A Reflection by Judy Grey
We drove into New Orleans on April 14 in teeming rain looking for signs of Katrina’s devastation. Nineteen of us were representing the Presbyterian Church of Upper Montclair (New Jersey). We were there to help with the cleanup and rebuilding of New Orleans through R.H.I.N.O. (Rebuilding Hope in New Orleans), an outreach ministry of St. Charles Avenue Presbyterian Church. The few signs of devastation along Interstate 10 gave us to wonder if indeed we were really needed.
Our exposure first hand to the dire conditions of this beautiful, European-style city was postponed for a day as we enjoyed the celebratory Arts Festival along the River Walk, a dinner cruise, and early-morning beignets at Café du Monde. Sunday morning we moved into the RHINO residence adjacent to the St. Charles Avenue Presbyterian Church where we attended worship. This church, our host for the week, is located in the “sliver on the river”, an upscale part of town. Its roof was torn off in the storm and the sanctuary has just opened after nineteen months of reconstruction. Members of the congregation welcomed us, fed us, and thanked us for coming to help even before we had picked up a hammer or crowbar. These thanks were the first of many that we would receive from people noticing our Kevlar suits and safety goggles at our work sites and around town.
Our quarters, while in no way a hardship, punctuated our mission, subjecting us to just enough communal inconvenience to remind us of the discomfort many New Orleanians have endured, but not enough to send us packing before accomplishing our mission. Two single-sex bunk rooms with air mattresses housed us, complemented by downstairs bathrooms and four showers. The showers were co-opted by the men each day based on “He who showers short, showers first!” We started each day with devotions and were on the road by 7am on most days. Each evening we debriefed on the gracious porch sitting in rockers with wine and cheese. Daily duties included Lunch Masters; Cooler People; kitchen and dinner clean-up; and last day Vacuum Mistress. Each night we put our dirty clothes in a pile and took turns washing and folding. Our interim minister, Bob Pryor, used the same tools and kept the same hours we did, providing perspective and support. Linda Grimm, our church staff member, coordinated the trip down to telling us what to say when asked to describe it on return (“Keep it short. They don’t want the WHOLE story.”)
We were eager to get to work on Monday. New Orleans has lost over 180,000 homes, most of which are still standing after significant flood damage. The job of planning and rebuilding, not only the lost homes but the city’s infrastructure and morale, is huge. It is fair to say that most of the progress on home rebuilding has been made by volunteer groups, many faith based, from across the United States. RHINO alone has readied over 200 homes for rebuilding. PCUM member, Jack Bowers, has traveled to New Orleans over 30 times in his association with New Orleans Habitat for Humanity, and will work with any group considering a trip. But construction is only part of the job. Many of the residents are still dislocated, living in cities such as Houston, and even Montclair, where they were taken before or after Katrina. Others are just returning. An important part of our experience was listening to residents’ stories, helping them to continue processing their experience.
Our first two days were spent tearing down, starting with “gutting” an unopened home in Metairie near the 17th Street Canal where the first breach occurred. RHINO representative, Katie Cashwell, prepped us to exhibit high sensitivity to the homeowners who have experienced tremendous loss. We were asked not to take pictures, not to denigrate the resident’s belongings as “junk” or “stuff”, and to carefully put aside things that may have personal meaning. This home had been occupied by a double amputee who was in the hospital during the storm and later passed on. Her daughter, Gloria, came to see us as we worked. She had contacted RHINO to request help with cleaning out the house so the family could decide whether to rehabilitate or tear down. Gloria is an effervescent, expansive woman in her fifties. She came to express her deep gratitude, to hug everyone, and to pray with us holding hands. Her mother’s home was full of moldy, water-logged furniture displaced by the storm as if in a blender. Gloria related that her mom had asked the hospital for a pair of “booties” so she would have them when she got to heaven. By the end of the day, Gloria’s mom’s house was down to the studs and drying out.
