What Happens When A Working Class Man Loses His Home? The Answer Is Insane

What happens when a working class man loses everything?

It's a question nobody wants to find the answer to, but unfortunately for myself, I found out in the worst of ways.

As OutKick readers know, I come from blue-collar rural Wisconsin. We don't have much where I come from, but what we do have is earned in blood and sweat.

You grow up quickly when you're born into the harsh Wisconsin winters. It's the best of times. It's the worst of times.

It's a life that would break the coastal elites. Fortunately, it geared me up for the fight of my life.

I lost my home in a flood to end all floods.

As I have previously hinted at, I suffered a disaster at the Hookstead Compound (location classified), and it's a miracle anything is left standing.

It was the night of March 19th. Little did I know just how bad things were going to get.

I was sitting at Union Pub with a group of friends for Wings Wednesday when my phone started rapidly buzzing. My fiancée was on the line, and I could hear all hell breaking loose over the phone. It sounded like air raid sirens were going off.

It was deafening.

It was also pitch black over the screen, but what little I could see was darkness and water. A lot of water. More water than I've ever seen in my life.

It was apocalyptic.

I've been in some pretty chaotic and wild situations in life. The Mississippi Miracle is one example, and while the details of that event remain classified for national security reasons, there's one thing I've learned about chaos.

You have to act.

Not acting is not an option. Hesitation will get you killed or allow the situation to further spiral out of control. Unfortunately, I wouldn't say everyone involved with the great flood was ready for primetime. I do have to withhold some details, but let's just say the situation wasn't ended quickly. In fact, it continued until the firefighters arrived.

In one of the toughest calls of my life, I had to put down my wings, ice cold beer, say goodbye to my friends and rush to the Hookstead Compound. It's never easy to leave the boys behind. You almost feel shame abandoning your post but it was clear that it was time to go. We were flying weaving in and out of traffic, and I simply had no idea how bad the damage would be upon arriving.

It was an absolute disaster. The Hookstead Compound was on the verge of being totally lost. Entire rooms wiped out, hallways nuked, walls obliterated, water pouring out of every opening I could see.

A look at the floors with limited visibility and little functioning power. (Credit: David Hookstead)

A call had to be made, and I didn't hesitate. It was time to evacuate, and evacuate ASAP. My working-class instincts were kicking in.

We bounced to an undisclosed location across the river, and construction crews spent the next couple months tearing the Hookstead Compound apart and rebuilding. Like a phoenix, we rose from the ashes stronger than ever. If my family member could survive being shot down in WWII and evading capture, then I can certainly rebuild the Hookstead Compound.

However, what I didn't realize was that the problems weren't over. The moving company dropped off all our stuff (literally every single thing in the compound had to be removed), and I had an entire new fight on my hands.

Unpacking what seemed like hundreds of boxes. The picture below is what the garbage situation looked like *AFTER* most of the garbage had been already hauled out. This was just a minor look at how bad it was.

The unpacking process was hell on Earth. (Credit: David Hookstead)

You might think you know what a bad time is, but I promise you that you don't until you spend three straight days opening boxes, rebuilding and it seems like the minutes drag on as hours.

The only upside was that I was able to treat myself to some Taco Bell. It's the small victories that matter the most when you're a working class man with the boot of the world seemingly on your neck.

I treated myself to some Taco Bell during the rebuilding process. (Credit: David Hookstead)

I also was finally able to start putting my set back together after months of being shuffled between undisclosed locations.

I've never been so happy to see a gas mask in my life.

My set is being rebuilt after a historic flood to end all floods. (Credit: David Hookstead)

What started as a night of wings and beers with the boys on March 19th ended in a catastrophic event that upended my life for months. Welcome to the world of a working class man.

We don't get to pick our fights. They sometimes pick us, and all that matters is how you respond. Do you cave under pressure or do you keep slinging rounds until the job is done?

That's what separates people where I come from and people from the cities. We see the darkness and smile. They see the darkness and panic. Life's just a gunfight, and as long as you recognize that, you're going to be okay.

Also, I have to give a huge shoutout to my fiancée for all her efforts during the rebuild. True story, she did a TV hit the night of the flood without missing a beat. Granted, I had to stay back and fight wave after wave of water rushing in, but that's what teamwork is all about.

My fiancée was a rockstar during the process. (Credit: David Hookstead)

You never know when you're going to need to be a hero. Sometimes it just happens, and on the night of March 19th, I found myself in a position nobody wants to be in. Fortunately, my working class roots kicked in and after months of chaos and carnage, we're back stronger than ever. The Hookstead Compound has survived an event that would have wiped most people out, the dog is still alive and I managed to maintain my sanity fueled by rage, light beer, nicotine and a spirit that just doesn't break.

The flood hit me with its best shot, and in the spirit of Toby Keith, I got up and stuck a boot up its ass. Thank you to everyone who helped rebuild, the boys for understanding why I had to rapidly exfil on March 19th and everyone who chipped in along the way.

Your efforts and contributions won't be forgotten, and while I might not have much, I always make good with people.

Now, please excuse me as I crack open a couple beers to celebrate the victory in the battle against the flood to end all floods. War's over. Time to go home. Let me know what your thoughts are at David.Hookstead@outkick.com.