First a big thanks to the killer blogger Polimom for her help right after the storm. The T-P wrote her up yesterday here. Our gratitude to her remains undiminished by time.
A new Katrina Refrigerator post with photos and notes is here.
Wow, got all those links in pretty well, huh?
I mentioned notebooks yesterday. At Rising Tide, laptops sprouted from table tops like centerpieces at a wedding. Their use of them was incredible. Some were blogging real time reports of what was happening on any given panel, others were tracking Ernesto, which was indeed making all of us very nervous. (The standing joke was that "Che" Ernesto Guevara wouldn't do much damage to Cuba and would probably go to Bolivia and die. Such is the hurricane fear humor here. As the rain poured down causing at least one panelist to have difficulty getting to us, the tension over Ernesto was palpable through the laughter and jokes.)
As I said, the Conference was held at the New Orleans Yacht club. There were so many interesting contrasts that my notebook is full of little weirdnesses. Outside the rain is pounding down, inside the Yacht Club bar are the Yacht Club members, having picnics and drinks, generally very cheery and most looking at us with curiousity. The bartender had to put a mop on the base of one of the windows as it was leaking and starting to look more like a hotel lobby wall fountain than a window, but no one seemed really worried. Boats still upturned and thrashed from Katrina were outside taking on yet more water, but the pristine white shorts of the Yacht Club denizens had not a spot on them as they enjoyed themselves.
Across the foyer, the bloggers, in various outfits, not one in pristine white shorts, were trading information, listening to panelists, questioning what was being said, and the windows in that room didn't require a mop.
The bloggers and the panelists were fascinating and clearly were people who think. But they break down along different lines within the group. Some of us qualify for a couple of the sub-groups.
There are the tech-Gods. These folks (Alan Gutierrez of ThinkNOLA chief among them) are passionate about the use of technology to get information out, collated and accessible. His idea to "control and consolidate" the information we're putting out makes sense and his statement that we should adopt the "publish everything view of the younger generation" also makes sense. Problem is that for some of us, although we're a bit geeky, we're not able to put the time in to learn all the tech. I was impressed by the passion of these folks and their ability to really use technology to its potential, but for me and some others it's not realistic in terms of time or energy. Thank goodness they're doing it.
There are the journalist/fact finders. These are the folks who always link to what they're talking about, have the articles at their fingertips when they're writing, their work can be totally vetted. They view themselves as reporters, and indeed, they are. (The panel on MSM vs bloggers was very interesting. Points were brought up about editors on newspapers requiring verifiable sources for a story and one panelist, while not actually saying it, seemed to view bloggers as a bit "less than"--stating that "the difference between a blogger and me is that I have a 401K.") But the fact is that these journalist/fact finder bloggers have posted things that didn't make it into the MSM for days after they'd already posted online. God bless them for their attention to detail.
There are the community activists. While most of us are community activists to one degree or another, some of the people in that room were dedicated to their neighborhood group, or one or two specific causes, all of them tied to the rebuilding of New Orleans. These are the people who are putting the information on neighborhood building permits, infrastructure, coalitions, roadblocks and council members online in a way that keeps the information current. They've made great strides through their posts in organizing people to get things done, from attending neighborhood planning meetings to gutting houses.
Then there were some bloggers like me. I read an article, may or may not have the link to it, and vent. I'll tell you where I saw it, but if you want to read it, you'll have to find it yourself unless I really have time to put the links up. One day I might just be posting my opinion or my observations of what I'm seeing around me. The next day I might be posting about how I'm feeling and the emotional rollercoaster that life in New Orleans is right now. I'll contribute what I can, but mostly, I just write.
The contributions of all the sub-groups of the NOLA bloggers combined is what makes what we do matter. The variety of opinions, presentation, and perspectives is what makes the NOLA blog community so rich.
There is only one element that I found lacking. The paucity of the black perspective. I'll write about that tomorrow.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide
Friday, September 15, 2006
Thursday, September 14, 2006
A New/Old post/email at Katrina Refrigerator with Photos
Here's the link to the re-issue of last year's email. The photos are included and there are NOTES at the bottom. We've found that what we wrote in haste last year left some things out. We're now adding what we thought at the time, and some of it just wasn't pretty. In fact some of the things we've read that were written at the time have made us remember situations that were distinctly uncomfortable, as in today's post. Makes me want to dig up that Katrina notebook we had with addresses and go check on some of these people.
More observations of Rising Tide tomorrow.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide
More observations of Rising Tide tomorrow.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Can you hear the coffee as it's per-co-latin'?
Notebooks. So many kinds, so illustrative, such wonderful receptacles.
As previously posted, I took copious notes at the remarkable Rising Tide Conference. For me to put all of my observations into one post would be ludicrous, so I'm going to break them down. First there needs to be a little explanation.
Rising Tide was a conference put together by an amazing group of local activist bloggers. Seemingly conceived during a rather drunken dinner, which I stupidly couldn't manage to get to even though it was three blocks from my house, these folks ran with it and put together a forum covering a wide range of topics pertinent to New Orleans and blogging in New Orleans. Held at the New Orleans Yacht Club (which was mostly decimated after Katrina), the location was a stroke of genius as there were out of town bloggers and others there who saw the boats still turned upside down a year later, one still completely submerged, only its mast above water.
I went to the conference and sat on the floor with my old trusty steno pad. Being an inveterate scribbler, I listened and scribbled. It was interesting, informative and fascinating. The topics were engaging and the panelists engaged, but on a personal level it gave rise to a different kind of tide in me.
I spent that Saturday among the bloggers, some of the brightest minds in our city. I spend Thursday evenings among the poets of 17 Poets, some of the most passionate and creative minds in the city. It was an interesting contrast, but many of the ideas were the same. The pain of our city's condition certainly is the same in both places, just expressed differently. Okay, and the notebooks were for sure, VERY different. I felt like two boats were speeding down a waterway and I had one foot on each deck.
17 Poets is the brainchild of Dave Brinks, one of the premiere poets of our city, and respected nationwide. It was a fixture before the storm. Every Thursday he presents a featured poet who is followed by anyone who signs up on the sheet at the bar. Some extraordinary writing going on in this city. The readings are held at the Gold Mine Saloon in the Quarter, and while waiting for the featured reader, you'll find various writers and visitors hanging out, having a drink, looking at the always changing local art work on the walls, and listening to Brinks' incredible CD collection. You're suddenly thrown back into a San Francisco coffeehouse in the 50's half expecting Kerouac and Ginsberg to walk through the door. Instead, inside of an hour, the place will be populated by men and women who look like they just left an office building, having a drink and a laugh with two guys, one sporting bright pink hair, the other extraordinarily long grey dreadlocks. All are respected writers. Some nights there are hookahs on tables, surrounded by varying tobacco mixtures, and people languidly smoking them while discussing FEMA trailers and the latest poetry publishing.
The notebooks at Rising Tide were electronic metal things with hinges in the middle and screens full of reports in words about what was going on inside the yacht club, streaming in real time to the vastness of the Web, (with another screen tracking Ernesto's progress through the Gulf). The notebooks at 17 Poets are cocktail napkins, blank books variously decorated, or some scrap of paper pulled out of a pocket or a purse written on by a pen borrowed from the bartender.
The passion in both is what will make up the body of post-Katrina literature, along with the various scholarly and analytical books on the subject. (I'm not neglecting the visual arts here either. It was Greg Peters, the fabulous Suspect Device, with whom I had this discussion that day, and his editorial cartoons are very definitely a part of this body of post-K work. There are so many artists, using various media, who are contributing visually stunning pieces to the artistic zeitgeist. And hey, don't leave out the musicians!)
What we leave behind in our writing will be what the New Orleanians of 50 years from now will be drawing insight on this storm, this time in our history, from. What was fascinating to me, was the variety of methods, views and emotions that are being tapped in this endeavor. Those future New Orleanians will have a very rich trove from which to gather information.
In the end, I found, it doesn't matter how any of us do it, as long as we DO do it. There has to be something more than MSM archiving for our great grandchildren to peruse. It would appear that the bloggers and the poets are all heading for the same point, although they no doubt don't see it that way. They are truly very distinct groups, both valid and important, and I am grateful to be here observing what they are doing.
r. "moose" jackson, one of the up and coming poets in the city, was sitting at my kitchen table a week or so ago. He and my grandson got into a discussion of words and rhythm. Moose started banging on the table and saying, "Can you hear the coffee when it's per-co-latin'?" My grandson took it up, they banged away at the table changing the rhythm of the words.
When we're writing, reading our fellow bloggers' work, or listening to the poets, what we're really doing is hearing the coffee as it's per-co-latin'.
And wow, what a cup of java that's gonna be.
___________
There will be a new/old post on Katrina Refrigerator blog tomorrow.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide 17 Poets Dave Brinks r."moose" jackson
As previously posted, I took copious notes at the remarkable Rising Tide Conference. For me to put all of my observations into one post would be ludicrous, so I'm going to break them down. First there needs to be a little explanation.
Rising Tide was a conference put together by an amazing group of local activist bloggers. Seemingly conceived during a rather drunken dinner, which I stupidly couldn't manage to get to even though it was three blocks from my house, these folks ran with it and put together a forum covering a wide range of topics pertinent to New Orleans and blogging in New Orleans. Held at the New Orleans Yacht Club (which was mostly decimated after Katrina), the location was a stroke of genius as there were out of town bloggers and others there who saw the boats still turned upside down a year later, one still completely submerged, only its mast above water.
I went to the conference and sat on the floor with my old trusty steno pad. Being an inveterate scribbler, I listened and scribbled. It was interesting, informative and fascinating. The topics were engaging and the panelists engaged, but on a personal level it gave rise to a different kind of tide in me.
I spent that Saturday among the bloggers, some of the brightest minds in our city. I spend Thursday evenings among the poets of 17 Poets, some of the most passionate and creative minds in the city. It was an interesting contrast, but many of the ideas were the same. The pain of our city's condition certainly is the same in both places, just expressed differently. Okay, and the notebooks were for sure, VERY different. I felt like two boats were speeding down a waterway and I had one foot on each deck.
17 Poets is the brainchild of Dave Brinks, one of the premiere poets of our city, and respected nationwide. It was a fixture before the storm. Every Thursday he presents a featured poet who is followed by anyone who signs up on the sheet at the bar. Some extraordinary writing going on in this city. The readings are held at the Gold Mine Saloon in the Quarter, and while waiting for the featured reader, you'll find various writers and visitors hanging out, having a drink, looking at the always changing local art work on the walls, and listening to Brinks' incredible CD collection. You're suddenly thrown back into a San Francisco coffeehouse in the 50's half expecting Kerouac and Ginsberg to walk through the door. Instead, inside of an hour, the place will be populated by men and women who look like they just left an office building, having a drink and a laugh with two guys, one sporting bright pink hair, the other extraordinarily long grey dreadlocks. All are respected writers. Some nights there are hookahs on tables, surrounded by varying tobacco mixtures, and people languidly smoking them while discussing FEMA trailers and the latest poetry publishing.
The notebooks at Rising Tide were electronic metal things with hinges in the middle and screens full of reports in words about what was going on inside the yacht club, streaming in real time to the vastness of the Web, (with another screen tracking Ernesto's progress through the Gulf). The notebooks at 17 Poets are cocktail napkins, blank books variously decorated, or some scrap of paper pulled out of a pocket or a purse written on by a pen borrowed from the bartender.
The passion in both is what will make up the body of post-Katrina literature, along with the various scholarly and analytical books on the subject. (I'm not neglecting the visual arts here either. It was Greg Peters, the fabulous Suspect Device, with whom I had this discussion that day, and his editorial cartoons are very definitely a part of this body of post-K work. There are so many artists, using various media, who are contributing visually stunning pieces to the artistic zeitgeist. And hey, don't leave out the musicians!)
What we leave behind in our writing will be what the New Orleanians of 50 years from now will be drawing insight on this storm, this time in our history, from. What was fascinating to me, was the variety of methods, views and emotions that are being tapped in this endeavor. Those future New Orleanians will have a very rich trove from which to gather information.
In the end, I found, it doesn't matter how any of us do it, as long as we DO do it. There has to be something more than MSM archiving for our great grandchildren to peruse. It would appear that the bloggers and the poets are all heading for the same point, although they no doubt don't see it that way. They are truly very distinct groups, both valid and important, and I am grateful to be here observing what they are doing.
r. "moose" jackson, one of the up and coming poets in the city, was sitting at my kitchen table a week or so ago. He and my grandson got into a discussion of words and rhythm. Moose started banging on the table and saying, "Can you hear the coffee when it's per-co-latin'?" My grandson took it up, they banged away at the table changing the rhythm of the words.
When we're writing, reading our fellow bloggers' work, or listening to the poets, what we're really doing is hearing the coffee as it's per-co-latin'.
And wow, what a cup of java that's gonna be.
___________
There will be a new/old post on Katrina Refrigerator blog tomorrow.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide 17 Poets Dave Brinks r."moose" jackson
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Ya just can't get AWAY from her some days
You're just riding your bike down the street, nice day, not too hot. Looks like it could rain, but probably not a huge downpour. You lock up your bike and go into the A&P, the newspapers hit you by the door.
Eight dead in violent weekend. Not enough cops, not enough lights in some areas, too many guns, no public defenders, the ones we have getting chewed out by judges, files still under water, violent criminals going free because we can't get them to trial in a timely fashion or some lunatic judge lets them go on bail.
Mental health issues going unaddressed in New Orleans. Not enough beds, not enough doctors, not enough hospitals (we need Charity Hospital BACK), no safety net, stories of private hospitals who are not allowed to turn patients away sending their ER docs out the door to try to hold off an ambulance carrying a mental patient. They don't want to deal and they are overwhelmed.
100 Day Plan. Mayor Nagin. What plan? What Mayor? Local blogger Gentilly Girl is putting out a recall petition which fellow local blogger Ashley Morris says has little chance of carrying weight, but as Gentilly Girl says, it will send a message. Local paper says that neighborhoods are bypassing "plans" and doing what they need to do to get their houses gutted and built. Nola.com has a good map of how the rebuilding is happening in this hopscotch fashion.
Man who commandeered neighbor's boat for rescue during Katrina, is charged. HUH? The guy hears his neighbor's screaming for help, finds another neighbor's boat, takes it, rescues a bunch of people, and the owner of the boat wants to sue him. He has since dropped the charges because of "the media frenzy." As a friend of mine said, god forbid he should drop the suit because it was the right thing to do.
President Bush comes to New Orleans on anniversary of Katrina.This needs no further comment, although you might want to head over to The Wet Bank Guide and read his "Lying Sack of Shit" post. Pretty much sums it up.
I could go on, but others have written far more detailed and eloquent pieces on all this. I just noticed, as I walked into the A&P that sometimes you just can't get away from Katrina, no matter how hard you try.
