Turn the Lights Out When You Leave

I'm home.

Still trying to figure out which end is up.  I arrived a little over a week ago, late on Thursday night, weary and shell-shocked.  Eight days later, I am just starting to get my feet under me.

People want to know how the trip was.  Whether it was fun.  How I liked it. Where my suntan is.

Fun?

I'll sum it up, just to make it clear.

My deployment was brutal, but important.  Given the different permutations available, I will take that combination, every single time.  Gimme important battles to fight with real consequences, and let me see how I can help.  The work was hard, and the reasons were complex, and there were battles raging on all sides.  Some of them were overblown (including an honest-do-goodness "fake news" story - see below).  Some of them were unnecessary.  And then some of them were

Unfinished Business

November 19, 2017, 2330 hrs: Crorey arrives in Puerto Rico. 

A couple of days before my arrival, I saw this video that inspired me:

https://twitter.com/USACEHQ/status/930799330398699520

...and that video set the tone for expectations for the two-month effort.  It is true.  I fully expected to hear those cheers regularly.  I mean, I was not going to be the field guy, but that cheer when the lights went on was both the goal and the expectation:  I envisioned videos every few days from the field, as people get charged up, leaving me charged up as well.  I was going to be building relationships, fighting to get funding to get the mission completed, working to do the job. Bringing lights to the people of Puerto Rico.

Fifty eight days later, I am two days away from leaving a situation that is not yet fixed.  I am leaving behind work that still needs to be done, and it is work that needs to be done in areas I thought would be complete by now.

The work is not complete.  I am leaving without having done what I thought I would be able to do.  There should be a feeling of satisfaction that accompanies the completion of a mission, a sign that announces MISSION COMPLETE!

Or, at the least, there should be a profound sense of accomplishment associated with furthering the mission.  I am just a cog, but I am a cog in a significant effort.  And I am adding my weight to the pushing.

I am struggling to get my arms wrapped around what I am feeling right now.  It is not disappointment in my effort or in the mission.  The situation needed our attention, and it needed that attention right away.  We came in and pushed as hard as we possibly could.  It was, and is, a good mission.  It has been an incredible effort.

It also has nothing to do with the people working the mission.  Everyone I met - with one notable exception (adult beverage conversation) represented the best of what the Corps of Engineers brings to the work it does.  They are dedicated.  They work hard. 

Changing the Mission

"In 8.3 miles, take a left on De Diego Boulevard."  The voice on the navigator's iPhone counted down as we got closer to our destination.  "In 7.5 miles, take a left on De Diego...."

Ugh.  I hate the talking map.

But regardless of my feelings about it, the voiced gps is a critical tool here.  So today we were listening to some disembodied voice tell us where to go, and we followed it blindly.

In between instructions, I thought of how our mission has changed since we first came.  When we first arrived in Puerto Rico, we were desperate to get people and material onto the island (well, we are still desperate to get materials here).

Empty trucks parked on the yard in the middle of the day.

But we are now focusing on a whole new set of variables.  How do we increase productivity on a time-and-materials contract?  How do we ensure that the lines are assigned to crews who can complete them fastest?  How do we acquire access to staging areas where we can put stuff where it is easy to get to?  When do we stop using the generator that we put in to power up a community down south?

As we answer those questions, our focus changes.

It really isn't all that different from listening to the disembodied New Zealand female voice defining the road I am going down.  She can't really see where we are going, she doesn't know what the traffic is like (I know, current technology is getting there, but still), and she doesn't know what tree has fallen across the road and is going to make us turn around and find another route.

She also gets stuff wrong.  Sometimes she sends me down a one-way street the wrong way - which happened.  Or tells me to take a left, which would take me across a four-foot concrete barrier and across oncoming traffic on a six-lane highway - which also happened.  Or takes me to a gated community that is ALSO named Calle 2....

But she knows where the roads are.  And she gives you a good general map of the landscape.  And she can help navigate the way there.  She can even re-calibrate your path, depending on which gated community you accidentally turned into.

Our plan of action - every plan of action - is the same way.  We have a lot of information that we use to come up with the path we will follow.  And there is a certain point at which it is better to commit to the path you are on, despite a little bit of traffic (we got stuck for 45 minutes in a choke-point on the road today, because we weren't willing to find a new path).  Until there is clear benefit for changing the path, we stay the course.

But if we are clinging to the words on the page - the road map we agreed to at the beginning - we are sending bad money after good.  Some times, we have better, more recent information than we knew when the plan was established.  When that happens, our path changes.

"In 4 miles, take a left on De Diego...."

We are further down the road.  We are no longer where we started, and slavishly following the original instructions is stupid.

