By Jim Hunt for the News and Journal
Just seven weeks after two devastating hurricanes battered Tampa, Florida, I arrived to
find a city resiliently piecing itself back together. The perfect weather and calm
surroundings offered little evidence of the destruction that had recently turned lives
upside down. Yet, beneath the surface, stories of recovery and resilience were
everywhere.
The National League of Cities Conference and 100th Anniversary Celebration brought
over 4,000 attendees from across the country to the Tampa Convention Center, located
right on the bay. The center, with its breathtaking views of the water and busy marina,
seemed to radiate the warmth of the city’s hospitality. But getting here wasn’t without
challenges. Damage to a downtown hotel had left over 300 rooms unusable, forcing
some attendees to relocate to airport-area accommodations and endure long shuttle
rides each morning. Even so, the energy and enthusiasm of the conference participants
were unwavering.
Inside the convention center, the historic significance of the 100th Anniversary was
everywhere. Signage, exhibits, and a packed agenda inspired attendees and celebrated
a century of local government leadership. Tampa Mayor Jane Castor, a dynamic leader,
was a steady presence throughout the week, juggling her role at the conference with
ongoing hurricane recovery efforts. Her leadership during the storms had earned high
praise, and her commitment to rebuilding was evident.
The conference was not just a boost to the attendees but also to Tampa’s economy, as
hotels and restaurants filled to capacity. However, the glittering events and bustling city
center only hinted at the deeper realities of recovery.
On the last day of the conference, I had the opportunity to meet my wife’s cousin and
her son for lunch. Their family had been left homeless by the hurricanes, an
unimaginable reality for a neighborhood that had never before faced such devastation.
Over lunch, they shared their story—a harrowing escape as water rose waist-deep in
their living room, forcing them to flee through a window. They left with only the clothes
on their backs and a small thumb drive of family photos.
After lunch, we drove through south Tampa, where the aftermath of the hurricanes was
still starkly visible. Massive trees lay uprooted, and piles of debris, soaked drywall, and
ruined furniture lined the streets, waiting for collection. In their former neighborhood,
tarps covered roofs, and contractors worked on nearly every home. As we stopped at
the house they had to abandon, I could see the window through which they escaped.
Hearing their story in the place where it all happened was chilling and deeply humbling.
While they have since found a new home outside the flood zone, their lives remain far
from normal. Yet even in the face of their own struggles, they were deeply concerned
about neighbors who were also navigating this long road to recovery. It’s a reminder that
natural disasters don’t just test infrastructure—they test the spirit of communities.
The conference ended with an elegant dinner and a dazzling light show over the bay,
but my thoughts lingered on the people of Tampa and the incredible power of nature.
The news often moves quickly from one story to the next, but for families like my wife’s
cousin’s, the effects of these hurricanes will be felt for years—perhaps a lifetime.
Tampa’s resilience left a lasting impression on me. Its people, like its skyline, are
standing tall in the face of unimaginable challenges, and their stories of recovery serve
as a powerful testament to the human spirit.