I posted this somewhere else and it was suggested I post here as well. So to take a break from swanky news and Gin’s home furnishing porn, here’s my recollection of Katrina, family and my beloved city …
Five years ago all of my family was in Houston. It was the first time we were ever all together in Houston in our history. Occasionally my aunt, uncle, grandmother or some cousins would visit. For occasions like graduation or sadly, my father’s funeral, but never everyone at the same time. For holidays my mom, brother and I usually headed to New Orleans.
This was no holiday or special occasion that brought them to Houston. This visit included not only all the human family members but also three dogs and a cat. My family had fled the New Orleans area in advance of Katrina. I hope we are never all together in Houston for that reason again.
After they settled in to mine and my mother’s homes, I remember the relief we all felt in hearing that the storm had turned and New Orleans had been spared the brunt of the storm. Poor Pass Christian, Bay St Louis and Gulfport Mississippi (my birthplace) were not so lucky. But for us, the trip to Houston was now just a visit.
We gathered at my house for the afternoon to do what we would normally do together – eat, drink, relax, laugh, talk loudly and wave our hands (we’re part Italian after all). We would also begin the debate that all Gulf Coast families have at some point in their lives – to stay or go when hurricane has its sight set on you. “I told you we didn’t need to leave” and “better safe than sorry” would start the “conversation”. It would end with “Next time I’m not leaving!” No matter the debate or the decision for next time, they all agreed on the day to head back home now that the storm had passed.
Sadly the sense of relief and relaxed family fun would end. Breaking news began reporting a levee had failed. That soon became plural – levees were failing. We watched in shock the live footage of water gushing into the city. A city we knew was essentially a bowl surrounded by water. The sight of families, children and animals clinging to anything above the rising water made me cry. Every. Single. Day. I still do. Is this America? Why aren’t we getting people off those roofs and overpasses? It still doesn’t make sense.
I had actually heard of a levee before and not just because a songwriter drove his Chevy to the levee only to find the levee was dry. My aunt and uncle lived near one in Metairie or “Metree” as locals know the suburb of New Orleans. As children, my cousins, brother and I would walk to the levee occasionally. I didn’t really know exactly what it did or how to spell it then. But I knew there was water on the other side. Now the nation knows what they do. Or rather, what they should do and what happens when they don’t.
The 17 days my family was with us in Houston, which included 11 two-legged and 4 four-legged family members, is a blur. A blur of them trying to refill prescriptions without documentation, trying to reach doctors who had also evacuated, trying to find out if paychecks were deposited when the school system you work for and the credit union you bank with are off-line indefinitely, trying to get any bit of information about a how a neighborhood, area or specific house has fared. Where are neighbors and friends? What about the schools (I have a family full of educators)? When would school start? Can school start? Will there be students? Will we have jobs?
What is not a blur is the support that came out of the woodwork in my hometown of Pasadena. Area churches offering vouchers to pay for prescriptions and food, neighbors bringing food to my mom’s house and offering to pray with us, doctors seeing non-patients so that prescriptions could get filled, the Houston Humane Society offering free heartworm pills and other care for animals of evacuees, the list goes on.
Despite the tragedy, there were nice family moments during those 17 days. We eventually let go of trying to watch the news and internet 24 hours a day. We ate dinner together, my mom’s kitchen becoming a cafeteria every night. There was wine and white Russians. We even laughed a bit, gathered around a big jigsaw puzzle on a table like we would at grandma’s house so many years ago.
Eventually it was time for them to head home. To discover what had actually happened, to clean and to re-build. As my aunt said “no one else is going to clean it for me. I might as well get started”. With their cars loaded with food, water, and cleaning supplies, they headed out of Texas, to what, they didn’t know.
Five years later, everyone is home, repaired physically, insurance claims finished (finally) and settled in. Our family has since been blessed with an addition to our family – sweet Jaime. She will never know her hometown before the levees failed it so miserably. She will only have the horror, shock and shame in photos and film to show her what it looks like when an American city is reduced to the status of a third-world country with no help in sight. The rest of us will never forget, hopefully.
I’ve been to New Orleans many times since Katrina including celebrating my 40th birthday there. The first trip over after the storm was November of that year. I went over with friends who also love New Orleans as much as I do. We stopped by all our favorite places. Some were in the process of cleaning, some had no activity at all, some were up and running and desperate for our tourist dollars. We obliged, gladly. We drove into one of the neighborhoods devastated by the levee failures. We were mesmerized by the two-story high pile of trash on the median (or neutral ground for New Orleans natives) where people who were gutting their homes in Lakeside had to place what they were tearing out. It was oddly organized for such mess – one median had appliances, one had furniture, another had sheetrock, flooring and other building materials.
My friends and I were also mesmerized by the spirit of the people in Dorginac’s grocery store. People ordering their Thanksgiving turkeys and buying supplies to feed family and neighbors on the upcoming holiday. The store itself was being repaired and restocked while open. Never have I seen a more joyous and grateful group of people amongst such devastation than the workers and customers in the store that day. To the people on message boards who think that the people of New Orleans are just people waiting on the government for a handout, I say get off your own ass, back away from the computer (and your likely tragic screen name) and go see for yourself before you spout off. On second thought, don’t. You’ll bring the IQ of the city down and you’ll never get it anyway. Vacation in Vegas and leave us alone.
I’ll take my vacations in the city that holds my heart and soul, thankfully surrounded by others who get it. I’ve been blessed to be able to travel to many amazing places in this world. But some my most memorable trips have been to New Orleans including childhood summer and Christmas visits. Just ask me about “Mr Popeye’s House” or spontaneous trips to Morning Call for a treat. Don’t ask me about the Christmas Eve afternoon my mom, brother and I spent at Pat O’Brien’s in an empty French Quarter. My brother and I drank our way through the menu picking drinks by the glass shape.
Amazingly this year I was there Super Bowl weekend when my Aunt’s beloved boys gave the city the best gift it could have received – a Super Bowl win. A night I will never forget and a sign to us all that everything is going to be just fine.
Will the city ever be the same after the levees failed? I doubt it. Will it be better or worse? I don’t know.
What I do know, New Orleans is still alive and relatively well. Her heart still beats with the attitude and culture that some will never understand, and she still beats with the music, food, and people that make her (in)famous. She’s still not perfect, which I suppose is ok. Its really how we prefer her to be. Most importantly she still knows how to throw a great party, and there are some of us who know her best parties can’t be found on Bourbon Street.
Unlike my mom, I’ve never had the privilege to actually live there. Yet, New Orleans still welcomes me “home” like a native. So honorary New Orleanian is good enough for me. Now someone pass me a snow ball – chocolate with cream please. And if you call it a snow cone, you’re dead to me.
I promise to return to my funny, lighthearted, shallow, witty, lovely, modest self in my next post. That being said I think rambling about New Orleans is appropriate for me. As I reflect on my city I realize that my appreciation for architecture came from visits to New Orleans as a child.
In addition to being exposed to the New Orleans accent (that can come back after spending 2 hours there) I was exposed to buildings and features that I had never seen before in my suburban childhood. I didn’t know how to express my appreciation or the words for the types of things I was seeing. But I knew I liked it.
Thank you. I am glad you shared this.