Text and Photos by John Hanson
The Greek root of the name Katrina is Katharos, meaning “pure”. A new friend from New Orleans, Hal Collums told me this the morning I left after my week working with Historic Green. His family lost every material possession they owned on August 29, 2005, and he talks about the aftereffects in an oddly reverential tone. The immediate impact of the hurricane on the city was the flood of polluted black water that fouled the city grid for weeks afterwards. The longer term effect has been a catharsis, weirdly foretold in the storm’s name. The water itself had a purgative effect, wiping whole neighborhoods clean of possessions, homes, and infrastructure. An even greater power has come from the emotional context of the word, first used by Aristotle to describe the effect of Greek tragedies and acutely felt by many of the residents of the city who have returned. For these individuals, adversity and loss has morphed into something much larger, creating an abiding sense of place and purpose. (I am still here and what does not kill me can only make me stronger.)
Heading to New Orleans to meet my daughter Morgan for a week of working together, I had some of the iconic images in my head; the swirling vortex in the satellite images from before the storm and the broken levees and rooftop rescues of thousands in its aftermath. What I did not have was the proper sense of scale. It’s not until you drive through the neighborhoods and see block after block of empty houses, each with its own special FEMA graffiti, and piles of two and a half year old trash, and most importantly, until you meet the people, that you get a sense of the sheer magnitude and unrelenting toll. When you meet the people and hear their stories, you become a witness to an unwanted life altering event, whose effects will be felt by generations of residents. As the water receded and the rainwater eventually removed the scum below the high water marks, what was left was a place effectively scoured (like the levees themselves) of much of its past, a black chalkboard freshly sponged, still waiting for a diagram of its future. The few people who have returned are determined to create a picture of a better place, despite being hampered by the enormity and complexity of the possible solutions.
Mack McClendon is the first resident I met in the Holy Cross neighborhood where we were working:
He bought a dilapidated industrial building after the storm, named it The Village and has poured all his resources into creating a community center there, because in his mind “it will only make sense to fix up my house after I have a neighborhood.” His vision for the space includes everything from a commercial kitchen and musician’s studio, to a computer lab and a basketball court. Meanwhile he returns to his FEMA trailer every day, and its only two redeeming features (“you get up early, and you work late”). He said it took him about five months to shed his bitterness after the storm and now he just wants to build his dreams.
John Smith (Smitty) talks without prompting about Greek tragedy:
A scholar and philosopher who grew up in the lower ninth, he returned to his roots in NOLA after leaving for much of his adult life to be an accountant and community activist in Chicago. He purchased a house in June 2005, three months before the storm, and has yet to move back in. Now he does a daily regime of yoga, and with prompting from Mack, serves up oral history of the Lower Ninth for visitors. History that for many families has been wiped and scattered to parts unknown.
John Taylor also grew up in the Lower Ninth Ward:
He left just hours before the storm ravaged his entire neighborhood, after his brother came for him and said “it’s time to go”. He talks wistfully about his childhood, and the now dead bayou that was his playground, and yet is one of the ten percent who has returned to that area. He will never leave there because of his deep ties to the land, but he understands the issues which are that the vast majority of his former neighbors never will return, and with good reason.
And lastly Hal and Paula Collums:
Hal commandeered a motor boat after the storm and drove through the city over the cars and street signs, hauling it over two levees and various other obstacles, only to discover his house under eight feet of water. He left empty handed then, and again after returning in denial days later, groping for some scrap of his former life. Shortly after that, while trying to get his company back in business, a volunteer from Illinois arrived at the door of his trailer, replying to a help wanted ad on Craig’s List. A former corporate exec, he now lives in NOLA and has been instrumental in helping to transform Hal’s business. After losing everything they had, Collums Construction has grown to four times the size it was before the storm, Hal and Paula have a new house, a new office and cabinet shop, and a sense of urgency, measured by just the right amount of calmness and presence.
Two and a half years later, New Orleans is still processing the impact of this catastrophe, hampered by a shocking depletion of leadership and resources. Despite heavy reliance on the FEMA trailers and the National Guard, both are scheduled for removal by the end of Summer. Blame that on the poisonous formaldehyde in the trailers, and the depletion of military resources caused by war. A recent city program offering free hauling of household and construction debris added a bloom of new trash piles throughout various neighborhoods that were still waiting to be cleared when I left. It’s a city that has been let down by every imaginable institution: federal, state and local government, insurance companies and banks, and perhaps worst of all, profiteers masquerading as reputable businesses, whose sole purpose was to steal money from those in desperate need.
All of which made the time we spent there so compelling. An event like Katrina exposes the frailty of the human condition, but it also unleashes new expression and potential within some of the greatest sufferers. Add to that the spirit of volunteerism and you get a powerful cocktail. Many volunteers felt like I did that we were able to accomplish very little. And yet any feeling of inadequacy is muted by the gratitude and passion coming from those in need. The efforts of volunteers, more than any other aid, has provided the greatest source of hope for a meaningful recovery in New Orleans. Hal’s wife, Paula, told Morgan and I that during the first months after the storm, there was an unrepressible sadness in the city’s residents as they lived through the enormity of events. Whenever she and other friends encountered a volunteer pitching in somewhere, they would involuntarily break into tears, as if to just say thanks for witnessing our struggle. Two and a half years later, the roots of their emotion is very clear.
See you next time.
Footnote:
A tremendous effort went into the preparation for this event. Emerging Green Builders of Kansas City along with the rest of the group of loosely connected individuals deserves a heaping crawfish boil of credit. Jeremy Curt and Ryan continue to show amazing devotion to the ongoing efforts to revitalize Holy Cross. Mo and I were proud to be a part of it.
