Trip to New Orleans changed my life
- From: myal <Dumaree@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Tue, 29 Nov 2005 03:36:47 +1100
http://www.theberlincitizen.com/articles/2005/11/25/local_news/news06.txt
Tuesday November 29, 2005
Trip to New Orleans changed my life By Scott Veley, Special to The Citizen
(Former Berlin Town councilor Scott Veley traveled to Louisiana to volunteer after Hurricane Katrina. This is part one of two parts of his recollections from the trip.)
After Katrina, I empathized with Louisiana the devastation this tempest had churned-out. I felt I owed the Big Easy compensation, payment for the extraordinary time I had several years before. In all honesty I didn’t know how I could help or even how to go about it. I just knew I had the time to do it.
Without delay I sought out Steve Waznia, Berlin’s fire marshal and asked his advice. He recommended the American Red Cross (ARC). I immediately contacted the Charter Oak branch in Farmington Connecticut http://charteroak.redcross.org and found that the course(s) necessary to be deployed for disaster relief were being offered the coming weekends.
I arrived on Saturday morning, the site was buzzing with activity. There were approximately 50 to 60 enthusiastic volunteers waiting to take the first eight hour course; First Aid and CPR. We were split into groups of 10 to 15 people, so the classes would be more manageable. Everyone I met was determined to step-up to the plate to do their part. I thought to myself how remarkable that this organization is literally run by volunteers that cycle-out every two to three weeks!
After my second course, Introduction to Disaster Services, which included; Mass Care and Shelter Operations., the Red Cross reacted like the wind. Within days I had gotten my deployment date; it was to be Tuesday, September 27.
I landed mid afternoon at Baton Rouge Airport; it was a humid 95 degrees. I noticed signs for the Red Cross shuttle that left every half-hour to whisk new volunteers away to the central headquarters located in an old Wal-Mart building. The ARC headquarters was overwhelming. It had a myriad of departments ranging from check-in services, process out services, communications, mental-health, computer services and “The Oasis,” where you could read a newspaper and savor the many goodies that were offered as a “Thank-You” for taking action. I can’t stress my admiration of how effective the Red Cross was in organizing this sizeable operation at a moments notice only to be temporary in duration.
Forty fresh volunteers attended the hour-long orientation at 1 p.m. We listened intently as now we were one step closer to discovering what the Red Cross had in store for us. The ARC coordinators paired us off in groups of four; some assigned to Logistics, some to disaster-health, and others to transportation.
Our group’s mission was shelter operations. Jen, Jacob, Andrew and I were provided a vehicle, given a map for good measure and bee-lined it to our destination, Houma, Louisiana, which is about 45 miles southwest of New Orleans. I thought it amusing that the combined ages of my newly acquired friends equaled mine. What a noble deed these young adults were doing. I only wish I’d had the same inspiration when I was that age.
The four of us were the first to navigate our way from Baton Rouge. But soon many more volunteers filtered in. All were greeted by Barry, who was the director of ARC shelter operations in the area. Little did I know what Barry had in store for me that Tuesday evening at the Baptist Church in Houma. It was to be the start of a life experience that I will not soon forget.
Barry called a meeting with about 25 ARC newbie’s in attendance. A clipboard was passed around to sign in. As the clipboard approached, Barry told me not to sign it. Instead I was to sign a paper plate, that’s right a paper plate which had three other names on it. After the briefing Barry sent the 21 bushed recruits to their quarters and told them to get a good night’s sleep… because tomorrow’s 6 a.m. location assignment meeting would come around fast.
Now only the four “Paper Platers,” remained; Careen, Tara, Dawn and myself. At our cozy little meeting our assignments were unveiled; Careen would be replacing Barry as director of operations in the area, Tara, would be her gal Friday, and Dawn and I would be managing a shelter that currently housed 320 evacuees located in Thibodaux at Nicholls State University. At our disposal would be a staff of 24 ARC volunteers. In addition, we would each have our own car.
