It’s weird when I think about calling my best friend my best friend. I kind of stopped having best friends in the 7th grade, but then I’d look back and see them as best friends in retrospect. I was betrayed by my last ‘blood brother’ in 1971. Yeah we actually knifed our fingers. Ahh GenX. I was never quite as nervy as Huckleberry Finn, but easily as much as Tom Sawyer. I wonder what young people think of themselves sometimes. Holden Caulfield? Bigger Thomas? Becky Sharp? But I digress. I haven’t told anyone “You are my best friend”, but I call a good number of my male friends brother, and I know at least six that I would give my front door key. So my actual best friend asked me “What kind of disaster do you think about surviving?” and I realized I hadn’t done that much thinking about it. Here’s how the conversation came about.
AWOL Nation
My boy has been on an even keel for the past year or so. I’ve only had one issue with him all of this time, which is that he’s lousy with money. That’s a blessing when dealing with a paranoid schizophrenic. So I consider myself lucky. But the other morning he went missing overnight and his managed care facility gave me a call. It kind of blew me out of the water and even the fact that we resolved the matter in under three hours didn’t calm my nerves. I didn’t have a problem sleeping last night but I’m still a little jangly.
I picked him up to get him back situated and realized he had missed breakfast. I wasn’t about to take him out to Denny’s, he actually wasn’t that presentable. So we stopped by the local 7-11 about four blocks from his place. We pulled up and it turned out that one of his neighbors from the facility where he bunks was hanging out in front of the convenience store. Boy introduced me to his friend who immediately told me that my son is a good man. Yes, he is. We went indoors and Boy grabbed 5 bags of fried potato and pigskin snacks for himself and I volunteered to pay for two cherry pies of the Hostess variety for his friend.
The first thing I paid attention to when I picked him up was that he was dressed appropriately for sleeping out in the open wherever it was he did. He had a big coat, fingerless gloves, sturdy shoes and a fullsized backpack. His friend at 7-11 was a bit more lightly attired but they both had the look of men who are quite capable of sleeping in a public park - no big deal. Additionally there was another bearded fellow standing post near the parking lot with a medium sized German Shepherd. All three men had erect postures, they were not beat up like the shiftless or homeless or indigents. I didn’t quite have a term for them, but I made the rapport. My brother Doc, the ex-LAPD officer taught me to observe the shoes and whether or not these outdoor people wash and show their faces. None of these three were hiding in a hoodie.
There’s a lot more I could learn about homeless veterans, but my mind went in another direction. Since Boy was a Life Scout and did excellent work in orienteering, I know that for him, walking 15 miles through the streets of LA County is no big deal. He has done so off meds, but that was not the case today, thank God. So what if I had to live on the streets? What would I put in my backpack? What would I stash secretly? Where would I stake a claim among the thousands of homeless people in LA?
The Container
I have a large storage facility that I rent. Like millions of other silly affluent Americans, I have collected a huge amount of sentimental junk. Well, call it stuff. My junk is stuff and your stuff is junk. I easily have 1200 cubic feet of stuff in boxes and crates. Plus an old upright piano. Because of the innumerable action films I have watched, my mind goes to safe houses and shipping containers and I know I could only afford the latter. But how could I get one and where would I park it? Arcane knowledge indeed. Then came my best friend’s question and that had me rethinking a number of things, mostly taking the fun out of the entire fantasy of equipping a go bag.
So it turns out my best friend was thinking about an earthquake, and I realized that would mean I’d get called up by the CERT group that I’m a part of. But I would be under no obligation to show up. Still it irks me even thinking about not getting with them. My initial scenario involves a blackout lasting 2 weeks and civil unrest, looting and bands of thugs making unpredictably dangerous moves. More specifically, I’m thinking about how to get resupplied when everybody is afraid to go outside. Essentially, I have no confidence about sheltering in place, at least not where I live. Nevertheless, there are many advantages that my neighborhood affords, not the least of which is the fact that it is on a hill with several large buildings with excellent lines of sight. Still. My aim would be to survive outside of the wire until the National Guard has everything in hand and power is restored. I don’t want to be in some highschool gym shelter. I want to be capable of handling myself in the twilight between what is called ROL and WROL. Rule of Law and Without Rule of Law.
So what kind of alarmist am I to think about and actually plan for chaos in America. Well, I’m the kind of person who is not particularly phased about school shootings. I’m the kind of person who ignores horror movies and entertainments like ‘The Purge’. I’m the kind of person who has a lot to lose. Still, I do remember that I was the model, from my father that my son took in his orienteering skill. I can backpack. How much? I don’t know. That’s what I aim to find out.
I think most of all, that I am a big brother. I would find my own life without meaning if I were to find myself as practically useless to other people. That’s what led me to CERT in the first place. That’s why I learned what police and FBI agents do. It’s what I would want to do in those scenarios. It’s why I’m the kind of person to volunteer for organizations like Team Rubicon. But I’m also a storyteller, and I expect that I’m one of those who will sit around the fire counseling men and women with stories about my life and my thinking - my preparedness for the foolishness of mankind prepares me for wisdom. But I’m not immune from physical deprivation. I need to be able to handle that scenario when it arrives.
It has been many years since I had this mindset, that of EDC and what I carry in my pockets and truck to be Johnny On The Spot. Mostly all I did was help folks who needed a jumpstart in their autos. One time I did help rescue an elderly woman who fell down the escalator at the Westside Pavillion. I had bandages in the truck and dressed and calmed her until the EMTs arrived. Right now my readiness is low. I wonder what increasing it will do.
What will be different this time is that I will have a small network. There’s a house or two in the hills of people we know - we might shelter there. My friend may put a container or shed in his backyard. I once had a 55 gallon drum of water in my yard, I may do that again. Hard to say. I’ll let you know here.
Such an interesting essay. Thank you. Whenever I think of disaster prep, I quickly go down a rabbit hole, and its crazy down there! Where do you stop? My goal is to keep upping my survival skills and knowledge incrementally. Can I survive a 1 day power outage? Do I have a power generator? What would it take to get an extra propane tank? And on and on.... I think it takes having a team of people with differentiated skills that can support each other while all bringing something to the table. But full survivability of an ‘apocalypse’ whatever form it takes is utterly daunting. It is so hard to grow enough food!