big deal.

The extra two days to the long weekend was refreshing. Richmond weather was nice, a little over cast, but no rain. I had a blast with my daughter and some of my friends. And Charleston didn't end up getting hit as badly as anticipated so my friends who stayed behind where safe and sound. I had planned to stay in Richmond until Monday or Tuesday, but the weather report was good, sun was shining in Richmond and my Charleston friends said the coast was clear to come home. So I started my journey, which under normal circumstances takes about 6.5 hours. I left Sunday morning around 10a.m., top down in my convertible, sun shining, a little breeze, traffic was light, piece of cake, right? Well, yes, for about 2.5 hours it was.

I passed this gas station right before the Dam broke

Then my adventure began. And when I say adventure, I mean the absolute most terrifying experience of my life. You see, what the news had not warned and GPS had not alerted was that interstate 95 was shut down just past Raleigh, NC due to flooding and debris. For those of you who do not know, 95 is the only major highway that takes you North to South. Thousands of people who had been evacuated from deep south and who had sought safety further north were now all trying to get home, only to find out that the main way home was closed down. And they detoured us all through a little-known town called Lumberton, North Carolina. Barely a dot on the map.

Okay, no worries, safety in numbers. I wasn't alone, not really. There were 18-wheelers, other evacuees like me, some folks heading south for vacation, etc. And I had GPS so I was good, I thought. My friends who were reaching out to me as the news updates hit the wave lengths, were telling me a variety of different things. "95 is open past Fayetteville" was the biggest of the inaccuracies.  Still, I was hopeful. I had filled up my gas tank in Raleigh, thankfully, I had water, it was still early in the day, around 2pm when I started my Lumberton nightmare, and the sun was still shining.

What no one could have predicted was that the marshes in North Carolina were already saturated and the dam walls were weak. So as the day went on things got progressively worse. Roads that showed "open" on Waze and GPS were closing on a dime. Through the little town of Lumberton, Google Maps and Waze tried desperately to find me a road out. Each detour I took led me to yet another flooded road. No police, no fire trucks, no blockades anywhere. Just water, rising higher and higher with each "dead end". And Lumberton was completely "dark", no electricity at all. In most cases my GPS wasn't even working due to lines down. And no gas. Not a drop. Anywhere. After a long search, I found a way out on route 72 South. I was in a long line of vehicles, bumper to bumper to get to the highway, which was the only way out that wasn't flooded. From about 4:30 pm to 8:30pm I waited in line, moving every few minutes for an inch or two. I was about 5 miles from the clear when I heard a loud roaring and saw water jet up in the air ahead. Immediately the line of vehicles starting turning around and as a truck passed the driver yelled out "Turn around fast - the Dam broke!"

Remember, I was in a sports car....

By this time I was down to 1/4 tank of gas, had no place to stay (all hotels were either sold out or closed, remember no electricity in the entire area), and it was dark. Looting had begun and shit was getting real.  Ninja was crying, I was trying to keep it together, and all of my friends kept calling with advice on how to get out.

They meant well, but the reality was not portrayed on TV, GPS, or anywhere else because it was happening minute by minute. I decided my best bet was to try and get back to The Holiday Inn I had passed a few miles (and hours) back and sleep in my car in the parking lot. I figured I'd be safer there than on the side of the street.  When I got to the hotel, there were tons of people hanging around outside by the lobby area. I went in to see what was going on and found that they were allowing stranded people to camp out in the lobby, handing out water, pillows and blankets. It was a miracle, and I felt so lucky to have a safe place to sleep. But I didn't want to leave Ninja in the car alone, so I took my pillow and blanket and went to crash in the car with her.  Then the nicest thing happened. An elderly and frail woman who worked the front desk knocked on my car window. "I don't want to scare you, but this is a really bad part of town and you shouldn't sleep in your car here," she said. "I found you a room. There's no electricity but if you have a flash light I can get you in, and you can bring your dog too." It was then that I was reminded of how sometimes when things get bad good people pop up. She was a good person, and not the last one I'd find on my journey home.

After a little sleep, Ninja and I headed out to find gas. Someone told me there was gas available in Fayetteville, about 45 minutes North. If I could get to Fayetteville I could get gas, and then I'd regroup and find a way out of this crazy town. By now I was convinced the Zombie Apocalypse was real and I was living it. Fayetteville DID have electricity, but after three stops I was beginning to doubt if there was any gas. I followed signs to the Airport figuring there would be more gas stations on that route. I finally saw one, with a man pumping gas, just as my gas light came on in my car. Fingers crossed, I waited in a short line hoping they wouldn't run out before I could get some. When it was my turn, I filled my tank and paid with my credit card. The man pumping gas next me, a mid forties Afro  American male, asked me where I was headed. When I told him Charleston, he said "Mam' you can't get there from here,  but you've gotta get out of HERE." He went on to tell me that I was safer fighting the hurricane than staying in this part of Fayetteville. As he put it, I was in between Crackhouse row and Prostitution Lane. Okay then. Time to go back to Lumberton because 95 was shut down both North and South.

This wasn't under water on Sunday when I passed it twice...

