Neighbors, neighborhood, safe, text, call and data.
I feel like I’ve used these words more in the last week than in my entire life.
Friday morning, Sept. 27, Hurricane Helene hit our mountainside home in Asheville, North Carolina. I woke my wife up around 5 a.m. and told her to get the dog and go to the basement. Moments later, we heard trees falling all around.
By 10 a.m., the worst had passed and, miraculously, our home and lives were safe.
By habit, I grabbed my phone. I still had two LTE bars. I called my parents to let them know I was safe. I couldn’t get through, but a text did. My family knew I was OK even as the storm was still passing over.
So down the mountain I went to check on my neighbors. Trees, power lines and debris covered the road. There are about 45 homes on our mountain, several had trees on their roofs. By 11 a.m., everyone had been accounted for and was safe.
The rain had stopped, the wind died down. I was the only person with cell coverage. A few people got word out they were safe.
Around noon, I was trying to share what little was being reported. My data was there, but slow. Then my LTE icon disappeared and SOS replaced it.
That was the last time I was able to use my phone until Sunday night at 10:39 p.m.
We were going to sleep on Sunday night when our phones started pinging on our nightstands. I immediately called my mom. That was the first time in three days she heard my voice or knew I was safe.
We all cried.
Two things happened during the time I had no service.
The first was that I grabbed my chainsaw and headed down the mountain. All day Friday, Saturday and Sunday, me and my neighbors, along with dozens of others whose names I will never know, cut every single fallen tree in our way to connect our neighborhood with Asheville. It’s nearly four miles away. Just from what I could see, the community cleared about 10 miles on our own outside South Asheville.
Work crews were not here yet and the roads to get into town were impassable. There’s absolutely no blame here. We were on our own and we did what we could to make way for emergencies and supplies.
The second thing that happened was that my wife and I sat on our porch and listened to the radio.
I spoke to Poynter’s Angela Fu about how important the radio was in getting out information. We had zero cell signal. No phone, no text, no data. In the mornings and afternoons, the radio was set to Blue Ridge Public Media for the 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. Buncombe County update. That’s how we learned just how massive this event was.
In the evenings we tuned into 99.9 FM. The station hosts and iHeart support from around the country were running nonstop. People were calling in with updates, where to get supplies, reports on what was still standing and what was gone. People called in to beg for information on family or just hear another person’s voice.
My wife is a mental health therapist and we know we’re in a state of trauma. The stories of survival, the caring, the concern and the information they were sharing were invaluable, but we had to limit ourselves to just a few hours each night. Another of those words I find myself using more with each passing hour: heartbreak.
Even with the emotional toll it took, there’s no way to tell you how meaningful it is to turn on my emergency radio and hear another human voice telling you exactly the information you need to hear. That’s true even if that information was that we had lost our favorite hangouts or, worse, that we had lost community members and our favorite mountain towns were now in ruins.
On Monday afternoon, my phone’s 5G icon turned back to LTE. I was finally able to update friends and family on social media.
I got data service back, too. I could finally see the devastation with my own eyes that I had heard the people on the radio describe.
Once again, I found myself the only person in our neighborhood with reception. So I shared anything I knew with my neighbors.
It’s now Thursday as I write this. Some texts are still not going through. But I have decent data.
The Asheville Citizen Times Instagram feed is where I learned how to send SOS texts and that gas stations near me were open.
Mountain Xpress helped me find water near a friend in town who still doesn’t have data.
I think I’ve read every post on the daily r/asheville Helene megathread every day. Instagram has been my go-to platform for finding information I didn’t know I needed. It’s also easy to post updates and share them across Meta’s other platforms for friends and family.
I used to be a heavy Twitter user. When I finally opened X, it was full of horrible artificial intelligence-generated images and conspiracy theories. I’ll probably never go back.
Perhaps more than any other platform, Slack kept me connected to my network. I was able to post updates and connect with friends and my Poynter family. It was there I learned my colleagues were dealing with flooding and damage in the St Petersburg area. Still, I never thought the note “several people are typing” would bring a smile to my face.
Now there’s so much information that I can’t keep it sorted. I would encourage local outlets to keep some type of story at the top of their sites that provide updated information on water, food, medication, showers, laundry and fuel. Try not to load to many images on those pages; they are really hard to load.
To that end, on Wednesday night, I got a Slack message from my dear friend Shannan Bowen that a group of news product people helped Blue Ridge Public Media spin up a text-only version of the site. This is so needed when so few, even in the heart of Asheville still don’t have good cell coverage.
I’ve been a journalist for 28 years. My first instinct is to jump in and help report. This was the first time in my career I found myself, and my family’s well-being, dependent on reporting. I’m thankful for every single journalist and community member that worked through the own grief, damage, loss and heartache to get out reliable information. The work you are continuing to do is needed. One day I hope to connect with you and support you in any way I can.
To everyone else, keep us in your thoughts. Stay safe, check on your neighbors. If you don’t know them, introduce yourself. They may be the most important people in your life one day.
By Tony Elkins, faculty