Staten Island—The Forgotten Struggle

By SHAWN MOYNIHAN

Adriann Conigatti is angry.

A Staten Island resident and mother of three, she's a sharp,middle-class working woman in her early 40s who, along with herhusband Rob, now finds herself in a tight spot one year afterSuperstorm Sandy. Not unlike many residents of Richmond County, shefeels that the insurance industry has failed her.

The night Sandy swept through Staten Island dealing anunprecedented level of destruction, the Conigatti family hunkereddown on the second floor of their house on Seaver Avenue about amile from the water's edge of the Atlantic Ocean. The approachingstorm surge of water, wrought by winds that reached speeds of 85mph, “looked like a little tsunami, it was coming and taking carsin seconds,” she recalls. “It just tossed them around.”

As many Staten Islanders did that night, the Conigattis decidedto ride out the storm—a decision they lived to regret. The surgeswept in but never ended, creeping around their home and throughany crevice it could find. Adriann, Rob and their three children,Cassandra, 12; Caterina, 8; and Robert, 5, headed for the secondfloor and hoped the water would stop.

It didn't. The sliding glass doors on the back porch blew infrom the force of the water, shattering with a blast of pressure.By 2 a.m., the waters had burst inside and risen so high that theycame within an inch of the second floor—at nearly 9 feet.

“From 8 to 2 we just kept praying,” she says. “I was justresigned to the fact that we were stuck there until morning.” Butwhen a neighbor directed a Boy Scout rescue rowboat to their house,the terrified family escaped—along with three cats in onecarrier—and didn't look back.

Their lives, and those of every Staten Islander who livedthrough Sandy, would never be the same.

THE NIGHTMARE

That night, Sandy dealt Staten Island a blowthe likes of which it has never seen. Towns like Oakwood Beach,South Beach and Tottenville, all ocean-facing communities, wereinundated blocks inland by waves that engulfed houses and killedresidents, many of them senior citizens, who ignored orders toevacuate. Hundreds of families were forced from their floodedhomes.

David Haggerty, 74, and his sister, Charlotte Brewster, 65,drowned when the storm surge forced its way inside their MidlandBeach bungalow. As the storm surge approached their Mills Avenuehouse, Andrew and Angela Sammarco rushed into their basement tofetch their laptop computers from a home office and escape. Butwater too quickly filled their South Beach basement, separating thecouple and trapping 61-year-old Andrew behind a door. His wife, whowas on the other side of the door and near the stairway out, couldonly watch helplessly before she was pulled out byfirefighters.

John Filipowicz, 51, a bus driver, and John Jr., 20, were foundin their basement at 72 Fox Beach Ave., locked in a finalfather-and-son embrace. They appeared to have been crushed bydebris inside the basement, police said.

Others fled on foot, their cars washed away by the ragingwaters. In one such chilling, tragic incident that many residentsrecounted for days, Connor and Brandon Moore, aged 4 and 2, wereswept away from their mother when the tidal surge overwhelmed herSUV. Police found their bodies in a marsh off a dead-end road thenext day, about 15 yards apart.

By the time the deafening winds had ceased andfirst light pulled back the curtain on the swath of itsdestruction, Superstorm Sandy had taken the lives of 24 StatenIslanders.

The next morning, the borough lay silent, its residentsshell-shocked. Cell phone service was nearly nonexistent; the vastmajority of residents had no electricity. Power lines were strewnacross Island streets. With no power, the information blackout waswidespread; neighbors traded stories they'd heard of people who hadperished in their homes, trapped by the waters they thought couldnever touch them. Only, sadly, many of those tales proved true.

At fuel stations, lines formed almost instantly by those seekinggasoline to power generators. In a borough where driving is thepreferred—and best—means of transportation, panicked residentslined up in desperate hope of filling their tanks as word spreadthat gas was in short supply.

And with so much lost by so many, the policy claims began toroll in.

