As Hurricane Irma bears down on Florida, Philly grit is proving essential

Norristown native Walter Kilkuskie III went to work on Saturday morning for the Pasco County, Fla., water department, not knowing when he might get a break.  He was on emergency duty from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. But, he said Sunday, "Once the winds hit 40 mph, nobody's going to be able to leave." Kilkuskie, 33, who now lives in Spring Hill, Fla., had boarded up and secured his home, but he didn't exactly feel prepared for Hurricane Irma, a storm unlike anything he's seen in 20 years living in Florida.

"This is a life-or-death situation right now," he said.

Even so, he had just one equally pressing request, to an Eagles fan group on Facebook: "Can anyone on here please keep me updated on the score," he wrote. "Please!!!!! FLYEAGLESFLY."

After the game, he said it appears he will be holed up at work for the next 36 hours.

"At least the Birds won," he said.

That's what you get when you take a Philadelphian and put him in the eye of a hurricane: plenty of Philly grit and a whole lot of Eagles talk. Area natives now staying, by choice or necessity, in the path of Irma, are counting on it to get them through the next crucial 24 hours.

For Barry Rubin, who grew up in Oxford Circle and Bensalem, then studied at Temple University, Irma is an unwelcome visitor. But, the storm forecasts weren't enough to drive him out of Florida.

"This is the price you pay. You made that deal with yourself when you moved to an area like this," he said. "It's the price of paradise. I'll be in my bathing suit on Christmas day."

Rubin, 50, lives in St. Petersburg, surrounded on three sides by water, and is president of the Gulfport Area Chamber of Commerce. Flooding, he said, "is more a probability than a possibility."

He didn't bother to save anything from his own home, though, instead spending his time helping neighbors put up storm shutters and making sure businesses had the information they needed. Under mandatory evacuation orders, he's staying with friends in Tampa. That way, he said, "First thing Tuesday morning, we'll be back at work seeing what I can do to help our chamber members — and seeing what's left of our neighborhood."

Cherry Hill native Pery Shusterman, who moved to Florida in 2010, was fairly confident his home in Boynton Beach, Fla., about 50 miles north of Miami, would stand up to strong winds that were already whipping trees sideways by Sunday morning.

He initially feared a direct hit by the storm, but Irma's path has shifted. "Many people evacuated to Tampa, which ended up being a bad idea," he said. His own mother and brother had evacuated from Marco Island to Darien, Ga., but then had been forced to evacuate a second time. "I think they're in Mississippi."

He posted on Facebook inviting friends who needed shelter to stay; an ex-girlfriend who lived near the water in Boca Raton had taken him up on the offer, bringing her five dogs with her.

Power was already flickering on and off on Sunday, according to Shusterman, who spoke over text message for fear of draining his phone battery with a call. "I've observed both ends of the spectrum: Store shelves empty. People arguing over supplies. Long lines for gas, and gas stations out of gas for a few days. But also positive things: People helping and offering each other supplies." He said he had ordered supplies, including a battery-powered radio from Amazon Prime last Tuesday, but the delivery never arrived.

For those who've had to evacuate to shelters — particularly retirees of advanced age — concerns were more pressing.

Mark Pokedoff, 55, of Warrington, is anxious about his parents, who are 83 and 85, who are from New York, lived in Langhorne and retired to Sanibel Island off the southwest coast of Florida.

"I begged them to come and stay with us in the Philadelphia area, but they were too tired and wanted to rough it down there," he said. Soon, though, he had to look online to find a shelter location for them: the Germain Arena in Estero, Fla., which has room for 7,000 people and has reportedly reached capacity.

Pokedoff said his parents were given a breakfast of an apple and coffee Sunday morning. "Dad is 85 and diabetic. I'm hoping that the stress and lack of healthy food won't affect him," he said.

For many, changing predictions about the storm's path had left them unsure of what to do. Bethann Miller Nativ, 38, a University of Pennsylvania alumna, had planned to stay at her home in Hollywood, north of Miami. Then, as the forecast grew worse, "We were going to drive out, but the driving conditions looked rather unpredictable." Friends had reported being stuck on highways for hours, only to turn back. Finally, she was able to get on a flight to New York, then Maine. She's worried about her mother, who delayed leaving and is now stuck at home with water halfway up the driveway. Her friends, too, are in limbo.

"People evacuated across the state to Naples thinking it was going to hit the east coast harder. Now it looks like it's hitting the west coast." They're not sure where to go, she said, and anyway they have no gas to get there.

Becca Jennings, 29, who is from Philadelphia and just two months ago moved to a waterfront condo on Longboat Key on Florida's Gulf Coast, went through two mandatory evacuations. First, she fled her home for her parents' house, in Osprey, Sarasota County, less than a mile from the Gulf of Mexico. Then, at 4 a.m. Saturday, they learned the forecast had changed, and they had to move again.

"We had to make difficult choices of what to take and what to leave behind. We packed our two cars with cases of water, clothes, canned food, cash, and family mementos, and hit the road in the pitch black of the early morning," she said. They were lucky to find a gas station with one pump still operating, and headed to a neighbor's cousin's house in Lake Mary, Seminole County. Some friends who left just a few hours later were stuck in gridlock, and ended up turning back.

Jennings, whose father is former longtime 6ABC news anchor Rob Jennings, said she still doesn't regret moving to Florida. "It's been scary and one of the most stressful experiences of my life, but we are hopeful." By Sunday, there were eight people at the house — six of them evacuees — all settling in for the Eagles-Redskins game around a small laptop computer.

George Lawrence, 73, who lived in Philadelphia for 18 years serving as headmaster for Phil-Mont Christian Academy, also evacuated his home in Miami. He put up storm shutters, brought about 100 of his wife's orchids indoors, cut down about a hundred pounds of coconut so they wouldn't blow into his home, and left for his brother's place in Lakeland, due east of Tampa.

Given the course of the storm, he now thinks the impact on both Miami and Lakeland will probably be about equivalent. "The area we're in is hitting winds in the 90s, which is a fairly good breeze," he said. Still, he's grateful.

"Initially, we were prepared to lose everything. We were expecting to be like those people in Houston you saw on TV who said, 'We've lost everything.' Of course, that's not really true. If we've lost our stuff, that's not the most important thing."