Lo and Behold

New website

2008-12-23T17:23:00.002-05:00

This month marks the launch of my new website, which I'm also using to link to this current blog.

Visit mark-guarino.com or wordpreserve.com.

On both I plan to post articles and news that encompasses everything in my writing life.

I also plan on returning to New Orleans in 2009 for further volunteer work, this time through a different organization than Habitat. So look for renewed postings here.

Happy 2008 and here's best wishes for a healthier New Orleans to come!

We're on WXRT

2007-02-17T21:59:00.000-05:00

Rob and I had the pleasure of taping a two-hour edition of "The Eclectic Company" this week. We were guests of rock icon Jon Langford (Mekons, Waco Brothers) and local luminary Nick Tremulis, known for his own rockin' contribution to social justice issues. We talked about our work last year for Habitat plus played TONS of New Orleans music — classic R&B, indie weirdness, zydeco, etc.

It airs in Chicago Tuesday 2/20 10 p.m.-midnight CENTRAL TIME via WXRT 93.1-FM. If you're outside Chicago you can stream it live via their website, wxrt.com.

Thanks to Marty Lennartz, Jon and Nick. We had a lot of fun.

Check the site for a new chapter on this journey.

1,000 volunteers needed this summer ...

2006-05-13T01:43:00.000-04:00

... and not even working for Habitat

Hundreds of Volunteers Needed in the Greater New Orleans Area

Habitat for Humanity wants to alert volunteers of an opportunity to work with the St. Bernard Parish Recovery Project in Louisiana. There is a tremendous need for volunteer support. This opportunity is being coordinated exclusively through St. Bernard Parish. Please see below for more details.

Situation Background
St. Bernard Parish, located to the southeast of New Orleans, remains one of the most devastated communities in the aftermath of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. St. Bernard suffered significant structural damage to 100 percent of its residential and commercial units. Not only was it victim of torrential rain and winds, but a massive storm surge left nearly all of the parish inundated. The citizens of St. Bernard Parish need your help to recover.

The Plan
The parish launched the St. Bernard Recovery Project on January 12th, 2006. The first phase will consist of volunteer teams of 10 entering flooded homes in order to salvage family treasures and remove debris (furniture, carpeting, sheetrock, etc.). Those homes still to be visited, already deemed structurally intact by the St. Bernard Parish Fire Department, number in the thousands. The second phase of the project, scheduled to begin when 5,000 homes have been cleaned of debris, will involve a partnership with the elderly, disabled, and single working parent households who have little means to rebuild.

Please note that this is not a Habitat for Humanity project. St. Bernard Parish is coordinating this effort. While this is so, without the prior support of thousands of committed Habitat volunteers, the project would never have come this far. However, there is a long way to go. Habitat for Humanity is one of several organizations that have been asked to make this opportunity known to its volunteers. This effort is being organized by St. Bernard Parish and Homeland Security professionals and will be one of the most comprehensive community recovery projects ever undertaken.

Those willing to donate their time and abilities are asked to commit for a minimum of six days. Volunteers arrive on Sundays for team assignment and OSHA-certified safety training, and work Monday through Friday during the cooler hours of the day. St. Bernard will house volunteers in Camp Hope and transport them from site to site. This volunteer base camp features 24-hour security, a medical tent, wireless Internet capability, satellite telephones, and shower and laundry facilities. Volunteers sleep in temperature-controlled classrooms with cots provided. In addition, the parish will provide three meals a day. A donation of $100 per week is requested from each volunteer to help with food, electrical, and security costs. Those who cannot provide this requested donation will not be turned away.

St. Bernard Parish will coordinate the volunteer effort in removing health and safety hazards from homes and hauling the debris to the curb.
Committed volunteers must wear:
· Eye goggles
· Steel-toe boots with steel shanks (to protect soles from nails)
· Work gloves
· Volunteers should bring four pairs of work clothes.

In addition:
· Volunteers must have received tetanus vaccinations
· The EPA, the DEQ, the LDHH, and the ATSDR all require that volunteers wear N95 particulate respirators.

If you suffer from asthma, reactive airway disease, mold/spore allergies, a compromised immune system, or are pregnant, on steroids, undergoing chemotherapy, have leukemia, or are an organ transplant recipient, you will not be permitted to participate in debris removal.

The opportunities to work on this project will be great. There is a tremendous need for support. Officials have estimated needing at least 1,000 volunteers per week until the end of the summer. For every hour a volunteer works, the devastated, bankrupt parish can apply $15 towards its reimbursement of the federal government. The parish is mainly blue collar, and each home that is cleaned of its debris saves the homeowner $5,000-$7,000. So many were without flood insurance, as the community is above sea level and not considered a part of the flood plain. Of the 67,000 residents, only 10,000 have been able to return. The parish government is operating with 50% of its staff, so the project is driven almost entirely by volunteers.

Your support is desperately needed. For many this has proved to be a life-changing experience. To call it humbling or eye-opening is an understatement.

If you are interested in volunteering, you can register for the St. Bernard Parish Recovery Project by going to the New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity website at http://www.habitat-nola.org/st_bernard/. Any questions can be directed to Michael Hayes at the New Orleans affiliate, at (504) 861-2077 or michaelh@habitat-nola.org.

Please help us spread the word. Thank you for your support!

Michael Hayes
Special Projects Coordinator
New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity

Week later

2006-05-09T13:57:00.000-04:00

About a week after returning I am still having dreams of destruction. If the dreams are not literally about New Orleans, they are simply ordinary dreams with backgrounds of destruction.

I have made a vow, though, not to look at my photos for awhile. On Sunday I scrolled through them for family but felt sort of sick afterwards. I think I'm going to put them aside for awhile and not look at them for a few months.

I hope to continue this blog yet right now am trying to decide in what direction. Stay tuned.

Dreams

2006-05-03T12:22:00.000-04:00

I'm home. It took a long time. The last two nights I dreamt of tromping through sludge and empty homes, taking pictures, digging, in an area of nothing but devastation. I was told by a friend yesterday morning that the volunteers will likely experience a form of post traumatic stress for awhile. I think he may be right.

I'll write more when I get adequate sleep.

Sunday afternoon

2006-04-30T20:34:00.000-04:00

Just returned from the jazz festival. The largest crowd ever. I can't say it was fun. I kept thinking that most of these people are here in support of the New Orleans economy and that's good, but really, it's about that venerable American tradition of marathon drinking, acting rude and wearing stupid clothes. Lots of fat old craggy men wearing fanny packs, Hawaiian shirts and panama hats — not a good look. One T-shirt read something like (I'm paraphrasing) "I went to New Orleans and all I got was this stupid T-shirt, a plasma TV and a Cadillac." Another read "C'est Levee." Cute but regrettable that a terrible disaster -- out of sight and out of mind for most Americans -- is whittled down that way. As if people need to be dumber.

