A Blessing In The Ruins: A Trip to Post-Katrina New Orleans
The world has seen many unflattering visuals of the destruction caused by Katrina and the looters in the Queen City of the South. Networks have made a point of accentuating the human chaos in New Orleans while putting off coverage of the deaths incurred by the Category 5 hurricane in the surrounding areas, particularly in my home parish of St. Bernard.
About a week ago, I had the opportunity to see in person New Orleans in the aftermath of the rising waters and the breakdown in civilized order that overtook the city.
My expedition to inspect what was once Louisiana's largest city began in the congested current holder of this distinction, Baton Rouge. I also had a personal tie with the trip south.
Mere hours before I had fled to Phoenix on the eve of Katrina's strike against the southeast Louisiana coastline, I had the presence of mind to collect a few things that I could store in my humble chariot (1995 Ford Escort), items I couldn't take with me on the plane to Arizona.
Some of the worldly goods secured in the vehicle included my computer tower, two laundry baskets worth of research- a result of three plus years of staring at a microfilm machine and amazingly not developing epilepsy, a handful of hard to find books, a sack of dirty clothes, and a tuxedo I had accidentally left in my car from an event I was supposed to attend but did not.
As I packed, the floor of my abode looked like the last German bunker scene from Patton as papers were scattered across the floor as I bustled about frenetically just before my own retreat. While zipping west on Judge Perez Drive I mulled where I could safely park my modest conveyance.
I know.how about the parking garage by the Superdome!
I did not know what to expect when I approached Jefferson Parish, where commerce and a sense of normalcy had returned. Upon reaching the border of Jefferson and Orleans Parishes, I noticed that the boundary had been fortified with a rampart of shells and was guarded by soldiers.
The route to the Superdome area would be over Claiborne Avenue, a meandering boulevard that passes through some of the city's ritziest neighborhoods and most economically depressed areas.
The road was cluttered with debris and the numerous ditched cars on the green areas had shown evidence of having been totally submerged under water. A city that was home to around 500,000 souls had been deserted, with only a few homeless people shuffling about. The near total lack of life in an urban area had an eerie feeling, as if a neutron bomb, a weapon of mass destruction that can wipeout thousands while largely leaving structures in tact, had been detonated.
I made a point of looking for waterlines on light covered houses to estimate the extent of the flooding. The degree of inundation differed along Claiborne Avenue, ranging from 3' at Carrollton Avenue to 6-7' around Martin Luther King Boulevard. Evidence of looting was apparent at a large liquor store, a grocery, a Rite Aid, and a recently opened Quizno's. The new Salvation Army building near Napoleon Avenue had its glass façade ripped apart and office areas were exposed, though its pillaging was the work of nature.
After crossing the overpass that led to an abandoned I-10, I entered downtown New Orleans, whose shattered buildings resembled a shelled Beirut during the height of the Lebanese Civil War. Dozens of office windows had been blown out at the Dominion Tower and the Hyatt Hotel. The Superdome showed considerable wear, as the white paint, which draped over its side, had been pealed like an onion from its roof, yet the Freeport McMoran building seemed fine.
The waterline at the Superdome was at 2-3' and the area was crawling with soldiers, including airborne units.
My party slowly navigated towards the New Orleans Centre parking garage, only meters from the now infamous chaos that turned the architectural "Eighth Wonder of the World" into a hellhole. While riding into town I had mumbled prayers and petitions to the Blessed Virgin that I would have something left, but because my car had been parked next to "riot central," I feared the worst.
I explained to the airborne contingent my intention to retrieve my vehicle, or what was left of it, and he allowed us to pass through the darkened parking garage. The good news was that I had parked on the third level between three large concrete walls so my car should not have received any water damage or smashed windows from flying rocks.
I raced up the three flights of stairs and made a bee-line to discover if the human element had destroyed what I figured had been spared by Katrina. There was my heap on an angle in one piece! Despite the "W" and Bush-Cheney 2004 bumper stickers, my tires were not slashed nor were any contents removed. My now three weeks' of dirty laundry, my spyware contaminated obsolete hard drive, my precious research and Office Depot industrial strength hole-puncher.all there!
Even my tuxedo made it through. All I needed now were spats, a monocle, and a top hat and I would be the most dapper evacuee this side of Fred Astaire.
In the middle of the partially destroyed downtown New Orleans, my Ford Escort had weathered the storm of nature and disorder. A sign in the heavens it wasn't but the four-door Escort was enough of a miracle for me.
It overheats, has a malfunctioning CD player, a slipping transmission, a broken air conditioner, and is not much to look at overall, but it still ran and what digital pictures, including my Euro pics, I had lost at my apartment were safe in my computer tower concealed under a pile of dirty clothes. This experience has given new meaning to the Kodak digital preservation commercial currently airing on television.
When considering the rapes, murders, and mass looting that characterized the days immediately following Katrina's visit to New Orleans, my good fortune seems insignificant. However, I'll take what nuggets of good news where I can find it, even if they are found in some of the least likely places.
About a week ago, I had the opportunity to see in person New Orleans in the aftermath of the rising waters and the breakdown in civilized order that overtook the city.
