As the Executive Director of LifeAwaits, I am passionate about rebuilding the artistic community in New Orleans. The ‘Crescent City’ is a national treasure. There is no other American city that compares to her. Founded on a history of foot-stomping music, soulful art and sumptuous food, nowhere else can one go and experience the revelries that have been a New Orleans tradition for more than a century. The cultural traditions that are indigenous to New Orleans must be preserved. Each artist has endured unimaginable tragedy due to Katrina. They lost their homes, studios, personal and professional belongings, and the means to make a living. Worst of all, they lost an entire city – their artistic backdrop. Working together we can begin to put the art and music back into the fabric of New Orleans.
I saw Katrina’s immediate devastation and have never experienced such grief as I did watching the aftermath unfold. Here is my journey:
On September 7, 2005, nine days after Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast, I had the opportunity to enter New Orleans with a National Public Radio crew. As a one time resident of Louisiana, NPR wanted my initial reactions to the devastation incurred by Katrina. Like the rest of the world, I had seen the images on the television and in the newspapers, but nothing prepared me for the enormity of destruction and death I would witness. What I saw there would change me forever.
The offer to accompany NPR into New Orleans came with little notice. In less than two hours I had to see a doctor to receive tetanus, hepatitis A and B, and meningitis immunizations, and purchase hip waders and gloves to be able to walk safely through the contaminated sludge that covered every surface. Armed with disinfecting wipes and hand sanitizer, I met the crew at the radio station. They were making a run into New Orleans from Baton Rouge to replenish provisions and supplies for the news team who had been sleeping in an RV in downtown New Orleans since the hurricane had hit. The cans of gasoline in the back of the van filled it with headache inducing vapors. I soon discovered that the noxious odor would be the most pleasant smell I would encounter all day.
The drive from Baton Rouge to downtown New Orleans is approximately seventy-five miles. On any given day, the drive time is one hour and fifteen minutes with a normal flow of traffic. On this day, the interstate was for the most part empty of civilian cars. There were, however, innumerable convoys of National Guard Troops. Road blocks with armed soldiers started appearing approximately twenty miles outside of the city. No one was allowed into the devastated areas without press or military credentials. As the van proceeded, the storm damage became more severe. Roofs were blown off homes, uprooted trees were everywhere. We then passed a self-storage center with an entire side of the building ripped off, exposing the contents of each storage unit. We saw hundreds of people standing in a line that wrapped around a Walgreens and Domino’s Pizza hoping for food and water. Our driver turned off the interstate ten miles outside of downtown and began to take the back roads. Military Police vehicles were on every surface street trying to deter looters. Sheriff and local police vehicles sped by with sirens blaring.
We began to approach the Mississippi River Bridge that crosses into downtown New Orleans. At first the sight was surreal. Helicopters filled the skyline. Entire sides of hotel buildings had their windows blown out, exposing beds and furniture like tiny matchboxes. As we approached the main boulevard in downtown New Orleans, Canal Street, search and rescue teams were everywhere. Palm trees littered the trolley tracks down the center of Canal Street. Street lights were bent in two. Convoys of Military Police rolled by with soldiers holding M16 rifles. RV’s lined the trolley tracks which run down the center of Canal as far as the eye could see. Every major news source from around the world was there. Anderson Cooper of CNN was sitting on a plastic crate outside his network’s RV. His face was buried in his hands. He looked visibly shaken and exhausted. The NPR team that we brought provisions to began to unload the van. The reporters I had been traveling with met with their producers. They discussed the stories that needed to be reported on and which parts of the city needed to be visited. It was time to drive into the areas hardest hit by the storm. Nothing in my lifetime had prepared me for what I was about to witness.
We started driving towards uptown New Orleans. As we made our way, the water level began to rise. Entire streets and boulevards were inundated with water. Homes stood in a few feet of stagnant water that reeked of rotten fish. Power lines hung dangerously close to the road and water below. Military Police patrolled street by street in the Garden District. Tent cities were set up at the Audubon Zoo for the vast number of police forces that had come to aid in the rescue. Texas flags were flying in an enormous tented area. Helicopters flew overhead looking for residents to rescue from their rooftops. The area was devastated but not destroyed. We then headed towards the lower Ninth Ward.