Here is the link to today's redux of last year's emails over at Katrina Refrigerator. I was delighted that I found all the photos I was looking for for it.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator
Eight dead in violent weekend. Not enough cops, not enough lights in some areas, too many guns, no public defenders, the ones we have getting chewed out by judges, files still under water, violent criminals going free because we can't get them to trial in a timely fashion or some lunatic judge lets them go on bail.
Mental health issues going unaddressed in New Orleans. Not enough beds, not enough doctors, not enough hospitals (we need Charity Hospital BACK), no safety net, stories of private hospitals who are not allowed to turn patients away sending their ER docs out the door to try to hold off an ambulance carrying a mental patient. They don't want to deal and they are overwhelmed.
100 Day Plan. Mayor Nagin. What plan? What Mayor? Local blogger Gentilly Girl is putting out a recall petition which fellow local blogger Ashley Morris says has little chance of carrying weight, but as Gentilly Girl says, it will send a message. Local paper says that neighborhoods are bypassing "plans" and doing what they need to do to get their houses gutted and built. Nola.com has a good map of how the rebuilding is happening in this hopscotch fashion.
Man who commandeered neighbor's boat for rescue during Katrina, is charged. HUH? The guy hears his neighbor's screaming for help, finds another neighbor's boat, takes it, rescues a bunch of people, and the owner of the boat wants to sue him. He has since dropped the charges because of "the media frenzy." As a friend of mine said, god forbid he should drop the suit because it was the right thing to do.
President Bush comes to New Orleans on anniversary of Katrina.
I could go on, but others have written far more detailed and eloquent pieces on all this. I just noticed, as I walked into the A&P that sometimes you just can't get away from Katrina, no matter how hard you try.
Here is the link to today's redux of last year's emails over at Katrina Refrigerator. I was delighted that I found all the photos I was looking for for it.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator
Monday, September 11, 2006
Widow's Weeds
Yes, I did indeed change the template of this blog. I've gotten some private emails asking why and teasing me about all the black! ("Hell, you've been wearing nothing but black since you were 15. I thought since I saw some COLOR on you last time I saw you that maybe you'd re-thought your color wheel!") Okay, okay, get it all off your chests! I still wear black. Easy to coordinate those black jeans with a black top and black shoes. Nothing too much to think about. Besides, it's habit now, even though I have added a few colorful nuances to my usual attire! One email asked if since the one year anniversary of Katrina had passed, couldn't I now get out of my "widow's weeds"---a term I've always thought interesting.
I changed this blog template to match the sister blog I've created. That blog will be posting all the emails that gave birth to this one. The first will be republished on the new blog, Katrina Refrigerator, tomorrow. Below is today's post, crossposted as I still don't have all the links together yet. That should be done by the end of this week.
_________
Why Katrina Refrigerator?
I was asked this weekend, "Hasn't the whole refrigerator thing been done to death?" Yup. We now have Katrina Fridge magnets for our post-K refrigerators being sold at gift shops. Interestingly, it's mostly locals buying them. Someone not from here wouldn't really understand their significance.
Some local bloggers had decided to re-post their posts from last year at this time. A brilliant idea. It seemed to me that the best receptacle for some of what we wrote was indeed the refrigerator. Keep the reality fresh, now that we've bleached the things to death.
Starting tomorrow I will be posting the emails that were written out of New Orleans in the aftermath of Katrina. A little background seems appropriate.
My husband and I evacuated on Sunday, August 28th at about noon. A little late in the game. We had already determined not to leave, (which in hindsight probably was the choice we should have made.) The Saturday before, we were both at work in the Quarter, I was listening to press conferences with the Mayor, everyone was trying to figure out what to do, and David was told he could go back to the stables early if he wanted to. He said no. In fact, when I called him, he acted like everyone was overeacting, but he wasn't hearing the radio and feeling the tangible tension of customers in the store, who were quickly buying things while talking on their cell phones trying to make changes to their flights.
I left work, filled up the gas tank on Rampart, as there were reports of stations running out of gas. I figured it was a good idea. Then I went back to work. My big fear from hearing the radio was that they were going to start contra-flow any minute and since we lived on the Westbank, I wasn't sure we'd be able to get from the East bank to the Westbank if we waited. We did go home a little early that evening. We had invitations to weather the storm on Bourbon Street at the shop, where several others were going to stick it out.
We knew our house was a pretty safe place to be, including an interior bathroom with no windows that could be blown out. Sunday morning came and we were okay with our decision to stay. Family and friends were calling, and emailing, urging us to leave. Then Mayor Nagin got on television and ended his statement with something along the lines of "God help us all." (Might have been something a little different, I haven't looked it up, but definitely something like that.) That seemed to flip a switch in my husband. He now thought perhaps we should evacuate. We sat at our kitchen table, ambivalent about the possibility, then decided to flip a coin. Heads we stay, tails we leave. (I had been sworn to secrecy about our decision making method, but figure at this point, our total reliance on serendipity seems less bizarre than the Corps of Engineers seeming reliance on the same thing with our levee system.)
We quickly packed a couple of bags, put the cats in carriers, the dog in the back of the car, tossed pet food in the back and pbj makings and water bottles in the front. We grabbed all the cash we had in the house and headed out. It took us five hours to get to the Twin Spans. Twice my husband decided we were turning back. Twice I said, "We're already on the road, let's just keep going." We have since decided that in the spirit of equal blame for a joint decision, that my mistake was saying in the kitchen that day, "Okay, let's go" and his was not ignoring me when he wanted to turn back.
We were heading toward Mobile, to my mother's, which in hindsight was also a stupid decision. While it was a generous offer and we are grateful, we should have headed in the other direction. We got contra-flowed onto 59 going North to Hattiesburg, and only made it into Silverhill 13 hours later thanks to my daughter staying on the cellphone and her husband navigating with a great mapping program he has. They got us onto side roads and we made it into Mobile just as the outer bands were starting to send sheet rain across the streets there, and the Bay Way was minutes from being closed.
What we saw on the road that day will stay with us forever. I haven't started writing about the evacuation yet because some of the faces still haunt me at night.
The next morning we watched, along with the rest of the nation, as the levees broke. The anger and hopelessness and helplessness we felt was extreme. We felt that we'd abandoned the city we love, and that while we were grateful for our extreme comfort, we should have been in New Orleans. We should have been helping. We determined to leave as soon as possible.
We started checking the nola.com forums. There was information there, and I was directed by a post on one forum to Polimom's blog. She seemed to have a direct line to what was happening in Algiers, and Algiers Point in particular. We checked satellite photos (our house looked fine) and rabidly read her blog and any on-the-ground dispatches we could find. We decided to head back home on Labor Day, but realized we had to wait for the banks to open. We had no idea when or if we'd get access to cash once in New Orleans, and we knew that the power was out.
We busied ourselves refilling prescriptions, looking for gasoline, buying batteries and anything else we thought we might need. We looked at maps and tried to figure a way back home. We decided that the best way was to go 150 miles out of our way in order to cross the Mississippi at the Sunshine Bridge in plantation country. We would bisect Mississippi on a road between Hattiesburg and the Gulf, a plan, as it turns out, that was probably one of the only ways in. We knew the Gulf cities were flattened, but we were still astonished and sobbing as we saw the miles of downed power lines and trees broken in half like matchsticks. Bogalusa looked like a bomb hit it. My husband drove with me looking up watching as the heavily leaning trees loomed over our car. They looked as though they could come down on our heads at any moment.
Finding gas was a challenge. If the station was open, there was a line for blocks and most had a maximum purchase limit, so we'd buy the maximum at every open station we saw. Everywhere were people with dazed looks on their faces, and ours probably looked the same to them. We had no idea whether our route was going to work or not. Were the roads we wanted to take even open? Were they even there? We figured we'd just keep going.
When we got close to the Sunshine Bridge, we met up with another couple who was also trying to get home. They knew the way to I-90 so we followed them. All the way in, we saw convoys of National Guard and regular Army troops coming into the city. I'd open my window and holler thank you to them. They'd wave. None of us knew what we were going to find in New Orleans. There were miles long traffic jams going out of New Orleans. Trucks with mattresses and chairs tied on to them, people hauling everything they owned, creeping along at 1 mph heading OUT, OUT, OUT.
We finally got to 90 and prayed that the last exit before the Crescent City Connection would be open. As we saw the sign saying it was a mile away, we held our breath. We weren't sure if we'd come all this way just to be turned back or not. We looked at each other in amazement that there was no roadblock (we'd seen some on the way in) and my husband turned into Steve McQueen. He floored it down that exit, with both of us secretly wondering if there was going to be a force field to knock us back when we got to the bottom. And there we were. Mere blocks from home.
While Algiers didn't flood, the devastation was unbelievable, trees laying across roads, houses and signs twisted and broken, and my husband kept driving trying to avoid the tire popping minefields of debris strewn everywhere. We saw no one. Not a person walking, not a car moving all the way from the Bridge to our house. It was eerie.
When we got to our house, our neighbor who had stayed through the storm came out to greet us. Tears all around as we hugged in meeting, and we were the only four people on that block that day. We got all the information we could get, and set about checking out the house. Seemed okay. By New Orleans Katrina standards, there was minimal damage. No power, but the phone lines worked intermittently. We took stock and did the obligatory gag-a-thon refrigerator clean out, but we were lucky. Our fridge had only been there for a few days, so we didn't encounter the horrid messes that others did weeks later. Once that was done, we did a little re-con to see what was going on nearby.
We heard that the Church of Christ out of Baton Rouge was setting up a food and supply depot at Blaine Kern's Mardi Gras World. The next day we went over to see what we could do. Our neighbor set up a generator in our backyard (we were grateful for the ten gallons of gas we'd brought in with us), and we ran both households off that generator for a couple of hours a day. I rigged up an internet connection via a dialup to an AOL access number in New Mexico and started sending out emails to friends and family letting them know we were okay and what was happening.
Those emails morphed into the New Orleans Slate blog. This blog will re-publish those emails in real time (some with photos that I'm finally dealing with that were taken at the time.) Curiously, I hadn't read those emails since they were written so hastily last September. Reading them and seeing the faces of those who helped has really been hard in some cases. The anger came flooding back, no pun intended, and the gratitude to all of those who helped was overwhelming. There were so many regular people who set about doing what they could, and in that moment they became heroes. My husband and I are both so humbled by the help that strangers gave our city and ourselves when we needed it.
We hope in reading these emails as written, with minimal editing--only typos fixed and names changed to initials for privacy--we will give you a view of life here immediately following Katrina. I will be adding notes here and there as updates on what the issues were then and what is still an issue today.
The links haven't been done yet. I'll do them this week. This post will be crossposted on New Orleans Slate today, and the links there will eventually point here. The first email will be published tomorrow, exactly one year from when it was written.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide
I changed this blog template to match the sister blog I've created. That blog will be posting all the emails that gave birth to this one. The first will be republished on the new blog, Katrina Refrigerator, tomorrow. Below is today's post, crossposted as I still don't have all the links together yet. That should be done by the end of this week.
_________
Why Katrina Refrigerator?
I was asked this weekend, "Hasn't the whole refrigerator thing been done to death?" Yup. We now have Katrina Fridge magnets for our post-K refrigerators being sold at gift shops. Interestingly, it's mostly locals buying them. Someone not from here wouldn't really understand their significance.
Some local bloggers had decided to re-post their posts from last year at this time. A brilliant idea. It seemed to me that the best receptacle for some of what we wrote was indeed the refrigerator. Keep the reality fresh, now that we've bleached the things to death.
Starting tomorrow I will be posting the emails that were written out of New Orleans in the aftermath of Katrina. A little background seems appropriate.
My husband and I evacuated on Sunday, August 28th at about noon. A little late in the game. We had already determined not to leave, (which in hindsight probably was the choice we should have made.) The Saturday before, we were both at work in the Quarter, I was listening to press conferences with the Mayor, everyone was trying to figure out what to do, and David was told he could go back to the stables early if he wanted to. He said no. In fact, when I called him, he acted like everyone was overeacting, but he wasn't hearing the radio and feeling the tangible tension of customers in the store, who were quickly buying things while talking on their cell phones trying to make changes to their flights.
I left work, filled up the gas tank on Rampart, as there were reports of stations running out of gas. I figured it was a good idea. Then I went back to work. My big fear from hearing the radio was that they were going to start contra-flow any minute and since we lived on the Westbank, I wasn't sure we'd be able to get from the East bank to the Westbank if we waited. We did go home a little early that evening. We had invitations to weather the storm on Bourbon Street at the shop, where several others were going to stick it out.
We knew our house was a pretty safe place to be, including an interior bathroom with no windows that could be blown out. Sunday morning came and we were okay with our decision to stay. Family and friends were calling, and emailing, urging us to leave. Then Mayor Nagin got on television and ended his statement with something along the lines of "God help us all." (Might have been something a little different, I haven't looked it up, but definitely something like that.) That seemed to flip a switch in my husband. He now thought perhaps we should evacuate. We sat at our kitchen table, ambivalent about the possibility, then decided to flip a coin. Heads we stay, tails we leave. (I had been sworn to secrecy about our decision making method, but figure at this point, our total reliance on serendipity seems less bizarre than the Corps of Engineers seeming reliance on the same thing with our levee system.)
We quickly packed a couple of bags, put the cats in carriers, the dog in the back of the car, tossed pet food in the back and pbj makings and water bottles in the front. We grabbed all the cash we had in the house and headed out. It took us five hours to get to the Twin Spans. Twice my husband decided we were turning back. Twice I said, "We're already on the road, let's just keep going." We have since decided that in the spirit of equal blame for a joint decision, that my mistake was saying in the kitchen that day, "Okay, let's go" and his was not ignoring me when he wanted to turn back.
We were heading toward Mobile, to my mother's, which in hindsight was also a stupid decision. While it was a generous offer and we are grateful, we should have headed in the other direction. We got contra-flowed onto 59 going North to Hattiesburg, and only made it into Silverhill 13 hours later thanks to my daughter staying on the cellphone and her husband navigating with a great mapping program he has. They got us onto side roads and we made it into Mobile just as the outer bands were starting to send sheet rain across the streets there, and the Bay Way was minutes from being closed.
What we saw on the road that day will stay with us forever. I haven't started writing about the evacuation yet because some of the faces still haunt me at night.
The next morning we watched, along with the rest of the nation, as the levees broke. The anger and hopelessness and helplessness we felt was extreme. We felt that we'd abandoned the city we love, and that while we were grateful for our extreme comfort, we should have been in New Orleans. We should have been helping. We determined to leave as soon as possible.
We started checking the nola.com forums. There was information there, and I was directed by a post on one forum to Polimom's blog. She seemed to have a direct line to what was happening in Algiers, and Algiers Point in particular. We checked satellite photos (our house looked fine) and rabidly read her blog and any on-the-ground dispatches we could find. We decided to head back home on Labor Day, but realized we had to wait for the banks to open. We had no idea when or if we'd get access to cash once in New Orleans, and we knew that the power was out.