My expedition to inspect what was once Louisiana's largest city began in the congested current holder of this distinction, Baton Rouge. I also had a personal tie with the trip south.
Mere hours before I had fled to Phoenix on the eve of Katrina's strike against the southeast Louisiana coastline, I had the presence of mind to collect a few things that I could store in my humble chariot (1995 Ford Escort), items I couldn't take with me on the plane to Arizona.
Some of the worldly goods secured in the vehicle included my computer tower, two laundry baskets worth of research- a result of three plus years of staring at a microfilm machine and amazingly not developing epilepsy, a handful of hard to find books, a sack of dirty clothes, and a tuxedo I had accidentally left in my car from an event I was supposed to attend but did not.
As I packed, the floor of my abode looked like the last German bunker scene from Patton as papers were scattered across the floor as I bustled about frenetically just before my own retreat. While zipping west on Judge Perez Drive I mulled where I could safely park my modest conveyance.
I know.how about the parking garage by the Superdome!
I did not know what to expect when I approached Jefferson Parish, where commerce and a sense of normalcy had returned. Upon reaching the border of Jefferson and Orleans Parishes, I noticed that the boundary had been fortified with a rampart of shells and was guarded by soldiers.
The route to the Superdome area would be over Claiborne Avenue, a meandering boulevard that passes through some of the city's ritziest neighborhoods and most economically depressed areas.
The road was cluttered with debris and the numerous ditched cars on the green areas had shown evidence of having been totally submerged under water. A city that was home to around 500,000 souls had been deserted, with only a few homeless people shuffling about. The near total lack of life in an urban area had an eerie feeling, as if a neutron bomb, a weapon of mass destruction that can wipeout thousands while largely leaving structures in tact, had been detonated.
I made a point of looking for waterlines on light covered houses to estimate the extent of the flooding. The degree of inundation differed along Claiborne Avenue, ranging from 3' at Carrollton Avenue to 6-7' around Martin Luther King Boulevard. Evidence of looting was apparent at a large liquor store, a grocery, a Rite Aid, and a recently opened Quizno's. The new Salvation Army building near Napoleon Avenue had its glass façade ripped apart and office areas were exposed, though its pillaging was the work of nature.
After crossing the overpass that led to an abandoned I-10, I entered downtown New Orleans, whose shattered buildings resembled a shelled Beirut during the height of the Lebanese Civil War. Dozens of office windows had been blown out at the Dominion Tower and the Hyatt Hotel. The Superdome showed considerable wear, as the white paint, which draped over its side, had been pealed like an onion from its roof, yet the Freeport McMoran building seemed fine.
The waterline at the Superdome was at 2-3' and the area was crawling with soldiers, including airborne units.
My party slowly navigated towards the New Orleans Centre parking garage, only meters from the now infamous chaos that turned the architectural "Eighth Wonder of the World" into a hellhole. While riding into town I had mumbled prayers and petitions to the Blessed Virgin that I would have something left, but because my car had been parked next to "riot central," I feared the worst.
I explained to the airborne contingent my intention to retrieve my vehicle, or what was left of it, and he allowed us to pass through the darkened parking garage. The good news was that I had parked on the third level between three large concrete walls so my car should not have received any water damage or smashed windows from flying rocks.
I raced up the three flights of stairs and made a bee-line to discover if the human element had destroyed what I figured had been spared by Katrina. There was my heap on an angle in one piece! Despite the "W" and Bush-Cheney 2004 bumper stickers, my tires were not slashed nor were any contents removed. My now three weeks' of dirty laundry, my spyware contaminated obsolete hard drive, my precious research and Office Depot industrial strength hole-puncher.all there!
Even my tuxedo made it through. All I needed now were spats, a monocle, and a top hat and I would be the most dapper evacuee this side of Fred Astaire.
In the middle of the partially destroyed downtown New Orleans, my Ford Escort had weathered the storm of nature and disorder. A sign in the heavens it wasn't but the four-door Escort was enough of a miracle for me.
It overheats, has a malfunctioning CD player, a slipping transmission, a broken air conditioner, and is not much to look at overall, but it still ran and what digital pictures, including my Euro pics, I had lost at my apartment were safe in my computer tower concealed under a pile of dirty clothes. This experience has given new meaning to the Kodak digital preservation commercial currently airing on television.
When considering the rapes, murders, and mass looting that characterized the days immediately following Katrina's visit to New Orleans, my good fortune seems insignificant. However, I'll take what nuggets of good news where I can find it, even if they are found in some of the least likely places.
posted by BourbonConservative at 4:15 PM
1 Comments:
Information is now out (a friend of mine at blog KNAK attack) got hold of a copy of the letter that the President sent back to Gov. Blanco in which he failed to include Orleans, St. Bernard of Jefferson parishes in the emergency declaration. Now, I don't hold the Governor blameless in this mess, but I also don't hold the President blameless.
This may have been an oversight, or it may have been a misguided attempt to be tight with the purse-strings at the worst possible moment.
In any case, though, it is clear that the Federal Government is the only institution that is large enough to handle a disaster on this scale, and given that, it has to be funded so it is able to do so.
Post a Comment
<< Home