As a Family Service case worker assigned to a Red Cross Service Center located south of San Antonio, most of my work involved outreach. Most days I was assigned a County Road or what's called a Farm to Market Road in an area hit by flash flooding. I would drive from home to home, with another caseworker or local disaster volunteer, in search of people who had urgent, disaster-caused needs. Regardless of the level of assistance needed, the thing most people seemed to have in common was a need to talk to someone about their ordeal. We listened a lot.

For hundreds of feet on either side of creeks that had already returned to their normal size of just a few feet across, there was a debris field that told a story. Loose hay carried by the floodwater collected on wire fences and turned them into privacy fences. Embedded in the hay might be a can of beer, a prescription bottle belonging to a neighbor, or a broken cactus leave. High above the ground, clothing and construction debris -- like a studded wall or a section of tin roof -- adorn the tree branches that snagged them when they floated by. In the middle of a field among the cattle and dairy cows that survived, you might see a propane tank or a refrigerator. In someone's front yard you might see several displaced 1,000-lb. bales of hay. The silt carried by the floodwater painted a high-water mark on any object that had not been completely submerged.

My first day on the job was two weeks after the flooding occurred. By this time most of the flood victims had emptied the contents of their homes onto their yards. They had cut their water-soaked and mud-caked carpet and mattresses into small pieces that were light enough to lift and carry out. They had removed the sheetrock and insulation from their walls, and scraped and shoveled the mud and silt from between the studs. Most people had begun to disinfect their homes and some of their recovered belongings. Authorities strongly advised cleaning and disinfecting non-porous materials because of the raw sewage and chemicals that mixed with the floodwater. Authorities advised the disposal of porous materials such as clothing, aluminum cookware, and pottery dishware. Most people had made arrangements to sleep and eat elsewhere.

A common scene was to find people sifting through large piles of debris that they were systematically organizing into smaller piles of things like pots and pans, tools, soggy books and papers, and personal mementos. For many the toughest losses were photographs – especially of loved ones who have long-since passed away – and Christmas ornaments, family histories that can't be passed along to the next generation, and pets. One woman, who described her pet donkey in vivid detail, said she would give up all of their pending repairs and replacements if she could just get her donkey back.

Inside many homes I visited, the high-water mark exceeded 84”. At some homes, floating debris in strong currents had broken through doors or windows allowing the full force of the floodwater to enter and push the home's contents to the downstream side. Sometimes the contents broke through windows and floated away like so much other debris.

On November 5, while doing outreach on CR332 in Sutherland Springs I had an unexpected experience. We weren't having much luck finding people at home, as most lived in mobile homes that had been destroyed when the Cibolo Creek set a new mark for what some were calling the 500-year flood. My partner flagged down a passing pickup truck and I ran over to meet the driver who appeared to be in his 70's. I extended my hand and introduced myself as a member of the American Red Cross. The man started to extend his hand, but quickly pulled it away.

Man: “Red Cross ain't worth shit. They burned my ass overseas. Red Cross is a bunch of paid workers. Do you know how much Elizabeth Dole makes a year? Red Cross is the same as those liberal talk shows on the radio. Ain't a Republican among them. How come the Salvation Army is always first at a disaster?”

SAJ: “I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm an unpaid volunteer. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Man: “Not if you're selling the Red Cross.”

SAJ: “As an individual, is there anything I can do for you?”

Man: “I was having a good day till I stopped to talk to you!”

I'm told that World War II donut dollies are the likely cause of this experience. It seems that the British Red Cross used to charge for their coffee and donuts. Churchill persuaded Roosevelt to make the American Red Cross charge for their coffee and donuts anywhere there were joint British-American operations – predominantly in England and Italy. And because General Mark Clark, a Texan, led the invasion of Italy with an army that was predominantly made up of Texans – regular Army, Texas National Guard, and Texas volunteers – it stands to reason that many Texans encountered the charging donut dollies.

The Red Cross technicians, supervisors, coordinators, and managers that I worked with and for on this job are some of the finest people I've ever met. The non-monetary motivation that drives these volunteers comes from deep within. They are truly special people who seem to be cut from the same cloth. The cloth is woven with warmth and kindness, professionalism, and self-sacrifice. Getting to know them was very easy, but forgetting them will be next to impossible.