I was not going to spend another night in Lumberton. From the looks of things this town wasn't going to see electricity or clear roads for at least a week. I think they are still out. So I did what any stranded traveler should do - I looked for 18-wheelers. I found a row of them parked in the Wal-Mart parking lot and a group of other travelers had gathered around. One of the drivers had a real map, imagine that! We forged a union and came up with two ways out - the most desirable one taking 701 toward Myrtle Beach. The truckers couldn't make it because of the side roads, so about 6 vehicles including mine formed a convoy and headed out. After a a couple hours of driving through back roads, we saw a sign that said Myrtle Beach 20 miles. I was so excited! It was only about 11a.m. so I knew I'd be back to Charleston by 2 or 3. But the Universe wasn't done screwing with us. Just about 15 miles from Myrtle, 701 flooded. We had to regroup and turn around to try our alternate route. We lost two vehicles at this point because they were about to run out of gas and needed to find a place to refuel. Sadly, everyone with electricity was out of gas it seemed. An Uber Driver from Myrtle Beach led the way and we tried our backup plan - take 421 to Wilmington, really far out of the way but hey we didn't have any other choice, and then 17 South to Myrtle, 17 South to Charleston. This time it worked. I made it back to Charleston by 7:00pm Monday night. I was pumped with adrenaline and it hadn't quite hit me just how lucky I was to be home. Ninja, however, was astutely aware as she crawled under my bed and stayed there all night.

I learned many things from this experience. First and foremost, pay better attention to the warnings and do not drive the day after a hurricane no matter what other people are telling you. But most importantly, I learned that there are good people left in the world. Just when you think you are alone and things can't improve, somebody proves you wrong. The hotel lobby worker at The Holiday Inn, the man at the gas station, and the Uber driver from Myrtle Beach all came to my rescue. As did my friends. One in particular who texted me throughout the entire ordeal and joked with me and made me feel almost normal. Almost.

I also learned that I would never want to live in Lumberton, North Carolina, not even on a good day.

Don't Give Up On Us Baby...Boomers

As I grow older, watch my friends age, some not so gracefully, see my mother struggle with life's simpliest activities, it's easy to judge and be judged. It's easy for others to see us as "old people" and think we are not worthy of respect, admiration, or even basic courtesy. Younger groups, especially the Millennials, seem to have little or no regard for experience, seniority, knowledge accrued over years of learning the hard way. They look at our graying hair and not-so-toned bodies and think we are "has beens", irrelevant, out of touch. But what they don't see, can't know, is where we've been, what we've done and what we still have to offer, especially in the world of advertising where most of the money spent on services and products come from, guess which age group? The Baby Boomers. Gen Exers save their money, Millennials don't have any because they are strapped with student loans, so if you want to speak to the audience that actually buys things, you better have some folks on your team who know how to communicate with them. Or at all.

If I sound outraged, I kind of am. Recently I've seen several of my friends turned down for jobs that they are more than qualified for with no good reason or explanation. Their applications are impressive, resume's even better, they do awesome on their phone interviews because they actually know how to speak with people, not just text or email. Then the in-person interview comes and things go down hill. The hiring managers want young people on their roster with their fresh faces on their website profile. They can get them for cheap, but guess what folks, you get what you pay for. Look around your offices and see who's there after 5pm. And it's not because they are slower. It's because for the most part your Baby Boomers give a shit. They care about the work they are doing, the companies they represent, the products and services they are promoting. They care what others think of them, and that's a shame.

Recently I was doing a pro bono job with my firm (one that is brave and smart enough to hire a 50 plusser to head up their content division I might add). It was for a local government run food delivery program for seniors and shut ins. We were interviewing recipients of the program for a promotional video when I met Mr. Gibbs. Mr. Gibbs is a 75 year old shut-in who has experienced 5 strokes in the past 2 and a half years. He can no longer cook for himself due to dizziness. Walking is a challenge for him now. He lives on a very tight budget, under $1,000 a month. When we walked in he was in a recliner wearing shorts and a cotton shirt, excited for his interview and chance to introduce himself to the community. He wasn't embarrassed to admit he needed help and appreciated the food he was given. But mostly he wanted to tell us a story and share a secret.  His eyes were bright, his smile infectious. He had a story to tell and boy is it a doozy!

Behind the pale, tired eyes there was a vibrant brain, a creative genius. Mr. Gibbs told his story and chills popped up all over my body, and the 20 something camera guys and sound team with me got schooled. For nearly 30 years, Mr. Gibbs had been a sound engineer for the Charleston Symphony. He built his own sound studio in his home including making all of his own cables from pieces he bought at Radio Shack. This highly sophisticated set up did not include any computers, no software of any kind. Every piece was custom built to serve a very unique purpose. He even built the surround sound speakers that were located all around the sound room.

Nowadays he has to keep the electricity shut off in that part of his home because he can't afford to pay the utility bill, but he turned it on long enough to give us the thrill of a lifetime. In his perfectly adorned acoustic sound room, he played us a limited edition version of Hotel California mastered in Japan in the early 80s. I teared up it was so amazing. Watching Mr. Gibbs watch us as we listened to it made my day. He had a purpose again. He was important, again. He had a reason to get out of his chair, again.

You never know what someone has been through or what contribution they have made or still will make when you meet them. My plea to you all is to stop judging a book by it's cover. Embrace our differences and realize that Baby Boomers are still capable, vibrant people who bring a lot to the table. We were the first generation to get high, play hard rock, burn bras and have open, free-loving sex. We are funny, fun, smart, interesting contributors to society and we want to work our butts off even though a lot of us don't need the money. So the next time you are on an interview panel and someone from a different generation is sitting across the table, stop judging and just listen to what they have to say. You may be surprised at how much we have in common.