We took a left on De Diego.  We got to the yard.  We counted trucks and talked to the yard manager.  We got information about how desperate they were for the materials.  We heard about their concerns about salvaging the material from old poles.  We took down names.  We got a feel for the frustration they feel, about the safety concerns (a guy fell 50' from a tower last week - and survived) and about what they need to do their work well.  Some were defensive.  Some were challenging us.  Some evaded.

All of them are here to fix the problems.  All are going down the path with us.  And trying to bring the lights back on.  Suggesting different paths, arguing with us about how to light up the island.

They are like us.  They are here.

Estamos aqui.

What is Wrong?

This situation is a mess.  Despite everyone's hard work and great intentions, the situation here is just rough.

We have so many problems, that I have to number them.

1.  When the Corps of Engineers came down to Puerto Rico, we were tasked with doing one thing.  Eventually, the work we were doing was morphed into something else. And then something else.  First we were restoring the grid (ESTAMOS AQUI!).  Then we were restoring all power to everyone (YAY!).  Then we were restoring some power, and working with the local utility to bring the rest back (POWER TO THE PEOPLE!).  It is difficult, however, to capture the flag if your end zones keep changing.

We are working in partnership with FEMA, who is providing the funds, and with the local electric board.  PREPA is a public utility, they are flat broke (having declared bankruptcy in July of last year), they have a system that is hopelessly outdated, and are almost entirely made up of people who replaced their predecessors, many of whom got fired after the storm.

The media reported on something this week that demonstrates a serious issue.  There is a warehouse that was under the control of the local public utilities company.  Apparently, there was a bit of consternation about the fact that they were not coming forward with the stuff that was stockpiled there.  The lead from FEMA gave the strong impression in a stakeholders meeting that she was not above using Federal Marshals to storm the place and turn the materials over to the contractors doing the work.

The story here gets a little muddy.  But the best I can figure out, the warehouse was filled with materials from dead projects.  You know, like that 1958 Ford Fairlane that you have in your garage, but have never been able to complete?  The parts are stacked up, but you have completely given up on getting it running again.

And yet, if someone asked you for parts for fixing cars, you might not think of your Fairlane.

That is kind of what the current situation was with the power company.  They had dead project stuff.  Not well catalogued.  Not usable for regular maintenance.  Not on anybody's radar.  There is also suggestions that the information about what was there had been made available, but that the right people did not know about it.  (The communication issues following a disaster is a whole different blog entry).

Watering the Turf

I hate turf wars.

One of my jobs back in Vicksburg is to hold a monthly discussion session with people on how to collaborate.  My team pulls people together who are struggling to work together, helps them identify a common goal, and gets them talking.  Sometimes it is easy when we have an easily definable common goal.  Other times we have competing missions that make it impossible to do so.

But my job is to start people talking and sharing resources.

An simple example of something that worked this past year:  We had a significant re-org in our office, and we were thrown into a new group.  And the time with the boss is the scarce resource, and we were competing for it without discussing the problems among ourselves. We weren't talking.  There was no hostility.... but there was no relationship.

Individually, we were talking.  Some of us, anyway. But we needed to talk regularly.  And our weekly formal briefing meetings were not cutting it.

I instituted a CrockPot Thursday.

Every Thursday, I would put some large hunk of meat - pork, beef, chicken, wild boar, venison, sausage, whatever - into the pot.  And I would put in all of the supplemental pieces of deliciousness - potatoes, celery, carrots, pasta, kale, garlic, onions, and other stuff.  Most of the time I'd make a pico de gallo to accompany it.  And the vehicle for getting it in - tortillas, baguettes; sandwich bread, rolls... and the sour cream, mustard, hot sauce - we did it all.

The Last Mile

Where do we stop?

As a representative of the US Federal Government, I find it to be a significant question.

In my agency, we answer the question - in some form - every day.  The feds have nothing to do with paving your street.  The feds don't get into the business of trimming the trees on the railway lines, or throwing away garbage.  They don't make sure that your boat's slip is deep enough for your boat, or that your carport's roof doesn't leak.  For our day-to-day decisions, we have a concept of what comprises Federal Interest - what makes an investment to be one of national importance.  If it does not rise to that level, it might be nice to do, but it is not in the purview of the Federal Gummint.  (Unless Congress tells us that it is, which happens from time to time: see New Orleans' SELA project for an example.)

In times of disaster, however, those lines get blurred a lot.  We tend to do things in the wake of a disaster that we don't normally do, just to make it so people can get their lives re-started.  Things like blue roofs.  And debris cleanup.

And like my work - power restoration.  (Not usually a Corps mission)

But how far do we go to complete the mission?  Do we deliver electricity to the substation?  To the last transformer in the neighborhood?  To the power pole next to your house?  To your house?  Inside your house?

