Katrina Journal, Part III

Becky, Ted, and I were to report at the Best Western in Harvey. On the way we saw a more tropical topography, and a lot of damage to trees and homes. When we arrived we were shown “the loft”–-a room at the top of a spiral staircase off the lobby–-where women were sleeping on cots. We also found out that there was a staff meeting every night at 8pm. So we settled in, ate dinner quickly, and went to the meeting. There was a general meeting and then we met with our function coordinator, Jake, to get our assignments for the next day. This was a very different experience from Baton Rouge. We were on the front lines, and we went where we were most needed–-which could be different each day. Jake talked a lot about St. Bernard, and that’s when I learned that the authorities were allowing people back into the area to see their homes. Of course, there was not much left of their homes and so the need for counselors to be there was pressing. But since I knew it was a toxic area, I did not want to go there. There was also going to be a cruise ship docked near the area which would house security people and first responders. Four mental health workers would be on the ship with them, but that didn’t seem to be any safer an option.

That first night I was the last to be assigned, and told I would be needed in the hotel for HQ support-–to help with exit interviews and assisting Janene, who would be taking over on Monday when Jake was going to go home to Brooklyn. He also talked about Hahnville and was unhappy that Margaret was sending some mental health people there instead of to Harvey. I said “Those are my teammates!” and asked if he wanted their names. He said he did so I wrote them down for him.

So the next day I spent in the hotel. I took one brief walk out to a Walgreen’s down the street, but found it was closed. The stench outside made me feel a little sick. Later I found out that there had been a restaurant next to the hotel and the smell was from the food that had turned rancid when the power went out. There were parts of the hotel that smelled really awful from that, too. But the hotel itself was a big improvement over the Hebron Baptist Church. The food was a step down, however. It was harder to get food there, and it was pretty bad and not nearly as plentiful. Sometimes food was brought in from one of the few restaurants in the area that was open, but if you weren’t there when it came in, chances are that you wouldn’t get any.

The Red Cross people there were great. If anyone was having trouble with something or looking for something, people would immediately jump in to help out. We all supported each other like that, and it was comforting to know that in such a stressful and harsh environment there was no such thing as being “on your own.” We acted as a unit.

That first morning, who should walk into the hotel but my friend from Denham Springs, Tonio! We hugged and planned a “counseling session” for later, which never materialized.

Then, during a phone call with a staff member that I was making for Janene, 3 people came in and sat down quietly around the table that served as my desk. I screamed and laughed when I saw Joan, Kathy, and Anne sitting there smiling mischievously! We were all so happy to be together again and decided it was a law of nature that we couldn’t be separated.

That evening we were told that they needed the loft space for another purpose and we would all get real hotel rooms! Becky, Leah, and I would share a room with a queen-sized bed. My room was on the second floor and had a balcony overlooking the pool and jacuzzi. In the room we had our own shower, of course, plus a refrigerator, TV, desk, and a chest of drawers and closet so we could actually unpack. It felt like the height of luxury!

I should mention the water. We were in a contaminated area, so to be safe we were told not to drink the tap water or use it to brush our teeth. We used bottled water instead. I also didn’t use the pool or jacuzzi because I didn’t want to risk illness by spending lots of time immersing myself in the water. Too bad!

Becky came back from St. Bernard with a splitting headache and feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Others had headaches, too, and reported burning in their eyes and nose. It had rained that day, and the rain turned everything to mud and intensified putrid smells. Although she felt she did some good work there, Becky decided she wasn’t going back. But the next day it didn’t rain, and those who came back from there said it wasn’t too bad... just very hard to see how shocked and saddened people were after they saw what used to be their home and neighborhood.

Monday I took the day off. At the meeting that night I was assigned to the Welcome Center in St. Charles.

Welcome Centers are supposed to be places where people are made to feel... um... welcome. Most of them had food, snacks, water, FEMA reps with computers where people could apply for help online, and reps from other helping agencies. There the Red Cross set up satellite phones so folks could connect to the 800 number they had to call for assistance more easily. The 800 number had become a joke and a disgrace, but phone lines were overwhelmed by the magnitude of this catastrophe and people simply could not get through. I heard many stories of people staying up all day and night dialing and redialing the 800 number, people waking themselves up at 2 or 4am hoping that at those hours the phone lines would be less jammed but still not being able to get through. Staff was as frustrated as clients, and it was amazing that tempers didn’t flare higher than they did. And that’s basically why we were there: to calm people, to listen to their stories, to validate their frustrations and the depth of their grief.