We busied ourselves refilling prescriptions, looking for gasoline, buying batteries and anything else we thought we might need. We looked at maps and tried to figure a way back home. We decided that the best way was to go 150 miles out of our way in order to cross the Mississippi at the Sunshine Bridge in plantation country. We would bisect Mississippi on a road between Hattiesburg and the Gulf, a plan, as it turns out, that was probably one of the only ways in. We knew the Gulf cities were flattened, but we were still astonished and sobbing as we saw the miles of downed power lines and trees broken in half like matchsticks. Bogalusa looked like a bomb hit it. My husband drove with me looking up watching as the heavily leaning trees loomed over our car. They looked as though they could come down on our heads at any moment.
Finding gas was a challenge. If the station was open, there was a line for blocks and most had a maximum purchase limit, so we'd buy the maximum at every open station we saw. Everywhere were people with dazed looks on their faces, and ours probably looked the same to them. We had no idea whether our route was going to work or not. Were the roads we wanted to take even open? Were they even there? We figured we'd just keep going.
When we got close to the Sunshine Bridge, we met up with another couple who was also trying to get home. They knew the way to I-90 so we followed them. All the way in, we saw convoys of National Guard and regular Army troops coming into the city. I'd open my window and holler thank you to them. They'd wave. None of us knew what we were going to find in New Orleans. There were miles long traffic jams going out of New Orleans. Trucks with mattresses and chairs tied on to them, people hauling everything they owned, creeping along at 1 mph heading OUT, OUT, OUT.
We finally got to 90 and prayed that the last exit before the Crescent City Connection would be open. As we saw the sign saying it was a mile away, we held our breath. We weren't sure if we'd come all this way just to be turned back or not. We looked at each other in amazement that there was no roadblock (we'd seen some on the way in) and my husband turned into Steve McQueen. He floored it down that exit, with both of us secretly wondering if there was going to be a force field to knock us back when we got to the bottom. And there we were. Mere blocks from home.
While Algiers didn't flood, the devastation was unbelievable, trees laying across roads, houses and signs twisted and broken, and my husband kept driving trying to avoid the tire popping minefields of debris strewn everywhere. We saw no one. Not a person walking, not a car moving all the way from the Bridge to our house. It was eerie.
When we got to our house, our neighbor who had stayed through the storm came out to greet us. Tears all around as we hugged in meeting, and we were the only four people on that block that day. We got all the information we could get, and set about checking out the house. Seemed okay. By New Orleans Katrina standards, there was minimal damage. No power, but the phone lines worked intermittently. We took stock and did the obligatory gag-a-thon refrigerator clean out, but we were lucky. Our fridge had only been there for a few days, so we didn't encounter the horrid messes that others did weeks later. Once that was done, we did a little re-con to see what was going on nearby.
We heard that the Church of Christ out of Baton Rouge was setting up a food and supply depot at Blaine Kern's Mardi Gras World. The next day we went over to see what we could do. Our neighbor set up a generator in our backyard (we were grateful for the ten gallons of gas we'd brought in with us), and we ran both households off that generator for a couple of hours a day. I rigged up an internet connection via a dialup to an AOL access number in New Mexico and started sending out emails to friends and family letting them know we were okay and what was happening.
Those emails morphed into the New Orleans Slate blog. This blog will re-publish those emails in real time (some with photos that I'm finally dealing with that were taken at the time.) Curiously, I hadn't read those emails since they were written so hastily last September. Reading them and seeing the faces of those who helped has really been hard in some cases. The anger came flooding back, no pun intended, and the gratitude to all of those who helped was overwhelming. There were so many regular people who set about doing what they could, and in that moment they became heroes. My husband and I are both so humbled by the help that strangers gave our city and ourselves when we needed it.
We hope in reading these emails as written, with minimal editing--only typos fixed and names changed to initials for privacy--we will give you a view of life here immediately following Katrina. I will be adding notes here and there as updates on what the issues were then and what is still an issue today.
The links haven't been done yet. I'll do them this week. This post will be crossposted on New Orleans Slate today, and the links there will eventually point here. The first email will be published tomorrow, exactly one year from when it was written.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Katrina Refrigerator Rising Tide
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Back to Work
My grandson's school is open. An amazing feat, apparently. With a year of post-K time behind us, many schools were still not ready to be open to students. (HEY FEMA! WHY IS THAT?) My grandson's school opened a week later than it was supposed to, and the summer session was mostly cancelled. The summer session was supposed to be two weeks all day and became three days, half days, and that thanks to the largesse of NOCCA who provided some classroom space. But his re-entry into school allows for my re-entry into real life. (Is that a good thing?) While I will not be spending my days playing pirate or running to ask.com ("they know EVERYTHING!") to find out what is the world's smallest car, I can now address the mountain of notes sitting here on my desk waiting to be written up.
I have also started a sister-blog which will be the archive for all the emails that gave birth to this blog in the first place. Those emails will be published on the second blog on the dates that they were originally sent out last year. I will link to them on those days in this blog. (Great idea, utterly co-opted from other bloggers in the area.) I'm organizing those emails now, and I believe the first one was sent out September 12, 2005.
I will also be updating the blogroll shortly. There are so many voices that need to be heard here.
I suppose you'll have to prepare yourself for some rants about Entergy, our "Where's Waldo" mayor, the ideas floating around about municipalization of Entergy and the recall of Waldo. I still haven't written about the fabulous folks who managed to put the Rising Tide conference together and my take on what was said there.
So while I've been out of commission a while, and seemingly silent, my brain has been screaming onto cocktail napkins and grocery store receipts---little snippets of outrage or encouragement.
And it's all gonna come out here. I'll be really curious to see the contrast between what I was writing last year at this time and what's going on now. I haven't read last year's stuff since I wrote it. I'm not sure if I'll laugh or cry or both. But there you have it.
Oh yeah, and in case you're wondering: We are not Ok. Still.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate
I have also started a sister-blog which will be the archive for all the emails that gave birth to this blog in the first place. Those emails will be published on the second blog on the dates that they were originally sent out last year. I will link to them on those days in this blog. (Great idea, utterly co-opted from other bloggers in the area.) I'm organizing those emails now, and I believe the first one was sent out September 12, 2005.
I will also be updating the blogroll shortly. There are so many voices that need to be heard here.
I suppose you'll have to prepare yourself for some rants about Entergy, our "Where's Waldo" mayor, the ideas floating around about municipalization of Entergy and the recall of Waldo. I still haven't written about the fabulous folks who managed to put the Rising Tide conference together and my take on what was said there.
So while I've been out of commission a while, and seemingly silent, my brain has been screaming onto cocktail napkins and grocery store receipts---little snippets of outrage or encouragement.
And it's all gonna come out here. I'll be really curious to see the contrast between what I was writing last year at this time and what's going on now. I haven't read last year's stuff since I wrote it. I'm not sure if I'll laugh or cry or both. But there you have it.
Oh yeah, and in case you're wondering: We are not Ok. Still.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
8.29.2005
Please remember, it wasn't the hurricane, it was the LEVEES. This is what happened in real time: Amazing map with times of levee breaks.
This is what is happening now. One year later.
The statistics are part of a Legal Student Hurricane Network request to watch Spike Lee's When the Levees Broke, but form a succinct description of New Orleans and the surrounding area one year after Katrina. Here it is:
One year ago, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. As the natural and man-made disasters engulfed the region, the nation turned its attention to the storm's immediate aftermath. However, a year later, the crisis continues.
Today, less than half of pre-Katrina New Orleans residents have been able to return home; over 70,000 of them are living in 240-square foot FEMA trailers (which are particularly vulnerable during the hurricane season) and many people are still waiting for trailers to be delivered; the state's charity hospital system is in shambles and psychiatric care is non-existent; most of the Lower 9th Ward is still without potable water; 6,000 criminal defendants await trial, many of whom do not have attorneys; 60 percent of the businesses within the city limits have probably not reopened; federal officials have doled out only about 40 percent of the $110 billion promised to the Gulf Coast; not a single dollar of federal funds to rebuild houses has made it to Louisiana homeowners; and renters have been virtually left to fend for themselves.
But the numbers do not tell the whole story. The pain, the frustration, the anger, the desperation and the anguish are still as real today as they were in the days after the tragedy first unfolded. The Gulf Coast residents have not forgotten – they are still living the tragedy. And we cannot forget, either.
I request all of you to keep writing and spreading the word about our city. Continue to talk with everyone. Engage those in discussion who are of an opposing mindset and let them know that We Are Not Ok . Thank you.
(Closing statements at the Rising Tide Conference. Many thanks to Maitri)
Please pass this on.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
The State of Businesses in New Orleans
I know I have been absent lately, but got an email today that broke my heart. Lemme back up a little.
A couple weeks ago, my grandson and I were walking down Decatur Street. We passed one empty storefront, then the next had a huge sign reading, "Liquidation Sale, Everything 50% OFF!" A tourist couple saw the sign and delighted exclaimed that they could get ALL the tshirts they needed in this one shop---CHEAP! Having been a tourist myself in various places I understood their thinking and the dynamic at work, but as a resident of New Orleans, watching a New Orleans business crash and burn in the wake of the Katrina, I wanted to snatch that woman bald headed and scream, "Do you NOT realize what you're looking at?" But I knew that this couple was spreading the contents of their wallets around the city, so I had to see that as the silver lining to their obtuseness.
The email I got today showed this problem from the inside. This is a French Quarter business. As this letter was sent in confidence, I wrote asking for permission to post it. This is critical. People need to SEE this and understand what's happening here, even in the "French Quarter's Okay" frame of reference that most tourists see. I have omitted the author's name and the address of the business.
This is the letter in its entirety and without editing of any kind. Please. Pass it on.
"Yes, we are desperately hanging on... Running onlyabout 20% of pre-thing. We believe and everyone we speak with believes that we have a service business absolutely vital to the quarter and surrounding area. We have lost use of our bank account and credit cards because we couldn't keep up. Our credit is destroyed. Our landlord has reduced our lease payment by 28% for June, July, august, and September, but we can't even make that. I have to call him tomorrow to tell him we still don't have our august rent. We haven't been able to pay payroll since march. We've not been able to pay our [much larger] electric bills [Entergy] since were opened. We now owe them almost $4,000. Our smaller staff feels that with what we do - bringing crucial technology services, parts and training to the residents and visitors of the quarter - it would be criminal if we were forced to close. Our friends, neighbors, and visitors are begging us daily not to close.
We first opened in January 2004 and paid the bills from the first day. For the first time in the French Quarter one could buy a keyboard or a mouse without having to drive to Metairie, or ordering online - if they could even get online. We help people connect with the world every single day, from all over the world.
I re-opened on October 3rd, when the stench in the quarter was at its worst and so very few places were open, and gave free internet access and telephone service to anyone who needed it for weeks until the landlord insisted on being paid rent. Dozens located loved-ones and pets all over the country using our services during that time. It was enough to make you weep. A state trooper from New Jersey broke down crying as he sent an email to his wife describing what he'd seen - the diplomas and marriage certificates floating in muck, prom dresses, toys, everything one can imagine, including lives... All destroyed.
I lost my own home. not due to flood, but because the landlord hired a group of non-local laborers to go in and get the reeking freezer and fish tanks out of there. They stole whatever they wanted, which was just about everything. I think they left me with 3 t-shirts and some dishes. I slept on the floor of the store with my three cats [who I had evacuated to Texas with me] until Christmas eve, when a customer turned friend whose family would not let his 80 year-old self return to new Orleans, opened his condominium to me.
I operated the shop by myself until late November. While 'living' in the store, on November 16th, I had a stroke while I slept. Customers got to me and got me to medical help. Thank god for their care and for the tents of the 'spirit of charity hospital' [at the convention center at the time], and for Touro infirmary. Mostly recovered now, but with effects [and medical bills] I'm told I'll suffer the rest of my life. I need carotid artery surgery if I want to live. No chance of affording insurance. No help available from any level of government, the medical business offices tell me as they call wanting payment. My prescriptions run about $1,200 a month. I can only afford to get those filled that medical people tell me I must take to stay alive. 3 out of 22 I believe. Local medical people have helped to get two of those donated by the pharmaceutical companies because they are vital to live.
On our block [the 800 block of Chartres, between st Anne and Dumaine], 'le Madeline's' has never reopened and just recently vacated - a huge-huge setback for the quarter. Same with 'three dog bakery' on royal street. The 'librairie bookshop' is barely staying alive, as is the now mostly closed 'violet's' and it's 2 sister stores on the square. It's been published that they're surviving off their credit cards and hope to hang on until things improve [does anyone have any idea when that will be?]. Harry Anderson's [of TV's 'night court' fame] 'sideshow' tried to make it and couldn't. they've now sold the building, which was also their home. Harry has also been forced to close 'Oswald's' the speakeasy and his comedy club which was at esplanade and Decatur. He's lost his money and more importantly, his dream. He loved new Orleans. He and his wife, Elizabeth, are leaving for Asheville, north Carolina at the end of September. He's also vacated the space he rented for his magic shop in the old'wing lee laundry' at 830 Chartres.
Continuing on, 'in theory' a men's clothing shop next to the wing lee never reopened and has had to vacate. 'the padded cell' has been trying for months to open in that space and cannot, due to lack of funds and resources. The 'idea factory' gave up and has closed until September 1st. I'll be stunned if he reopens based on our discussions and the decline we're all experiencing. 'bel et bon', on the other side of us is never open. We are the only shop open in the two blocks on our side of the street.
The uniform store that was fully-stocked and poised to open on the weekend of the thing, never did open andthe space sits vacant at Madison and Chartres.
French Quarter Realty tells me they are only doing about 20% of pre-thing sales. Seems 20% has taken the place of what was 35% when all the first-responders were here to help. Neither number allows any of us 'mom and pop's' to survive.
'Arthur's', once on royal and Dumaine did well immediately after reopening, moved to canal place, and failed within 60 days. 'the Bienville shop' on the other side of the square did all of $1,500 in sales from reopening through January 1st. They are now closed. The coffee shop just down from him never reopened and vacated.
The pontalba café on the square, once with scores of tables filled all day, never has more than a few tables to serve now. Same with peré Antoine's at royal and st Anne. The 'alpine' never has anyone in there anymore. 'Chartres house' too, is always empty. The fancy restaurants I hear are doing well. Anything less than 'big name' or fancy, are barely surviving, if they are open at all.
When I was able I'd walk from block to block in the quarter to see how business was surviving. Immediately following jazz fest, 48[!] businesses closed their doors forever. I expect many more will be forced to close before September 1st arrives. There are no lines at banks. You can get right to a teller.
We have lost our central a/c [$3,500], 5 printers and 6 computer systems since reopening due to power fluctuations, which are not covered by insurance. We can't afford toner for our copier and haven't been able to sell copies to our customers for months. We can't replace inventory. What we do here at our shop is my own dream and that of those wonderful saints who work with me; to bring today's technology to our French quarter neighbors and visitors. I will do everything in my power to continue, but we cannot survive on less than $50 a day in sales. We know that comp-usa could come in, stuff the place with parts and inventory and do far more than we, but they couldn't love their customers or provide the caring service that we do.
