As the gulf coast cleans up after the latest in a series of hurricanes, most Americans think back to Hurricane Katrina.

The effects of Katrina will forever be embedded in the psyche of our generation; visions of the poor, the helpless and sadly, the forgotten. The horrendous response of our government as people drowned, as dead bodies were stacked one upon another, as people lay dying of dehydration and bacterial infections from the e coli in the water supply, will and should forever haunt us.

 For me, when I hear the word 'hurricane' I think of another. I remember Hurricane Agnes in June 1972. At the time Agnes was one of the most damaging hurricane ever recorded.

I had just come home from college, and like most college students, my life was relatively carefree. There was news of a hurricane in Florida, but no one seemed to pay much attention. The local news warned that the Chemung River might overflow. What? I knew the Chemung River -- I walked the bridge over that river everyday that I went to school at Saints Peter and Paul on the south side of town. It never overflows! But it was the bullhorn in the middle of the night that made us realize that Agnes was more than a news story. We were ordered to evacuate our home.

My task was to get food for the dog, as my mom and dad gathered important papers and valuables, so that we could go to the local high school. I remember grabbing my most valued possession -- my skis (shows my upside down priorities). As I stepped into our family car I remember my feet getting wet. What was everyone making such a fuss about? The shallow water that was innocently streaming down the street couldn't have been more than a few inches high. Strangely though, it whipped harshly as it came around the corner. That was a sign of what was to come.

As the waters continued to rise, we were again forced to evacuate from the high school and for the first time in my life, I saw fear in my parents' eyes. We were fortunate to be able to go to a friend's home at a higher elevation. Suddenly, my skis meant very little. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed again. I didn't want to stay in a stranger's home anymore. I wanted to eat some home cooked food. Two days later we were allowed to go home.

I remember the ride home. The National Guard was everywhere. Everything was dirty and brown and quiet. There was a condemned sign where the porch of our house once was. We were not allowed to live there. Where were we supposed to go? We lost everything. Who would take care of us? The pain doesn't end when the waters receded.
   
Our house looked tilted and undressed- no porch, no shutters, no carefully tended garden. There were mud lines on the second floor of our house. The bedroom I left, which I fully expected would be the same when I returned, had been visited by a raging flood. It wasn't the same: it would never be. Nor would life in the small bucolic town of Elmira, New York ever be.

Dad desperately tried to get someone to do repairs and clean up. People were fighting for contractors to make their homes right again. There were few to be found. And so some neighbors waited, some cried, some turned to drinking or whatever their demons might be. Some got divorced, others suffered from depression, and still others moved away never to be heard from again. I remember one neighbor who stayed on the roof of his home with a shotgun during the flood who only came down when the Red Cross came by with food and coffee.

Now when I go home to Elmira to visit mom and cross the bridge over the Chemung River as it quietly flows under that bridge that I crossed to school so many years ago, I think about all the people whose lives were forever changed by the evening news which seems ever so far removed from the reality of life.

The opinions expressed in Jeanine's Journal belong solely to Jeanine Pirro, and do not reflect the opinions or beliefs of the series' producers, AND Syndicated Productions, Inc., its parents and successors, employees, officers, agents, directors, subsidiaries, divisions, affiliates and assigns. Producers are not responsible for the accuracy of any information provided by Ms. Pirro. It is recommended that you consult with an attorney in your area.