We like to think we're tough here in New York, but I'm not ashamed to say that the thought of a hurricane coming right at us scared the wits out of me. Frankly, I don't know how folks in storm-prone areas live with this threat all the time.

What eased my nerves a bit was the discipline of risk management. Three decades of covering the insurance business certainly has left an impression. So I prepared for the worst-case scenario and hoped for the best.

Living in southern Brooklyn, not far from the beaches of Coney Island, put me on the cusp of one of New York City's coastal evacuation zones. So the first question was whether my wife and I should abandon our apartment. Residing on the sixth floor of a seven-story brick building, about a half-mile from the ocean to the south and Sheepshead Bay to the east, I felt somewhat secure from flooding.

However, what concerned me more was whether our windows would hold up against hurricane-force winds. If even one of the windows shattered or was blown out of their frame, wind and water would pour into our apartment. The only “safe” haven was the bathroom, which didn't have any windows, but that would be a pretty small sanctuary for my wife and me. Otherwise, we were totally exposed.

I was also concerned about the two air conditioners I have. I knew one of them, which slides into the window each summer, had to be removed right away whether I stayed or evacuated. The other was bolted securely into the window with supports drilled into the wall beneath it. We never take it out, just wrapping it up in winter. But what about those accordion flaps on either side? I couldn't expect them to offer much defense against howling winds, could I? We took a deep breath and left it as is.

Ultimately, after doing some low-tech “crowdsourcing” (talking to our neighbors and building super), we decided to stick it out, come hell or high water. That defied my risk-management instincts, and was perhaps not the most sensible move we ever made. But given our location, we thought the risk was manageable, and the fact all our fellow residents stayed put gave us a (perhaps false) sense of confidence that all would end well.

Actually, it was an agonizing decision. In retrospect, we probably should just have gotten out of there. But we'd never been in a position before of having to abandon our home, and the pull to stay was very strong, even in the face of a monster storm.

Still, I knew we had to have some backup plans in place, just in case.

Should one of the windows shatter or blow out, we figured we could retreat into our floor's common hallway, which has no windows. It wouldn't be the most comfortable night, but neither would a public shelter or a friend's basement apartment outside the evacuation zone.

We ended up packing all our suitcases and garment bags. We secured an assortment of clothes, should the bedroom be breached and our closets drenched. We packed all of our critical electronic equipment—laptops, cameras, tablets, e-readers, etc. And, of course, we assembled all of our key financial documents—including our insurance policies—wrapped them in plastic bags and packed them away in a briefcase for easy access. All this was placed near the door for a quick exit.

We assembled enough food and water for three days, filled the bathtub with water (so we could flush the toilet should the power go down) and, last but not least, wrapped all our favorite pictures and tchatchkes (Yiddish for knickknacks) and put them away in a hall closet that I felt fairly certain could withstand just about anything Irene threw at us. (I was concerned that if the windows failed, these cute little loose items would be blown all over the place, turning them from beloved keepsakes into potentially deadly missiles, and at best breaking or ruining them.)

Then we waited. The anticipation was the worst part of all this for me (luckily). Every TV channel had non-stop coverage, showing that bright red storm system ominously making its way up the East Coast toward New York. I felt like I was living in the middle of a disaster movie!

As it turned out, Sheepshead Bay did overflow, but receded quickly, and our sewers handled the heavy rainfall without major flooding. A few homes nearby lost power, but our building never did. Most importantly, the windows held firm (even the one with the locked-in air conditioner and the flaps).

In the end, for me personally, Hurricane Irene turned out to be much ado about nothing, thank goodness. That wasn't the case for so many others up and down the East Coast. Lives were lost, and property was destroyed or badly damaged. People were without power for days.

Here in Brooklyn, however, through sheer luck, we dodged a bullet, and for that I am grateful.

Sam J. Friedman joined Deloitte Research as Insurance Leader last October after 29 years at National Underwriter, where he was Group Editor In Chief of the P&C Media Division. He may be reached at samfriedman@deloitte.com.

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