But that luxury had a price.
As Barry said; we will definitely be “earning it.” I quickly found out that being “Boss-Man” entailed 14 hour days, on call 24/7, all the while keeping the clients happy and comfortable. We also were to streamline command, set up managerial flowcharts, assign supervisory positions within departments, such as food distribution, security, shelter, communications, and a host of others. Then we would compile the logistics in handbook form for the next Red Cross volunteers that came in. To this day, I have no idea what prompted Barry to choose us, but nevertheless, we were ready for the challenge.
Early the next morning we were given directions to the Nicholls State University shelter. Our directives were quite simple, take a right out of the parking lot, go down the Bayou then cross the Bayou and go up the Bayou until you see a Wendy’s. Then take a right. Well, after that unique indoctrination to the local lingo, we all had the “deer in the headlights look.” Barry and his assistant laughed out loud “don’t worry you’ll get used to it. After a week or so you’ll understand.” For a moment we glanced at each other, I sensed the four of us felt there was more significance to Barry’s comment.
Upon arriving at Nicholls State University, Dawn and I felt a little uneasy. We didn’t want to give the impression that we were superheroes coming to the rescue, nor did we want to be perceived as demeaning the hard work the existing manager had done for the last three weeks. Jamie a 20-year old man welcomed us with open arms, and proceeded to give Dawn and me the grand tour. Our first stop was Shaver Gymnasium where the serving kitchen was located. Already, the area was staffed with faces we had recognized as newbie’s the night before. All had taken the bull by the horns and were ready to serve the three square meals a day that were delivered by a Red Cross Emergency Response Vehicle (ERV). On special days, Jamie explained local parishes would prepare and deliver a home cooked Louisiana meal. The new kitchen staff was enthusiastically being primed by the first person I met at the shelter, Berna. Berna was a local that had been at the shelter since day one, volunteering her time every day for 12 hours a day. Her first words to me were; “Hi Baby, it’s gonna be allll good.”
“Are you ready to go to the shelter area?” Jamie asked. We walked 500 feet down the sidewalk to Stopher gymnasium. Neither Dawn nor I could imagine what we were about to witness. As we entered the shelter area, there before us, was the living quarters of 320 evacuees all arranged like a jigsaw puzzle on the gymnasium floor, as well as the balcony areas above it. I had never seen anything like this in my life. 320 souls with all their worldly belongings on a microscopic area of the gym floor. Many evacuees claimed areas that interlocked, so not only a mother, father, and their children could reside there but nearby would be cousins, aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers.
Initially there had been 1500 evacuees, but due to the diligence of ARC volunteers, that number had been reduced drastically. Of the 320 left, most were from the hardest hit areas of St. Bernard Parish and St. Tammany Parish both located east of Lake Pontchartrain. And all wanted to go home.
While on our guided tour of Stopher gymnasium we discovered most of the client service departments were located there. Along with 20 National Guardsmen, the Parish police, local police and the campus police. The Red Cross had its reception desk; for general information, nursing; for any health care issues, and communications; which included free telephone access as well as Internet and computer services. This is where clients could speak with loved ones, apply for financial aid, and search for relocation services that provided housing and job opportunities.
After the tour, Jamie retired to his digs in Shaver gymnasium. He had found for himself a good sized storage closet for his living quarters. It wasn’t a room with a view but quite practical. At the beginning of the disaster he had to be available at a moments notice. Not anyone in the shelter knew the location but were always amazed how he would miraculously appear on-site after a phone call.
It was now our turn to build on what Jamie had instituted. Dawn and I knew that for the most part people gravitated toward certain responsibilities. We allowed them to pick and choose their preferred department(s.) From there we would wait a day to see who emerged as the leader, and then of course assign that person the supervisory position.