So I can't say the festival left me skipping.

This has been a life changing experience. I plan to return in some fashion, to gut more homes. Maybe not for Habitat but for a church here. Many are running programs just like Habitat but out of general public eye. It seems that to return to the monotony of daily life is a cop-out of some slight sort. Not that any additional work will make me feel I'm making a difference but it will serve as just this: to not forget.

I'll write more later, but first, here are some photos of the day.

The festival is located in a neighborhood called St. John's Bayou. It is quiet, peaceful with many beautiful little cottages peppering a bayou. I've spent a lot of time here just walking along the bayou. It's serene.
I saw a fish jump in and out of the water — guys like this one were throwing their lines.
The homes are intoxicating.
This reads "Keep the bayou beautiful."

Inside the fairgrounds, while waiting for Elvis Costello, the crowd went into an uproar. I looked around trying to figure out why. Then I saw it. It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a plane with a banner that reads "Impeach Bush!'
This may have been the only banner advertising that received a standing ovation from the people in the seats. And in a red state, too.

For those of you reading in Chicago, I ran into this familar and friendly face:

It's Bill FitzGerald, owner of the live music club of the same name in Berwyn. Bill is driving back tonight. In July, his annual American Music Festival will celebrate its 25th year, a great Chicago tradition and definitely the best festival of the summer. A miniature New Orleans jazz festival -- many of the same artists but without as many people. Kudos to him for sporting the Robbie Fulks tee, too.

I also ran into this famous face, but it was on the Trinitron.
Elvis Costello with Allen Toussaint, the great New Orleans producer, arranger and songwriter. While it was fun to hear them perform together, the crowd was terrible. So I retreated with my sidekick, 14-year-old Kenneth, and we checked out the Meters and other stuff on the smaller stages. Which included DL Menard, the great Cajun musician, songwriter and singer, considered the Hank Williams of cajun music.
Cajun music is music that is both happy and sad at the same time. A waltz beat with a guy in backwoods French, wailing about lost love. Makes perfect sense to me.

Sunday morning

2006-04-30T10:54:00.000-04:00

Rain arrived last night. We went for dinner to the Bywater at a place called Elizabeth's. It's next to a levee and, driving through the narrow streets, you get a sense you're in another time. This place radiates mystery, it's not just a cliche.

Coming back home, the rain increased. It was needed. It rained throughout the night but upon morning, it was bright and sunny. It was not before I came here years ago I realized that different parts of the planet radiate different forms of light. Here, the sun is BRIGHT. Combine that with the flora, the lush green, the different shades of homes and you have an intense daily life.

After a soak in a big clawfoot bathtub (they don't shower here except on the first floor), I took a walk for a paper and coffee and now am about to head off to the jazzfest. I am really itchy from all that fiberglass insulation I handled all week. Plus tired. A good tired though. I'm walking to New Orleans but dragging my feet.

Here are some shots of my walk.

The Rue de Course, a local chain coffeehouse, this one in an old bank building.

After Mayor Ray Nagin played to black votes by promising New Orleans would be a "chocolate city," some whites were offended. Thus, these signs:
Hello kitty
Mighty oaks
Back to the casa de la Reyes. I love this house.
Now off to see Springsteen and company.

For some in the Lower Ninth, a new start at life

2006-04-30T00:38:00.000-04:00

Here they were, working on a gutted home in the Lower Ninth Ward when I stopped by. They were putting in the electric. Three out of four of them were from Chicago. They put down their tools and came outside, enthusiastic to talk. We stood on the front steps at midday. The sky was deep blue. And there was no sound in the neighborhood other than our voices. Even the main street, with its little car traffic, was probably six blocks away. Behind us as we talked was the green grass slope of a levee.

"(New Orleans after Katrina) is not about black or white," said Al Mitch (at left). "It's about do you have some skills? Do you want to work or do you not want to work? I can't see, really, going back to Chicago."

He's the tallest, a 32-year veteran of Com Ed. Before last month, Mitch was retired and happily so. He was sick of installing cable during Chicago winters. The worst was the the last time the Chicago Bears played the Super Bowl, which happened to be in New Orleans. He listened to the game on the radio and imagined the cool Delta breeze. "I had to work that day. It was two below. The Bears were here and I was freezing," he said.

Mitch, 59, was happily living in Fernwood, a South Side neighborhood, until he got a call from his friend Darryl Summers (at bottom), a contractor friend who went South in December. New Orleans, he told him, was booming. And not only were the people down there sick of the local contractors who never showed up on time, did shoddy work or didn't return phone calls, but work was plentiful for a dedicated professional and better yet, the weather all good.

Now, both men, one retired, decided to change their lives. In a matter of months, they and their wives and children will turn their back on the Midwest and call New Orleans home.

For Summers, 49, it's a homecoming. His mother is a native and he spent the summers riding the streetcar and eating the food. Compared to Chicago — a hard, ugly industrial city — New Orleans is casual, overflowing with creature comforts. "I always loved New Orleans. The people, the music, the atmosphere. You walk down the street, (the people) wave at you," he said.

While others are writing the city's obituary, Mitch sees a "new beginning." "Although it was a disaster, a person with some skills, you have a chance to explore your world, live your dreams," he said. Due to rampant price gouging opportunists — and because they are polite, professional and good — the group hasn't advertised once. They also credit their schooling in the rigid and vast matrix of Chicago code rules, which makes basic install jobs in New Orleans a piece of cake. "Chicago, it's hard. Here, you work hard, but it's not hard," Mitch explained. Plus, the micromanagement of Com Ed, something he said began to eat at him from the inside, would not exist. In New Orleans, he would be a free man.

Mitch brought with him Tiger Fairrow, 25 from Bolingbrook (in orange), his friend's nephew who is also a licensed contractor but not as sure as his elders whether he wants to stay. Right now he just likes the steady work and sunshine.

While here they rounded out the group hiring George Lloyd (top, in grey). Lloyd has his own post-Katrina plans. As soon as he can, he's moving to Buffalo, where there's family. Despite the flow of work in his native city, he has nightmares. That happens when swamp water rises as high as your neck. And you spend seven days in the Superdome, watching murder and suicide he insists happened despite investigations in the Times-Picayune that report the contrary. "Rape, murder, drugs, guns, you name it, it was in there," he said. Despite the squalor and the violence, he said he wasn't scared because he's seen it all. "I done live through all that," he said. "I was worried about the kids."