The Beauty of Recovery

When I arrived in Puerto Rico, just a few days before Thanksgiving, almost two full months has passed since Maria made landfall in Puerto Rico.  And I don't know what I expected to find.  But even then, there were indications that recovery was going to be fast and slow.

Amazing food, everywhere - the kitchens were open.  Lots of hustle and bustle.  Grocery stores, stocked with food.  A few shelves were a little threadbare, but there was nothing that I needed that I couldn't get.  Well, except for a hotel room....

I came in to my office on day, and on the way I saw some beautiful flowers, and almost immediately fell in love with the tropical paradise.  It was as if I was hearing half of the song from West Side Story:

Always the pineapples growing, 
Always the coffee blossoms blowing . . . 

Yes.  It is still a disaster zone.  There were piles of debris.  There were downed trees and power lines.  There were buildings with broken windows.

And then, there were some trees that had just started to put on leaves, despite the hit.

Plumeria with a few remaining leaves.

All the leaves that remained were tattered, and most were ripped off.  But there was, at least, a little evidence of what could come back.

What is your estimate?

Quick:

Your power is down to your island.  You haven't even had time to assess, and there are people who need answers today.  How many lines need to be repaired?  How many lines need to be replaced? How many towers do you need?  How many transformers?  How many insulators?

Just days before I arrived here in Puerto Rico, there were a hundred people in a massive meeting, and they came armed with forms and numbers and assistants who carried more of pieces of paper with more numbers. The cost estimator stood up, pointed to the spreadsheet projected on the screen, and explained (through a translator, for those who spoke less English):

What we have here is every region in Puerto Rico, with the number of miles of power lines associated with each area.  What we need you to do is help us figure out how much damage there was for each of the lines in your district.  We need two estimates:  how many poles per mile you think are damaged, and how many poles per mile you think are destroyed.

"Arecibo, there exists in your district 72 miles of the 230kv transmission lines.  How much do you estimate is damaged?  How much destroyed?"

The three people from Arecibo start working through their reports, looking for answers to provide  to the group, hoping to get the number right.  Guessing too low would mean that there would be areas left undone.  But it needs to be a serious estimate, and any fluff would take away from areas of the country that have need.

 The transformer lines - the big metal towers - are the easiest, because helicopters flew the lines and counted downed towers.  All those need to be replaced, and we can estimate damage to  the others. The answer is 50 miles.

"Good.  Now let's do the next one.  How about the 115kv lines?"

One by one, line by line, region by region, the estimates are provided, and once everyone agrees, Derek puts them up on the spreadsheet.

And that is the estimate that we have been using for our work on ever since.

We immediately ordered half of what the spreadsheet said we needed.  The spreadsheet reflected a wish list, and most of the system needs to be replaced - Puerto Rico has struggled to invest in and provide upgrades to the infrastructure.  That wish list is huge.

Turn! Turn! (Too late).

All I wanted to do was get to the other side of the interstate.

This week, we got moved to a different office across town, and in this new space, I don't know my way around.  There is an center with a few shops right across the highway, and I decided on the first day that I wanted to stop by there on my way home.  The road that I use to get back onto the highway is not well marked.  The brilliant traffic engineers responsible for this masterpiece created a series of access tunnels under the highway that would make a hobbit proud.  It is a warren of unmarked burrows, and each one takes you to a different magical place.

My first entry took me on an epic, and completely unexpected, journey along the highway to the west.  I honestly have no idea how.

A half hour, three illegal left hand turns later, and a few near misses with massive buses and trucks, and I am back where I started.  Second try at the intersection:  OK, the left road took me the wrong way, so I will try the middle road, which will surely take me across.

Christmas Lights

When I got here two weeks ago, there were no functioning traffic lights, and the rules we normally follow for lights that are out of service do not apply here in the land of San Juan.

For that matter, I am not sure that I understand the traffic rules that do apply here under normal circumstances.  But we are definitely not in the land of "All lanes stop, and traffic proceeds in turns from the right".

In the post-Maria environment, driving in San Juan is a winner-take-all, devil-take-the-hindmost clustermess of the first order.  And rights of tonnage do apply: the biggest, baddest vehicles win every head-to-head confrontation. Literally.

There is also a scarification system in place, where battered vehicles have an advantage over pristine ones.  (Drafting on the bumper of a semi as it barrels through the intersections, riding the wave of scattered vehicles and honking sedans.... well, I find it to be an effective technique, when I can manage it.)  The driving, as I mentioned before, appeals to my chaotic nature, and brings out a different personality in me.  I love it.