An unprecedented snowstorm has left the region crippled. Yesterday, I visited the Northampton emergency shelter at Smith Vocational and Agricultural High School to see how the storm had impacted the local community.

Entering the high school, I saw a burly police officer sitting at a desk shuffling papers and surrounded by frantic guests. He glared into my eyes and demanded my name. I nervously told him and then informed the Red Cross of my interest in writing a story for the Daily Collegian.

Walking into the corridor past the desk, a shocking impression sank into my mind that could only be expressed by two words – refugee camp. The walls appeared gray, the atmosphere glum and the hall felt claustrophobic. The corridor was constricted by endless cots, blankets and residents with averted eyes and masked expressions. My first instinct was to escape.

Soon a woman appeared walking with her son; it was evident she wanted to keep his mind off of the situation, so she had devised a game. She told him they were on a mission to pick up the trash, and the little boy smiled and excitedly obliged. Shortly thereafter, a woman wearing a Red Sox cap with a suitcase by her side inquired if she could use my phone to call for towing service. After letting her use my phone I was inundated with requests, so I quickly learned to access my phone surreptitiously.

Next I entered the cafeteria: approximately 20 to 30 cots were densely packed inches apart. It was 8 a.m. and many people were still sleeping, concealed head-to-toe by blankets. Others were chatting with family members and a large group of people had gathered around a paint-chipped table, impatiently waiting for their morning coffee, the scent of which never quite left the stale air.

I sat in the cafeteria waiting with the guests for lunch. Strangers, friends, the elderly and the youth mingled together. Not once did I observe conflict, and despite the circumstances, everyone was especially friendly and kind. It seemed strange, but I felt a distinct sense of community.

However, as quickly as the calm solidarity had formed, it was soon shattered by a scream and loud clang. A woman had violently fallen to the floor; without hesitation five guests leaped to her aid while others began shouting for an EMT. Later we discovered that the woman was fine; strangers and friends alike stayed by her side joking and comforting her.

I conducted an interview with Amherst resident Felicia Barber. She solemnly informed me that she had never had to stay in an emergency shelter. “I felt like a shut-in in my own home,” she stated. Despite her circumstances, she was pleased with the situation, praising the Red Cross for its excellent organization and welcoming atmosphere.

I also interviewed Red Cross volunteer Erik Dunn-Gaudet, a UMass-Lowell student doing a 12-hour shift. He explained his duties involved running errands, setting up cots, performing in-takes and watching over disabled guests. He praised what he stated was a strong show of support from EMTs to massage therapists. He described his experience as rewarding, saying “I have seen a lot of kind actions from residents that I normally wouldn’t expect. It’s nice to know there is a place to go when something like this happens.”

Perched by the entrance of the cafeteria, I then saw an outlandish band walking towards me and my curiosity was piqued. An aged bohemian with long gray hair was carrying a drum set. Next to him was the leader of the band, Motown Man.

Motown Man was a tall African-American wearing a flamboyant outfit—a purple Mad Hatter’s hat and a black cape.

“Sitting in the morning sun/ I’ll be sitting when the evening comes,” he sang, his voice raspy, his demeanor vivacious as he sang the words of “Sitting on the Dock of Bay” over distorted speakers. I couldn’t help but  smile and think that this was a moment worth remembering.

Motown Man jumped and jived as his voice bellowed across the cafeteria but seemed to fall on the deaf ears of an unmoved audience. I thought to myself, why even try? But then I heard the tapping foot of the man next to me, and another guest began clapping her hands and singing along, near the stage a couple danced. Despite their difficult circumstances, these residents found a way to not only make their situation bearable, but also to create a sense of community and have a little fun.

Mason Woolley is a Collegian columnist and can be reached at [email protected].