Lloyd, who before Katrina worked several jobs including at a shipyard and sterilyzing trays at a local hospital, said the breakdown was just the natural course of events. People didn't enter the Superdome ravaged. But it became apparant that there would be no resuce and no one seemed in charge. Time simply took its toll. "When you ain't got no oxygen and the power went out and it's hot, no one can eat and you're confused, naturally people are going to get disturbed," he said. "Then it turned violent."

After the Superdome, Lloyd was bused to Tulsa, Okla., but after eight days, he turned right back around. He arrived in the Lower Ninth and find his apartment building "totally gone." Today he's staying with a cousin in Kenner, a suburb.

While up on ladders, his new co-workers prod him for stories he hesitates to retell. "The little food they had, there was not enough to go around. When kids go hungry, that's a helluva thing. It shouldn't have been," he said. "It was hell in there."

Mitch said that despite the horrors that happened in this neighborhood, he's convinced things will change for the better. For that to happen, it will take a new sense of perception, trust — and patience. "Anyone who thinks it's going to change overnight is fooling themselves," he said. "It's monumental."

Freaky Friday

2006-04-29T10:31:00.000-04:00

By Friday, none of us could barely move. This is exhausting work. Not just because I don't do physical labor everyday. But there is speed involved. A Habitat higher-up told our team leader that if every team was like our's, they'd be finishing more houses. We really locked into a rhythm by week's end and everyone became essential. It shows that you can get a group of strangers, put them in one setting and if the chemistry is there, stand out of the way.

We found dark humor that, on the same day we finished a week of in the worst devastation possible, W. was in town, heeding the call of his spin doctors. We heard the helicopters yesterday. Too bad the general public doesn't know how much of a fake photo-op his appearances like these are. Just like "Mission Accomplished," it is a calculated distortion. He showed up at a home building, not gutting. The idea was to show that New Orleans is on the rebound, the government is doing its job, conversativism is still compassionate and these neighborhoods are coming back fast. The truth is, of course, there is hardly any construction here. These neighborhoods are far, far, far, far from that stage. A majority of the city's black population is dismissed from here and nothing will be the same. If he wanted to roll up his sleeves and help us gut one of these sadly destroyed homes in neighborhoods that went on for miles, he was welcome. However, his handlers instead chose to shovel sweet candy in front of the nation, an image that does not exist and the idea that the problem is solved.

And this is another example of why the real story of Katrina is not being told. It's lost in the smoke and mirrors of the administration in charge and a media that's inert. If this is the case in New Orleans, on American soil, can you imagine what atrocities are being covered up in Iraq?

I drove to to the site because I needed to get to the Jazzfest grounds the moment we were finished. So I followed the bus.

"Operation Blessing" is the name of a group run by professional hatemonger/zealot Pat Robertson who donated the buses, so to advertise, that slogan was spread across the side of every vehicle. If we knew that Monday, most of said we would have driven ourselves to the site.

We finished the second home by late morning. It involved getting the debris out of the second floor (no easy task, just chuck it down the stairs), tear down the ceiling high above the foyer (Andrew and Rob did that) and general cleanup. Look how satisfied we are.
Then we went to the new house. We all agreed -- this house had a definite creepy vibe. The rooms were clausterphobic, the mold was to the ceiling, narrow hallways and few windows made it very dark, the living room was dark red and the outside was purple. A team had already pulled out the personal debris and mud/sludge. Our job was to do the drywall, cabinetry. Here are some "before" photos.

I took this shot from the inside. Religious statuary salvaged with the American flag in the back. Images we see all the time from the despots of the right wing war machine, but definitely not in this context. Where's real patriotism and compassion when they actually matter?

The door next door was creepier because it had not been gutted. It was like how we found the first house --- furniture in sludge, everything a mess. Remember how on Monday my batteries died so I couldn't take pictures of that? On Friday I poked my camera up to the window of this house to capture what homes look like before anyone -- families, cleanup crews -- goes inside. It's pretty horrible.
Here, the sofa is in the kitchen:

Then we took a lunch break. I've never had so many Snickers bars in one week.

And I walked around the block. Here's some photos of the neighborhood. An ironic mermaid fountain guards a waterlogged house.
A motorcycle in a backyard no one will likely ride again.
Santa Claus down for the count at the doorway.
In backyards, fences and sheds were always in shambles.
How New Orleans: In this pile of debris, someone strung Mardi Gras beads.
Warning: snakes.
View of the streets.

Brawny wrestlers must have gutted this house. Look how high up they got that mattress and sofa.
As always, Virgin Mary stayed behind to watch over many homes.
I would end this post with a photo of the finished house. But I handed my camera to someone on another team ... and I dropped it. It shattered. Buying a replacement today.

When the bus came, I jumped in my car with Rob and raced downtown. I dropped him off at home then went to the Reyes, showered, then raced again to Jazzfest to catch Bob Dylan. I can't really talk much about the music because I'm covering it for a magazine. I will say that St. John's Bayou, the neighborhood in which the fairgrounds are located, is one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in the city and the one that made me fall in love with New Orleans way back when. I walked the bridge over the Bayou past the little cottages, flowers in bloom. The festival was incredibly packed with people. As Dylan sang "it's rough down there/high water everywhere," it perfectly summed up what I've seen all week.

One thing that was immediate obvious was activity. All week we worked in neighborhoods that were deadly silent except for our crowbars and hammers. But in other parts of town, life. The silence of the devastated neighborhoods told a story in itself. Not many people at Jazzfest will have a chance to see what we've seen because they're removed by just a little distance. So in a way, silence kills, still.

There's more. Just stay tuned.

Group power

2006-04-27T18:04:00.000-04:00

People can say one person can make a difference. I don't believe that true. If the game is fixed, it's fixed. If you live a country with a ruling class, it doesn't matter what you try to do, you can't sit down at the table. I wish they would stop telling kids anyone can be president. Unless you get into the Ivys, had a father on the board of a certain company or simply shit gold coins, in the U.S. -- home of the free, no less -- you will not be able to affect much change. It's simply the truth. One of our nation's great myths is the power of the individual. It matters in art and sports. It doesn't matter in the era of corporations and a White House run by CEO's, especially now that the gap between rich and poor is astronomical.

I don't think I am making much of a difference myself. However, as part of a group, we are making a difference. To at least two families — three by the end of the week. To those people, we -- as a group -- did something. As an individual, not much.

I learned the importance of the group, not the individual, today. But let's start last night. After all, this is New Orleans and good food and drink must be had. Both still thrive.

