Heros

I've seen this around, but it bears repeating.

Hundreds and hundreds of small boats pulled by countless pickups and SUVs from across the South are headed for Houston or Florida. Almost all of them driven by men. They’re using their own property, sacrificing their own time, spending their own money, and risking their own lives for one reason: to help total strangers in desperate need.

Most of them are by themselves. Most are dressed like the redneck duck hunters and bass fisherman they are. Many are veterans. Most are wearing well-used gimme-hats, t-shirts, and jeans; and there’s a preponderance of camo. Most are probably gun owners, and most probably voted for Trump.

These are the people the Left loves to hate, the ones Maddow mocks. The ones Maher and Olbermann just *know* they’re so much better than. These are The Quiet Ones. They don’t wear masks and tear down statues. They don’t, as a rule, march and demonstrate.

But they’ll spend the next several days wading in cold, dirty water; dodging gators and water moccasins and fire ants; eating whatever meager rations are available; and sleeping wherever they can in dirty, damp clothes. Their reward is the tears and the hugs and the smiles from the terrified people they help. They’ll deliver one boatload, and then go back for more.

When disaster strikes, it’s what men do. Real men. Heroic men. American men. White men, Black men, Asian men, Hispanic men. And then they’ll knock back a few shots, or a few beers with like-minded men they’ve never met before, and talk about fish, or ten-point bucks, or the benefits of hollow-point ammo, or their F-150.

And the next time they hear someone talk about “the patriarchy”, or “male privilege”, they’ll snort, turn off the TV, if they have one, and go to bed.

In the meantime, they’ll likely be up again before dawn. To do it again. Until the helpless are rescued. And the work’s done.

They’re unlikely to be reimbursed. There won’t be medals. They won’t care. They’re the unsung heroes. And it’s what heroes do, get the job done and move on to the next job, or go home and resume their daily lives.

They started out as the Cajun Navy, a group of volunteers out of Louisiana during the Denham Springs flood last year.  Since then, they've gotten a little better organized, and they can put together a team on short notice.  These guys are fishermen, or hunters, and know how to operate small boats in congested waters.  They can launch anywhere, even in a flooded roadway (which is nothing more, really, than a nice bat-launch ramp).

  Other folks, who don't have boats, bring outdoor cooking ear, big pots, and set up kitchens near the launch ramps.  The volunteers are going to need food, and the victims are going to be hungry, and if Cajuns know anything, it's how to feed a crowd cheaply and serve a hot meal in almost any conditions.  Beans are cheap, and with just a little meat, some onions and bell pepper, and some flour, I can whip up a gumbo in a couple of hours. It may not be the best I've ever made, and I may have to serve it in Dixie cups.

The Cajun Navy (and the Texas Navy, and I'm sure now, the Florida Navy) are better equipped than the federal government, more nimble than a bloated bureaucracy, and a whole lot less expensive.