Sandy: A hellish vista in a heavenly part of Queens

• This part of Queens is home to generations of firefighters and police
• More than 100 families lost their homes to Sandy
• "All of a sudden you heard it -- 'whoosh' -- the water coming down the road"

BREEZY POINT, N.Y. -- Few neighborhoods lost more on 9/11 than this spit of land sticking into the ocean, home to generations of firefighters and police. On Monday night, when disaster returned to the city, Breezy Point again bore the brunt.

Unlike Osama Bin Laden, Sandy apparently took no lives here. But the storm destroyed or fatally damaged scores of homes, and a subsequent fire quickly consumed at least 100.

"We all know each other, and we're all devastated. But we're so thankful that this time, no one was killed," said Marilyn Coady, a resident for 46 years who lives near the six-block area that was destroyed.

On Tuesday it was a hellish vista in a heavenly setting, blocks of smoldering ruins punctuated by a few chimneys. Shattered and dismantled decks, sidewalks and docks. Water where sand should be, and vice versa;. And scattered like trash, the relics of summer good times -- deck chairs, awnings, a half-filled bottle of Johnnie Walker Black.

All set against the backdrop of a wide sandy beach and crashing ocean waves.

John Nies, 55, a member of the volunteer fire department, stayed put here with his family despite an evacuation order.

"We were told we shouldn't have been here, but people here don't leave in a storm," he said. "Some of them are old. They've seen storms pass by. The media always gets so excited when a storm is coming."

Since Hurricane Donna five decades ago, the storms went elsewhere. Last year, before the arrival of Hurricane Irene, several families heeded warnings and moved to ski houses in upstate New York, only to be hit harder there than if they'd stayed put.

As late as 6 p.m. Monday, Nies was feeling good about his decision to stay. He had not a drop of water in his basement. Then, "all of a sudden you heard it -- 'whoosh' -- the water coming down the road."

By 6:40, he had four feet of water in the basement, heading to six.

After dark came the call to a fire in an oceanfront bungalow belonging to a priest.

Because Breezy Point was an evacuation zone, its volunteer companies had moved their fire trucks inland for safety.

Nies said the volunteers who'd had stayed in town tried to pump water from the Ocean, but lines quickly became clogged.

"With the wind whipping like that, we never had a chance," he said.

The fire spread from frame house to frame house, both the modest summer bungalows constructed by the neighborhood founders -- Irish firemen and policemen -- and the stockbrokers, lawyers and other professionals who followed.

Scores of residents fled to the highest ground, the second floor of the Breezy Point Clubhouse. New York City firefighters had to use a boat to rescue them.

Finally, when a storm loomed, the luck of the Irish eluded this enclave of 2,700 homes.

"This is a first time for all of us," Nies said.

He was pessimistic about the ability and willingness of many homeowners to rebuild.

Not Shamus Barnes, 43, of Oradell, N.J., who has spent every summer of his life here.

His house was reduced to cinders. So was his father's, across the street.

He stood in the wind, feet sinking in the mud, clenching the White House-shaped sign for No. 16 Fulton Way.

"My father was here, so I bought here, and my sister bought here," he said. "I'm definitely going to rebuild here. There's no other place like it."