Winding down from the Lower Ninth Ward tour, on Wednesday night I went to this restaurant in the Bywater, a great neighborhood I would love to live in someday:
It's called Jack Dempsey's and their specialty is fried seafood. Look at this happy table:
They're not drunk, they're just blurry.
The Bywater is what Wicker Park in Chicago once was and is no more. A true bohemian enclave with cool old homes that open up to opulent lush gardens. Here's the local wine shop. If you didn't know it was in New Orleans, its exterior is easily France.
After eating fried pecan pie with ice cream at my host's home (thanks for accomodating the request, guys), I went to the Quarter to meet up with Rob and three team members who had been drinking all day. They also caught a movie. We went to One Eyed Jacks, a music club/bar.
They're not blurry, they're drunk. Not really. They're a fun group. We are already proficient with gallow's humor based on what we've seen -- dead cats, snakes, etc. -- I can only imagine how far the people who live here full-time have gone in trying to make light of absymal conditions you see every day.

This morning we showed up at our house. It was two hours from finished. Those were fast two tours. My duty became pulling drywall from the bathroom and then a teammate and myself shoveled muck from the tub. Yes, muck. It was filled with broken drywall but underneath -- rotting black wet muck that smelled worse eggshells. It smelled like death. When we uncovered it, noxious fumes released. My stomach felt it for an house. Nasty.
Here are some photos of our house. We swept the floor clean, too. Now this house -- once mired half way up with mud, soiled possessions, glass, mold, etc. -- can be officially rebuilt. We did a damn fine job. In fact, a Habitat person later came by and said our's was a "model home" for Habitat.

You're looking at the bathroom and laundry room and behind it, the bedrooms of the two girls.

Here's that other bathroom with the muck tub.
Living room with kitchen behind. Check out the porcelein cat we rescued on the fireplace.
The kitchen leading out to the sunroom.
Personal possessions we were able to salvage and set aside.
Look at all the complete and utter shit we hauled outside. Sad to say but we know a lot about this family -- what they ate, what movies they liked, what clothes they wore, what schools they went to, how much money they made, what they did on the weekends, etc. -- simply from handling, and ultimately junking, their possessions.
We were so proud, we took a photo. Notice the shirts. Don and Faye -- from San Diego -- brought us a bag of cheap French Quarter T-shirts so we would have team apparal. They say ridiculous things like "I'm with stupid" and "You better buy me another beer cause your (yes it read 'your') still ugly." We then wrote stupid stuff in marker on each other's backs.
Then we made the plan for the next house.

It happened to be just across the street. The owner is in Texas. She hired a contractor to gut it, but he got injured. Plus -- as we discovered -- he did a horrible job. Everything was random and poorly done. We ended up having to correct his mistakes. Sad that a group of strangers can do a better job than a contractor but we have the sense that people are being royally screwed left and right here. Rob plus two others go in first to check it out.

This was the hardest day of the week. I am fatigued, almost numb as I write this. I just want to nod off to sleep. I spent the afternoon choping away at drywall and then on a ladder taking down ceiling. We had to shove the debris down the stairs, someone had to load it into a wheelbarrow and truck it outside. It was laborious. Yet by now our team is an oiled machine set for action. We worked very hard. In the process someone scooped up a dead cat without knowing it (the cat had obviously died underneath debris). It took the wheelbarrow person to notice the cat in the trash.

The new house:

Side of the house. FEMA has a rule tht you can't have more than one debris pile. So our debris pile snaked from the front to the garage.
I am so bone tired from today I have to quit for now and finish up later. Stay tuned.

I'm back. It's 6:30 a.m. and I have ten minutes.

Last night we went to a bar in St. Bernard to eat and generally mingle with locals as well as get to know each other more as a team.

There was a lot of hard living at this bar and it was evident all night.

The locals knew we were volunteers and continued to come up to us to thank us for our efforts but also, they were curious why we cared. One guy kept asking, "are you doing this because you care or is it more for the experience?"

One guy said he watched nine feet of water rise in his house in 30 minutes.

One guy, while playing pool, said he frequently leaves his truck outside the bar purposely rigged so it can be stolen easily. And so it does. But it always gets returned. People have lost trucks in this area and need the equipment to do any number of things right now. This last time it was "stolen," it was returned with the oil changed, a wash and (of course) a pound of crawfish sitting in the back seat.

One guy and his wife have gotten to know our team over this past week, simply from their presence in the bar night after night. He was a big guy (see below) but actually had to get up and walk away because he started crying, talking about how essential it was for volunteers to come here.

Not just to work, but to show the rest of the country how devastating it is down here right now. He's a contractor and joked around, giving each of us a creole name and promising us to take us to the swamps fishing.

But like most of the conversations in the bar that night, black humor and general silliness would suddenly stop and there would be this pathos. Someone would mention that, by the way, they lost their home. Or that, by the way, someone they know is lost and they can't find him.

You leave here wishing everyone you know could be sitting on one of those cheap bar stools, drinking Corona and listening to bad country music, just like you were. Here's what is happening down here and if you can't imagine what's like, this bar would be a good starting point.

Let's tour the Lower Ninth Ward!

2006-04-26T21:01:00.000-04:00

Near 7 a.m. this morning, while en route to the camp, Rob received a cell call that said, due to the rain (it was raining), our call time was postponed to 9:45 a.m. I beat a retreat to Uptown. At 9:45 a.m. Rob calls to say the call time was postponed to 10: 15 a.m. At 10:15 a.m. Rob called to say the day was called off.

This was unfortunate and yes we were angry. The rain was subsiding, the sun was peeking through, birds were chirping. Yet for some reason that initial storm created the decision to call everything off and present the volunteers -- FREE manpower who took vacation time here to work -- an opportunity to do squat. I felt like Rest A Cop but gyped of that $500/day.

I called the Methodists I heard were gutting homes. They called me back to thank me but because I was not in their "system," signing liability papers for a half day would not be worth it. I hear the Episcopals are working Saturday so maybe I'll show up there.

Rob took the free day as an opportunity to meet up with our team, eat lunch and see a movie. I declined, deciding instead to go to the jazz festival office to pick up my press credentials and then tour, by myself, the Lower Ninth Ward.

It was a day I will never forget.

I've probably been in New Orleans about 25 times over a course of 12 years. Yet I've only been to the Lower Ninth probably ... twice: I went up to the levees (they are high) and also to check out Fats Domino's house. This is a problem since most out-of-towners have never been there and if they did, why would they put down their margaritas and parrot hats to check it out in the first place?

What I learned from this driving tour was that the Lower Ninth was not the ghetto-in-squalor that news reports tell us. It was slowly being gentrified, some artists were moving in, some middle class blacks. Homes had character and especially -- dignity. A neighborhood association had been formed, I was told. I compare this to Bronzeville in Chicago, but without the grand austure homes on MLK Drive.