THE AWAKENING

On Nov. 1, the Conigattis were able to returnto their home. Just a few towns away in Midland Beach, residentshad already began the heartbreaking process of clearing out theirhomes, all their possessions now amounting to 8-foot heaps of trashawaiting pickup. In some neighborhoods, rows of houses showed thissame scene.

Adriann knew what she'd likely find. “At that point we were justwondering what was left,” she says, and when they walked in, whatthey discovered was every bit as bad as she expected. The entirefirst floor of their home had been wiped out, its contents ruined.They knew the first floor would have to be gutted “down to thesticks,” in contractor-speak. Sump pumps had failed, spewingsewage—another all-too-common lament in Island homes besieged bythe storm.

Still, she wasn't that worried. For years, the Conigattis hadmaintained flood cover, including a contents rider, on their home;Adriann has known her agent since she received her driver's licenseand purchased her first auto policy, and bundles her coverage.

She reached out to her carrier, and in the meantime hired aprivate adjuster, a friend of a friend, to have a look around hersaturated property and handle the claim. He was optimistic thatthings would be expedited fairly, if not quickly. With hundreds ofothers filing claims simultaneously, those with total losses—thetrue hard cases—would likely be resolved first. And everyone onStaten Island who had a claim knew there was someone else worse offthan they were.

“We thought we were going to be OK,” she says.

Three weeks later, an Allstate adjuster arrived, made his ownassessment, and delivered the news.

The Conigattis' first floor had been classified as a basement,because to enter the first floor, it's one step down. The outerwalls, which are cement, are part of the foundation. Twostrikes.

“It was an awakening,” says Adriann. “For years I paid my floodpremiums—no one in the neighborhood had coverage like I did. Butonce they consider you a basement, contents are off the table.”

Her insurer paid out on her heating unit, hot water heater andwasher & dryer, all at pro-rated amounts. Sheet rock would beincluded to help replace the walls, but the cost of taping them wasout. The windows were a fight as well, she said, an argument sheeventually won. “And then you find out that flood [insurance] alsodoesn't cover things that are outside, like the shed and the fence,which makes no sense to me; a flood happens outside.”

All told, the Conigattis' settlement fell farshort of the cost of the damages, which had been estimated at morethan $100,000.

At this point, the family faced the same option many otherStaten Islanders had: a federal Small Business Administration loan.At around 3 percent interest (a reasonably favorable rate), theConigattis felt they had little choice if they wanted to startrepairs on their home and return their lives to somethingapproaching normalcy. At the time, any federal aid or other grantsjust couldn't be guaranteed.

The stress of maxing out their credit cards just to begin thework was too much. “You're depleting your savings to get your heatand electric back on,” she says. “I have three kids; you want toget back in your house so that they have a place to live.”

So they applied, were accepted, and borrowed $72,000 over 30years. But complications remained. As is the case with FEMA grants,the SBA loans require the lendee to carry flood insurance. TheConigattis' policy recently came up for renewal, and the post-Sandypremiums have quadrupled. But they have no choice, even thoughfinances are tight for this typical Staten Island middle-classfamily. Simply put, they can pay for the insurance or they can selltheir house.

“It's so frustrating,” Adriann says. “You think you're doing theright thing all these years. We've been lucky enough never to needbenefits through the government or unemployment, or anything, andwhen you do need help you find out from your insurer that you'renot eligible.

“A part of you gets jaded,” she adds. “Until something happens,that's when you really find out what you're covered for.”

THE OUT-OF-TOWNERS

At the Limeri Insurance Agency in the StatenIsland town of Great Kills, all Sandy claims have been closed forabout two months now, nearly a year after the superstorm. FredLimeri, an independent agent and the agency's proprietor, saysout-of-town adjusters were brought in out of necessity to processthe mounting claims proved troublesome in some cases.