The second house we gutted was in the Gentilly area. This home is owned by Dorothy Butler, a beautiful woman in her eighties. Dorothy and her grandson, Paul, contracted with a pastor from Mobile who became a contractor after the storm. They spent $40,000 to have this pastor/ contractor hang drywall throughout their home, only to find he had not removed the underlying moldy plaster and lathe. With crowbars and hammers, our crew of nineteen beat the walls down to the studs, ready for new drywall. Throughout our work, we fell into an unspoken, intuitive division of labor characteristic of an ideal world where everyone does what is needed when it is needed. This is going on in some parts of New Orleans as well, as exemplified by a church van from Trinity Episcopal Church called “Mobile Loaves and Fishes-Miracles on Wheels” that delivers free lunches to crews around the city. As we ate, we sat in the street in a circle around Dorothy as she told her story of the storm and of not knowing where her grandson was for a month. Dorothy has diabetes and clearly suffers still from the trauma of the storm and its aftermath. Their home is about five feet off the ground and yet was filled, like many homes, with water which often contained sewage, snakes, and dangerous debris.
After gutting for two days, we took a day to tour the city to better understand the full extent of the devastation, traveling dreary bumpy roads littered with debris. We never saw a grocery store and what had been strip malls were now weedy concrete clearings. Our tour guides were three knowledgeable volunteers from St. Charles Avenue Presbyterian Church who obviously do a lot of this. We saw the breached levees that are under repair, the devastated Lower Ninth Ward, Lakeview and the shore of Lake Pontchartrain where boats are still tossed about like salad. In the desolate Lower Ninth Ward, a lone wrought-iron gate with cascades of morning glories stood where homes once stood, symbolizing both loss and hope. Signs of construction were everywhere and from everywhere as indicated by far flung license plates. There is much discussion about what the new New Orleans will look like. In 1960, the city had a population of 650,000; in 1990, 450,000; and post-Katrina, reportedly less than 250,000. Residents from low-lying areas wonder if they will ever return to their old neighborhood. Some streets have only one or two homes now. Homes that are occupied are exposed to high crime, non-existent or prohibitively expensive services, and a dearth of neighbors and community. Our guides impressed upon us that the storm penetrated all economic, social, and ethnic boundaries. While homes can be patched up, the months away for many, the debilitating frustration in pursuit of remuneration from the government and insurance companies, the extensive loss of jobs, homes, loved ones, and simple routine have resulted in widespread psychological distress and a high suicide rate that is generally unknown outside of New Orleans. This tour communicated strongly that the job is not done even though the rest of America might think it has been completed, and groups like ours will be welcome for a long time to come.
Our tour was followed by two days of building walls, painting, and grading yards with Habitat for Humanity in an established neighborhood in New Orleans East. Habitat has ambitious plans to build 250 new homes per year in New Orleans and the metropolitan region. The largest concentration of Habitat homes is Musicians’ Village, a planned community for musicians and their families, backed by well-known New Orleans musicians Branford Marsalis and Harry Connick, Jr. Our group worked on Habitat homes sponsored by the National Basketball Association and David Letterman. These homes require the future owners, who will have 0% mortgages, to provide 400 hours of “sweat equity” in construction of their home. Bright colors of the completed homes – turquoise, purple, yellow, green - provide welcome signs of life to the desolate landscape.
Our last day of work on the house sponsored by David Letterman ended with a scene that represented our hope for the battered city of New Orleans. Several of us were working with Tasha, the mother of a young boy and owner of Letterman’s house, inventorying contents of the supply container. A few long cords had to be wound and we noticed other cords were wound by what Tasha called “knotting”. She began to teach us how to knot and one thing led to another. Quickly, our crew of nineteen, a car full of passers-by, Tasha, and her mother were engaged in double-Dutch jump rope in the middle of the street. Cars seeing us backed up so as not to disturb. Dust flew as our work boots hit the pavement. Some of us fell down, and everyone laughed and clapped as our last work day closed. Our hope is for joy and celebration as the efforts of so many can one day, bring the work of New Orleans to a close and life can go on in this beautiful city. We did not expect to do a lot, but we made a difference in a few homes, in a few lives, and in our own lives. Many of us plan to return.