Volunteers and residents pose for a photo at the rock where...

Volunteers and residents pose for a photo at the rock where a plaque is displayed that is dedicated to Camp Bulldog on Thursday in Lindenhurst. Credit: Newsday/Alejandra Villa Loarca

A decade after Superstorm Sandy devastated large swaths of Lindenhurst's South Shore, the words inscribed on a plaque near the site of what had been Camp Bulldog still ring true for many: When Mother Nature was at its worst, human nature was at its best.

Camp Bulldog — a soup kitchen, supply pantry, resource center and communal gathering place — gave shellshocked residents an oasis after the Oct. 29, 2012 storm. It was one of Long Island's largest and longest-lasting relief centers 

“When people came through that tent, you could tell from the look on their face what they needed, which is someone’s arm around them and something warm to eat and someone to listen,” said Andrea Curran, 68, the camp’s manager.

Named after Lindenhurst schools’ mascot, the camp was born when Robin Hartman, 68, and her husband, Morris Hartman, 71, drove around the community in the days after Sandy.

“When you see people’s whole lives out on the street, it’s just awful,” she said. “We knew we had to do something and the only thing I knew was food.”

Started in marina driveway

Armed with a couple of folding tables and a tray of baked ziti, Hartman set up in the driveway of a marina on Wellwood Avenue and began soliciting food from local restaurants.

Curran said the stars were aligned when she and her husband, Bob Curran Jr., 69, arrived at that driveway. Curran, of West Islip, had recently retired from her job as a physical education teacher at the middle school and wanted to give back to the community.

“I didn’t know anyone, but someone said ‘can you come back tomorrow?’ and we all did,” she said of those who would become part of a core group of two dozen volunteers.

Soon lines of cars were causing traffic jams on Wellwood Avenue and the village relocated the camp to the parking lot of Shore Road Park.

Camp Bulldog, a relief center for Superstorm Sandy victims, in...

Camp Bulldog, a relief center for Superstorm Sandy victims, in Lindenhurst in December 2012. Credit: Bob Curran Jr.

A tent and heaters were donated. Restaurants offered up food and coffee. Clothing and cleaning supplies arrived by the truckload.

A webpage created by volunteers allowed for instant fulfillment of daily needs.

“All of a sudden we had all this stuff, it just grew overnight,” Curran said, with donations coming from businesses, nonprofits, schools, churches and private citizens locally and across the country. “The way it just kept evolving was truly amazing.”

Center for relief efforts

A grassroots effort that eluded politics or any outside organizational influence, Camp Bulldog became the center for relief efforts in Lindenhurst and surrounding communities. All it took was a phone call or a Facebook post and needed help arrived, whether it was hamburger buns, a gift card or someone to move destroyed furniture out of a house.

Hundreds came to the tent seven days a week, many distraught or embarrassed to ask for help. Camp staff offered meals and a sympathetic ear.

“We were creating a place where we were not only feeding them food, we were feeding their souls,” said volunteer MaryEllen Schnepf, 68, of West Islip. “They needed love and understanding and empathy. But they also needed a place to laugh, so as the days went on, we would do silly and fun things.”

Patti Parez, 83, and her husband, Rich Parez, 86, were out of their home for 18 months after losing almost all of their possessions.

“For me it was very frightening because we didn’t know where to go,” she said. “It was a lot of stress but they were there for us.”

Millie Perrotta, 73, and her sister Linda Vanderhoof, 74, first came looking for hot coffee. Like many, they were living with friends and relatives outside Lindenhurst but visited the tent daily while checking on the work being done on their house.

“We would gather there and discuss what point we were at with the house and what we were being told by FEMA and the horror stories about contractors,” Perrotta said. “It was a saving grace”

Information on bulletin board

Eventually the sisters, like many patrons, began to give back by donating pantry items and cooking for the camp.

A bulletin board in the tent provided information and staff would share word of available grants or resources for residents. In time, government agencies and nonprofits did their outreach through the Shore Road hub. Project Hope, a crisis counseling program, offered mental health services, while mobile legal and vaccination clinics gave advice and tetanus shots.

“They imparted so much knowledge in us that they helped us get through such a trying time,” said Rhonda Verrier, 72. “Sometimes I’d be crying and Remi [her husband] would have tears in his eyes and they picked us up and helped us dust ourselves off so we could forge through another day.”

Donna Stippel, 65, who has fibromyalgia, traveled from Huntington every day to cook, serve food and help load cars with meals to deliver to those who couldn’t get to the park.

“We tried to make it a little more like home for them,” she said of camp patrons.

Helping other storm victims

Greg Tarquinio, 57, of Middle Island saw the storm’s destruction on television and went down to the park where he played Little League while growing up in West Babylon. He spent weekends unloading trucks and sorting donations. Witnessing the daily selflessness on display at the camp, Tarquinio was inspired to help other storm victims and has traveled to other states, including to Florida after Hurricane Ian, to do relief work.

“That experience at Camp Bulldog kind of jump-started me,” he said. “I know what I can do to help now so I said let me go out and see what other things I can do.”

Through frigid temperatures and snowstorms that once caused the tent to collapse, volunteers nourished mind, body and soul through the winter holidays, offering up toys for Christmas and corned beef for St. Patrick’s Day. By the spring, donations had tapered off.

The time had come to close shop, Curran said. Volunteers were getting burned out and residents were finding avenues of strength elsewhere. The Camp Bulldog tent was taken down at the end of April 2013.

“Camp Bulldog gave us the strength even when they were no longer there to continue to fight for what we needed, because [the volunteers] gave so much of themselves to try to make us whole again,” Verrier said. “So many people in Lindenhurst could not have made it through this without them.”

Hundreds of Long Island educators are double dipping, a term used to describe collecting both a salary and a pension. NewsdayTV's Shari Einhorn and Newsday investigative reporter Jim Baumbach report. Credit: Newsday/A.J. Singh

'Let somebody else have a chance' Hundreds of Long Island educators are double dipping, a term used to describe collecting both a salary and a pension. NewsdayTV's Shari Einhorn and Newsday investigative reporter Jim Baumbach report.

Hundreds of Long Island educators are double dipping, a term used to describe collecting both a salary and a pension. NewsdayTV's Shari Einhorn and Newsday investigative reporter Jim Baumbach report. Credit: Newsday/A.J. Singh

'Let somebody else have a chance' Hundreds of Long Island educators are double dipping, a term used to describe collecting both a salary and a pension. NewsdayTV's Shari Einhorn and Newsday investigative reporter Jim Baumbach report.

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