PANAMA CITY BEACH, Fla. — Gabrielle Morgan shut the door to her family’s room at the Beachbreak by the Sea hotel, cut through the sandy parking lot and caught the local trolley. Two hours later — after a journey that would have taken 19 minutes in the car that they lost in Hurricane Michael — she and her husband joined the hundreds of people already in a Salvation Army line.
In this stretch of the Florida Panhandle, things still look as if the hurricane hit last week, not two months ago. Debris is still piled up in front of houses in many neighborhoods. Buildings still stand in their own rubble. Families such as the Morgans, whose home in Panama City was destroyed by Michael, are still living an itinerant existence and depending on Christmas-giveaway lines.
“It isn’t great celebrating the holidays cramped in a place that’s not home,” said Gabrielle, 27. “But we make do.”
More than 630 families remain checked into area motels and hotels booked through the Federal Emergency and Management Agency, according to the agency. FEMA has grappled with one natural disaster after another this year: Hurricanes in Florida and North Carolina that flattened or flooded communities. Mudslides that buried homes and wildfires that incinerated entire towns in California. A weeks-long volcanic eruption in Hawaii. A 7-magnitude earthquake in Alaska.
“There were more than 55 disaster declarations in 2018,” FEMA spokeswoman Alexandria Bruner said Thursday. From coast to coast, from Wisconsin to Texas, these had “a devastating impact on thousands of survivors, causing billions in damage.”
For many displaced by Michael, their temporary, post-disaster housing is starting to seem indefinite. Since the storm made landfall just south of here on Oct. 11, Gabrielle and Santonial Morgan and their five children have moved three times, from one location to another, sometimes with FEMA aid, sometimes without. At the Beachbreak, where the family checked in a week ago, a front-desk employee estimated the majority of the hotel’s 100-plus rooms were occupied by FEMA aid recipients.
A third-floor room has been Alma Marie and Harry Hoocks’ address since November. Their three-bedroom trailer, which they rented for $490 a month in Springfield, which is just east of Panama City, was a total loss after the hurricane.
Among the few things that Alma Marie saved was their artificial Christmas tree. She set it up last week to give teenage sons Spencer and Logan a bit of holiday cheer — the branches of the six-foot tree nearly reaching her bed in the cramped space. This week, she added the few Walmart and Dollar Tree decorations that she’d also rescued. Her sister, who is living in a room across the hall, helped her make a red gingham bow to top the tree.
“It’s been overwhelming. There are four of us as a family, and there are just two beds,” said Alma Marie, 35, shutting her American flag-covered Bible in the hotel lobby where she now home-schools the boys. “Trying to get them to do schoolwork is impossible because all they can think about is what happened.”
She and her husband, an air-conditioning production technician, recently went to see a house, but the destruction that still surrounded it was so discouraging that they canceled the viewing. The rentals she has found average around $1,800 a month — sharply higher than before the hurricane, she says, because of the high demand.
“We’re trying to figure out bills,” she said. As for Christmas, “we’ve already told the boys we’re doing something small.” Stacked under the tree are half a dozen unwrapped 94-cent Hot Wheels cars.
One floor up, the only evidence that Bryan and Teri Leverett are not on vacation is the bags of onions and potatoes under the kitchenette dining table for two.
The couple evacuated their home in nearby Southport to first stay at another By the Sea property where Bryan, who is 57, works maintenance. A wise decision, it turned out, because their house sustained more than $15,000 worth of damage. The insurance company’s first assessment suggested razing the structure, though the Leveretts are trying to salvage it. Repairs have only begun.
A miniature Christmas tree splashed with red and green tinsel sits on the dresser in their hotel room, but no, they say simultaneously, they won’t be doing presents this year. “With everything going on, the finances just aren’t there,” Teri, 59, explained.
Yet Bryan says they are blessed, especially given the even greater needs around them: “We’re able to still be standing here and rebuild our home.”
The Beachbreak is one of a dozen hotels on the largely undamaged strip of land facing the Gulf of Mexico; FEMA is using many of them as part of its “Transitional Sheltering Assistance.” As the Panhandle rebuilds, some people stranded in Panama City Beach say they feel forgotten by Washington.
But the community in the area where they’re staying is not forgetting them. Just days ago, those at the Beachbreak received a letter from By the Sea’s chief executive that promised Christmas dinner and presents. Individuals, charities like the Salvation Army and churches throughout the area are running toy drives. Local families are taking it upon themselves to provide hundreds of meals on Christmas.
Hurricane Michael refugees are set to get federal housing help through April 11 — which will be barely six weeks before the start of the 2019 hurricane season. That date could be extended at the state’s request, a FEMA spokeswoman in Florida said.
Gabrielle and Santonial Morgan left the Salvation Army giveaway and headed straight to Walmart, finally returning hours later with Froot Loops cereal, dried elbow macaroni, pork chuck, ramen noodles and a Bible. They also had the presents they’d bought with their five $50 gift cards: makeup for their eldest, who’s 17; a camera for their 15-year-old and a virtual reality game for the 13-year-old; a tablet for the 3-year-old and a vibrating toy for the baby, who was born in July.
For each other, the couple were not as extravagant. With the few dollars left over, Gabrielle bought Santonial body wash. She bought herself a body spray. “Everything is for the kids,” she emphasized. No matter what else, the kids would have Christmas.
It had been another long day and dinner came late. The teenagers, Gabrielle’s stepchildren, then headed to their room on the second floor while her husband watched the little ones. She collapsed on a bed, covering herself head to toe with the bedsheet. She would later acknowledge how exhausted she is from the weeks of loss — including Santonial’s job in the wake of the storm — and bouncing from place to place.
“I know I have to keep moving,” she said. “Otherwise, I won’t be able to get up after this.”
