Mr. Worchel's Ravaged Neighborhood

WHEN THE STORM CAME

            Along the Gulf Coast, my part of the country, nobody will ever think of KATRINA as a “lady”.  When that ill-begotten spawn of nature gone mad came screaming and ripping and killing past our homes and churches and schools and businesses and all the other places and things that make up our lives and families and dreams, we were afraid and we hated her.  Now she is gone and no longer exists but we have found that she has stolen or destroyed much of the beauty and comfort and perhaps even lives from us and all our neighbors and friends.  It is easy to hate her for all that. 

            We knew she was coming and when she would arrive and we never felt real danger, but our daughter and her family decided to leave and that concerned me greatly as fleeing has its own dangers.  They reserved any room they could find and that was finally way over in eastern Alabama and, as they drove away that day before the storm, I began to feel very lonely.  Lou and I had prepared well, laying in extra canned food, stocking plenty of water, filling extra gasoline tanks and filling vehicle tanks, setting out flashlights with extra batteries, covering our windows with plywood shutters, and even purchasing a generator on the day before the storm arrived.  We prepared our centrally located strong room with blankets and pillows, flashlights, knives and an ax for escape, our battery radio, the cell phone, and some water.  Our neighbors were also preparing and we cooperated and felt confident that together we would have no great problems.  We settled in for the night, which was Sunday, and watched TV until going to bed.  It was dark and quiet as a cave inside the house with all windows covered.  That night in the relative safety of our inland – Carriere, MS – home we found our last bit of normalcy for a long time.

            Monday morning we had our regular coffee and breakfast and prepared to watch the storm blow on by.  By then we knew that she would hit us dead on.  As the wind rose, trees began to fall across power lines and we lost power and phones at 8:00 AM.  By midday I suspect the wind may have gusted as high as 150 mph.  There was a great deal of noise as shingles ripped away and then flew away to hit the house some other place.  Water was forced through the panels and past the lights of our heavy wooden front door by the now screaming wind.  Lou and I rushed around to staunch leaks and place all available containers under drips from the ceiling as rain came through the trashed shingle roof above.  I went to the attic to check for damage one time and could actually see daylight through our roof where the ridge vent was torn away. Maybe that is when I began to have some doubts about our home surviving.   Looking out through an upper story window, I saw that most of our trees in back were down and all those magnificent pines in the Hideaway Lake subdivision adjoining ours were down and in falling had wreaked terrible havoc on their homes and power lines.  Lou and I were in our own personal survival mode and had to go it alone for more hours.  All of us were there locked into our own personal arks and had to take care of business as well as possible.  I, in relative safety, was not conscious at that time of so many who were praying and dying in their own fragile arks not far to our south in Gulfport and Long Beach and Pass Christian and all the other ruined communities that until the day before had been beautiful places to live and vacation and visit for a day or week.  None of us were really conscious nor ready for the tragedy looming over nearby New Orleans.  We would not really know all this for days because we had no phones and no TV and no cell phones.  Our system was shattered and all we could do was wait and continue our survival mode. 

            When darkness fell on Monday the world was very different and the full impact of all that was manifest beginning the next morning.  We spent that next day assaying our damage and cleaning and removing some plywood window covers.  After that first exhausting day I sat on my back porch and lit up a very expensive cigar, a gift from our cousin Lynn Lambert, saved for a special occasion, and enjoyed a wonderful Maryland beer.   We also spent much time talking to neighbors and organizing a little for the hard time we knew was upon us.  We did what was necessary for ourselves and what was needed to help others by pooling resources such as gasoline which was now completely unavailable.  Rumors of looting and violence were already beginning and we posted night watches to deal with that if true.  One person had heard that gangs were waking across the bridges from New Orleans to plunder Picayune and Slidell.  There were no phones to call our police if problems arose so all of us slept with loaded guns nearby.  I do not believe any of these problems came to pass but was not willing to take a chance.  The police chief lives nearby and he had deputies make several passes per day into that area and also alerted the county authorities.

            The weather during that time was just miserable.  It was usually 95 degrees plus in the day with 95 % plus humidity.  My biggest job was removing our storm shutters and picking up shingles.  I could only work early morning and spent much of the remainder of a day just sitting back inside cooled a little by the fans that we rigged to run along with our tiny TV and refrigerators and freezers.  Lou and I had some secret survival weapons for this time and absent those things the outcome may have been in doubt.  First, we used water dipped from our hot tub to have great hot baths in the evening.  During the day I had unlimited water from the neighbor’s swimming pool to cool my overheated body.  Few had such luxuries even after the water came on days later because the electric water heaters did not work.  Many had no such conveniences for long after that.  Some neighbors were spending much time attempting to locate gasoline but it was not available anywhere.  There were vehicles parked along most roads – abandoned after running out of fuel.

                        We were due to visit friends in Idaho soon but Lou wanted to leave almost immediately and I did not.  I just could not leave with the roof left open to the sky and certain rain.  Finally, I found a roofing crew at a neighbor’s home and hired them on the spot.  They spent most of a day in the heat getting roofing felt over the bare spots and throwing loose shingles to the ground.  About midday they stopped and had a lunch on our front porch.  They had all lost most or major pieces of their homes.  Still, we had a laugh at the labels on the government MREs they were eating.  One featured something called restructured beef steak.  Another was some pink froth called ice cream and it was completely unpalatable. 

