Fool Me Twice
by
Jeff Hess

The scenario might go something like this. In the depth of winter, when all but the far center of Lake Erie is frozen solid to a depth of several feet, construction crews spread out on the ice along the water front of Cleveland. In a flurry of welding, hammering and caulking, magnificent upscale condominiums rise on the ice.

Meanwhile advertisements proclaim the chance of a life time. “Own lake front property at a fraction of the expected cost. Live within walking distance of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. Enjoy downtown living in Cleveland’s newest neighborhood.”

In February, Mayor Mike White and members of council rally to herald yet another sign of growth and vigor in the city. In March, Governor Voinovich personally travels back to his home town to cut the entrance ribbon and help the first family move its belongings into its beautiful home.

In April, the ice melts and millions of dollars worth of homes and family possessions disappear through the rotting ice and into the chilling water and mud of Lake Erie. Terrible, says the mayor. Tragic, cry the members of council.

A disaster, proclaims the governor as he quickly calls Washington and asks President Clinton to declare the development a disaster area and for the Congress to pump tens of millions of tax dollars into the community in the form of disaster relief. The money pours in. Tearful families appear on the evening news telling of the wonderful compassion of their elected officials.

They intend, say these gallant individuals, to not allow this catastrophe to break their spirit. With the help of the government, they intend to rebuild their community. By December the planning and enthusiasm pays off and once again the construction crews stride onto the ice to rebuild anew.

Of course, such antics go beyond even the reach of the characters in the movie “Dumb and Dumber.” Don’t they? No they don’t. Take a look at the raging flood waters in California. In the ’90s we witnessed people who built their homes on the flood plains of the Mississippi cry out for the Federal government to bail them out when the inevitable disaster struck. Then Hurricane Andrew hit Florida and deep earthen cracks in California rumbled and brought down highways, bridges and homes.

When these disasters destroy lives, homes and communities the government does not declare the area off limits for habitation and relocate the families. No. It pays to build the same houses, streets, sewers and commercial buildings on the same dangerous land in time for the next disaster to destroy them again.

With everyone in Washington looking for big chunks of money to cut away, I suggest that we rethink the concept of disaster assistance. No cuts should be made in the compassionate aid that follows close upon the heels of any disaster. Water, food, shelter and medical assistance must continue to flow. What comes after, however, needs to change.

I suggest the government adopt a “fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me” attitude toward the forces of Nature. The first time a disaster strikes a particular community send the aid as before. But, everyone aided gets two choices. Either take the money and relocate, or rebuild on the same site and know that you must depend upon private insurance for any aid when the next disaster strikes.

People live in places like California, Florida and the Mississippi River valley because such places offer attractive benefits such as pleasant climate and environment. But the pleasant occasionally turns violent and when Nature stretches its muscles, our puny constructions seldom fare well. If someone chooses to live in a place where Nature has more than once run berserk and used rushing waters, blasting air or shaking earth to level what they build, they must accept the consequences of their actions. They must not expect those of us that live in safer communities to pump tax dollars into the fund to bail them out.

If anyone built a home on Lake Erie ice and then demanded disaster assistance when the inevitable happened in the Spring, we would laugh them out of town. Right?

Jeff Hess is a Cleveland freelance writer and editorial consultant who grew up above the high water mark of the Ohio River at Marietta.