We want to start giving much needed, much in demand classes - that would bring in much needed revenue. We need about $3,000 in equipment and material to start. We don't have it and don't know where we could get it.
We believe in the French Quarter. We are dedicated to what we do. It's all about heart. We have it and we believe our existence this long throughout what we've all been through has proven it. We won't pull theplug, but very soon BellSouth will turn off our phones, Entergy will turn off our lights, or some other creditor or the landlord will pull it for us. we need help. We need it now. Please...
Thank you for sharing with the Governor."
A couple weeks ago, my grandson and I were walking down Decatur Street. We passed one empty storefront, then the next had a huge sign reading, "Liquidation Sale, Everything 50% OFF!" A tourist couple saw the sign and delighted exclaimed that they could get ALL the tshirts they needed in this one shop---CHEAP! Having been a tourist myself in various places I understood their thinking and the dynamic at work, but as a resident of New Orleans, watching a New Orleans business crash and burn in the wake of the Katrina, I wanted to snatch that woman bald headed and scream, "Do you NOT realize what you're looking at?" But I knew that this couple was spreading the contents of their wallets around the city, so I had to see that as the silver lining to their obtuseness.
The email I got today showed this problem from the inside. This is a French Quarter business. As this letter was sent in confidence, I wrote asking for permission to post it. This is critical. People need to SEE this and understand what's happening here, even in the "French Quarter's Okay" frame of reference that most tourists see. I have omitted the author's name and the address of the business.
This is the letter in its entirety and without editing of any kind. Please. Pass it on.
"Yes, we are desperately hanging on... Running onlyabout 20% of pre-thing. We believe and everyone we speak with believes that we have a service business absolutely vital to the quarter and surrounding area. We have lost use of our bank account and credit cards because we couldn't keep up. Our credit is destroyed. Our landlord has reduced our lease payment by 28% for June, July, august, and September, but we can't even make that. I have to call him tomorrow to tell him we still don't have our august rent. We haven't been able to pay payroll since march. We've not been able to pay our [much larger] electric bills [Entergy] since were opened. We now owe them almost $4,000. Our smaller staff feels that with what we do - bringing crucial technology services, parts and training to the residents and visitors of the quarter - it would be criminal if we were forced to close. Our friends, neighbors, and visitors are begging us daily not to close.
We first opened in January 2004 and paid the bills from the first day. For the first time in the French Quarter one could buy a keyboard or a mouse without having to drive to Metairie, or ordering online - if they could even get online. We help people connect with the world every single day, from all over the world.
I re-opened on October 3rd, when the stench in the quarter was at its worst and so very few places were open, and gave free internet access and telephone service to anyone who needed it for weeks until the landlord insisted on being paid rent. Dozens located loved-ones and pets all over the country using our services during that time. It was enough to make you weep. A state trooper from New Jersey broke down crying as he sent an email to his wife describing what he'd seen - the diplomas and marriage certificates floating in muck, prom dresses, toys, everything one can imagine, including lives... All destroyed.
I lost my own home. not due to flood, but because the landlord hired a group of non-local laborers to go in and get the reeking freezer and fish tanks out of there. They stole whatever they wanted, which was just about everything. I think they left me with 3 t-shirts and some dishes. I slept on the floor of the store with my three cats [who I had evacuated to Texas with me] until Christmas eve, when a customer turned friend whose family would not let his 80 year-old self return to new Orleans, opened his condominium to me.
I operated the shop by myself until late November. While 'living' in the store, on November 16th, I had a stroke while I slept. Customers got to me and got me to medical help. Thank god for their care and for the tents of the 'spirit of charity hospital' [at the convention center at the time], and for Touro infirmary. Mostly recovered now, but with effects [and medical bills] I'm told I'll suffer the rest of my life. I need carotid artery surgery if I want to live. No chance of affording insurance. No help available from any level of government, the medical business offices tell me as they call wanting payment. My prescriptions run about $1,200 a month. I can only afford to get those filled that medical people tell me I must take to stay alive. 3 out of 22 I believe. Local medical people have helped to get two of those donated by the pharmaceutical companies because they are vital to live.
On our block [the 800 block of Chartres, between st Anne and Dumaine], 'le Madeline's' has never reopened and just recently vacated - a huge-huge setback for the quarter. Same with 'three dog bakery' on royal street. The 'librairie bookshop' is barely staying alive, as is the now mostly closed 'violet's' and it's 2 sister stores on the square. It's been published that they're surviving off their credit cards and hope to hang on until things improve [does anyone have any idea when that will be?]. Harry Anderson's [of TV's 'night court' fame] 'sideshow' tried to make it and couldn't. they've now sold the building, which was also their home. Harry has also been forced to close 'Oswald's' the speakeasy and his comedy club which was at esplanade and Decatur. He's lost his money and more importantly, his dream. He loved new Orleans. He and his wife, Elizabeth, are leaving for Asheville, north Carolina at the end of September. He's also vacated the space he rented for his magic shop in the old'wing lee laundry' at 830 Chartres.
Continuing on, 'in theory' a men's clothing shop next to the wing lee never reopened and has had to vacate. 'the padded cell' has been trying for months to open in that space and cannot, due to lack of funds and resources. The 'idea factory' gave up and has closed until September 1st. I'll be stunned if he reopens based on our discussions and the decline we're all experiencing. 'bel et bon', on the other side of us is never open. We are the only shop open in the two blocks on our side of the street.
The uniform store that was fully-stocked and poised to open on the weekend of the thing, never did open andthe space sits vacant at Madison and Chartres.
French Quarter Realty tells me they are only doing about 20% of pre-thing sales. Seems 20% has taken the place of what was 35% when all the first-responders were here to help. Neither number allows any of us 'mom and pop's' to survive.
'Arthur's', once on royal and Dumaine did well immediately after reopening, moved to canal place, and failed within 60 days. 'the Bienville shop' on the other side of the square did all of $1,500 in sales from reopening through January 1st. They are now closed. The coffee shop just down from him never reopened and vacated.
The pontalba café on the square, once with scores of tables filled all day, never has more than a few tables to serve now. Same with peré Antoine's at royal and st Anne. The 'alpine' never has anyone in there anymore. 'Chartres house' too, is always empty. The fancy restaurants I hear are doing well. Anything less than 'big name' or fancy, are barely surviving, if they are open at all.
When I was able I'd walk from block to block in the quarter to see how business was surviving. Immediately following jazz fest, 48[!] businesses closed their doors forever. I expect many more will be forced to close before September 1st arrives. There are no lines at banks. You can get right to a teller.
We have lost our central a/c [$3,500], 5 printers and 6 computer systems since reopening due to power fluctuations, which are not covered by insurance. We can't afford toner for our copier and haven't been able to sell copies to our customers for months. We can't replace inventory. What we do here at our shop is my own dream and that of those wonderful saints who work with me; to bring today's technology to our French quarter neighbors and visitors. I will do everything in my power to continue, but we cannot survive on less than $50 a day in sales. We know that comp-usa could come in, stuff the place with parts and inventory and do far more than we, but they couldn't love their customers or provide the caring service that we do.
We want to start giving much needed, much in demand classes - that would bring in much needed revenue. We need about $3,000 in equipment and material to start. We don't have it and don't know where we could get it.
We believe in the French Quarter. We are dedicated to what we do. It's all about heart. We have it and we believe our existence this long throughout what we've all been through has proven it. We won't pull theplug, but very soon BellSouth will turn off our phones, Entergy will turn off our lights, or some other creditor or the landlord will pull it for us. we need help. We need it now. Please...
Thank you for sharing with the Governor."
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Corps of Engineers
Words fail me. From today's Times Picayune:
Corps: We can't be held liable
Engineers ask judge to dismiss lawsuit
Thursday, July 27, 2006
By Susan Finch
Arguing that it can't be held liable for damage caused by flooding and that Congress allows it discretion to choose construction methods, the Army Corps of Engineers has asked a federal judge to dismiss a lawsuit that blames the agency for flooding that destroyed homes in eastern New Orleans, the Lower 9th Ward and St. Bernard Parish after Hurricane Katrina.
The lawsuit was filed in April by WDSU-TV anchorman and eastern New Orleans resident Norman Robinson, a Lower 9th Ward couple and two St. Bernard residents.
They charge that corps negligence since 1958 in the construction, design, operation and maintenance of the Mississippi River-Gulf Outlet eroded wetlands, which had slowed storms down, and turned the ship channel into a superhighway that funneled Katrina's powerful tidal surges toward them, breaking levees along the way.
Attorneys for the plaintiffs maintain that while the 1928 law protects the corps against lawsuits over its flood-control projects, it does not bar claims for damage resulting from corps navigation projects, such as the MR-GO. They maintain that a 1971 ruling by the 5th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals after Hurricane Betsy in a case called Graci v. United States established the MR-GO as a navigation aid, not a flood-control project.
But in a 51-page memorandum they handed U.S. District Judge Stanwood Duval on Monday, corps attorneys maintain the plaintiffs' legal team is wrong.
First, they said, the Graci decision has been supplanted by a 2001 U.S. Supreme Court ruling that said, "Whenever damages result 'from or by flood or flood waters,' the United States is absolutely immune."
"The flood at issue in Graci was not one that involved a federal flood control project; the flood at issue here is one that did," the corps argues.
The corps lawyers also fault what they say is the other side's failure to take into account the additional protection afforded since Hurricane Betsy by levees the corps has built around the New Orleans area.
"Inasmuch as the plaintiffs' alleged damages result from floodwaters that the flood control project failed to control, the immunity afforded (by federal law) applies, notwithstanding the purported involvement of MR-GO in causing the flood," corps attorneys wrote.
Finally, the corps lawyers insist, the agency only carries out the directives of Congress in building projects, the MR-GO included.
The plaintiffs' side isn't due to file its formal response to the corps' pleading until next month.
But one member of the plaintiff team, attorney Joe Bruno of New Orleans, took issue with the corps' brief on several fronts.
"We're not complaining about the (MR-GO) levees," he said. "So who cares if there are levees surrounding an otherwise defective navigable waterway?'
Bruno said that just because Congress authorizes a project "doesn't mean you get to build the thing incorrectly." He pointed to a court ruling that held a government negligent for failing to turn on the light in a lighthouse whose construction it authorized.
. . . . . . .
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate
Corps: We can't be held liable
Engineers ask judge to dismiss lawsuit
Thursday, July 27, 2006
By Susan Finch
Arguing that it can't be held liable for damage caused by flooding and that Congress allows it discretion to choose construction methods, the Army Corps of Engineers has asked a federal judge to dismiss a lawsuit that blames the agency for flooding that destroyed homes in eastern New Orleans, the Lower 9th Ward and St. Bernard Parish after Hurricane Katrina.
The lawsuit was filed in April by WDSU-TV anchorman and eastern New Orleans resident Norman Robinson, a Lower 9th Ward couple and two St. Bernard residents.
They charge that corps negligence since 1958 in the construction, design, operation and maintenance of the Mississippi River-Gulf Outlet eroded wetlands, which had slowed storms down, and turned the ship channel into a superhighway that funneled Katrina's powerful tidal surges toward them, breaking levees along the way.
Attorneys for the plaintiffs maintain that while the 1928 law protects the corps against lawsuits over its flood-control projects, it does not bar claims for damage resulting from corps navigation projects, such as the MR-GO. They maintain that a 1971 ruling by the 5th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals after Hurricane Betsy in a case called Graci v. United States established the MR-GO as a navigation aid, not a flood-control project.
But in a 51-page memorandum they handed U.S. District Judge Stanwood Duval on Monday, corps attorneys maintain the plaintiffs' legal team is wrong.
First, they said, the Graci decision has been supplanted by a 2001 U.S. Supreme Court ruling that said, "Whenever damages result 'from or by flood or flood waters,' the United States is absolutely immune."
"The flood at issue in Graci was not one that involved a federal flood control project; the flood at issue here is one that did," the corps argues.
The corps lawyers also fault what they say is the other side's failure to take into account the additional protection afforded since Hurricane Betsy by levees the corps has built around the New Orleans area.
"Inasmuch as the plaintiffs' alleged damages result from floodwaters that the flood control project failed to control, the immunity afforded (by federal law) applies, notwithstanding the purported involvement of MR-GO in causing the flood," corps attorneys wrote.
Finally, the corps lawyers insist, the agency only carries out the directives of Congress in building projects, the MR-GO included.
The plaintiffs' side isn't due to file its formal response to the corps' pleading until next month.
But one member of the plaintiff team, attorney Joe Bruno of New Orleans, took issue with the corps' brief on several fronts.
"We're not complaining about the (MR-GO) levees," he said. "So who cares if there are levees surrounding an otherwise defective navigable waterway?'
Bruno said that just because Congress authorizes a project "doesn't mean you get to build the thing incorrectly." He pointed to a court ruling that held a government negligent for failing to turn on the light in a lighthouse whose construction it authorized.
. . . . . . .
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate
Thursday, July 13, 2006
A New Generation
I have an unfinished, stream of consciousness post in the draft stage. It's way too complicated for me today.
I've been offline a lot lately as my daughter and my six year old grandson moved in with us about a month ago. I am finding that I am totally out of practice with keeping up with a six year old, but it's coming back. Kinda like riding a bike, you can still do it, you remember how, but your muscles hurt more than they used to.
My daughter felt that moving here would be a good move as there would be job possibilities and expansion over the next ten years that couldn't be found anywhere else. I agree with her, but we very much struggled with encouraging her to move here. It's a hard place to be right now.
My grandson just plain loves it here.
We have built a pirate ship out of two lawn chairs, a stool, a couple of sticks for cannons, and a $2.50 shovel that he is defoliating a section of the backyard with looking for treasure. We also have a real pirate flag hanging out there, which had been part of my office decor for many years but had been put in storage when we moved to New Orleans. It was one of the few things from storage that survived Katrina. My grandson is terribly impressed by that--not just that I happen to have a pirate flag, but that it survived Katrina (which he pronounces "Kantrina.") The simple joy of hollering, "Go swab that deck you scurvy dog!" with my grandson, the Captain, shouting, "Yeah, you buckos, the Black Navy is coming for us!" makes me forget other things for a little while.
He has decided that all the old style plastic Mardi Gras beads are "World Record Beads." I'm talking about the ones that have the little connectors on them, so you can link them together. He's been linking them together for years and they are some of his favorites. He wants to link them all the way around Jackson Square and get into the Guinness Book of World Records. Cool goal, so we've been busy counting beads and finding out what Guinness requires. Today we had to go measure Jackson Square in order to estimate how many of these beads we'll need.
It took us nearly forty minutes to make it from Burgundy and Esplanade to the French Market. He was fascinated by the whole worlds he found in sidewalk plantings: giant soft leaves of pink and green, a tiny chameleon no longer than an inch peeking over a vine leaf looking at him, the myriad colors of flowers all the way down Esplanade. We had to stop to smell each one. It was wonderful.