We drove on the interstate to approach the Ninth Ward. There were no other vehicles on this part of the journey. There was an abandoned truck flipped over on its side, blocking two lanes. A little further down, a motor boat was lying in the middle of the interstate facing oncoming drivers. With the windows down in the van, the stench in the air became thick. Entire neighborhoods were under nine feet of water on average. Cars had been picked up and deposited in front yards, on top of fences, and into homes. As we passed numerous neighborhoods, we began to notice each home had been spray painted with an orange or black X.
After observing this X symbol on every house and business property, we began to decipher the codes left behind by rescue crews as they searched for survivors. There was the date, identification of the particular rescue crew that had done the search, and then a number… Zero meant no one had been found inside, 1L meant one person was found alive and rescued, 1CA meant there was a casualty still inside the house. When we first noticed the markings, almost every home had a zero spray painted on it. As we headed further into the devastated area, the number zero was replaced by the numbers two, three, or more. As we drove along a highway that connected the lower Ninth Ward to St. Bernard Parish, we stopped in front of a dental clinic. The number read three. The notation said 2CA inside, 1CA in back.
As we approached the dental clinic, the smell of rotting flesh filled the air. The front door was wide open. As we stood there contemplating whether or not to go inside, one of the NPR reporters screamed. I looked to see what had happened and there I saw a dead body sitting in a wheelchair on the side of the house. The heat had been so intense since the hurricane that the body had begun to melt in the sun. It looked as though a rescue worker had tried to cover the body with a plastic bag, but it had blown off. It was a man. He had wild gray hair standing on end. His legs were dripping like putty off his bones. His eyes, nose and lips were gone, probably eaten by birds. The air was heavy with the smell of death. If you have never smelled death before it is difficult to describe. If you have, it is something you never forget.
Our car continued, passing more dead bodies along the way. There was a white body bag pulled to the corner of the street. It was left there alone, its contents liquefying in the summer heat. Flies were swarming, looking for their next meal. We came upon a mobile animal surgical hospital from Arkansas for Animals Rescue. The volunteers were trying to rescue two dogs from a car parts parking lot. They were trapped behind the businesses locked fence, left behind to protect against looters. They were frail, gaunt, and frightened. The rescue mobile was filled with abandoned cats and dogs that had been found along the way. Many were ill and dehydrated. Some had been so severely injured or gravely ill, they would not make it through the day. Most of the animals were covered in black sludge. The sludge was comprised of mud, oil, feces, dead bodies, and dead animals.
We traveled for awhile with a National Guard troop. The soldiers told us that they had no more search and rescue dogs to work with. All of their dogs had died from breathing in and ingesting the sludge. The soldiers themselves had to be decontaminated every few hours or acquire a painful burning rash where the toxic mix had come in contact with their skin. They trudged tirelessly through the thigh high viscous matter in the ninety–five degree heat and blazing sun dressed in full combat uniform, hip wader boots, and loaded M16 rifles looking for survivors. One soldier told me they had just searched the attic of a home where they found five family members huddled together, all deceased. The soldiers said there was a nursing home up the road they had not been able to reach because of the amount debris in the road. The overwhelming odor that hung in the air was a sure sign that no one had survived.
I will forever remember my experience traveling through New Orleans or volunteering at different shelters and churches in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I was touched by so many individuals in the weeks following Katrina. The level of hardship, loss, and grief that each of them faced was immeasurable. The hardship continues today.
A year has passed since the hurricane ravaged the Gulf Coast. Hundreds of families are still searching for loved ones and trying to return home. Thousands are trying to rebuild their lives while focusing on just making it through each day. Life is precious. It may not be in our power to prevent natural disasters, but we can help prevent the suffering that comes afterwards. By reaching out and helping one individual, you can affect a positive change in that person’s life. By helping to put the tools back into the hands of New Orleans’ artists and musicians, you can help to save a career and a city. Won’t you please reach out and do your part. Those who need it most are counting on you.
Peace –
Jeanine Dent
Executive Director
LifeAwaits