The staff of ARC volunteers were from a diverse group professionally as well as geographically. I met a struggling actor named Steve Goldman who managed to get a bit part on The West Wing. Young artists that, while doing their stint, captured the moments on canvas. As for the “Paper Platers;” Careen hailed from South Africa, Tara, Pennsylvania, Dawn, Massachusetts, and the manager that relieved me at the end of my stretch was from Fiji.
Eye witnessing this plight had greater impact and scope than any TV coverage could portray. These were real people, playing the hand that life had dealt them. One afternoon, a young lady named Andrea called the shelter. She explained to me that she had been a shelter resident, but left a week before I became manager. She and her dad hadn’t received their assistance check and had run out of everything. They only had a limited amount of gas in their truck and didn’t want to make the journey to the shelter, if we were unable to assist her. As we loaded her truck with basic supplies and heater meals, I noticed Andrea was teary-eyed. I asked her if she was all right, she said to me, “I am so embarrassed that I have to do this. I have never depended on anyone my whole life. But the place of my employment was destroyed and my father and I have literally nothing, not even a toothbrush.” Words cannot describe how I felt at that moment.
The nature of this disaster was phenomenal; it forced people to make split decisions. One evening, a thirty-something gentlemen, asked me about the program to relocate to Tennessee. I explained to him, that it was a legitimate program, they would help him secure shelter and a job, but the hitch; it was a one-way trip.
If you wanted to come back you were on your own. I knew that 80 percent of the people in Louisiana have never left the state, some not even their Parish. It would be like us never leaving Hartford County. So for him this was even a bolder move than I could ever imagine.
Early the next morning I saw him with all of his belongings in a duffel bag. He had made the decision to start life over in Tennessee. I told him that his courage would carry him. We shook hands, and he was on his way.
(Look for part II next week.)
lle in the Communications Center, received a phone call from a person searching for her sister. She was frantically trying to locate her and didn’t know if she was alive or dead. Danielle was able to reunite the two sisters as the missing sister was alive and well at the shelter. Danielle, a young woman of 20 witnessed the reuniting of the sisters. Her eyes red from tears, she told me that that one accomplishment was the best thing she had ever done in her life.
Early one morning on the way from breakfast, a young boy named Demone came up to me saying; “I’m nine.” I asked “When are you going to be 10,” Demone said; “ Next year - I’m 9 today.” I decided to make an announcement that it was Demone’s birthday. As I spoke his little three-year-old sister came running up saying; “I’m Demone’s sister, I’m Demone’s sister.” We promptly sang happy birthday to Demone over the PA while the whole shelter joined in. It was a great way to start the day.
On the Tuesday of my second week, Danielle, Gwynn, and Bill joined me to view the damage Katrina had caused firsthand. The damage to the French Quarter was minimal however a pungent odor hung in the air. No businesses were open and electricity was spotty as well as running water. The French Quarter was helter-skelter with people, cars, ATV’s, military emergency vehicles, and police, all going in different directions. It reminded me of an ant farm. We headed northeast on Canal Street toward Lake Pontchartrain the damage got increasingly worse as we headed closer to the Lake. Homes with no roofs were the norm and brown stains from the water line got to be as high as 30 feet as we made our way toward Saint Bernard Parish. The 9th Ward still had 3 feet. of standing water. We were all gagging from the odor. It was intolerable.
We swung around to Grand Isle, you may remember this area as it was portrayed in Forrest Gump when he made his way to the Louisiana shrimping area to visit his friend Bubba. What was a beautiful resort community, now was in ruins. Debris was everywhere; cars, refrigerators, stoves, and even 5,000 square-foot houseboats strewn on dry land. All of us were horrified.
On my last day I drove through bayou country alone, reminiscing. Feeling rewarded I said goodbye to Bayou Blue, Bayou Black, Gray, Houma, and Nicholls University shelter, all places that I have called home for the last two weeks. I smiled to myself as I listened to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon - not only did I understand Louisiana lingo but I became part of the community and one of them.
Story created Nov 25, 2005 - 10:42:09 EST .
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