After a sobering journey through Lacombe and Slidell, we make it to the second distribution stop at the Northshore Harbor Center in Slidell. At the entrance to the building, several National Guardsmen are standing guard with M-16s slung over their shoulders. They are all business and a little intimidating. We enter the building, and right inside the door a couple of Red Cross volunteers are manning a table. "Can I help you?" A young woman asks. "We're here to see Kerry. We have a truckload of supplies with us." Jill replies.
I ask the Red Cross volunteers where they are from. "California," replies the woman. I tell her we're from Palo Alto, and she says she is from Orange County. She's been on assignment for nearly three weeks and goes home on Thursday. "It's been a long haul," she says wearily. The other volunteer is from the Northeast. They both seem tired and bored. The volunteers sleep on green army cots in the back hallway. They shower in mobile shower units on trucks outside. I'm not sure if this is quite what they signed up for, but it seems like some kind of crazy endurance test. At least they don't have to eat bugs like the people on "Survivor", but there's no chance for a million dollar pay-off at the end either.
To the right of their desk, an elderly gentleman is looking over a bulletin board covered with notes. There are job postings, notes from people on the outside looking for loved ones, posters about events in Slidell--a hodgepodge of information. Behind the bulletin board are a couple of laptop computers with an internet connection. There are signs posted on the walls with "Rules" on them..."No Smoking/No Alcohol/No Drugs..." Off to the left, a young man wearing a Red Cross vest is playing with two little kids, trying to get them to draw pictures. The kids seem restless, but he is doing his best to engage them.
This building opened in May as a brand-new Convention Center and place for large gatherings, like weddings and parties. The outside is painted a cheerful yellow, but it is now surrounded by a big field of mud. Kerry, the Center Director, greets us warmly with a big smile. Kerry is a former San Francisco resident and she knew exactly where we were from, so we didn't have to explain where Palo Alto is. She tells us that when she was hired, she never dreamed that she would be running a homeless shelter.
Beyond the desk is a large open room with hundreds of green canvas
army cots lined up inside. Some are in rows and some are in
squares--obviously family units "circling the wagons" and grouping themselves together. The beds are
neatly made, with blankets folded and pillows stacked high. One or two have airmattresses on top, but mostly, they are just green canvas cots with blankets. One person
has left a polite note that reads, "Please do not sit on my bed. Thank you."
There is something overwhelmingly sad about this place and I have to fight back tears when I see the children who live here. It is brightly
lit, but the cinderblock walls and flourescent lights give off an aura of a giant yellow jail cell with no windows. There aren't many people inside, just a few kids and their mothers. There are a few elderly residents sitting on their cots with blank looks on
their faces, as though they just don't know what do do next.
The shelter is one of the last remaining shelters in the area. Most of the other shelters that popped up right after the storm in schools and churches had recently closed, and the remaining residents were sent here. President Bush recently declared that all the shelters should be closed by October 15, but that is largely dependent upon FEMA's ability to provide temporary housing for the people still living in the shelters. The residents in this shelter are staying put in order to maintain a priority on the FEMA trailer list. They believe that if they leave, they will lose their place in line for trailers. By trailer, I do not mean a "mobile home" with several rooms, but more like an Airstream camping trailer that would be pulled behind a car--these units are small but at least offer some privacy, something that is sorely lacking in the shelter. We were told that the Slidell area needs about 20,000 trailers; 300 have been delivered so far. The number one need in St. Tammany right now is housing.
We are surprised that our truck is not there when we arrive, since Carlos told us he would head over there immediately and that was an hour ago. The North Shore Harbor Center is too new to appear on Mapquest or any GPS systems--Carlos calls us from the interstate to say he is lost. Kerry takes the phone and patiently explains to him how to get there. She takes us to the loading dock in the back, where we finally see Carlos pull up. He has trouble backing into the dock, and runs over a pile of debris. A couple of volunteers are cleaning tables that had been soaked in the flood. Kerry tells us that the building itself wasn't damaged in the flood, but the tables and chairs were stored in a couple of portables that flooded. They are trying to salvage what they can of the tables, but most of the chairs are wrecked.
Carlos finally manages to maneuver the truck onto the dock. The Red Cross volunteers bring hand trucks and start to unloaded the truck. They tell us that the distribution will take place on Thursday. I overheard one Red Cross Volunteer say to another, "This is just the stuff we needed," as she looked at the donation boxes stacked high in the hallway. As they're unloading, I realize that I need to give Carlos his check to pay for the trip. I look in my bag, but the blue folder is missing that has all my maps and information about the trip, along with the check. I ask Jill if she has the check, but she says no, so I ask Michelle if she can take me back to our car in the Head Start parking lot. She says "no problem" and we head out the door. I look in the bag for my keys, but I don't find them either. I empty everything out on a table, but there are no car keys in the bag or in my pocket. Michelle goes back to the dock to ask Jill if she has the keys, because I remembered (or imagined) handing them to her to get something from the car before we left, though I don't know if she handed them back or not.
