Answering Call of the Red Cross

When a major disaster like Hurricane Frances hits anywhere in America, chances are pretty good that Kellie Mendenhall will be on the scene to greet it.

The 64-year-old retired nurse is one of 300 Red Cross volunteers who Monday helped pack and drive a caravan of supply vehicles from this Gulf Coast city, taking medical aid, food and emotional comfort to tens of thousands of Floridians held hostage by Frances.

The 150 ambulance-sized trucks, all bearing the Red Cross logo, are one part of the effort that will involve more than 5,000 Red Cross workers, most of whom have one thing in common: They’re volunteers.

Responding to tragedies is what they do to take a break from their careers as doctors, lawyers, teachers, students and retirees. They use vacation time, take leaves of absence or close their businesses, all to donate the minimum three weeks of service to what the Red Cross calls DRs -- disaster relief efforts.

For Mendenhall, the work is more than an adrenaline rush. Years ago, during a divorce, she nearly lost her house as she struggled to make her mortgage payments, working three jobs to provide for her children. When she needed it, relief agencies lent her money, gave her a shoulder to cry on. “Now,” she says, “it’s time for me to pay a little something back.”

As Frances swept across the state and civil authorities restricted road travel, Mendenhall and hundreds of volunteers spent Labor Day weekend in a grocery store warehouse here, loading trucks with such donations as insect repellent and tarps for damaged roofs, baby bottles and packaged meals. Many missed barbecues, doctors’ appointments, even their own birthday parties back home.

The volunteers say the sacrifice is worth it.

On Monday, as volunteers headed for places like Jupiter, Jensen Beach and Indian River Shores -- communities they didn’t know existed a month ago -- Robert Holm of Oxnard talked about a commitment that had brought him back on four different occasions.

He looked around the warehouse as students and fellow retirees scurried about. “Most of these people know how good they have it in their lives and it makes a difference for them to show up with a hot meal, a smile and a little conversation for people who aren’t as lucky as they are,” said Holm, 61.

Like Holm, veteran volunteers know the Red Cross drill. When a major disaster strikes, workers in the agency’s Washington headquarters phone thousands of volunteers, often making 12,000 calls to get 5,000 people who don’t have work or personal commitments.

In early August, when Hurricane Charley first appeared on weather forecasters’ radar screens, the Red Cross went into action -- seeking volunteers in 24 specialty areas such as disaster mental health, computer maintenance and accounting.

The head office -- staffed by paid workers -- then arranges plane tickets and schedules.

“It’s incredibly complicated,” said Peter Teahen, a funeral director from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, who spent three weeks working public relations during Charley and Tropical Storm Bonnie last month.

“In each disaster, we need every job that you’d have in a large corporation. We set up this company, run it for six to eight weeks and then pack it all up until next time.”

Holm, who has driven trucks and cooked meals, says the worst part isn’t the work but the emotion spent waiting to lend a hand. Nancy Nickel, a lawyer from Bend, Ore., said the hardest job she had ever done was to drive a Red Cross truck during last fall’s San Bernardino fires and lift heavy hot-food containers day after day.

Over the years, Mendenhall has done 15 Red Cross tours. Within hours of the 2001 terrorist attacks, she was in the Pentagon parking lot consoling military relatives and handing out coffee.

When Charley bore down on Florida’s Gulf Coast, Mendenhall got the call to service. And like always, she said yes -- even though it meant she missed her 20th anniversary celebration. She spent three weeks driving trucks, loading supplies and working in mobile kitchens to assist Charley’s victims.

When Frances threatened Florida, her Red Cross bosses came to Mendenhall and volunteers already in the state with a request: Could you stay and lend a hand? Again, Mendenhall said yes.

Others were on their way home when they got the call. After spending weeks working Bonnie and Charley, Teahen was changing planes in the Minneapolis airport when his cellphone rang. The Red Cross was on the line. They wanted him back.

Teahen, like many others, returned.

The recent Florida operations are what volunteers call hardship duty. That means no-frills accommodations. They often sleep in shelters right alongside disaster victims with no pillows, no towels and infrequent showers. It means little sleep and pre-packaged food. Said Mendenhall: “It means bring your own toilet paper.”

During the first three nights she volunteered for Charley, she slept on the floor in a church, union hall and middle school.

But the self-imposed hardships of this disaster corps are erased by the applause they get when -- wearing their Red Cross T-shirts -- they shop for supplies in a Wal-Mart or when strangers offer to pick up their dinner tabs at restaurants.

Mendenhall has already signed up for another tour. She’s going to stick around in case Hurricane Ivan, now lurking in the Atlantic Ocean, washes ashore.