We went past the Mint and he found a doubloon from 1975, a red one, Krewe of Gladiators, he had to have it. He found a break in the fence where they're repairing it and grabbed it, delighted by his treasure and asked me if anyone I knew was alive in 1975. He then nodded knowingly and said, "This survived Kantrina. It's special."
Once at the French Market, naturally the battery powered weasel on the ball fascinated him. And all the silver stuff overwhelmed him. Then we got to a booth that I happen to frequent, one with some of the best hard to find blues CD's around. They also have harmonicas there and the guy manning the booth is named Smoky Greenwell. Great harp player and former member of War. He sees my grandson's interest in the music, then whips out his harp and starts playing a great break to "Spoonful." My grandson was mesmerized. We left the booth with a brand new Hohner BluesBand Harmonica for five bucks.
We walked down to get a lemonade, then sat on the steps facing the back side of the Decatur Street shops. He noticed the giant blowup Batman, then asked for his harmonica. And he started playing. Not just tooting around, but really working at it, figuring out how it worked, suck air through-blow air through, high note, low note, did a scale. I asked him if he'd ever had one before. He said no, and set about playing little tunes of his own creation. I told him that all the big time harmonica blues guys had nicknames. He decided his would be Decatur Street Will. I am to play tambourine in his band. I told him that when he got famous, he needed to remember that his first harmonica had come from a New Orleans musician at the French Market. He solemnly told me he would. We lazed around those steps for nearly an hour while he drank his lemonade and played ("Hey, this lemonade makes me play better!")
Finally we made our way to Jackson Square. There we used a 100' tape measure to measure the sides. We learned that it's not square, but slightly rectangular, with the St. Peter/St. Ann sides being about 330 ft, and the Decatur/Chartres sides being about 350. (Our measurements were anything but precise since there were dumpsters or drink carts in the way on some sides, and my grandson can't walk in a straight line when there's a silver guy with a cowboy hat on whistling or an artist that can make planets look real using nothing but spray paint!) It took us an hour and a half to measure the Square as the tourists asked what he was doing or where Pat O'Brien's was. He explained to them what he was doing, very seriously. They looked at us both like we were very, very strange. It seemed quite normal to him.
He's the next generation and he filled my heart with joy and love for his quirkiness and that of the City I love.
"Don't worry," he says. "Kantrina didn't break everything. Lots of things survived."
Some days it's hard to remember that, but measuring Jackson Square with an eye toward circling it with a continuous strand of Mardi Gras beads with a six year old and the bell ringing out over the buggy drivers pitching rides next to a silver cowboy will remind you.
I've been offline a lot lately as my daughter and my six year old grandson moved in with us about a month ago. I am finding that I am totally out of practice with keeping up with a six year old, but it's coming back. Kinda like riding a bike, you can still do it, you remember how, but your muscles hurt more than they used to.
My daughter felt that moving here would be a good move as there would be job possibilities and expansion over the next ten years that couldn't be found anywhere else. I agree with her, but we very much struggled with encouraging her to move here. It's a hard place to be right now.
My grandson just plain loves it here.
We have built a pirate ship out of two lawn chairs, a stool, a couple of sticks for cannons, and a $2.50 shovel that he is defoliating a section of the backyard with looking for treasure. We also have a real pirate flag hanging out there, which had been part of my office decor for many years but had been put in storage when we moved to New Orleans. It was one of the few things from storage that survived Katrina. My grandson is terribly impressed by that--not just that I happen to have a pirate flag, but that it survived Katrina (which he pronounces "Kantrina.") The simple joy of hollering, "Go swab that deck you scurvy dog!" with my grandson, the Captain, shouting, "Yeah, you buckos, the Black Navy is coming for us!" makes me forget other things for a little while.
He has decided that all the old style plastic Mardi Gras beads are "World Record Beads." I'm talking about the ones that have the little connectors on them, so you can link them together. He's been linking them together for years and they are some of his favorites. He wants to link them all the way around Jackson Square and get into the Guinness Book of World Records. Cool goal, so we've been busy counting beads and finding out what Guinness requires. Today we had to go measure Jackson Square in order to estimate how many of these beads we'll need.
It took us nearly forty minutes to make it from Burgundy and Esplanade to the French Market. He was fascinated by the whole worlds he found in sidewalk plantings: giant soft leaves of pink and green, a tiny chameleon no longer than an inch peeking over a vine leaf looking at him, the myriad colors of flowers all the way down Esplanade. We had to stop to smell each one. It was wonderful.
We went past the Mint and he found a doubloon from 1975, a red one, Krewe of Gladiators, he had to have it. He found a break in the fence where they're repairing it and grabbed it, delighted by his treasure and asked me if anyone I knew was alive in 1975. He then nodded knowingly and said, "This survived Kantrina. It's special."
Once at the French Market, naturally the battery powered weasel on the ball fascinated him. And all the silver stuff overwhelmed him. Then we got to a booth that I happen to frequent, one with some of the best hard to find blues CD's around. They also have harmonicas there and the guy manning the booth is named Smoky Greenwell. Great harp player and former member of War. He sees my grandson's interest in the music, then whips out his harp and starts playing a great break to "Spoonful." My grandson was mesmerized. We left the booth with a brand new Hohner BluesBand Harmonica for five bucks.
We walked down to get a lemonade, then sat on the steps facing the back side of the Decatur Street shops. He noticed the giant blowup Batman, then asked for his harmonica. And he started playing. Not just tooting around, but really working at it, figuring out how it worked, suck air through-blow air through, high note, low note, did a scale. I asked him if he'd ever had one before. He said no, and set about playing little tunes of his own creation. I told him that all the big time harmonica blues guys had nicknames. He decided his would be Decatur Street Will. I am to play tambourine in his band. I told him that when he got famous, he needed to remember that his first harmonica had come from a New Orleans musician at the French Market. He solemnly told me he would. We lazed around those steps for nearly an hour while he drank his lemonade and played ("Hey, this lemonade makes me play better!")
Finally we made our way to Jackson Square. There we used a 100' tape measure to measure the sides. We learned that it's not square, but slightly rectangular, with the St. Peter/St. Ann sides being about 330 ft, and the Decatur/Chartres sides being about 350. (Our measurements were anything but precise since there were dumpsters or drink carts in the way on some sides, and my grandson can't walk in a straight line when there's a silver guy with a cowboy hat on whistling or an artist that can make planets look real using nothing but spray paint!) It took us an hour and a half to measure the Square as the tourists asked what he was doing or where Pat O'Brien's was. He explained to them what he was doing, very seriously. They looked at us both like we were very, very strange. It seemed quite normal to him.
He's the next generation and he filled my heart with joy and love for his quirkiness and that of the City I love.
"Don't worry," he says. "Kantrina didn't break everything. Lots of things survived."
Some days it's hard to remember that, but measuring Jackson Square with an eye toward circling it with a continuous strand of Mardi Gras beads with a six year old and the bell ringing out over the buggy drivers pitching rides next to a silver cowboy will remind you.
Friday, June 09, 2006
I Will Be Offline for a Couple of Days
We have had a death in the family. My father-in-law passed away yesterday morning after a long illness. I'll be back online shortly.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
New Orleans Citizenry, Mental Health and Harry Anderson?
Improbable terms to put together, aren't they?
Last night, at Oswald's Speakeasy, Harry Anderson (probably best remembered as the judge in Night Court and the star of Dave's World) held a town hall meeting on the state of mental health in New Orleans. Harry, who has been holding town hall meetings since the fall of last year, graciously opened the doors to his club to locals and experts in an effort to help find out as he puts it, "how're we doing?"
The evening started out with a remarkable photo piece that was filled with very graphic images of the storm. One that struck me was a photo of Ray Nagin in a DESIRE tshirt, looking utterly shellshocked and exhausted. There were photos of bodies--in trucks, in wheel chairs, in water. There were photos of heroism and there were photos of children. Lots of photos of children. It was beautifully done and left the audience quietly applauding but clearly in their own space. I kept going back in my head to the photos I took of the devastation. Some on the screen were the same as what I'd seen in my camera. No doubt others in the audience had the same reaction.
It was explained that there had been a discussion among the experts prior to the showing about the appropriateness of showing it at all. The decision had been made that they should show it as it would put all of us on a level playing field emotionally.
It did. I was near tears. It broke my heart, but I didn't sob as I would have even four months ago, nevermind 8 months ago. Progress.
The audience was brave and stood there emotionally naked in some cases asking questions.
The citizens of New Orleans are regularly assumed to have lost possession of their mental health by any number of measures applied by outsiders. Hell, they live here. Isn't that enough to make their "mental health" questionable? I guess. If that's how you look at it.
Then there is the booze, the fact that they walk down the street seeing silver people pretending to be statues and don't miss a beat in their step or their conversation, they love the mingled aromas of jasmine, red beans and old buildings. They decorate their houses with antiques, gorgeous fountains and their fabulous ironwork balconies with pirate flags and shiny plastic beads. These people gotta be crazy.
Mental health? BAH! Doesn't apply. If they were sane they'd move somewhere else. If that's how you look at it.
What was discussed was deeper and showed the heart and resilience of the people here. Also showed the fragility of the children and the depths of the traumas to young and old.
One of the psychologists on the panel said that there are six year olds who think a hurricane is coming TODAY. It's June 1. Start of hurricane season. A storm will come today. They believe it. Another panelist said she's having to make "fun" goals for the kids she's seeing in her practice, and the number of kids being referred is going up. Fun goals? "They don't know how to have fun. We have to actually set goals for them to play, to have FUN." The psychiatrist to her right said that's happening with grown ups as well. We've all been so busy with what he called the "plastic" things of life, talking with insurance adjusters, hassling with FEMA, fixing houses, dealing with finances that we've forgotten how to have fun. What? In New Orleans!
One man said he had gotten lost in the swirl of negativity, he said has become very cynical. Another shouted from the audience, "If you ask anyone outside of here, we don't DO anything positive!" The audience laughed. We see so many "New Orleans is stupid, inept and corrupt" reports in the MSM that although we try to brush it off, it does leave a scar.
People talked about the sense of betrayal on so many levels, from government to family. Several in the audience agreed. The psychiatrist (gee, I wish I could remember their names, these people were wonderful and informative) said that yes, we were reeling and dealing with the fact that the social contract we thought we had with our government and others, had crumbled. He said that finding out there wasn't a social contract after believing that there was for 20, 40 or even 60 years was a trauma.
Another professional in the audience said that we here are not just dealing with one trauma. She says what she's seeing is four traumas: Katrina the storm, the aftermath, the delays in response, and yes, the social contract being shattered. Personal loss on so many levels.
The experts also talked about the money. It's just not coming in as fast as it should be and certainly not going where it needs to go. The big bureaucracies are holding up grants and it's the smaller organizations that are actually getting things done. That is the same thing we saw when we first returned here the first week of September. (One of the psychs said that he'd looked into this, and it had taken 24 months to get ANY funding for mental health after Hurricane Andrew, and 18 months to get money for mental health issues for the survivors of 911.)
I've been writing for months about the emotional rollercoaster everyone is on here. The stress levels are ruining marriages, according to these experts, and hurting everyone's health (months ago I wrote about all the heart attacks post-Katrina. It might have been my first post on this blog. Can't remember it's been so long now.) New Orleans has lost half its population and over 6000 mental health practitioners, according to their statistics, but the need for those practitioners is higher. One of the panel members said she had started a program slated to run for 18 months. She had to close the rolls in less than two months because of the demand.
We're all wondering if we're going to see a rise in PTSD when the first evacuation order is announced, or the first storm is glimpsed in the Gulf. All the experts agreed that we can expect mass panic.
Depression and grief are rampant here, and one of the panel members said we can expect a two year healing process. The usual varying stages, and someone in the audience said, "I get them all in any given day!" The rest of us laughed and felt the same, as did the professionals, who were very honest about their own issues. The elder of the panel, the one who talked about the social contract, said that his father keeps asking him why he stays. His answer was that he learned from his father that you finish what you start and you never leave your patients, but that he was tired of people asking him why he stays. Many of us feel that way.
In the last two weeks we've seen headlines like:
"New Hurricane season promises to be busy one." (Honey, let's buy a generator.)
"Hurricane experts say that more storms are probable on the Atlantic Coast than the Gulf this year." (But the caveat is that no one can actually predict that very accurately.)
"Levee that was repaired dropped six feet over night due to soft soil." (HUH? Who ARE these guys analyzing the soil and levee depth? Bring in the Dutch or the Japanese.)
"New Orleans sinking at an inch a year, faster than previously thought." (Did the ACoE consider this? Are they NOW considering this?)
"Evacuation plan unveiled, mandatory evacuation for anything over Cat 2." (Cat 2 hitting here or Cat 2 in the Gulf??? Um, what? Mandatory? Is that the same as forced? No? Okay.)
"Home insurers pulling out." (Fine, don't let them write any car policies either until they start covering homes. California pulled that off, we should do it too. Forbid them to write policies on anything else if they won't write a homeowner's policy.)
"Levees will be repaired delayed, completion expected by August 1." (Does that include armoring?)
"Volunteers funding ended, pullout scheduled for June 1." (But they're doing such a great job! What are these people thinking?)
"FEMA housing vouchers program coming to an end." (What's going to happen to these people?)
"Another body found in an attic."
Sometimes it's hard not to be exhausted.
The good news is that the room at Oswald's was full, and honest, and was a great community step forward in confronting the grief, the rage, the sense of marginalization. The interdependence of us all was mentioned and understood. We may feel apart from a lot, but in that room, we felt a local social contract.
Thank you, Harry. Thanks to the experts. And thank you, you insane New Orleans folks.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate
Last night, at Oswald's Speakeasy, Harry Anderson (probably best remembered as the judge in Night Court and the star of Dave's World) held a town hall meeting on the state of mental health in New Orleans. Harry, who has been holding town hall meetings since the fall of last year, graciously opened the doors to his club to locals and experts in an effort to help find out as he puts it, "how're we doing?"
The evening started out with a remarkable photo piece that was filled with very graphic images of the storm. One that struck me was a photo of Ray Nagin in a DESIRE tshirt, looking utterly shellshocked and exhausted. There were photos of bodies--in trucks, in wheel chairs, in water. There were photos of heroism and there were photos of children. Lots of photos of children. It was beautifully done and left the audience quietly applauding but clearly in their own space. I kept going back in my head to the photos I took of the devastation. Some on the screen were the same as what I'd seen in my camera. No doubt others in the audience had the same reaction.
It was explained that there had been a discussion among the experts prior to the showing about the appropriateness of showing it at all. The decision had been made that they should show it as it would put all of us on a level playing field emotionally.
It did. I was near tears. It broke my heart, but I didn't sob as I would have even four months ago, nevermind 8 months ago. Progress.
The audience was brave and stood there emotionally naked in some cases asking questions.
The citizens of New Orleans are regularly assumed to have lost possession of their mental health by any number of measures applied by outsiders. Hell, they live here. Isn't that enough to make their "mental health" questionable? I guess. If that's how you look at it.