“Adjusters from Kentucky, Missouri or Idaho don't have the sameappreciation of New York property,” he says, noting that a housethat would be valued at $80-$90K where they came from is, in manycases, worth twice as much here on half as much land. “You see someassessments and you just go, 'That can't be right.'

“I told my clients, 'If you feel that [the assessment is] off,give me some proof where you think it's off and we'll fight theclaims, and we did.”

Still, he adds, the complaints he saw that received highvisibility via social media in the weeks after Sandy were theresult of people who either at best just didn't care to know whatprotections their policies included, or, at worst, did know anddecided to roll the dice and not carry certain types of cover—andlost.

“You see a lot of postings on Facebook that say, 'I've beeninsured with this carrier for how many years and I only got $136.'Now, did they think they had flood insurance and really just had ahomeowner's policy? I just can't believe that would happen.

“I've been in this business for 40 years,” he adds. “I try toeducate people. Do you understand what the differences are in typesof coverage? Do you understand no-fault laws?”

Many local businesses on Staten Island were among those whogambled on their coverage and came up broke. On Midland Avenue,long a stretch lined with small businesses, only half of them atbest have re-opened.

Those types of coverage decisions, Limeri notes, are not alwaysnecessarily made out of frugality, but practicality.

“All they're concerned about is cost,” he says of smallbusinesses when discussing business interruption cover. “Just aboutall of them want it when you explain to them why it's important,but many feel it's just an expense that they don't want to take on.They may realize it's not the right thing to do, but they're moreconcerned about payroll and putting food on the table than whathappens two years from now.”

Sandy's economic impact could be felt by Island businesses forthe next several years, says Dean Balsamini, director of StatenIsland's Small Business Development Center. His office dealt with250 small businesses affected by Sandy to varying degrees, some ofthem devastated. Some have recovered, like Scaran oil &heating, whose offices were destroyed; and Nunzio's pizzeria, arestaurant that some thought would never re-open after beingsubmerged for days. Others weren't as fortunate.

“We still have some major challenges,” Balsamini says. “The newjobs being created aren't the highest-paying. But we have anincreasing immigrant population that is looking to becomeentrepreneurs—and we have a sizable health care industry here.”

The face of Staten Island is changing a bit, he adds, “for somecases good and other cases not so good,” but one thing is certain:Staten Island is now on notice for its next major hurricane, andthe stakes for another recovery are high. “It's not just once acentury anymore. That's been made loud and clear.”

THE FORGOTTEN

Sometimes jokingly referred to as “the forgotten borough” (somuch so that it actually voted to secede from the city in 1993, anaction defused by newly elected Mayor Rudy Giuliani), Staten Islandis a borough of middle-class, hardworking people that maintains adistinct small-town feel, despite its population of more than478,000 at last count.

As New Yorkers, they are practical, proud and pull together intimes of need, and Sandy was no exception. When Vivian Norman, alongtime resident of Dongan Hills, found her home to be yet anotherclaimed by the storm, her family and neighbors rallied to help.

While she experienced little agony in dealing with her insurerand was lucky enough to receive a FEMA grant after her daughter,Sally, spent weeks on the phone, she recalls, it was the outpouringof support from those closest to her that helped restore her home.Her experience is a microcosm of how Island residents coped in theaftermath.

“It shined through everything we went through,” she says. “Ifyou needed food, blankets, clothes, water, it was there. Everybodyrallied.” Her neighbors bartered for each other's services; onetackled the task of tiling her new bathroom. Electricians tradedfavors with plumbers.

And now, those residents are skeptical of any outside help beingoffered to them. This year, only about a third of those eligiblefor assistance from the federal government applied for it, due todisinterest, cynicism or both.

Case in point: NYC Build it Back offers hundreds of thousands ofdollars in aid. Through Community Development Block Grants,residents can sign up for an assessment, and depending upon theireligibility, can have their home repaired and/or elevated; theycould have an elevated home built from scratch on their property;or they could have their property acquired by the city to beredeveloped, at post-storm value.