So I drove in. I encountered overwhelming sadness. I shot over 60 photos. Many are below. Some speak for themselves. I hope they present a picture of what that neighborhood is like now and the lives that vanished there. When we experience narratives through a filter, it just meshes with our preconceptions and in our busy lives, our preconceptions disallow us to fully experience What Happens. I suppose a blog is another filter. Yet unlike a sound byte, I hope this one takes a little more time than three minutes to absorb.

Before getting into specfics, here are some general photos.

Let's take a drive:

Convenience store with products still on the shelves:
Empty church, junk grass has claimed the parking lot.
This street turned into a cul de sac, just like in the suburbs. Why? Someone's house is blocking traffic.
The house on the corner turned a corner. Now it's tilted.
I think that's a fireplace with chimney. Whatever it is, it's last wall standing.
Spring is a beautiful season to be in New Orleans. Except scenes like this are bittersweet. Lush, pretty flora. Decaying empty home.
New Orleans is a sign crazy town. Way before Katrina, every corner was littered with signs: see this show, this band is coming to town, car wash Saturday, vote for me. The signs in the Ninth Ward are shouting louder. They are in spray paint on homes, telling anyone who drives by where to find the dead dog or dead cat, telling looters to leave their shit alone, shouting at the government, or telling neighbors to find them and if they're coming back. Here's a long look at the new reading in the Ninth Ward.

Someone on this block is telling everyone to leave their cats be. I don't know why. But it's everywhere.
This is the same cat house (see cat head in upper left) with signs all along the property asking looters to, before entering, think about this is something that would make their mother proud.
Most signs involving animals told people where to find the dead animals. And what kind of dead animals. This one says the dead chow is under the porch.
Dead dog this way.
This one was incredible. It reads "dead dog by fence ... killed by owner stupidity ... assholes!" I assume the owner locked the dog in then fled the scene. But we'll never know.
Another dog.
One dog dead, one still at large.
Dead still
Want harrowing? The sign reads "Patsy please watch my place they're breaking in"
Dog missing? This could be one of them. He was poking about acting very paranoid. Cats in this neighborood are reed thin too.
"Bell South has abandoned the Ninth Ward" Because there's still no electrical hookup after eight months perhaps?
This community garden -- and the one across the street from it -- both are not messed up lots with junk weeds.
A voodoo doll created from an old stuff toy warns looters to rethink messing with this home.
Reads "keep out grave robbers" and "NOPD NOFD sucks"
Unsure what to do after a major disaster? This pole offers you three options: Sell it, get involved in class action law suit or hire someone to gut it.
This picture is almost poetic. A bedroom set thrown around, leaving the bedpost almost outside the window with Mardi Gras beads hanging.
The Ninth Ward might be largely vacated but one person seems to be everywhere. She's busy while simultaneously lonely. Her name is the Virgin Mary.
A new meaning of the tree house concept.
This neighbor got it from both ends. One neighbor's boat and another neighbor's shed rammed into his living room.
There were signs of people trying to find beauty in the tragedy. An ornamental corner:

Beside the levee, a Christmas tree with decorations, flowers and a duck in the role of the star:
The few people seen were gutting their own homes. Yet some homes were far along. There is definitely a determination to keep this neighborhood home.
Read the writing on the wall, literally and figuratively: "Next time we are to vote for somebody who cares." My thoughts exactly and a fine way to end this post for the day.

Thanks a lot kids! See you for tomorrow's field trip to exotic lands our national leaders know nothing about and have never been!

Meet Tony Dyer

2006-04-26T17:01:00.000-04:00

This is Tony Dyer in front of his home in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans, a home he's owned since 1971. He was born and raised in this neighborhood and never left except the one year (1969-1970) he served a tour of duty in Vietnam.

Today he stands on his front porch burning waterlogged bills and bank statements in the same grill that once cooked the meat for family parties. Katrina took the first three feet of their house. Rita took the water to the first floor ceiling. Looters took the valuables on the second floor. He tried getting back to his home four times but the area was fenced off. "They didn't let me in, I don't know how (the looters) got through," he said.

The day before Katrina hit, Dyer and his wife were en route back to New Orleans from a visit in Indianapolis. When they arrived in Memphis, he called his children and told them to evacuate to Tennessee so they could be together. After staying in Memphis for awhile, they moved to Fresno, Tex., where they lived in seven places in eight months, a few times in their truck.

Almost immediately, he said, he was hassled by insurance companies, FEMA and bad luck. FEMA told him he wasn't qualified for relief funds because he didn't pay his taxes. He said he didn't pay taxes because he was a retired engineer and living on social security checks (his wife works for the U.S. post office). After filling out paperwork in Memphis and Texas, sitting down with FEMA officials, he kept getting different answers that didn't make much sense. To this date, he received a total of $3,600 from FEMA which paid for two month's rent.

"They'd just tell you, 'oh you're on file'. At that time we were taking care of my granddaaughter. I said, 'I have a granddaguther that needs to be fed'," he said. "I was stressed out and I lost a lot of weight from FEMA not doing nothing."

Dyer also got hit with bad luck. Just before the floods, his flood insurance expired and he didn't yet renew. He received just $11,000 from the insurance company to replace the roof but that money was immediately handed over to the bank to pay his mortgage. So his roof still takes rain.

"So really, we didn't get nothing. We had a few dollars saved up. We managed to stay alive a little bit," he said.

His home has yet to be gutted and inside the broken windows is his family's former life, now caked in mud and transformed into sewage. There's no money to gut but he did contact Common Ground, a relief agency to get help. Because New Orleans has been home for 57 years, he wants to return, but this time to a suburb like Kenner or Metarie.

The shock is, Dyer has no anger in his voice, bitterness or frustration. He talks matter of factly, gently while he stokes old bills with a wooden stick, watching them smolder and turn into ashes that even looters can't carry off. I tell him if it was me, I would be crazy with anger.

"I want to come back and rebuild. Me and my wife, we just didn't get much help from the government. Just like my friends in Vietnam," he said.

Then, a car pulls up and two women shout to him from the window. It's his former neighbors, the first time they've seen each other since the flood. In the first 30 seconds of calling to each other from street to porch, they make the connection that they've both relocated to the same part of Texas. He gets up to walk to their car and exchange contact information.

"The storm's over," he says before we part ways. "Recovery's harder."

Dave Matthews helps out today ...

2006-04-25T19:50:00.000-04:00

... contributing $1.5 million to the Musicians Village project which, next to St. Bernard, is the second project in operation by Habitat in New Orleans. Here's the press release I received today via work. DMB is playing the jazz festival this weekend.

For Immediate Release

Contact:

Dave Matthews Band Makes $1.5 Million Challenge Grant to Support
New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village

NEW ORLEANS (April 25, 2006) One of the bands at this year's New Orleans Jazz Festival is doing more than making music and they are challenging others to help.