Then there is the booze, the fact that they walk down the street seeing silver people pretending to be statues and don't miss a beat in their step or their conversation, they love the mingled aromas of jasmine, red beans and old buildings. They decorate their houses with antiques, gorgeous fountains and their fabulous ironwork balconies with pirate flags and shiny plastic beads. These people gotta be crazy.
Mental health? BAH! Doesn't apply. If they were sane they'd move somewhere else. If that's how you look at it.
What was discussed was deeper and showed the heart and resilience of the people here. Also showed the fragility of the children and the depths of the traumas to young and old.
One of the psychologists on the panel said that there are six year olds who think a hurricane is coming TODAY. It's June 1. Start of hurricane season. A storm will come today. They believe it. Another panelist said she's having to make "fun" goals for the kids she's seeing in her practice, and the number of kids being referred is going up. Fun goals? "They don't know how to have fun. We have to actually set goals for them to play, to have FUN." The psychiatrist to her right said that's happening with grown ups as well. We've all been so busy with what he called the "plastic" things of life, talking with insurance adjusters, hassling with FEMA, fixing houses, dealing with finances that we've forgotten how to have fun. What? In New Orleans!
One man said he had gotten lost in the swirl of negativity, he said has become very cynical. Another shouted from the audience, "If you ask anyone outside of here, we don't DO anything positive!" The audience laughed. We see so many "New Orleans is stupid, inept and corrupt" reports in the MSM that although we try to brush it off, it does leave a scar.
People talked about the sense of betrayal on so many levels, from government to family. Several in the audience agreed. The psychiatrist (gee, I wish I could remember their names, these people were wonderful and informative) said that yes, we were reeling and dealing with the fact that the social contract we thought we had with our government and others, had crumbled. He said that finding out there wasn't a social contract after believing that there was for 20, 40 or even 60 years was a trauma.
Another professional in the audience said that we here are not just dealing with one trauma. She says what she's seeing is four traumas: Katrina the storm, the aftermath, the delays in response, and yes, the social contract being shattered. Personal loss on so many levels.
The experts also talked about the money. It's just not coming in as fast as it should be and certainly not going where it needs to go. The big bureaucracies are holding up grants and it's the smaller organizations that are actually getting things done. That is the same thing we saw when we first returned here the first week of September. (One of the psychs said that he'd looked into this, and it had taken 24 months to get ANY funding for mental health after Hurricane Andrew, and 18 months to get money for mental health issues for the survivors of 911.)
I've been writing for months about the emotional rollercoaster everyone is on here. The stress levels are ruining marriages, according to these experts, and hurting everyone's health (months ago I wrote about all the heart attacks post-Katrina. It might have been my first post on this blog. Can't remember it's been so long now.) New Orleans has lost half its population and over 6000 mental health practitioners, according to their statistics, but the need for those practitioners is higher. One of the panel members said she had started a program slated to run for 18 months. She had to close the rolls in less than two months because of the demand.
We're all wondering if we're going to see a rise in PTSD when the first evacuation order is announced, or the first storm is glimpsed in the Gulf. All the experts agreed that we can expect mass panic.
Depression and grief are rampant here, and one of the panel members said we can expect a two year healing process. The usual varying stages, and someone in the audience said, "I get them all in any given day!" The rest of us laughed and felt the same, as did the professionals, who were very honest about their own issues. The elder of the panel, the one who talked about the social contract, said that his father keeps asking him why he stays. His answer was that he learned from his father that you finish what you start and you never leave your patients, but that he was tired of people asking him why he stays. Many of us feel that way.
In the last two weeks we've seen headlines like:
"New Hurricane season promises to be busy one." (Honey, let's buy a generator.)
"Hurricane experts say that more storms are probable on the Atlantic Coast than the Gulf this year." (But the caveat is that no one can actually predict that very accurately.)
"Levee that was repaired dropped six feet over night due to soft soil." (HUH? Who ARE these guys analyzing the soil and levee depth? Bring in the Dutch or the Japanese.)
"New Orleans sinking at an inch a year, faster than previously thought." (Did the ACoE consider this? Are they NOW considering this?)
"Evacuation plan unveiled, mandatory evacuation for anything over Cat 2." (Cat 2 hitting here or Cat 2 in the Gulf??? Um, what? Mandatory? Is that the same as forced? No? Okay.)
"Home insurers pulling out." (Fine, don't let them write any car policies either until they start covering homes. California pulled that off, we should do it too. Forbid them to write policies on anything else if they won't write a homeowner's policy.)
"Levees will be repaired delayed, completion expected by August 1." (Does that include armoring?)
"Volunteers funding ended, pullout scheduled for June 1." (But they're doing such a great job! What are these people thinking?)
"FEMA housing vouchers program coming to an end." (What's going to happen to these people?)
"Another body found in an attic."
The good news is that the room at Oswald's was full, and honest, and was a great community step forward in confronting the grief, the rage, the sense of marginalization. The interdependence of us all was mentioned and understood. We may feel apart from a lot, but in that room, we felt a local social contract.
Thank you, Harry. Thanks to the experts. And thank you, you insane New Orleans folks.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Katrina Brain, Sudden Death and a Dark Ride
Memorial Day weekend, and tomorrow, the ninth month anniversary of Katrina. Strange day. Very Katrina Brain day.
Out with friends last weekend, one of them said: "Do you have Katrina brain? I do. I'm forgetting things all the time, forgetting words, names, where I put things down." I said that yes, that had been happening to me as well. We went on to talk about some of the other Katrina brain issues. I just tried to light my cigarette with my chapstick. Didn't phase me, that kind of thing happens a lot around here. People are gaining weight, losing weight, and not on purpose. Most of us forgive the flakiness of others because we're a little flaky ourselves. It's Katrina Brain. It's a disjointed kind of thing. They need to put xanax and prozac in the water system.
The other day I walked out of my house, fairly normal place: power's on, phone works, AC will really crank up if necessary. I got somewhere on Gov Nicholls around Dauphine and the dog stopped to sniff something intently. My brain didn't register that this something no doubt smelled intriguing to a dog. It was three refrigerators on the sidewalk with the telltale Katrina brown color on the outer walls of them. I hadn't noticed them, they were part of the landscape for so long that they didn't seem strange. But these were strange. It's nine months later and there they were. Hadn't seen one in a while but the brain didn't process this as an anomaly. Probably had just been removed from an apartment or condo building. Maybe not enough work crews. At this point, they are actually something that should stand out since all the others were hauled away, but here they were with my dog straining at the leash to sniff them. ::::::JOLT:::::::
Time can be strange here. Katrina Brain seems to warp time a little. A lot of us still struggle with what day or date it is. The friend who coined the K Brain term was asking if we find ourselves drinking a little more. Most of us said that although we're not drinking every day, we might have three instead of two when we do go out. Everyone at the table (6 of us) nodded in agreement and the pharmacy companies must love New Orleanians. So many of them are medicated these days, then of course there are the ones who aren't.
There is a forum on the state of Mental Health in New Orleans on Wednesday evening. I'm going to go. I think it's something we're going to have to deal with in short order.
A friend of mine who had a really frightening experience with Katrina just lost his business partner and best friend of 20 years to a probable heart attack this week. Life (and death) go on here, storm or no storm, but the impact of a sudden death like this on someone who made it through the storm and the aftermath is emotionally catastrophic. His friend will be greatly missed, of that there is no doubt. He was a very sweet man and a fixture in his shop in the Quarter. But his partner is in complete shock. Of course it happens, death happens, every day, everywhere, but in this environment, when one finally finds a level of normalcy and is still trying to heal the trauma of the storm, this is a blow that while not easy to deal with under any circumstances, might be debilitating for some. I think my friend will be okay, but I could see that his "we're almost back to normal from the storm" security had been ripped out from under him, weighed down by his grief. ::::::::JOLT:::::::
Grief.
On to anger. In yesterday's paper, this article (you might have to scroll up from the bottom of the page they take you to to find it). Another body found on in a house on Banks Street. They found another on the Wednesday before that. :::::::::JOLT:::::::I emailed the article to myself and decided to write about it. Write about the anger I felt on so many levels. I knew I'd spew about the neglect, the disrespect, the outrageousness of a body still being in a house at this point, but Ashley's post beat me to it and did it better than I could have. Stay on their asses is right. The death count gets higher body by body and some woman in Metairie is writing letters to the editor complaining that the Aquarium's reopening was celebrated on the front page of the paper with a picture of a jellyfish, co-opting space that she thought should have been used to enshrine the American Idol winner and she's sick of hearing about Katrina and the losses and the rebuilding. (A telling statement in her letter was "More people voted for the American Idol winner than voted for President." Frightening but true, and what was more frightening was she didn't see how frightening that statement was.) I don't care if she's sick of hearing about it or not. I'm betting the families of these victims still being found are sick of worrying about what might have happened to their loved one. After all it's been nine months.
From anger to fear. I talked to a friend the other day about the evacuation plans. He had spent several days in the Convention Center. His eyes were clouded with fear just thinking about it. He was literally trembling as he lit a cigarette and said "I'm evacuating if they tell me there's gonna be a big rainstorm!" He laughed a little at his own joke, but his eyes had the look of a man who'd just been held up at gunpoint. He's not the only one. The city is filled with people who are living with an underlying fear. Fear that the Feds won't take responsibility and fix these levees that they built to begin with. Fear that the houses they're rebuilding will be gone again if the levees aren't rebuilt. Fear that no one cares and fear of talking about any of it because people are "sick of hearing about it." After all, it's been nine months.
Nine months. In Utero. New Orleans has spent nine months gestating, growing, evolving from the disastrous one night stand Katrina had when she met the warmth and pressure of the Gulf. In Harry Anderson's show, (which you should see if you get the chance), he does a piece from a movie about carnivals and carnies (wish I could remember the name of the movie--Katrina Brain strikes again.) One line stuck with me, I scribbled it on a napkin in the dark of the club.
"The moment your mama spits you out, it's a dark ride."
It's been a dark ride for nine months and New Orleans is getting antsy to be born, re-born actually. Antsy like a baby past its due date. Those of us here are seeing glimpses of light as one more business re-opens, one more family moves home, one more house is re-built, one more school opens its doors. But we'll carry the grief, the anger and the fear of the last nine months with us for a long time. Maybe forever. We are a different and probably more tenacious people than we were before Katrina's tryst.
Nine months. Tomorrow mama spits us out. I hope it's not a dark ride all the way. I hope the ride ends with a guy helping us out of the little carnival ride boat onto a platform in the sun.
Two days from now is the official start of the 2006 hurricane season. Let's hope Katrina doesn't have any wayward sisters, easily swayed by the Gulf's sweet talking about taking her on a splendid trip to New Orleans. We've gone from Katrina to a new hurricane season. We're now full term, baby.
Take a big first breath, and let out a healthy scream. We'll clean up the blood and the water. We need to kick a lot and hard as they try to calm us. Make sure they know we're here. And don't let them put us in a crib with sides built by the Corps of Engineers.
__________
EDIT: The name of the movie is Nightmare Alley with Tyrone Power, 1947
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Harry Anderson
Out with friends last weekend, one of them said: "Do you have Katrina brain? I do. I'm forgetting things all the time, forgetting words, names, where I put things down." I said that yes, that had been happening to me as well. We went on to talk about some of the other Katrina brain issues. I just tried to light my cigarette with my chapstick. Didn't phase me, that kind of thing happens a lot around here. People are gaining weight, losing weight, and not on purpose. Most of us forgive the flakiness of others because we're a little flaky ourselves. It's Katrina Brain. It's a disjointed kind of thing. They need to put xanax and prozac in the water system.
The other day I walked out of my house, fairly normal place: power's on, phone works, AC will really crank up if necessary. I got somewhere on Gov Nicholls around Dauphine and the dog stopped to sniff something intently. My brain didn't register that this something no doubt smelled intriguing to a dog. It was three refrigerators on the sidewalk with the telltale Katrina brown color on the outer walls of them. I hadn't noticed them, they were part of the landscape for so long that they didn't seem strange. But these were strange. It's nine months later and there they were. Hadn't seen one in a while but the brain didn't process this as an anomaly. Probably had just been removed from an apartment or condo building. Maybe not enough work crews. At this point, they are actually something that should stand out since all the others were hauled away, but here they were with my dog straining at the leash to sniff them. ::::::JOLT:::::::
Time can be strange here. Katrina Brain seems to warp time a little. A lot of us still struggle with what day or date it is. The friend who coined the K Brain term was asking if we find ourselves drinking a little more. Most of us said that although we're not drinking every day, we might have three instead of two when we do go out. Everyone at the table (6 of us) nodded in agreement and the pharmacy companies must love New Orleanians. So many of them are medicated these days, then of course there are the ones who aren't.
There is a forum on the state of Mental Health in New Orleans on Wednesday evening. I'm going to go. I think it's something we're going to have to deal with in short order.
A friend of mine who had a really frightening experience with Katrina just lost his business partner and best friend of 20 years to a probable heart attack this week. Life (and death) go on here, storm or no storm, but the impact of a sudden death like this on someone who made it through the storm and the aftermath is emotionally catastrophic. His friend will be greatly missed, of that there is no doubt. He was a very sweet man and a fixture in his shop in the Quarter. But his partner is in complete shock. Of course it happens, death happens, every day, everywhere, but in this environment, when one finally finds a level of normalcy and is still trying to heal the trauma of the storm, this is a blow that while not easy to deal with under any circumstances, might be debilitating for some. I think my friend will be okay, but I could see that his "we're almost back to normal from the storm" security had been ripped out from under him, weighed down by his grief. ::::::::JOLT:::::::
Grief.
On to anger. In yesterday's paper, this article (you might have to scroll up from the bottom of the page they take you to to find it). Another body found on in a house on Banks Street. They found another on the Wednesday before that. :::::::::JOLT:::::::I emailed the article to myself and decided to write about it. Write about the anger I felt on so many levels. I knew I'd spew about the neglect, the disrespect, the outrageousness of a body still being in a house at this point, but Ashley's post beat me to it and did it better than I could have. Stay on their asses is right. The death count gets higher body by body and some woman in Metairie is writing letters to the editor complaining that the Aquarium's reopening was celebrated on the front page of the paper with a picture of a jellyfish, co-opting space that she thought should have been used to enshrine the American Idol winner and she's sick of hearing about Katrina and the losses and the rebuilding. (A telling statement in her letter was "More people voted for the American Idol winner than voted for President." Frightening but true, and what was more frightening was she didn't see how frightening that statement was.) I don't care if she's sick of hearing about it or not. I'm betting the families of these victims still being found are sick of worrying about what might have happened to their loved one. After all it's been nine months.
