Day-After Worry: What to Do With Extra Stuff

Jim Petrilli was already wondering Saturday what he’ll do with the two 55-gallon water tanks soaking up space in his Newport Beach garage.

Like many people who painstakingly prepared for the millennium, Petrilli stockpiled food, water and emergency supplies in case computer problems triggered disaster.

As initial reports flowed in that power, water and communications systems largely held up worldwide, the ultra-prepared spent New Year’s Day with a mixture of watchfulness, introspection and relief.

Despite the expense of preparing for problems--and despite the ridicule many say they faced from relatives and friends--few viewed their efforts as wasted.

“Emotionally, it helped,” said Diann Powell, who spent the last 14 months trying unsuccessfully to galvanize her Los Angeles neighbors to possible Y2K dangers. By New Year’s Eve, however, it was just her, her ailing parents and the water drums, canned food and solar generator she had assembled to protect them.

“I was willing to be wrong, but I was not willing to stand by and do nothing,” she said.

That sentiment was echoed Saturday in online gathering spots for the prepared and their more extreme brethren, survivalists.

Some voiced suspicions that the media had covered up Y2K failures, kowtowing to business or government influence. Skeptics heckled right back, though.

“Why don’t you quit while you’re behind and gently fade yourself out of the prophecy bizz [sic],” wrote one.

Most who prepared heavily insisted they did not feel foolish. Most, but not all.

“Is anybody else as totally embarrassed as I am right now?” one chat room participant wrote.

As New Year’s Eve nerves faded into New Year’s Day calm, Californians rationalized that their Y2K supplies would work just as well for the area’s periodic natural disasters.

“There’s always the next earthquake,” said Kina Preijers of Anaheim Hills, rationalizing her purchase of butane, dry food and a water-purifying system.

Serious preparers reiterated warnings Sunday that the true impact of the fabled computer bug may be felt over months, not hours.

Ed, a resident of Arcata in Northern California who declined to give his last name, said he expected economic effects, such as shortages and business failures, to take three to six months to unfold.

He said he did not regret uprooting his family from Iowa four months ago for Arcata’s more moderate climate and plentiful water supply. Or spending more than $20,000 on a solar power system, water purifiers and a year’s supply of food and fuel. Or buying two guns--the first he’s ever owned--to protect his family.

“It has really tested our mettle socially, religiously, in every way,” he said. “You think, ‘Am I a paranoid idiot?’. . . . If I see my kids starving, I’m going to do what I have to do and I know others would too.”

Southland community groups and churches that led preparedness efforts said fears about computer chaos accelerated in 1998 and peaked early last year. Then, after a flurry of media reports detailing how businesses and government agencies were getting ready, rifts developed.

“We had a period in February and March when our congregation was divided between hard-core survivalists and people who wanted to move on,” said Pastor Larry Mills of Sierra Madre Congregational Church, which formed a Y2K committee and built up a food pantry.

The extremists largely withdrew, wary of being branded crackpots or becoming targets if too many people around them knew of their stashes. As New Year’s passed, they shared tips and updates among themselves online but remained distrustful of outsiders.

“We don’t want to be patronized for our beliefs,” said one woman, refusing to give her name as she bought five gas masks at Tustin Military Surplus.

Others saw millennial preparations as a way to reconnect with neighbors.

About 50 Eureka residents paid $20 apiece to rent land and planted three acres of vegetables to eat if the area’s food supply dried up. So what are they going to do now with a million pounds of rutabagas?

“Maybe we’ll have a big rutabaga fest,” joked Rachel Windsong, one of the organizers.

“It’s nice to have a plan and carry it out,” she added. “A lot of people here feel much more capable of managing, not as dependent on technology. Those of us who started early, not the Johnny-come-latelies, got in touch with parts of ourselves we weren’t even aware of a year ago.”

Some Southland residents said they’ve been in touch with that part all along.

Long before Y2K was a gleam in a software engineer’s eye, Dolores and Christopher Nyerges started keeping chickens for eggs and growing their own vegetables. The Highland Park couple run the School of Self-Reliance, teaching others how to live off the land.

They made a few Y2K additions: The solar water heater was installed Tuesday, to go with the sun-powered radio, oven and flashlight. They jammed a few extra jumbo cans of tuna and five-gallon tubs of peanut butter into their already packed larder. They never got around to filling the beanbag chair with actual beans.

“We didn’t do anything that wasn’t in character,” Christopher Nyerges said.

They may have overreacted to disaster hype, he conceded, but so what?

“It’s possible that people will look back on this like the bomb shelters in the Cold War,” he said. “I would choose to be prepared regardless.”