P A G E 12
KATRINA JOURNAL
little black flying creatures so thick it’s hard to keep them out of
the food, so named because they’re coupled permanently, but
luckily, they don’t bite.
9/20/05
We serve hot meals twice a day on tables set up outside
the entry doors of the school. A volunteer is up around the clock,
so I volunteer for the 3 a m. to 6 a m. shift. I’m not alone; the
sheriff and deputies stand around drinking coffee. “Where ya’II
from?" “Washington State.” Astonishment. “Long ways from
here!....Radio says a 4 called Rita gonna hit Friday, ah huh, a
direct hit they say," said with a weary sigh. Tim, the security
guard who tells me his home is gone, is clearly ready for time-off
he probably won’t get in the future. He has a facial twitch and
can’t sit still. He constantly walks over to spit in the grass. The
night is now pleasantly warm; best of all, the love bugs diminish,
though they’ll return in the heat of the day.
I mop floors and clean up in general, so my shift goes
fast.
The guys sweat all afternoon setting up new portable
showers delivered earlier today.
When Brianna’s young mom Joanne hears Hurricane
Rita’s coming toward us, her slender hands visibly tremble.
Then Sam says to me, people coming, go do that
hospitality thing you do so well. That means I greet everyone
with a gift of now precious bottled water. We don't even brush
our teeth with local water, which may be tainted. I walk excruti-
atingly slow, my foot is swollen and black but doesn’t hurt too
much unless I put full weight on it, so I keep on the move and
go greet them.
Steve is a real buddy and Sam takes over when Max is
gone, which is a lot. Max finally returns with the news we’re to
pack up and merge with a larger shelter at Folsom, and hooray,
Rita’s veered away from us for the time being.
PEDRO MOUNA
BY SONJA MAY
Sonja May o f Ilwaco kept a journal while she is in
Louisiana as a Red Cross volunteer in the aftermath of
Hurricane Katrina. She says her reasons for keeping the
journal vary: “One is the (Long Beach) Peninsula has
only a small Red Cross office with one part-time person.
Katrina has taught us anything can happen. I hope a
similar disaster never happens here, but it’s possible.
I thought this journal could inform in an entertaining way.
Whatever its faults, I experienced it, it’s the way I see
the world, and the world sees me. ”
9 /1 3 /2 0 0 5 Red Cross Disaster Training
I really want to volunteer to help the Katrina victims, so I
started with a call to our local Red Cross (642-5766) which gave
me the Training Center number in Longview (1-360-423-7880).
They said, “Could you show up Wednesday at 9 a.m. for fast-
track training, beginning with ‘Introduction to Disaster’?" You bet!
My family knows I hate to travel, or at least I hate getting there,
but I’m going this time, no matter what.
I easily find the Red Cross Center at 1265 14th Ave.,
and with all this energy, I’m there before the doors are open; but
soon I’m directed upstairs to a classroom. Writing my name on a
placard, I look around as the place fills up with eager faces like
mine. Kari Myklebust, our trainer, is pretty, personable, and so
committed to the Red Cross and the experience of disaster
volunteer work that you’re sold just at sight of her. She starts the
class with a handout and a video. She describes ERVs, trucks
that take food and water to people on the street, as one of her
favorite jobs. I find out the Red Cross will pay airfare, $15 food a
day and even for the air-mattress I'll be sleeping on! How about
that: I was ready to pay for everything myself. This gets better
and better.
Back home I’m solving the problem: how do you put your
life on hold for 21 days? Red Cross is not government funded,
but privately funded, so you need to commit 21 days to them;
obviously they’d prefer people not decide after three days they
want to go home. Can I get someone to substitute for my first
week of watercolor class at Clatsop Community College? Roy
Garrison kindly agrees to do so. I quit my part-time job at Moby
Dick, and Fritz Cohn, the owner, thanks me for going. Then I go
to the library to copy a map of Louisiana. I need to know more
about where I’m going, and I find exotic French names like
Natchitoches, Plaquemine and Opelousas that I can't wrap my
tongue around. No matter I begin to pack and put together a
personal First Aid kit. I buy water decontaminate pills and
flashlight batteries (neither of which are useful when I get there,
since bottled water is readily available and flashlights provided).
