New Orleans Rehab Trip Report

You might have heard from us before now that our Houston church members have been helping with Gulf Coast hurricane relief efforts. Our people hit the ground running immediately after Katrina blasted New Orleans August 29, 2005, by going over to our sister church on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain near Mandeville to cut away fallen trees and put tarps on the roof. They went back a few times to help Mandeville church members whose damages were caused by wind. They could not go into New Orleans where homes were still under water. Then along came H-Rita and our folks went to Beaumont to do some of the same work. (H-Rita was the one that was predicted to land at Freeport just SW of Houston, and the reason for my and Lloyd's evacuation drive of 13 hours to Fort Worth.)

However, life went on, and ........ in the intervening year and a half good people from all over the nation have come to First UU New Orleans, first to gut the premises, then to clean up the second floor of the old school to make a comfortable volunteer center, hot showers and everything. Some built a nice kitchen and brought in metal cots with foam rubber mattresses on which the visiting helpers put their own sleeping bags or other bedding. Lloyd and I stayed there when we went down to NO in November; he could not go this time because of his work requirements, so I was John's only passenger on this trip, two other wanna-bes having dropped out at the last minute.

There were three volunteers on premises when we arrived: a contractor from Maine and his wife who had driven down that long distance, and a mature student from Starr King divinity school, Berkeley, CA, who said he just got on the Web, found the First UU website, volunteered, and just flew on down to do what he could for two weeks. "Do what you could" is the motto that I think expresses it best. Last time we were there about 25 young people who had given up their Thanksgiving break and who came from Rockport, Maine, and spent a week doing the really awful job of gutting houses. They were enjoying their Thanksgiving Day dinner in a restaurant, when the waitress asked them a question, probably "Where you frum?" and when they explained, the management announced it to the whole restaurant clientele, and the New Orleanians cheered the Maine-ians. In the meantime a large group came from University of Massachusetts and did, like everyone does, what they could. We heard that 125 assorted volunteers have "reservations" during Mardi Gras next month. (On Feb. 16th - 19th Lloyd and I will be staying in a much more comfortable hotel with our Houston friends and we will be jumping for beads, not doing rehab work except on ourselves.) Two more people arrived this past weekend: a retired couple who had sold their home in Rhode Island to travel in their Winnebago, going hither and yon, doing what they can. Fortunately there is a lead project manager, from our old Baton Rouge church, responsible to sort and prioritize requests for help and who assigns volunteers to specific sites.

On Friday John and I were sent to Saint Bernard Parish to the little town of Violet, which rests between the Mississippi River on the west and Lake Bourne on the east. Unlike other parts of devastated Saint Bernard Parish (Lower 9th Ward, for instance), Violet was inundated up to the house roofs by storm surge, not levee breakages. Somehow all the refineries along the river had recovered and were doing what they do as we passed; we also passed the Chalmette Battle of New Orleans site, where Andrew Jackson chased away the British in the War of 1812. "They ran through the bushes and they ran through the briars and they ran through the places that a rabbit wouldn't go," went the old song, approximately. I always meant to visit it, but this was not the right time. We had business down the road.

The church member we were asked to help is a dear courageous cheerful woman, a counselor for the court system. Her home had already been gutted but needed tarps put on the roof to keep rain out so work could start on the interior. It was cold, it was rainy, it was a miserable day, and that is when I noticed that I didn't bring the right waterproof jacket or leak proof boots or wool sweater or warm hat. John propped up two ladders and climbed one of them onto the roof, bearing blue tarps which he proceeded to nail down. Then he thought it would be better to add strips of wood to hold down the tarps, to prevent brisk winds from ripping them up as soon as he finished. There was no wood available nearby except the fence, most of which had blown over anyhow. With John's maul (short-handled sledgehammer) the homeowner proceeded to whack at fence boards to loosen them enough that I could drag them away, climb a ladder, and slide them up onto the roof so John could nail them as needed. This went on all day, but when we finished the now-blue roof was covered, although the window glass is still broken out and doors are absent; we heard that the Rhode Island couple, some UUCBR Weekend Warriors, and the homeowner had gone back Saturday to pull the sheetrock nails out of the studs, take out floor tiles from two rooms, and to clean up the outside premises. Now the real work-ha ha-can start to renovate the interior. The owner told us the real estate value of her home had dropped from $80,000 to $26,000, max, fixed up, in her little 1960-era brick house neighborhood. On the floor of her former living room was a little pile of mementoes the gutting crew saved for her: rusted jewelry, waterlogged pictures, some English bone china cups, and badly molded books, including a library book. I told her now she was REALLY in trouble: think of the fines due on that book. (The Library washed away also so they have not been too worried about her overdue book, I bet.)

On Saturday John and I were assigned to a home back in Broadmoor. It was a double shotgun, the typical New Orleans style with one room after another lined up in a row, thus the name ("you can shoot a shotgun through the front door and the shot goes out the back door.") The owner had 6 feet of water from levee breaks AND his roof blew off. He had put on a new roof, but after it leaked the second time, he called the roofing contractor and got disconnected numbers, so much for that lifetime guarantee he received. He had had the house raised up on six feet tall concrete pilings as part of his renovation. This was happening all over the neighborhood. Electricity and water were restored unlike the house in Violet, so folks could use power tools and flush the toilet. There were three other "Weekend Warriors" from UU Baton Rouge working on taping, spackling and then sanding the sheetrock the owner had already installed. My job was to go over the tape and the holes in the sheetrock with "mud," a goopy sort of mixture reminding one of wet concrete. The owner said it was always good to have a variety of volunteers: one short like me, to tend to the lower half of the wall; one or two tall, to reach the ceiling on ladders or scaffolding; and at least one lazy one, to figure out how to do it the easiest way. He is a professional sound engineer who does technical work for big theatrical or music shows that come to town. By the time we left Saturday p.m. the sheetrock was up and ready for more sanding, texturing can follow, then paint, etc. We came home Sunday most of the way listening to the football game in which New Orleans Saints disappointed the home folks by losing their first opportunity for the Super Bowl.

What our New Orleans friends are telling us now, is that skilled volunteer help is what's most needed, such as the Maine contractor who had installed a water heater for someone. Houses on which no gutting has been accomplished are likely to be in the path of bulldozers soon, and per the local newspaper, FEMA is putting up eviction notices on their trailers in the FEMA-villages leaving one to wonder, where are the survivors supposed to go, I wonder? When the bulldozed houses fall, they take with them the ominous huge X in orange paint, marking the date the EMS or reservist soldiers came to check, along with how many people were found dead or alive, and also "SPCA" in some cases where pets needed to be tended. By coincidence, there were frequently houses x-dated "9-11," that significant date of a few years before, but in New Orleans, that means 13 days post-hurricane strike date, along with later dates when the soldiers were able to arrive to investigate. I pointed out the X on the brick of the house in Violet, and the owner said she had not noticed that before....

I may have worn you out with this elaborate story, but I believe it is one that should be heard far and wide, that is, that New Orleans is full of good people who need and appreciate help, that there are good people from all over the U.S. trying to "do what they could," and I just ask that you pass the message on to your friends and families.

Love,

Betty/Mom/Grandma/Aunt Betty Ann