Michelle returns with Jill, who does not have the keys. I start to panic and decide to call Joan at Head Start, while Jill calls Alamo. Since we don't have the rental car contract (which is also in the blue folder), I'm not sure if they will help or not. I'm in between full-blown freak-out mode and laughing hysterically; we're like "Lucy and Ethel Go on a Relief Mission." We are Murphy's Law incarnate at this point.
I tell Joan what has happened and she says, "Was it one black key on a ring? I think I've seen it." She goes to look. I am elated.
She comes back and says, "Sorry, it was not on my desk. Let me look around." I am defeated.
She goes away from the phone and looks around the office again and comes back. "I found it!" she exclaims. I am so happy I can hardly stand it. Michelle and I jump in her car and she takes me back to Head Start. "It could be worse..." I think to myself. "It could definitely be worse."
On the way back to Head Start, Michelle tells me that Jesse Jackson has sent a bus load of evacuees to New Orleans from Atlanta. He tells people that they are from Louisiana and that they should be given jobs to rebuild New Orleans. This is a nice idea, she says, only most of the people are not even from Louisiana to begin with...out of 200 people only 50 were really from New Orleans. The rest just took a ride on the bus because he promised them jobs.
We get back to the Head Start just as Joan was about to leave. There is a small yellow school bus from the Covington Head Start is parked at the entrance, loaded down with the boxes we brought. Joan hands me the keys and apologizes for what happened in the morning. I tell her not to worry about it, that we were happy that things were going to people who needed them and that was all that mattered. Michelle apologizes to her and says, "I'm sorry if I offended you by taking over, but I grew up here. I know how hard these ladies worked to bring these things to us and I just didn't want to see it become a free-for-all." Joan says she understands, and the two of them hug it out.
"Our troubles aren't over yet," says Joan. "The bus from Covington came but it overheated in the parking lot, so we don't know when it can go back or if it needs to be fixed." The Custodian tells her not to worry, that it will all be just fine. I give her a PAMP hat as a souvenir of our visit.
I get in the car, and lo and behold, no folder. Jill's purse is in there, but the folder is not to be found anywhere in the car or the trunk. I tell Michelle, and she says, "Are you talking about a blue folder with some maps in it?" That's the one, I tell her. "It was in my truck and I handed it to Jill when we got out at the Harbor Center." I call Jill, but get her voicemail and I leave a message for her to give the red envelope in the folder to Carlos before he leaves. I call Carlos to tell him that Jill has his check, but all I get is static-y rap music on his voicemail. I say goodbye to Michelle, who has to take off for her daughter's back to school night. She says she will try to make it to dinner with us, but doesn't know if she can or not.
Meanwhile, back at the shelter...After the truck was unloaded, Jill started handing out Pack & Play portable cribs to all the moms with babies--they were very grateful to get these, since they are sleeping on these tiny cots and there were no cribs for babies. The babies have been sleeping with their parents on these cots for weeks. Jill took one of the moms to the back, where all of the things were being stored, so that she could pick one out. One of the Red Cross workers stopped her and yelled at her. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "You're not following our distribution protocol! You are going to cause a riot! Don't you know this is where we sleep? You can't bring people back here!"
Jill was taken aback by this, and said, "These are for the families with babies. Kerry said I could hand them out." The volunteer backed off, but was not happy. Jill had other encounters with the Red Cross volunteers that were less than stellar. When she asked why the shelter seemed so empty, one of them told her, "They're all out getting drunk and smoking crack. There will be a ruckus in here tonight." Kerry and the shelter residents told her that most of the adults had gone to work.
Jill brought along a video camera and asked if she could tape some of the shelter residents. She told me later, "They were so funny...some people didn't want to be taped, but the ones who did had a lot to say. They were joking and and telling me all kinds of stories. There was one little girl who looked like my three year old. I wanted to take her home with me. There was a woman with a baby and when I asked her how old her baby was, she said, 'She's not my baby; her mama is in high school and she's at school right now. I'm the baby's aunt.'" One teenage boy, back from school, told Jill, "I live in the biggest house in all of Slidell...Just look at the size of this place!"
After I return and finally pay Carlos, we meet a little five year old girl with strawberry blonde hair and big, wide blue eyes. She has bug bites all over her arms and legs, and she is wearing her mom's sneakers, about 5 sizes too big for her. She looks like an extra from a road show of "Annie." She is sitting on her Grandma's lap, by the computers. When I ask her name, she turns shy and hugs her Grandma's neck. I say, "Let me guess...is your name Princess? Rumplestilskin? Hillary Duff?"
"No," she says slyly, "my nickname is Angel."
Her grandma looks surprised, "Since when is your nickname Angel?"
"Since I just made it up five minutes ago."
Angel gives Jill some of her purple heart-shaped Mardi Gras beads. She calls Jill "the Lady from California" and tells her the hearts are "so you'll remember me in California." Jill promises to remember her and send her something from California. We say our goodbyes and head out the door.
Driving out, a pair of young National Guardsmen wave at us. "They look like babies." I tell Jill. She agrees. She tells me that one of the National Guardsmen inside told her that he just got back from Iraq. "The situation here in Louisiana," he said, "is much worse."