Dave Matthews Band announced today that it has issued a $1.5 million challenge grant to help build the New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village. The Village is a Habitat for Humanity project that seeks to build more than 300 homes in the city's Upper Ninth Ward with musicians and other New Orleanians who were displaced by Hurricane Katrina.

The New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village was conceived by Branford Marsalis and Harry Connick Jr., honorary chairs of Habitat for Humanity's hurricane rebuilding program Operation Home Delivery. The Village will consist of Habitat-constructed homes and will feature the Ellis Marsalis Center for Music, named for the patriarch of the Marsalis clan, modern jazz pioneer and native New Orleanian.

"After the hurricane first struck, we were shocked by the destruction, and we knew we wanted to help," said Dave Matthews Band. "We organized a concert with the Neville Brothers and the John Butler Trio shortly after the storm. The generosity of our fans and everyone involved exceeded our expectations."

That concert in Denver raised $1.5 million and is the source of funding for the challenge grant. "We want to thank the Denver community for making this grant possible," said Dave Matthews Band. "Many people donated their time and resources to keep costs to a minimum so we could maximize the donation.

"The recovery in New Orleans is moving very slowly," said the band. "This is our way to get the word out that there is more work to do, and ask people to step up to the challenge and make a donation to help." Contributions to the New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village will be matched dollar for dollar through the grant, raising the total donation potential to $3 million. Donations can be made online by visiting www.habitat-nola.org and clicking on Musicians' Village.

"The entertainment industry and other corporate partners have been phenomenally supportive of the New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village," said Jim Pate, executive director of New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity and coordinator of Habitat's

rebuilding efforts in the Crescent City. "This challenge grant from Dave Matthews Band will focus attention on these positive rebuilding efforts while letting everyone know there is still a lot of work to do."

"We are extremely grateful to Dave Matthews Band and the wonderful citizens of Denver for stepping up to the plate," said Branford Marsalis. "The New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village is the first step in helping to replace what the city has lost. This contribution, and the others it will generate, will help ensure that New Orleans music will always have a home. That's important to me. It's important to my family. And it's a key to the recovery of the city."

"Dave Matthews Band represents the kind of leadership it will take to bring back New Orleans," said Harry Connick Jr. "Music is the essence of New Orleans and we adamantly refuse to surrender it to the wind and water. And now fellow musicians like Dave Matthews Band and others are helping us make sure that doesn't happen."

"New Orleans and its music were meant to be," said Chris Clarke, senior vice president of Habitat for Humanity International. "We couldn't ask for a better symbol of hope than the houses that are beginning to come out of the ground in the New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village. The hard work of Branford Marsalis, Harry Connick Jr., and the New Orleans affiliate has made it possible for others, like Dave Matthews Band, to support the project. On behalf of Habitat for Humanity International, we thank Dave Matthews Band for this most generous and sustaining contribution."

As Habitat works to raise additional money, it also will be working with the music community to identify local musicians who are willing to partner with Habitat to help build their homes and to pay a no-profit mortgage. "This is Habitat's traditional partner family model," said Pate, "but it is focused on helping musicians of modest resources who were affected by the hurricanes."

To support the New Orleans Habitat Musicians' Village, please visit: www.habitat-nola.org and click on Musicians' Village, or mail a check to: NOAHH Musicians' Village; P.O. Box 15052, New Orleans, LA 70175-5052.

About Dave Matthews Band
Dave Matthews Band is one of the most successful rock bands in North America. During the past 14 years, the band has sold over 32 million CDs and DVDs, and more than 12 million tickets on tour. The Band created the Bama Works Fund, established in 1999, and through it has donated millions of dollars in grants to a variety of organizations in their hometown of Charlottesville, Virginia and around the world. Beneficiaries have included public school systems, children's hospitals, community parks, youth community clubs, AIDS organizations, environmental organizations and tsunami relief.

About New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity
New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity, founded in 1983, is an autonomous Louisiana non-profit corporation that serves the parishes of Orleans, Jefferson, Plaquemines, St. Bernard and St. John the Baptist. In its 22-year history, NOAHH has built over 100 Habitat homes. For more information, visit www.habitat-nola.org.

About Habitat for Humanity International
Habitat for Humanity International is an ecumenical Christian ministry that welcomes to its work all people dedicated to the cause of eliminating poverty housing. Since its founding in Americus, Ga., in 1976, Habitat has built more than 200,000 houses in nearly 100 countries, providing simple, decent and affordable shelter for more than one million people. For more information, visit www.habitat.org.

Tuesday

2006-04-25T17:25:00.000-04:00

We arrived at camp after 7 a.m., this time feeling much more familiar with our fellow volunteers. They're a good group. I learned I'm working with an architect from San Diego, a special ed teacher from DC who's getting married in five weeks, and four people, including the metro editor and a/e editor, from the Star Ledger, the "voice of New Jersey." Talk about a coincidence.

There are also about 20 people from CDW, the computer company from Chicago. All tech guys. And a church group from Bloomington, Ill. All these people are assigned to other homes but we share the same bus.

The top photo is us arriving on site. Next is Rob following our team captain and Monica hauling in the cooler. The home at the bottom is a home across the street from our own.

So I learned that Rob and Monica found a dead cat in the kitchen sink yesterday but didn't tell me. That's kind of ironic considering the cat love I posted yesterday. The cat was under mud, spread out, dead, one half in the left sink, one half in the right sink. Today as they carried out the sink to the pile, they both mewed to me and pointed to the stuck fluff on top of it. Thanks guys!

The snake's buddy returned. Rob saw it. Before we called the fire chief, we tried finding/killing it ourselves. I held the light -- isn't that brave? We tore out the sink and remaining cabinets but it escaped our grasp, just like a sneaky snake would.

The fire chief came out and hung out with us talking snakes. Here he is to the left, another fire guy to the right (he assured me he was scared of snakes too and that made me feel less than a little, little girl):

Then he returned when we were eating lunch:

He was probably the smartest and kindest guy we met down here in this process. Plus he had a really cool Cajun accent. He thanked us over and over ("if you think you are doing good work — DOUBLE THAT!," he said) and then shed some light on the situation. He explained that after the flood hit, contractors set unprecedented fees to gut homes, something like $4 a foot, which gets up there in to the several thousands. Now you may have that kind of money to get that job done. But then you need more contractors to put up sheetrock, trim, paint, install electric, plumbing and then you need money for appliances, furniture, maybe a new car, etc. With gutting, all you have is a foundation and you need to dress the spine. And going hand-in-hand with the price gouging is the beaurocracy of actually getting the FEMA money (scammers haven't helped this process) and the low balling of the major insurance companies. So in effect, most of these people are trapped in a tangled web of capitalism at its worse and limitless government red tape.