From anger to fear. I talked to a friend the other day about the evacuation plans. He had spent several days in the Convention Center. His eyes were clouded with fear just thinking about it. He was literally trembling as he lit a cigarette and said "I'm evacuating if they tell me there's gonna be a big rainstorm!" He laughed a little at his own joke, but his eyes had the look of a man who'd just been held up at gunpoint. He's not the only one. The city is filled with people who are living with an underlying fear. Fear that the Feds won't take responsibility and fix these levees that they built to begin with. Fear that the houses they're rebuilding will be gone again if the levees aren't rebuilt. Fear that no one cares and fear of talking about any of it because people are "sick of hearing about it." After all, it's been nine months.
Nine months. In Utero. New Orleans has spent nine months gestating, growing, evolving from the disastrous one night stand Katrina had when she met the warmth and pressure of the Gulf. In Harry Anderson's show, (which you should see if you get the chance), he does a piece from a movie about carnivals and carnies (wish I could remember the name of the movie--Katrina Brain strikes again.) One line stuck with me, I scribbled it on a napkin in the dark of the club.
"The moment your mama spits you out, it's a dark ride."
It's been a dark ride for nine months and New Orleans is getting antsy to be born, re-born actually. Antsy like a baby past its due date. Those of us here are seeing glimpses of light as one more business re-opens, one more family moves home, one more house is re-built, one more school opens its doors. But we'll carry the grief, the anger and the fear of the last nine months with us for a long time. Maybe forever. We are a different and probably more tenacious people than we were before Katrina's tryst.
Nine months. Tomorrow mama spits us out. I hope it's not a dark ride all the way. I hope the ride ends with a guy helping us out of the little carnival ride boat onto a platform in the sun.
Two days from now is the official start of the 2006 hurricane season. Let's hope Katrina doesn't have any wayward sisters, easily swayed by the Gulf's sweet talking about taking her on a splendid trip to New Orleans. We've gone from Katrina to a new hurricane season. We're now full term, baby.
Take a big first breath, and let out a healthy scream. We'll clean up the blood and the water. We need to kick a lot and hard as they try to calm us. Make sure they know we're here. And don't let them put us in a crib with sides built by the Corps of Engineers.
__________
EDIT: The name of the movie is Nightmare Alley with Tyrone Power, 1947
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Harry Anderson
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Homecomings, Homelessness and a Book
The house across the street from us had been boarded up since the storm. That's what we heard when we moved in here. We were told that the people "stopped by every now and then to check on the house." It's a good sized double shotgun with a big area like a playground next to it.
I hadn't heard any activity over there since we moved in and this is a very quiet street. I'd have heard it if there had been some. One day when I was laying on the couch bemoaning the state of my health, I heard the sound of children. Then the sound of doors slamming, and laughter, and music. Two families, probably one large extended family seemingly headed up by women, were going in and out of the doors. Obviously cleaning out both sides of the house, the women were industrious. The children, three or four of them, were running up and down the steps and getting hollered at every now and then for going into the street. A car pulled up and the wails of welcome filled the street. People jumping out of the SUV, leaving the doors open, running up and hugging everyone else in succession. Beers were opened, music was cranked up, the women and the visitors were dancing on the porch, and the sounds of hurricane stories filled with laughter and tears were told all round. One little girl, with a myriad of shocking pink hair ribbons in her perfectly braided hair watched the adults with bemusement, then shrugged and skipped up and down the sidewalk. The welcome back party went on for hours. It was so beautiful to see that it brought tears to my eyes. They were finally home.
A couple days later, we went to Checkpoint Charlie's. One of the most interesting establishments the city has to offer. It's complete name is Igor's Checkpoint Charlie. It's a combination pool hall, bar, grill, music club and laundromat, complete with poker machines. A brilliant combination. We happened to get there to do our laundry on a Monday night, just in time to hear Patient Zero, a very very smart young man who is a post-Katrina combination of Arlo Guthrie and Bob Dylan. Skinny, bright eyed, with very blond dread locks and a very funny between song banter, he sang, we ate, and got our laundry done. He led the bar in a huge chorus of Glory Hallelujah, but with decidedly anti-Bush lyrics which we all knew. (Probably most of us had gotten it in our email at one point or another.) We ran into some other people we knew and since Zola the dog wasn't allowed in (at first, anyway), I set up a stool outside at a table near the window so I could see and hear.
Later on, as we waited for the laundry to dry, and everyone had had a few drinks so objections to the dog had gone out the window, I came inside and sat at a table. We talked with our friends who were there, and the dog just laid on the floor next to us. Suddenly we look up and there is a well dressed black man, in his fifties, with a nice briefcase, wearing glasses with no glass in them. Very dapper, clear skinned, all in black, with a look of fear on his face as he heads for the door. He sees that he has to pass our German Shepherd and he is not happy about it. We convince him that Zola won't hurt him, and the man proceeds to sit down with us. He introduced himself as Welmon Sharlhorne, "the artist." Welmon is a very serious man, slow talking, deliberate in his words. He shows us his art, tells us that his art is in the Ogden Museum (and as it turns out, in quite a few other museums in the folk art collections---do a Google search and there will be pages and pages of his art.} His art, begun while serving 23 years in various stretches in Angola Prison, is all pen (Bic pens) and paper (mostly manila envelopes.) He told us that he could not get paper to draw, but could get manila envelopes by saying he had to write his attorney. He then started creating his drawings.
His drawings always include a clock, set to 10 after 10, which clearly has some significance to which I am not privy. They are fantastical architectural pieces replete with columns and building facades in unexpected places or they are some kind of fantasy bird type creature. They look almost Mayan. Quite remarkable actually. We talk and talk some more and find out that this man is homeless. He lives on the streets of the French Quarter, does most of his work at a table at the Cafe Envie on Decatur and often sleeps on the Moonwalk. How he remains so clean and unwrinkled is a mystery.
Since we have this huge house, we told him he could stay for a night. He wasn't convinced that the dog wouldn't eat him, but as we found out, he wasn't convinced that everyone wouldn't kill him one way or another. He will only eat something that he sees made, will only drink something that he sees made. Totally paranoiac. We put some sheets on the couch for him and had to close both doors to the living room so the dog wouldn't get in. A man of impeccable manners, he told us that he'd been born in Houma, was 53 yrs old, and had only gone to the third grade in school. Well spoken and undereducated, but well versed in getting by, he left the next morning asking only for a washcloth so he could wash up, probably in some public restroom. We told him he could use our bathroom, but he declined. He believes that his time in prison was good for him, that it in fact saved him. I truly don't think that he will ever be able to find a home, pay bills, do the things the rest of us consider normal in this life. A classic New Orleans character, living on the streets and getting by through the kindness of strangers, for sure.
He called for a couple of days, but my husband and I had made an agreement that we had to set boundaries or we could wind up with a dependent. We saw him on the street one day as we went out on our bikes to run errands. He was going to take a bus to the Ninth Ward. He hadn't seen it yet. I wonder if the sight of that area will have an effect on his artwork. Next time I have a couple extra bucks, I'll go track him down, buy him a bottled water and ask him.
Then yesterday I read a book that was remarkable. The book is called, The Five People You Meet In Hell: Surviving Katrina. Written by Robert Smallwood, it is an account of his experiences with staying through the storm and the days after. I know many of the people he talks about in this book because the Quarter is really a small place. Sooner or later you're going to meet everyone or at least know them by sight to nod to as you pass them. It's a quick read, mostly because you can't put it down once you pick it up. He manages to relate the realities and the emotions of those days without being overwrought. I felt as though he was telling me the story. I had actually bought it because I tend to buy books by local writers a lot, and because so many had told me that all the writing I've done since September should be turned into a book. I decided to read Smallwood's book in hopes that I could figure out how to do that. I know nothing about book proposals, etc. Once I started reading it, I was laughing with him, crying with him, and wanting to have a drink with him. He talked about hearing Ray Nagin's radio interview in which Nagin told the nation in no uncertain terms that New Orleans needed help. Smallwood said he went out onto his balcony and cheered. My husband and I had cheered too when we heard it. We had tears in our eyes and cheered.
Interestingly, Smallwood evacuated the day we were sneaking back into town. (His description of the airport is harrowing.) Our story starts where his story ends. Reading his book was like getting the missing puzzle piece that fell between the couch cushions. (His book is available at Amazon---here's the link--it took me three hours and four bookstores to find it here in town. It's evidently selling out. Seems I missed him at Acadia Books on Orleans by two minutes.) Although the book could have used a better proofreader (although I loved the irony of cavalry being mispelled as "Calvary"), it is compelling. This guy doesn't bash you over the head with "gee it was horrible." He talks instead about the people of New Orleans, how they managed. He completely captured the spirit of the place that we returned to.
He loves the carriages and knows Armando's cigar store. Sweet Armando helped me pick out a humidor for my husband's cigars. I'm bound to run into him one day and when I do, I want to thank him.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Robert Smallwood Five People You Meet in Hell
I hadn't heard any activity over there since we moved in and this is a very quiet street. I'd have heard it if there had been some. One day when I was laying on the couch bemoaning the state of my health, I heard the sound of children. Then the sound of doors slamming, and laughter, and music. Two families, probably one large extended family seemingly headed up by women, were going in and out of the doors. Obviously cleaning out both sides of the house, the women were industrious. The children, three or four of them, were running up and down the steps and getting hollered at every now and then for going into the street. A car pulled up and the wails of welcome filled the street. People jumping out of the SUV, leaving the doors open, running up and hugging everyone else in succession. Beers were opened, music was cranked up, the women and the visitors were dancing on the porch, and the sounds of hurricane stories filled with laughter and tears were told all round. One little girl, with a myriad of shocking pink hair ribbons in her perfectly braided hair watched the adults with bemusement, then shrugged and skipped up and down the sidewalk. The welcome back party went on for hours. It was so beautiful to see that it brought tears to my eyes. They were finally home.
A couple days later, we went to Checkpoint Charlie's. One of the most interesting establishments the city has to offer. It's complete name is Igor's Checkpoint Charlie. It's a combination pool hall, bar, grill, music club and laundromat, complete with poker machines. A brilliant combination. We happened to get there to do our laundry on a Monday night, just in time to hear Patient Zero, a very very smart young man who is a post-Katrina combination of Arlo Guthrie and Bob Dylan. Skinny, bright eyed, with very blond dread locks and a very funny between song banter, he sang, we ate, and got our laundry done. He led the bar in a huge chorus of Glory Hallelujah, but with decidedly anti-Bush lyrics which we all knew. (Probably most of us had gotten it in our email at one point or another.) We ran into some other people we knew and since Zola the dog wasn't allowed in (at first, anyway), I set up a stool outside at a table near the window so I could see and hear.
Later on, as we waited for the laundry to dry, and everyone had had a few drinks so objections to the dog had gone out the window, I came inside and sat at a table. We talked with our friends who were there, and the dog just laid on the floor next to us. Suddenly we look up and there is a well dressed black man, in his fifties, with a nice briefcase, wearing glasses with no glass in them. Very dapper, clear skinned, all in black, with a look of fear on his face as he heads for the door. He sees that he has to pass our German Shepherd and he is not happy about it. We convince him that Zola won't hurt him, and the man proceeds to sit down with us. He introduced himself as Welmon Sharlhorne, "the artist." Welmon is a very serious man, slow talking, deliberate in his words. He shows us his art, tells us that his art is in the Ogden Museum (and as it turns out, in quite a few other museums in the folk art collections---do a Google search and there will be pages and pages of his art.} His art, begun while serving 23 years in various stretches in Angola Prison, is all pen (Bic pens) and paper (mostly manila envelopes.) He told us that he could not get paper to draw, but could get manila envelopes by saying he had to write his attorney. He then started creating his drawings.
His drawings always include a clock, set to 10 after 10, which clearly has some significance to which I am not privy. They are fantastical architectural pieces replete with columns and building facades in unexpected places or they are some kind of fantasy bird type creature. They look almost Mayan. Quite remarkable actually. We talk and talk some more and find out that this man is homeless. He lives on the streets of the French Quarter, does most of his work at a table at the Cafe Envie on Decatur and often sleeps on the Moonwalk. How he remains so clean and unwrinkled is a mystery.
Since we have this huge house, we told him he could stay for a night. He wasn't convinced that the dog wouldn't eat him, but as we found out, he wasn't convinced that everyone wouldn't kill him one way or another. He will only eat something that he sees made, will only drink something that he sees made. Totally paranoiac. We put some sheets on the couch for him and had to close both doors to the living room so the dog wouldn't get in. A man of impeccable manners, he told us that he'd been born in Houma, was 53 yrs old, and had only gone to the third grade in school. Well spoken and undereducated, but well versed in getting by, he left the next morning asking only for a washcloth so he could wash up, probably in some public restroom. We told him he could use our bathroom, but he declined. He believes that his time in prison was good for him, that it in fact saved him. I truly don't think that he will ever be able to find a home, pay bills, do the things the rest of us consider normal in this life. A classic New Orleans character, living on the streets and getting by through the kindness of strangers, for sure.
He called for a couple of days, but my husband and I had made an agreement that we had to set boundaries or we could wind up with a dependent. We saw him on the street one day as we went out on our bikes to run errands. He was going to take a bus to the Ninth Ward. He hadn't seen it yet. I wonder if the sight of that area will have an effect on his artwork. Next time I have a couple extra bucks, I'll go track him down, buy him a bottled water and ask him.
Then yesterday I read a book that was remarkable. The book is called, The Five People You Meet In Hell: Surviving Katrina. Written by Robert Smallwood, it is an account of his experiences with staying through the storm and the days after. I know many of the people he talks about in this book because the Quarter is really a small place. Sooner or later you're going to meet everyone or at least know them by sight to nod to as you pass them. It's a quick read, mostly because you can't put it down once you pick it up. He manages to relate the realities and the emotions of those days without being overwrought. I felt as though he was telling me the story. I had actually bought it because I tend to buy books by local writers a lot, and because so many had told me that all the writing I've done since September should be turned into a book. I decided to read Smallwood's book in hopes that I could figure out how to do that. I know nothing about book proposals, etc. Once I started reading it, I was laughing with him, crying with him, and wanting to have a drink with him. He talked about hearing Ray Nagin's radio interview in which Nagin told the nation in no uncertain terms that New Orleans needed help. Smallwood said he went out onto his balcony and cheered. My husband and I had cheered too when we heard it. We had tears in our eyes and cheered.
Interestingly, Smallwood evacuated the day we were sneaking back into town. (His description of the airport is harrowing.) Our story starts where his story ends. Reading his book was like getting the missing puzzle piece that fell between the couch cushions. (His book is available at Amazon---here's the link--it took me three hours and four bookstores to find it here in town. It's evidently selling out. Seems I missed him at Acadia Books on Orleans by two minutes.) Although the book could have used a better proofreader (although I loved the irony of cavalry being mispelled as "Calvary"), it is compelling. This guy doesn't bash you over the head with "gee it was horrible." He talks instead about the people of New Orleans, how they managed. He completely captured the spirit of the place that we returned to.
He loves the carriages and knows Armando's cigar store. Sweet Armando helped me pick out a humidor for my husband's cigars. I'm bound to run into him one day and when I do, I want to thank him.