The WC in St. Charles was awful. It had been started by a local official who refused to give up control of its operation. The official had connections with the community, which was a good thing. But he wanted to run it his way, which was a bad thing. Instead of having people waiting on line to use the phones, he had them waiting on line to write down their contact information on a list so they could be called back at a later time-–sometimes as much as 2 weeks later–-to come back and use the phones. It made no sense and was a source of yet more frustration and confusion for clients because the process was not clearly explained and there were no written handouts saying what it was. Some, after waiting for hours in line under a canvas canopy in the hot LA sun, assumed they should go inside and wait to use the phones. I talked to people who had been sitting inside for hours, only to find out they had wasted their entire day for nothing. Most of these St. Charles people were black. Did that have anything to do with the shoddy way they were treated by local officials? I don’t know, but after experiencing another WC the following day in Plaquemines, I wondered. But talking to them was a rewarding experience. Most were exhausted, some were pissed, some depressed, but over and over I heard gratitude for all the help they had received so far, support for one another, reliance on faith, and determination to go forward even though they didn’t know where “forward” was. No one was enraged or violent or seemed to be in absolute despair-–although those who were would probably not have been there waiting.

I was tired and hot when I got back to the hotel that day, and Joan called me on my cell phone to say she wanted to change her return flight from Friday to Wednesday because Rita was coming. We were all feeling anxious about Rita, since even a few inches of rainfall could cause flooding and major damage to the fragile area we were trying so hard to fortify. We watched CNN and the Weather Channel constantly, hoping against hope that this region would be spared another storm. But at the same time, we had to take care of ourselves, and I thought that if Rita did strike here, trying to get home would be a nightmare. Luckily, I was able to change my flight, and Joan and I would be on the same flight from NOLA to Dallas to Chicago.

The next day I was assigned to the Plaquemines Welcome Center. While St. Charles had only the Red Cross and FEMA, Plaquemines had Red Cross, FEMA, SBA, unemployment, tarps, clothing, food, and toiletries that had been donated, and a home-schooling program that was being run jointly by local teachers whose schools were closed and one of the churches. Plaquemines was also largely a white parish (the LA word for county). They hadn’t suffered quite as much damage as some other areas, but I again heard stories of total losses and flooding that was 4 feet high or more. One woman showed me photos of what was her house and cried.

There was a line outside, but it was under an overhang against the school building and there were benches to sit on and fans. But it was still hot. I didn’t want to know the temperature but I wouldn’t be surprised if it had been over 100. I spent most of the day outside and only went inside to cool off and then later when the line was cut off and everyone was inside. In those 2 days at Welcome Centers I must have spoken with hundreds of people. They couldn’t believe so many of us came from all over the country to help them, and we were impressed by their spirit and strength.

That night I had to out-process and do it quickly between getting back to the hotel and the 8pm meeting. The next morning at 6am I stumbled down to the kitchen in my pjs to get coffee, as I usually did, and of course Tonio was there with a camera, ready to take my picture. I’m sure he’ll want to post that on the Red Cross Katrina photo album site! Kathy was driving me, Joan, and Anne to the airport. She was going to come back to the hotel afterwards, though, because her flight wasn’t until 6pm and she didn’t want to hang around the airport all day. So we packed our stuff into our team car for the last time and headed off for New Orleans Airport, which was only about 20 minutes from the hotel. Just as we approached the exit ramp for the airport, we heard a loud bang and then we smelled something burning and pulled off on the shoulder. We got out, looked under the car and didn’t see any damage there. Then we looked at the front passenger-side wheel. The outside half of the tire was completely gone and the wheel was bent and twisted. Joan flagged down a car that turned out to have 2 people from Channel 2 in it. Finally, we thought, we would get our long-awaited interview and be on TV! But no. However, they did take us to the airport. Kathy called someone to come help her and the rest of us left for the terminal that turned out to be at most 2 minutes from where we’d broken down. We worried about Kathy, so when we got on the check-in line I called Katrina (yep, Katrina was in charge of hotel services for the Red Cross Katrina volunteers!) and told her what happened. She said, in that inimitable authoritarian voice of hers, "I'll make sure someone gets out there ASAP!" I emailed her the next day and she had gotten home safely.

All in all, it was an amazing and intense experience. And I learned something important about myself. I learned that I got the greatest satisfaction of my career as a counselor simply by being with and talking to these people. It was just as–-if not more--fulfilling to me than writing my book, giving the Sophia Fahs Lecture, or counseling individuals and helping them change. And that surprised me. I realized that I probably could not have listened or talked to them as effectively and meaningfully if I hadn’t had those prior experiences or as profound an understanding of the grief process, but I felt this was what all that had been for-–so that people in a situation of catastrophic loss could find some hope and comfort in the attentive listening and words of someone who had been there and survived, thrived, learned, and remembered. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Posted by Elissa Bishop-Becker at October 11, 2005 11:13 AM | TrackBack