My second class is on Mass Care & Sheltering, and
there are lots of new people: the class has grown. Valeree,
our second trainer, is animated, funny and knowledgeable.
She says Patience & Flexibility are Red Cross watchwords.
I thought the Red Cross was mainly nurses, but the fact is
they need all kinds of skills and, as mother used to say, “lots
of hands make work go faster." When we finish, we get ID
cards, and I feel proud.
I now need a physical exam and some shots, and learn
that hospital appointments are booked months ahead of time.
It's a valuable lesson about the health care system, so far new
to me. I finally get into a clinic, find I’m in good health and fax
the exam to Longview and finish packing.
Two days later I get “The Call." In three days I'll be in
Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and will be deployed to a shelter from
there. I call my son and daughter to tell them I’m going. They’re
startled but supportive. Now I'm really excited and eager to go.
At my third and final training class, many previous
classes come together. I see many new faces but I spot a few
from my first session and learn some have gone already. A few
are having second thoughts when they hear about hardships like
no showers, but Kari says you can change your mind any time,
that we are under her wing, and can call her 24/7 for anything
at all. Our last task is to confirm our flights ourselves, which took
hours of patient waiting on the phone. I finally left to get an
inflatable air-mattress, my bed for the next 21 days. The final
chore, how to get to the airport if you have no spouse, is taken
off my hands by volunteers from Longview who will drive me
to Portland. Every step of the way is teamwork, teamwork,
teamwork. Already I’m leaving the solitary artist behind, and
it feels good.
9/17/05
A Red Cross shuttle meets our plane in Baton Rouge
and takes us to a Wal-Mart warehouse, now converted to Red
Cross headquarters. We join thousands of volunteers of all ages
and description milling about or standing in lines to register, a
process including getting picture-ID, a Red Cross jacket, and
ends with an assignment to various shelters all around the Gulf
Coast. Behind a fenced-off area of the parking lot, our luggage
lies heaped in random piles; a guard checks ID each time
anyone passes through the gates. As the hours wear on, the
heat and humidity become more intense and standing in the
sun is not advised. At the close of the day, Dave, who I trained
with in Longview, is assigned to Houston, Texas, while I begin
my Red Cross experience by sleeping on army cots at a place
picturesquely called “God’s Restoration."
9/18/05
Early morning in the showers, I have my first adventure
when a black roach as big as my thumb jumps on my foot and I
whomp him with my towel. At a café on the way to Headquarters
in Covington, I meet a motherly looking woman named Jean, an
interpreter for the hearing impaired, who is feeding two elderly
homeless deaf men out of her own pocket, so I use my brand
new Red Cross debit card to pay for their breakfast.
Arriving at Covington Station, I can choose between
cooking for Emergency Reserve Vehicle volunteers (they deliver
daily free food from the trucks) or going to a shelter at 5th Ward
Jr. High School in Bush (Louisiana). Bush it is, as I know I want
to meet local people. My fellow teammates are Sam, a smart,
solid young investor, and Steve, a big, calm bear of a guy with
a good sense of humor. Bush, here we come.
I’ve noticed a slender, unshaven guy slipping in and out
of the station. Turns out he’s Max, our very own Bush Shelter
Manager. His cap is on backward and he calls everyone dude,
though he looks to be about 35. We begin loading our luggage
into his dusty rental car, but suddenly I find myself on the ground
looking up at everyone. I found the only drain hole in miles of
solid curb and stepped in it. The nurse decides my ankle is
sprained not broken because it doesn't hurt. Much. Only I can’t
walk. Never mind, I promise them to do this, that and the other
thing, but one thing I know — I'm not going back. They load me
in the car with a too big lace-up bandage on ice, and we take off
to Wal-Mart for supplies. The guys stand in line outside in the
blazing sun; they're admitted one by one because there are no
longer any employees and only recently re-opened. Most stores
are either damaged or boarded up against looters. All have Help
Wanted signs.