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate Robert Smallwood Five People You Meet in Hell
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
And the Dog Tried to Eat the Window Shades
What a weird weekend, and my tongue is positively bleeding down my chin from biting it. So many things to bite my tongue about. I have a lot to do today, so I'm probably going to forego the links (most of the folks I reference today are linked on the left side of the blog anyway), and just tell you what this weekend has been like.
In a word: schizophrenic---lots of "hearing voices." What are the voices saying?
We'll start with the election. Landrieu, for whom I voted, lost. Anyone who's been reading what I've been writing here knows why I voted for Landrieu. I didn't hate Nagin. I just thought Nagin would not be as effective as Landrieu.
I've read all the articles and various blogs. Read the analyses of the elections,and heard locals discussing it. I will say that I was surprised by Nagin's victory. That being said, I'm really hoping that some of the near panic I heard from people upset by Nagin's re-election will abate over time. Fellow blogger, Ashley, is very upset, but also said that the new faces on the City Council might help things. I think he's right. He also has a great refrain that I think we should all tattoo on our foreheads, or at least have some banners made: "It happened on their watch." I said in a comment that since Nagin won, we really have to hold his feet to the fire now. I think Ashley's "It happened on their watch" is a good bottom line approach. We need to remember that. Fellow blogger, Mark over at the Wet Bank Guide, is talking about "Playing the Hand We're Dealt" (again, forgive the lack of links today. If I have time later I'll put them in, but am in a hurry. Check the blogroll and you'll find these people there.) Mark is correct. It's a done deal. Keep whining, keep panicking, keep fleeing and we'll never accomplish a damn thing. If Nagin is the one in office, then we have to play that hand. We simply cannot go into a negative spin and assume that we're all doomed. Instead, we now absolutely must become more activist. Another NOLA blogger, Da Po' Blog, had a great take on the Chocolate City remarks. He reminds us that it became a chocolate city when the vanilla folks all ran away, the great white flight. He also explains beautifully how much more impact Katrina had on the black population here than the white. They were disproportionately impacted and they are also disproportionately displaced. Great piece of writing and perhaps offers a bit of understanding for why the vote went the way it did.
Ashley's information on, as it's now called, the Oyster/Adrastos theory (I will be adding links to those two blogs this afternoon), was incredibly helpful. In a nutshell, their view was sort of two fold. First that Republicans would rather have Nagin than Landrieu. Second, that there was a kind of "up yours" from New Orleans to the rest of the country for not supporting us with federal dollars in an almost cut off your nose to spite your face New Orleans oppositional disorder vote for Nagin. There was also the fear of the "Landrieu dynasty," which I can't help but wonder might have been fueled by looking at what the Bush "dynasty" has done lately. I had said in a previous post that if Landrieu won it would be because of or in spite of his connections. As it turns out, people who voted against Landrieu felt much concern over the "dynastic" family idea, although the surprise vote, according to the Times-Picayune today, was the business owners who felt that Nagin was more supportive of businesses than Landrieu. (Of course, Ray'scomment on sending businesses who chose to leave a postcard probably made some of them re-think their votes. Can't we PLEASE get this guy a handler?)
Then of course, we have the glorious out of towners who have no idea how New Orleans people actually feel, or what kinds of issues we're looking at, who are busily saying we're all crazy or drunk down here and that's why Nagin was voted in. They're sick of hearing about us, they're sick of a guy who cusses out the President, and of course, the always lovely Michelle Malkin drags out her "wingnut" epithets and barely disguised racism in her analysis. (I guess we can count our blessings that she didn't publish the names of everyone who voted for Nagin so they could get death threats like the protesters in California. She likes to do that stuff.) I'm sick of these people. I'm also sick of some of the New Orleans residents that post to the Times Picayune forums fanning the flames of racial and class divisions, and tossing out slurs of one sort or another. Some of them busily telling people who are writing to ask if they should come home that the city is going down in flames and they should stay put in Idaho. Fear mongering and ignorance of the realities. I'm sick of it, sick of them and sick of trying to be nice about it.
This is all happening days before the new hurricane season starts. With reports of new evac plans and supposedly fewer hurricanes this season, the post-K tension is in the air. I can see a bit of fear in everyone's eyes as the season approaches. Ashley's view that we are in this "Ourselves Alone" is shared by most of us here and is an overwhelming weight on already tense and weakened emotional shoulders. And there is anger blending with the fear. And this morning's news reports that a new report has come out stating that 80% of the city's flooding was caused by levee breaches not the storm and could have been avoided. Naah, really? How many MRE's do we have stashed in the shed, darlin?
In our little NOLA blogosphere, there is a difference of opinion. Some, like Traveling Mermaid, whom I read every day, is hoping for a more upbeat, positive slant to our posts. She totally understands that people outside of NOLA are reading our writing. She wants us to stop bashing and be less negative. I understand that. I've been carrying on about perception for a long time now. She's got a point.
Meanwhile, over at Suspect Device, whom I also read every day, the view is that we're angry. That we must keep the reality of life in New Orleans in front of people. Bash them if we have to. We simply can't go over and give the Corps of Engineers a medal and a pat on the back. The feds built these levees and we have to hold them accountable. (For the record, I've edited out at least seven "fucks" in this post. I understand the anger.) I understand his point of view. He's as right as Mermaid is.
What's concerning me most is the damn divide. Our country is already in a state of silent civil war, even within our own families. As the ever balanced super-blogger Polimom says, the middle ground is harder to find these days.
So now what, New Orleans? The election was close, less than 6000 votes in an already population depleted city made the difference. So do we now keep those divisions active and have a city in the midst of a civil war? Do we do the "blue/red" rubber bracelets in purple for Nagin, green for Landrieu and gold for "hey I wasn't here, I was displaced?" Look how well that's worked for the country! We absolutely cannot have that here.
We keep a racial divide? Not gonna help. Class divisions? Lakeview vs. Ninth Ward? Not gonna help.
And now NOLA bloggers are going to argue over who's too positive and who's too negative in their perceptions? It's not gonna help. Let's not go after each other.
With the election over, we've analyzed and commented. Now let's get on with it. Find a way to be helpful, find some way to contribute to the rebuilding of this city that's positive, regardless of your feelings about the outcome of this election. If you can't do that, then all the romantic rhapsodies you're written about your love for this city will be for naught. In fact, they will be lies. If you love it, then help it. We need to hold the feds accountable. Let's get on that. Write some letters. Put Senator Landrieu on your speed dial. Hell, put Jindal (god help us all if he runs for Governor) on your speed dial. Do SOMETHING.
If you're blogging, don't worry so much about what one person or another thinks of what you're writing. When this is all said and done, it's going to be all perspectives that will matter. We need some people writing and talking about the progress being made and we need others to bash. Some in the middle wouldn't hurt, but both sides are right as both sides are reporting from their own personal emotional vantage point, and lord knows, those are all over the map in New Orleans right now.
We're all schizophrenic, but let's put ALL the voices in our collective heads out there with a vengeance. Shine the Light, but make sure the readers also get a tour of the Dark. Thank those who helped and are continuing to, bless those who helped and are continuing to, and say fuck you to those who are ignoring or bashing us.
With any luck Mitch Landrieu will run for Governor next year.
Now I have to go fix a shade that the schizophrenic dog tried to eat. Luckily they just came down, no real damage. My vet says the dog has such severe separation anxiety that he needs pheno-barbitol. Maybe I should share it with him. I am developing a severe case of "division anxiety."
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate New Orleans Mayoral Election Ray Nagin Mitch Landrieu
In a word: schizophrenic---lots of "hearing voices." What are the voices saying?
We'll start with the election. Landrieu, for whom I voted, lost. Anyone who's been reading what I've been writing here knows why I voted for Landrieu. I didn't hate Nagin. I just thought Nagin would not be as effective as Landrieu.
I've read all the articles and various blogs. Read the analyses of the elections,and heard locals discussing it. I will say that I was surprised by Nagin's victory. That being said, I'm really hoping that some of the near panic I heard from people upset by Nagin's re-election will abate over time. Fellow blogger, Ashley, is very upset, but also said that the new faces on the City Council might help things. I think he's right. He also has a great refrain that I think we should all tattoo on our foreheads, or at least have some banners made: "It happened on their watch." I said in a comment that since Nagin won, we really have to hold his feet to the fire now. I think Ashley's "It happened on their watch" is a good bottom line approach. We need to remember that. Fellow blogger, Mark over at the Wet Bank Guide, is talking about "Playing the Hand We're Dealt" (again, forgive the lack of links today. If I have time later I'll put them in, but am in a hurry. Check the blogroll and you'll find these people there.) Mark is correct. It's a done deal. Keep whining, keep panicking, keep fleeing and we'll never accomplish a damn thing. If Nagin is the one in office, then we have to play that hand. We simply cannot go into a negative spin and assume that we're all doomed. Instead, we now absolutely must become more activist. Another NOLA blogger, Da Po' Blog, had a great take on the Chocolate City remarks. He reminds us that it became a chocolate city when the vanilla folks all ran away, the great white flight. He also explains beautifully how much more impact Katrina had on the black population here than the white. They were disproportionately impacted and they are also disproportionately displaced. Great piece of writing and perhaps offers a bit of understanding for why the vote went the way it did.
Ashley's information on, as it's now called, the Oyster/Adrastos theory (I will be adding links to those two blogs this afternoon), was incredibly helpful. In a nutshell, their view was sort of two fold. First that Republicans would rather have Nagin than Landrieu. Second, that there was a kind of "up yours" from New Orleans to the rest of the country for not supporting us with federal dollars in an almost cut off your nose to spite your face New Orleans oppositional disorder vote for Nagin. There was also the fear of the "Landrieu dynasty," which I can't help but wonder might have been fueled by looking at what the Bush "dynasty" has done lately. I had said in a previous post that if Landrieu won it would be because of or in spite of his connections. As it turns out, people who voted against Landrieu felt much concern over the "dynastic" family idea, although the surprise vote, according to the Times-Picayune today, was the business owners who felt that Nagin was more supportive of businesses than Landrieu. (Of course, Ray's
Then of course, we have the glorious out of towners who have no idea how New Orleans people actually feel, or what kinds of issues we're looking at, who are busily saying we're all crazy or drunk down here and that's why Nagin was voted in. They're sick of hearing about us, they're sick of a guy who cusses out the President, and of course, the always lovely Michelle Malkin drags out her "wingnut" epithets and barely disguised racism in her analysis. (I guess we can count our blessings that she didn't publish the names of everyone who voted for Nagin so they could get death threats like the protesters in California. She likes to do that stuff.) I'm sick of these people. I'm also sick of some of the New Orleans residents that post to the Times Picayune forums fanning the flames of racial and class divisions, and tossing out slurs of one sort or another. Some of them busily telling people who are writing to ask if they should come home that the city is going down in flames and they should stay put in Idaho. Fear mongering and ignorance of the realities. I'm sick of it, sick of them and sick of trying to be nice about it.
This is all happening days before the new hurricane season starts. With reports of new evac plans and supposedly fewer hurricanes this season, the post-K tension is in the air. I can see a bit of fear in everyone's eyes as the season approaches. Ashley's view that we are in this "Ourselves Alone" is shared by most of us here and is an overwhelming weight on already tense and weakened emotional shoulders. And there is anger blending with the fear. And this morning's news reports that a new report has come out stating that 80% of the city's flooding was caused by levee breaches not the storm and could have been avoided. Naah, really? How many MRE's do we have stashed in the shed, darlin?
In our little NOLA blogosphere, there is a difference of opinion. Some, like Traveling Mermaid, whom I read every day, is hoping for a more upbeat, positive slant to our posts. She totally understands that people outside of NOLA are reading our writing. She wants us to stop bashing and be less negative. I understand that. I've been carrying on about perception for a long time now. She's got a point.
Meanwhile, over at Suspect Device, whom I also read every day, the view is that we're angry. That we must keep the reality of life in New Orleans in front of people. Bash them if we have to. We simply can't go over and give the Corps of Engineers a medal and a pat on the back. The feds built these levees and we have to hold them accountable. (For the record, I've edited out at least seven "fucks" in this post. I understand the anger.) I understand his point of view. He's as right as Mermaid is.
What's concerning me most is the damn divide. Our country is already in a state of silent civil war, even within our own families. As the ever balanced super-blogger Polimom says, the middle ground is harder to find these days.
So now what, New Orleans? The election was close, less than 6000 votes in an already population depleted city made the difference. So do we now keep those divisions active and have a city in the midst of a civil war? Do we do the "blue/red" rubber bracelets in purple for Nagin, green for Landrieu and gold for "hey I wasn't here, I was displaced?" Look how well that's worked for the country! We absolutely cannot have that here.
We keep a racial divide? Not gonna help. Class divisions? Lakeview vs. Ninth Ward? Not gonna help.
And now NOLA bloggers are going to argue over who's too positive and who's too negative in their perceptions? It's not gonna help. Let's not go after each other.
With the election over, we've analyzed and commented. Now let's get on with it. Find a way to be helpful, find some way to contribute to the rebuilding of this city that's positive, regardless of your feelings about the outcome of this election. If you can't do that, then all the romantic rhapsodies you're written about your love for this city will be for naught. In fact, they will be lies. If you love it, then help it. We need to hold the feds accountable. Let's get on that. Write some letters. Put Senator Landrieu on your speed dial. Hell, put Jindal (god help us all if he runs for Governor) on your speed dial. Do SOMETHING.
If you're blogging, don't worry so much about what one person or another thinks of what you're writing. When this is all said and done, it's going to be all perspectives that will matter. We need some people writing and talking about the progress being made and we need others to bash. Some in the middle wouldn't hurt, but both sides are right as both sides are reporting from their own personal emotional vantage point, and lord knows, those are all over the map in New Orleans right now.
We're all schizophrenic, but let's put ALL the voices in our collective heads out there with a vengeance. Shine the Light, but make sure the readers also get a tour of the Dark. Thank those who helped and are continuing to, bless those who helped and are continuing to, and say fuck you to those who are ignoring or bashing us.
With any luck Mitch Landrieu will run for Governor next year.
Now I have to go fix a shade that the schizophrenic dog tried to eat. Luckily they just came down, no real damage. My vet says the dog has such severe separation anxiety that he needs pheno-barbitol. Maybe I should share it with him. I am developing a severe case of "division anxiety."
Katrina NOLA New Orleans Hurricane Katrina Louisiana FEMA levee flooding Corps of Engineers We Are Not OK New Orleans Slate New Orleans Mayoral Election Ray Nagin Mitch Landrieu
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Not My Usual But. . . . . .
. . . . I just can't let this one pass. George Bush Backs English as National Unifying Language. Okay, so does that mean he'll be taking remedial English as a Second Language classes?
::::::::sorry guys, I just couldn't resist::::::::::it's been making me giggle all night::::::::::::
::::::::sorry guys, I just couldn't resist::::::::::it's been making me giggle all night::::::::::::
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