            With the roof covered somewhat we began the process of leaving.  I had to throw away all that we could not give away.  I hopefully placed the reeking trash cans on the street for collection sometime.  I gave away about 50# of headed shrimp and a dozen good strip steaks and all my frozen grape juice - there went my entire 2005 Muscadine grape crop which was my first harvest.  We telephoned friends on our now operational land-line phones even though we could not receive calls, left our phone numbers for the next two months, arranged for a homeless friend to live in our home during that time, and photographed our surrounding area to show friends in Idaho.  I did not want to leave but with no real promise of power and phones and potable water and all those things so necessary to our well being, there was no real choice.  We just drove away.

            We made a last visit to our daughter Kate in Hattiesburg and went on to Jackson to leave our car at the home of a friend who delivered us to the airport and so began our own retreat to Idaho for almost two months.  Arriving in Boise was welcome beyond words and then our friends, Paul and Linda Bucca, whisked us away to their mountain-top home. 

            Most of this story has been about Lou and I and our own problems with all this destruction while knowing our good luck when so many are suffering so horribly.  The following short recollections describe some of the many impressions of all that has passed since that day when the world changed for so many of us on the Gulf Coast. 

• A friend, Stan Worchell, whose home suffered great damage, got his “roll call” communications going and did us NAVOCEANO employees or retirees  such an immense favor by providing much needed personal communication.  So, thanks again Stan for thinking about all of us who desperately needed the “roll call”.
• There was so little noise afterward.  The noise pollution of civilization was mute.  Soon the sound of generators and chain saws and helicopters filled that void.
• Huge tall pines lay like pickup sticks across roads and homes and power lines.
• Sarah’s home badly damaged from rain.  The mattresses were soaked.
• We ate well from stocks of thawing steaks and shrimp.  The Red Cross passed out whole pineapples and water and ice so we had cold beer and sodas.  A hospital employee passed by giving away expensive crab meat.
• I had plenty of gas from my boats fuel tank.  It is almost impossible to siphon gas from a modern vehicle.
• Nights seemed endless and we always carried flashlights.  Lou was just exhausted from lack of sleep.  There was no real hope of relief in the foreseeable future.
• Dogs were loose and searching for food.  A rabbit ran past during the storm and I saw him blown away across my yard as he sought any kind of shelter.
• My next door neighbor had about a dozen people at his home.  The children were so bored and down so he put them to work cleaning the yards.  They had to work hard and were rewarded well afterward.  I believe Ned’s child therapy there may have an important lesson for everyday life.
• We had no way to communicate.  I did not know where my children were.  Finally, we were able to call our daughter in Sacramento, CA and each of us got our family messages through her.  Imagine that.  She was our family com center.
• Blurred TV images of water pouring over the collapsed levees surrounding New Orleans was numbing. 
• So many of my friends from work described their homes as having only a slab left.  One person said the remains of his home were sitting on the neighbor’s slab.  Almost half of all the 1000 families were left at least temporarily homeless.
• Sam Tart, a co-worker from NAVOCEANO, drowned with his 2-year old son.
• A friend, Betsy Ransdale, was taken away from her home by boat and then she and her dog stayed with us for a while.  She had no idea if her children were OK but they showed up to help two days later.  She was real happy.
• Picayune doubled in size from 10,000 to about 20,000.  Traffic is impossible and food is difficult to find as it is sold out quickly.
• Eddie Compass, the New Orleans police chief broke down when someone told him babies were being raped in the evacuation center.  He resigned soon after.
• Ray Nagin, the mayor of New Orleans, lashing out at the slow and disorganized relief efforts and saying they would need 10,000 body bags.
• The people of Texas and Houston just got on with job of helping the evacuees and did not wait for all the red tape to be untangled.  A good model for the rest of us I think.
• The bridges to New Orleans and those connecting Mississippi coastal towns were badly damaged and impassable.  Access by vehicle was almost impossible.
• I was happy when my neighbor showed up with his girl friend.  She is an anchor woman at a local TV station and was evacuated to Mobile.  We had boiled shrimp together.

            There was so much devastation due to the storm that relief efforts were inevitably messed up badly.  Louisiana blamed the Feds for all their problems and the head of FEMA said that Louisiana was dysfunctional.  Much of the flattened Mississippi coast seemed to be ignored in all the finger pointing.  Some of the nationally known political religious leaders accused everybody of race bias and even swore that helicopters were bombing the levees.  Such foolishness.   I was most impressed by those who got on with the business of surviving and helping their neighbors without need for recognition or reward.  I saw a white nurse in the Super Dome save the life of a black woman who was collapsing into a diabetic coma.  I saw two local rednecks deliver an old black man and woman to safety by wading and towing them to dry land in their small flat boat.  Then, without announcing their names, they waded back into the rising water to attempt more rescues.  I am wondering if those brave souls survived.  Recently, the north Mississippi Mennonites came to our community to help clear away trees and debris for any who requested it.  We should all be thankful for these neighbors and friends - quiet heroes all.

            Lou and I have been hosted for weeks by our friends and their friends.  All of these people have expressed their genuine concern and sympathy for all of us who were living in the path of Hurricane Katrina.  I am grateful and encouraged by this universal caring for all of us.  So, for my friends and family and fellow survivors, I am sharing that with you.  Good Luck.

By:       Richard A. Young

            18 October, 2005

            Wilderness Ranch, Idaho