On the way to Bush, Max tells us he hasn’t slept or
showered in three days and lives on B-12 shots. My first day
as a Red Cross volunteer helping the evacuees at Bush is
disappointing. I have to sit out of the way with my bandaged foot
up, but at least I can read to little Brianna, age 6, who charms
me with her atteniions
9/21/05
Max gets angry when he sees me on my feet and brings
out a yellow blanket and insists I put my foot up. Later, I wash
Brianna’s hair in the shower but I get soaked too, not in the plan.
The kids seem supercharged even for 6 year olds, and I wonder
how much it has to do with being traumatized, having little sleep
and too much sugar. After lunch I suggest we organize a nap
time, get Max's and their parents' permission, and with Phyllis,
who thinks it’s a super idea, find a cool, quiet room and set up
cots. I figure they’ll rest there for half an hour if I'm lucky. The
kids are charmed with the idea, but can’t sit still. Suddenly, with
out warning Kevin goes down, Isabelle stops talking and twitch
ing, and there goes Brianna. I can’t believe it, they’re actually
asleep. Kevin moans and shudders, and I wonder if he’s having
nightmares about the hurricane, so I smooth his little back and
he sleeps on. Soon it's 3:30 and I wonder if I should wake them.
Kevin’s mom looks in, pleased and amazed. The Sheriffs deputy
though, has had enough and storms in slamming doors; this is
her space, she barks.The kids sleep right through the altercation.
Nurse Phyllis talks to her, and she angrily relents, but later hurls
something into the trash can so close it brushes my face. But I
think the children felt safe for the first time in awhile so I'm happy
this has worked out. And later, when I'm serving dinner, little 3
year old Isabel, who,never noticed me before, toddles over and
brushes lovebugs off my bare legs, where they're driving me
nuts because I can’t touch them while handling our food because
it's unsanitary. I’m pleased.
I I p.m. Melt-down with Max, who orders me to bed, as
we move to Folsom tomorrow. But I was sharing ice cream with
Joe Pierre, Kevin’s dad, a strong, dignified black man about 45,
and the Sheriff, who seems riled at Max’s bossy ways. I think I'm
smoothing things out, plus I want to hear what these locals have
to say, so I don’t obey. But Max angrily beckons me over, he
wants to give me a talking-to. I’m too old for this, and I just look
at him silently until he gives up and goes away muttering.
9/22/05
Early today we pack the trucks, leave the school clean
and caravan off to find Folsom. We get lost several times but
finally find it, unpack and settle down for the night.
S /Z j/0 5
Folsom Shelter is in Magnolia Community Park, Saint
Tammany Parish, about 45 minutes north of New Orleans.
Louisiana is largely Catholic and everything is identified by
what parish it’s in. While the residents sleep on cots in the huge
gymnasium, it's very crowded for us Red Cross Volunteers. All
18 of us are quartered in a small room with cots barely one foot
apart. Sleep will be hard to get; it’s really hot, there are talented
snorers, and Rita's veering our way again. But Patty, our Shelter
Manager, has a great smile. She says Folsom’s sheriff went
“nose to nose” with her when she requested a guard for the
evacuees' belongings. "He had a nice, quiet community here,
9/19/05
THE COMPLEAT PHOTOGRAPHER
4 7 5 14TH ST., ASTORIA & 303 S. HOLLADAY, SEASIDE
325-0759
736-3686
This morning, though, I’m up with the help of a cane,
serving breakfast to the residents (I refuse to call them clients’)
with Sam, then I empty all the overflowing garbage cans. I meet
my first resident, Imelda, who believes the hurricane is God’s
test for her to keep from trafficking with men. Still, there are 30
others to meet in the shelter even though it's love-bug season,
J