I also learned that Habitat has already gutted over 1,100 homes in this area (my number in a previous post was completely off). Their goal is 5,000 by June but that is likely not to happen due to lack of volunteers and FEMA unplugging the work camp that month. The New Orleans branch of Habitat was originally a tiny outpost and I have that sense that, although organized and grateful, they are overwhelmed.

He said he expects only 50 percent of the neighborhood to return. Many for sale signs have these homes going for 45k, average, a cut and run. Some homes have people who have returned and, as symbol, have planted grass and are gardening. It's a weird sight. Rubble next to a trimmed lawn, the only real green amid the junk grass everywhere else.

The fire guy said on the day of the flood he was angry having to rescue those people who did not evacuate. Why should I risk my life to save your own, he said. Later, when he thought about it, he realized that many people did not have the funds to stay in a hotel for weeks, others didn't have reliable cars to take them further than the next county over, and there were many elderly residents that had no one and nowhere to go. I think a lot of us find this difficult to understand because we have families and friends and nice, working cars. Not necessarily the case here, or anywhere.

He pointed to his house, one block over. Friends of his helped gut it and it took an entire week. Right now he and his wife are living in a trailer, his adult kids are on their own.

Today's work was very strange. I did things I never ever thought I would ever do. These duties included: demoing a teenage girl's closet and removing the racks of clothes and drawers of underwear and socks, all submerged in the stinky stew water. I also went outside and sledged an air conditioner to make it go through the wall and onto the floor. That killed me. I cut a rug (not danced) with a hand blade. I shoveled insulation and drywall for hours.

Rob went into the attic. Here's what it looked like in the morning before his arrival:

See all those belongings up there? All drenched. The water went up to the roof. It was tough to imagine looking at these houses and thinking that, during that flood, only the very top of these roofs were visible.

Rob went up and handed us down things you'd expect in an attic: Xmas decorations (lights, a tree, a dozen outdoor candy canes), mementos, furniture, pounds and pounds of mardi gras beads, boxes of Barbies, glassware, etc. At the end of the day, Don the architect went up. He found an entire container of precious glassware that was filled with water. To get the water out, we handed him buckets, he poured them with water and lowered them back, and then handed us containers of glass. Some people unwrapped the glass and set them aside, I helped bring stuff down from him. Which meant getting an occassional shower of chemical swamp bath.

I guess being in the attic was nastier than being on the first floor. Rob said that he could see a two-ton freezer sitting on top of another neighbor's roof.

We encountered more animals, two cute frogs watched us work. And a lizard hung out in an outdoor shed while we ate. I'm sure by now all three are resting in the stomach of that snake that got away.

By the end of the day our debris pile probably tripled. There was no longer room to dump the wheelbarrows. It probably takes a few weeks to construct a house, but two days to tear it apart.

Here's Rob and I at the end of the day, ready to collapse.

When we got back to the camp, our first sight was the Rent A Cops. These guys are now the collective joke of the volunteers. Their real title should be Rest A Cops. Two of them were planted in a golf cart next to piles of 2X4s, I guess protecting the wood from the terrorists. Or maybe the snakes. Want to hear an astounding fact? Today I learned that each of these guys earn $500/day from FEMA. That's $500 per day per Rest A Cop. So, in essence, money spent for one of these guys to sit on his ass for eight hours could pay for a company to gut an entire house, which would put local people to work and get things moving more quickly.

But it's not. The money's being handed out by our government to companies whose sole practice is to capitalize on human tragedy. If it's so obvious here, I can only imagine what it's like in Iraq with Halliburton and the like.

Tomorrow I think we have to rip out the duct work and then we finish this house. Sometime during the day tomorrow we'll get to a new one! I can't believe that on Monday morning we arrived to find what was essentially a six room house caked in mud and we cleared it to the studs and cleaned it out enough you could see the floors. There is certainly a sense of accomplishment.

I would have more photos but my camera is acting funky. I'm either going to buy a new one tonight or get lucky and it'll fix itself. Who am I kidding. Anyway, more photos tomorrow. Tonight I'm going to hang out Uptown or maybe go hit the Quarter. All the volunteers are planning to get dinner Thursday somewhere. But tonight, it's pork at the Reyes.

No-bidding

2006-04-25T07:24:00.000-04:00

Denise from Austin, Tex., sends this story today.

FBI is investigating hurricane spending in St. Bernard Parish. Seems that
somebody got paid 370 million dollars to (apparently NOT) clear debris.

One more thing

2006-04-25T01:28:00.000-04:00

If you are compelled to comment on anything below or during the week, email me at burningsun32@yahoo.com. I will string comments into posts using only your first name, city and not your email address. Dialogue is fine as long as it's not asinine, so chime in.

Midnight Ramble

2006-04-25T00:36:00.000-04:00

A few thoughts after a long walk with Bandit the German Shepherd and before going to bed.

I was going to leave it with cats. Yes, cats are cute. Yet I am compelled to sidestep even cats for bigger thoughts.

Such as the realization that this whole New Orleans thing is the most embarassing chapter in our nation's history. Rob and I have seen no groups in these areas except for little church groups or responders like Habitat. We work and drive through ghost towns with no recovery efforts in progress. In addition, these areas are removed from the tourist spots. The TV crews left a long time ago. The President made his speech in Jackson Square months ago, provided the sound byte to the evening news and moved onto the next talking point. The newspapers don't carry anymore stories. The general public -- you and me -- have been assaulted for reasons to not care, blame the city, blame the mayor, blame the stupid bastards who chose to live here, and say such is life and move on because after all, it had the misfortune or fortune (depending on how you want to look at it) of not happening in our back yard.

The reality of this type of thinking, of course, turns a person's sense of the world into a mechanical knot, where the impulse for action and compassion is blocked, leaving only elitism, apathy, inertia, self-importance, all things you cling to for dear life when you're scared shitless. And what's the fear? Come down here and take a look at what is happening in your country.

Eight months later, traffic lights don't work. Broken streetlights make some parts of this city pitch black. And homes sit off their foundation blocking traffic. What is more incredible — there are no officially sanctioned crews sweating it out 24-7 to bring back life. There is no plan. The work is more vigorous on the Dan Ryan Expressway in Chicago during the summer where city workers are at it 24-7, Sun-Sat, months in a row. In New Orleans, you couldn't find a national guardsman or a state government clean up contractor if you tried.