Local politicians have resorted to going door to door in some ofthe hardest-hit areas, trying to encourage them to apply. Yet sinceJune, only 3,000 Staten Islanders have taken advantage of it—abouthalf of the number the city has estimated are eligible forhelp.

Many Islanders feel they won't get a cent, and are blunt intelling politicians that to their faces. Others don't want any more“help” from outsiders, thanks very much; they remember all too wellhow the Red Cross and FEMA trucks, set up in devastated Midlandbeach, were closed the day one inch of snow fell, just days afterthey set up shop.

Some, like Adriann Conigatti, are simply uninformed aboutexactly what the program offers. When it's mentioned to her, shederides it at first—but upon NU's insistence, shereluctantly agrees to investigate it further by the end of ourconversation.

Others just want to get on with their lives and put the horrorsof Sandy behind them. These are time-strapped, working familieswho, in many cases, tend to grieve all too briefly and just get onwith it.

Indeed, many Staten Islanders, unfortunately, are going toforget about Sandy, says Limeri. “They forgot about Irene already,and that was only a year before.”

His advice, then?

“Don't forget,” he says. He pauses, gathering himself tocontinue. “Don't ever forget, 'cause once we forget, we lose ourdirection. Meet with your agent. Go over your coverage, understandyour coverage. Then you know you'll be properly protected. Then youwon't be so concerned with the cost as opposed to what you'reactually getting.”

The Jersey Shore—Trapped inPurgatory

By CHAD HEMENWAY

The Ward Agency is a small firm on the Jersey shore that mostlyoffers personal lines coverage, as well as some business insuranceand even financial planning. It is also just a block away from thebeach on Ocean Avenue, in Point Pleasant Beach, N.J. But since themain office is on 10-foot-pilings, when Superstorm Sandy hit, theagency escaped damage. There was no power, and the agents had towork from their boss' house, but the agency itself wasuntouched.

A lot of their neighbors, however, were not so fortunate, andsuffered serious flood damage that in many cases remains unresolvedeven a year after the storm.

“I know they say 90-something percent of flood claims are closedbut that's just not right,” says Wendy Audino, a producer for theWard Agency. She says homeowners have received a check from theNational Flood Insurance Program, but by no means is the claim“closed.”

The same is true in the eyes of homeowners irritated by thedollar amount doled out by the program administered by the FederalEmergency Management Agency.

“We've got a lot of appeals,” says Ward. “They are going tofight for what they think they are owed.”

Philadelphia resident Jim Smart is one of those people. He andhis wife of 20 years have a second home in Mantoloking, N.J. onBarnegat Lane, just north of the Mantoloking Bridge where the oceanburst through and filled the Barnegat Bay. The home is on the bayand just a short walk to the ocean. When Sandy hit, the Smarts'home was right in harm's way.

“We had 3 to 5 feet of water in the house,” he says. “Everythingwas destroyed on the first floor. The French doors were blown out.We had to throw out everything but the pictures on the walls, butat least the place was still on the foundation.”

Some of his neighbors weren't so lucky. Several homes washedinto the bay. Others floated to rest in the middle of Route 35.

“We had $250,000 in [flood] coverage and theadjuster came in and easily got to that in damage,” says Smart, aUSAA policyholder. “But they found a way to work itdown—depreciation. We'll be appealing that decision.”

There is no mortgage on the home and therefore no requirement tobuy flood coverage. As far as he knows, the 85-year-old formerboathouse never had any water in it. But Smart says he liked theextra assurance his flood coverage gave him. Plus, it wasn't thatexpensive.

“If you have something to protect, and it's relatively cheap—itseemed like a no-brainer,” Smart adds. But now, he's not positivehe got what he paid for.

Homes and businesses in beach communities along the Jersey shorea year after Sandy are in various states of repair. Dumpstersremain a common sight, along with heavy construction equipment for“knock-downs”—shorthand for houses so damaged they must berazed.

