LITTLE ROCK — Whether it's on the scene of a deadly storm or in the delivery room, David Maxwell is calm amid chaos.
As the director of the Arkansas Department of Emergency Management, he is in charge of the state's response to everything from tornadoes to terrorism. And in 1986 he was about to become a dad.
A nurse's examination revealed Lauren Maxwell was about to give birth to their only daughter. But the nurse was the only one who was worked up.
It's the Maxwell way: "You do not get overly excited about anything," his wife said. "If you want to help and get things done, you keep your cool."
That temperament has been an asset to the state for the past 30 years, say his colleagues, local leaders and his boss, the governor - especially last year when Arkansas experienced some of the worst weather in its history.
Beginning with a deadly tornado in January, Mother Nature delivered five months of violent storms and flooding that killed 29 and caused widespread damage that communities are still recovering from.
Then two hurricanes hit the Gulf Coast, sending evacuees and more nasty weather to the state.
In all, the storms prompted more than $70 million in federal aid.
During those times Maxwell is the direct link to the head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency. And he's the one who makes sure that water and generators are rushed to communities in need. Also, when it'stime to assess the damage and seek state and federal dollars to help rebuild, he's the one who can cut through red tape.
The first six months of the year were exhausting for the state's emergency management officials and devastating for thousands of Arkansans who lost homes, family members and jobs.
But the trying times were Maxwell's time to shine, those who know him best say.
"He's quiet and calm and approaches all of the responses necessary in an organized and calm and serene fashion, even when it's pretty hectic, which is what you need in a position like that," Gov. Mike Beebe said.
'ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE'
In May, days after yet another storm wreaked havoc on yet another string of Arkansas communities, Maxwell and a platoon of politicians, including Beebe, landed in the Lonoke County town of Carlisle.
They had just surveyed leveled homes and piles of debris in Earle and much of the same in Greers Ferry.
By then, the sight of insulation clinging to branches like tinsel on a Christmas tree and people picking through house-sized piles of debris had become too familiar.
As the group briskly walked through the heart of Carlisle, past the twisted fire station that would need to be rebuilt, Maxwell, 54, quipped: "Just another day in paradise."
Even though he is invisible to storm victims, he is the one who affects their lives for months and years to come. With BlackBerry in hand and wire-rim glasses on his nose, he takes in the destruction. He answers questions about how the government can help in the cleanup. And he takes the information back to the department's Camp Robinson headquarters in North Little, where he makes decisions that will affect those storm victims for months, if not years, to come.
"With his experience and background, we're very lucky we still have him," said Sheila Annable, a top ADEM chief who has worked with Maxwell for more than two decades.
Still, he and his agency can be among the first to take the heat when things go wrong.
One of his jobs is to make sure his office moves quickly to process the paperwork from disaster assessments. Those assessments are what the government uses to determine the type of aid that families and local governments qualify for.
In April, after the third outbreak of tornadoes struck the state, he asked his staff to hurry the process along.
"I know we will start to get a lot of complaints if we don't get those completed and hopefully added to the federal declaration," Maxwell wrote to the governor's staff in an April e-mail.
Two days later storm-hit counties were added to the presidential declaration, opening up more available aid.
"I think David has a real heart for the people," said Paul Halverson, the head of the state Health Department, who works with Maxwell in disaster planning and outreach. "He keeps in mind the powerful impact that some of these storms and other events have had on the everyday lives of people.
Sometimes things slip through the cracks.
In Atkins, the long wait and lack of communication surrounding contentious FEMA trailers colored Mayor Jerry Barrett's impression of Maxwell.
The Feb. 5 twisters that blazed a 123-mile path of destruction ripped apart much of the rural Pope County town. From the beginning, Barrett was told he would get mobile homes so residents would have somewhere safe and warm to sleep.
Weeks passed, and the trailers never came because of concerns about formaldehyde.
One day, Maxwell called Barrett directly to let him know there was yet another holdup. Maxwell assured the mayor he would call him personally when he knew whether the struggling town would get the trailers, Barrett recalled.
In April, finally some mobile homes arrived in Atkins. But Maxwell's call never came, Barrett said.
"I wasn't impressed with him, but I don't know how you can put that in the paper," the mayor said. "He never did return a call."
Maxwell, the second-in-command at the time and the longest serving ADEM employee, was promoted by then-Gov. Mike Huckabee in 2006 after his predessor abruptly resigned.
Beebe kept Maxwell in the $84,363-a-year-job despite giving walking papers to numerous other Huckabee appointees.
"The state is a lot further along in terms of preparedness than they were two-and-a-half or three years ago," said Wes Fowler, Madison County judge and president of the state's county judge association. "The morale - talking to members I know and people who work with ADEM - are a lot happier. I think it's an improvement with someone who knows how it works on the ground level."
'I LIKE MY JOB'
Maxwell has been there, working the trenches after the state's most devastating events since 1978. Along the way, he has built a reputation for empathizing with families and beingdriven by their struggles.
He's become well-versed in the complicated relationship - and language - that comes with working with the federal government. EMAC, EOC, JFO, DRC, IA, PA, AWIN, ESF6, DISand other acronyms pepper his twang-tinged talk.
When the weather lets up, he's planning for everything from bird flu to the day when the New Madrid fault line rumbles again. To that end, Maxwell has spent his whole career preparing for the worst.
But that doesn't bother him.
"I like my job," he said, his chin in his hand, his legs crossed in his tidy office.
And by many accounts, he is his job.
The few hobbies he has taken up over the years, and even important family events, have been edged out as ice storms, floods, twisters and the like pulled him away from home.
Once, the life-long Arkansan of Scottish descent took up bagpipes. He and has wife formed a group with friends. Their daughter Megan, now 22, even danced in the group. Maxwell wanted to compete in a famed pipe band championship in Glasgow, Scotland.
But soon, work triumphed over practice. So, when the group had its chance to compete in 1997, Maxwell played the less-demanding bass drum.
"I hate to say it," he said, "but I'm probably a workaholic."
Now, Maxwell is just glad to sit by the pool at his Conway home with cold beers and a mystery novel, when he has the chance.
"One disaster, I missed an anniversary, Christmas, basically, and my daughter's second birthday," he said in a somber voice about the tornadoes, flooding and snow storms that devastated the West Memphis area in 1988. "That was not our best year."
But Maxwell's pride in his work and the department that he likes to say he "grew up in" is clear. Just ask him what gets under his skin.
"A lot of people think we're FEMA," he said. "That really bugs me. I've never worn a FEMA jacket."
Arkansas, Pages 11, 13 on 01/02/2009