Checks, tarps, and still some discontent

A line of 200 cars snakes along the street and through the gates of the Lawnwood Recreation Area in Fort Pierce on Florida's Atlantic coast, each vehicle crawling to the spot at which sweating volunteers pile bags of ice, food, and water into the trunk. As the motorists edge forward, two men wearing Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) tags walk the line under a chromium sun, handing out fliers that invite people to telephone for disaster assistance.

"Call any time, day or night," they urge.

So far, more than 611,000 Floridians have taken up the invitation in the wake of hurricanes Charley, Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne - and thousands more are expected to.

The storms' collective impact is creating the largest federal relief effort in US history, bigger than the response to the 1994 Northridge earthquake in California and the 9/11 terror attacks. It is providing the ultimate test - and an opportunity to make amends - for an agency that 12 years ago was widely criticized for its recovery efforts after hurricane Andrew.

Experts say the agency, often a faceless, forgotten bureaucracy until disaster strikes, has learned much since then. They credit it with being far more responsive this time around, an attentiveness perhaps enhanced by the state's political importance in a presidential election year.

It has flooded the state with more than 3,700 agents, already inspected more than 280,000 homes, and acted as the nation's unofficial banker-hardware store - distributing everything from plastic sheeting to five-figure checks.

Yet complaints persist, some of them the inevitable result of dealing with multiple tragedies and some of them the result of bureaucratic inertia. Homeowners and local officials grouse about inadequate relief supplies and slow loan processing. On the ground, FEMA is alternately perceived as a savior or villain. "Six weeks, four hurricanes, all these people needing help. I don't know how FEMA even knew where to start," says Connie Lim, who had just banked a check the agency gave her for repairs to her mobile home following hurricane Frances when Jeanne struck last weekend. "The first time, they said they would give me money to fix the house. Now they're sending someone round to work it all out again. We couldn't afford it otherwise."

Her mobile home in Country Cove, an enclave of Fort Pierce, used to have three bedrooms. Frances damaged the roof, then Jeanne ripped it off and blew out a wall, leaving just one bedroom which she shares with her husband and four children. There is no power and no water. If it rains, says Ms. Lim, we'll have to sleep in the car.

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