More and more lots are empty. Hundreds of houses are gone. Manyof them have “Lot for Sale” signs posted. Some homes in need ofdemolition have realtor signs out front, leaving the headaches upto the buyer. It's a signal that some homeowners are resigned totaking a loss. In some cases, home valuations have been sliced inhalf. Lots are worth much more than the structure.

“Some people gave up,” Audino says. “They threw up their handsand walked away.”

Ed Caputo of Toms River isn't walking away.

“I love it here. My family loves it here,” he says from hiscorner-lot home bordering Ocean Terrace, about 100 yards from wherewaves audibly pound the shore. But ask about his dealings with thefederal insurance program, and you'll get some answers that aren'texactly fit for print.

“They duck their responsibility whenever and wherever they can,”says Caputo, who adds he was given a $32,000 check. “They cut everycorner to pay less. They did it to everyone around here. It's ashame.”

Caputo also has flood insurance, despite not having amortgage.

“I'm going to fight them every way and for as long as I can,” headds, predicting his patience will be tried in the process. “Theyalready lost three sets of paperwork and when you call them theperson you talked to the first time doesn't work thereanymore.”

Out-of-pocket expenses included thousands of dollars for sandremoval. Several feet of it was in the garage and basement.

“I've been paying my premium every year andgot nowhere near enough to fix everything,” he adds. “I still don'thave a furnace.”

Like Ward, Conover Beyer Assoc. in Manasquan, N.J. is helpingclients with grievances with the NFIP—“with the holes in coverage,”says Mike D'Altrui, vice president and sales manager.

It's a combination of arguments over depreciation as well asexterior damage, such as to pools and landscaping, as well as itemsin a garage or the disputes over the definition of a basement.

Mediation is mandatory. Some homeowners have already taken it tothe next level, which involves attorneys, says D'Altrui. “We're ahands-on agency; we try to give the best consultation we can.”

Ward, meanwhile, has gotten into the public-adjuster business.The agency has one in-house now.

“It's a curse word for insurers,” says Audino. “But homeownersneed someone on their side, and that became more evident afterSandy.”

Because their houses are second homes or because the damage wasdeemed not to exceed 50 percent of the home's value, manyhomeowners aren't eligible for federal grants to restore them.

“With the new flood maps, it could really become a problem forthem eventually, if it hasn't already,” says D'Altrui.

Some homeowners say they will make the difficult decision not tobuy flood insurance due to cost, especially those unable or notwilling to raise their homes as required in new flood plains.

One homeowner in Point Pleasant Beach, who preferred to remainanonymous, says he will use his insurance payout to pay off hismortgage so flood insurance isn't a required expenditure.

“People are considering all options,” D'Altrui observes. “But wehave a lot more inquiries about flood insurance. Realtors call.They want to be able to tell their clients what they're infor.”

The agents say insurers are available for virtually all risks.For the highest risks, however, a policyholder will pay the largestpremiums. Insurers that did not have wind deductibles in the policyhave since added them. Insurers that did have the deductible raisedthe percentage, says D'Altrui.

Audino says she's run into problems securing coverage for homesin “Sandy purgatory.” These homes have yet to get insurance money,are in the process of being renovated, or being torn down.

“Even in the excess market, it's difficult even to getstand-alone liability,” says Audino.

“The question now is, 'Was the home damaged by Sandy?'” saysD'Altrui. “If it was, they want to know what has been repaired.It's definitely an issue, even for the surplus market.”

Direct-to-surplus writings, he adds, are up substantially.

Though neither of them has plans to elevate his home, Smart andCaputo say they do intend to keep buying flood insurance. “Thesethings happen,” says Caputo. “Every 50-60 years these things hit,right?” But each add that they would consider other factors such asflood mitigation efforts.

“I hope it doesn't get to a point where we can't find acomfortable spot in the balance between flood insurance and what isbeing done to stop another flood,” Caputo adds.