People can blame the broken government down here and the engineering decisions made 100 years ago to build homes next to a levee and so on and so on. But those reasons don't completely forgive the fact that a large portion of this city is being left to rot. It's amazing that in America it takes one hurricane in 24 hours to unmask the ugly side of ourselves we prefer to keep hidden beneath our cheery American demeanor that everything's great and mission accomplished. But we're the people under those masks, shamelessly self-obsessed and doing everything within our power to make sure that's the way it stands.

I see two options to get off that treadmill: get involved and turn off the television.

Our San Diego co-worker on this project said over lunch today that this would never be the case in California because it's one of the wealthiest states we have. Yet in the Gulf Coast, there is ZERO authority in these devastated neighborhoods. None. No one is cleaning up debris, making sure streets are safe, lights are working, coordinating efforts to either bulldoze or restore buildings, etc. You just don't see anyone.

Imagine the four block radius of your house. Now imagine returning home one day and your house is off your foundation and down the street. Every personal possession is ruined and soaked in nasty chemicals. Your insurance starts fiddling with numbers creating the sense that they will indeed screw you. And any sort of official prescence — the police, national guard, army, peace corp — is not around. The politicians you voted draw somber faces, but they offer no concrete solutions for where do you go from here. And the only people living high off the hog off this are the contractors the federal government brings in to perform menial tasks. Then wait eight months and realize nothing changed. Welcome to New Orleans.

You can argue that the role of state or federal government isn't to get involved on a long-term basis and that people need to pull themselves up by the boot strap. But isn't the government supposed to, at the very least, restore some of the basics? Like cleaning up trash or fixing the red lights? If people came down here to see for themselves they'd discover the real narrative of post-Katrina life in New Orleans: Let them eat cake.

CATS!!!!

2006-04-24T20:42:00.000-04:00

I realize that many of the photos I've uploaded to this blog have been difficult to look at and just as hard to shake. This is understandable since we, as Americans -- collectively weaned on Aaron Spelling television shows and controlled by right wing corporate media masters -- are conditioned to: Not Be Bummed. For instance, W. understands our need for numbing. He comes down here, bites into a po boy on televesion while announcing "things are progressing" in that faux everyman twang, skips town the same day and the nation shrugs, happy they don't have to worry about THAT any longer. After all, as an Ethan Hawke movie once proclaimed, "reality bites!"

And I'll admit, Lo and Behold is just as shameless. That's why we now offer you a divisionary post peppered with nothing but ....

CATS!!!!!!!!!! CUTE AND ADORABLE AND FLUFFY CATS!!!!!

The backyard where at least six cats hang out -- and where I hang out too! It's perfect!

Introducing Ms. Turtle Cheesecake! She's very fluffy!

Here she is taking a rest next to my laptop, giving a personal hello to YOU in internet land!!

Introducing ... Lady Typhoid all stretched out!!

Ahem. Can we hear it for Mr. Leopold, please??

Yo, Leopold's on the move!

Turtle Cheesecake loves wicker furniture on the front porch!

Let's play string with Typhoid — it's fun!

Lady's got some chompers. Yowsa.

Uh-oh. Typhoid says game over.

Don't worry, more death and destruction coming tomorrow!

Monday and a snake Part II

2006-04-24T18:52:00.000-04:00

Once we returned to camp, I got in my car and searched for batteries to power up the camera. Here are shots from St. Bernard that need to be seen to be believed.

Tough to get a good burger in town. McDonald's has wild things living inside it and there's a train car on top of Burger King.

Here's the main boulevard in the neighborhood where we're working. Unsettling human tragedy? Yes it is.

Some homes were not where they were built. Like Dorothy, a tornado came and blew them away. Like this house that is blocking a street. Millions spent and no one came to move this house?
Same house from the other end of the street:

This house slid down the street and -- splat! -- found rest next to one of its neighboring domiciles. You have to drive around it. Life as normal in St. Bernard!

While Rob and I drove around we encountered this house hosting this sign. It reads "Allstate says I only have $7,106 in damage and my home is livable":

With this truck in the driveway. Oops, on top of the driveway. In a tree and over a fence. Looks like it's levitating, huh?

The home was being gutted by church group in New Jersey. (South Jersey, as one kid corrected.) Apparantly the owner made a claim to Allstate and Allstate came back and said he would receive $12,000 in damages. He complained, saying it was too low. They came back with a second offer: $7,000. You certainly are in good hands!

Here's more unbelievable shots of the house. He made another sign next to the front door that warns people from Allstate.

An Americorp volunteer tells me that a problem is that the insurance companies are trying to play games with the terms of the damage. If you have flood insurance but no hurricance, they'll say your damage was hurricane related. If you have hurricane insurance but no flood, they'll say it was the flood. So people are left fighting these companies while their homes sit in rot.

This being New Orleans, some people try to mine any kind of dark humor from tragic consequences. Some homes had spray markings that said "for sale -- dirt cheap." Here's a few others. Strategically placed froggie stares at you as you drive by (this is from the house that slammed into the other house. You have to squeeze your car by to get past it and when you do, you're looking through the kitchen window. Just like a drive-through!)

Here, a mannequin is propped up to welcome visitors to the lovely ruins inside.

Other homes had -- you guessed it -- warnings that snakes were spotted inside. Watch out!

This snake warning is on the side column of the front porch.

This one has many messages, what pets were saved, when. And snakes inside! Notice the blue tarped roof.

And, to end, some more snapshots of both human turmoil and apathy. Enjoy and discuss with friends!

Abandoned truck with no tires. But littered with permanent stickers offering cash and removal!

Home with a cross placed right above the door. God help us all -- I agree!

Welcome home!

Home in tatters next to levee (pickup truck sprayed "please don't take"). And what happened to his next door neighbor?...

Moved out of town! Well, his house did. Home vanished. Just the front gate remains. And the plumbing. Nice to know if you need to throw up after walking through the 'ol neighborhood and don't want to make a mess. Come to think of it, just hurl on the ground. The neighborhood's a mess already.

Monday and a snake

2006-04-24T18:19:00.000-04:00

We arrived at camp at 7 a.m. The people making lots and lots of money after Katrina -- or any disaster, really -- are contracters hired by your federal government. Companies seem to only exist for these type of contracts. Exhibit A are the tough looking Rent A Cops who "protect" the camp. Protect what on the? The Birkenstock crunchy folk from New Jersey? The hot chocolate in the mess tent? Anyway, like Chicago's finest, these rotund and very self-important Rent A Cops dwell in large numbers and their activities involve sitting in chairs, sitting in golf carts, smoking cigarettes, chatting each other up, and generally looking cool in their buzz cuts, shades and faux military gear. Women on our team told me that the noise them made through the night -- stomping around next to the tent, talking loudly -- kept any of the ACTUAL WORKERS from getting sleep. Again, they have no function except to yell at you if you exit the wrong way.

They are worthless. About eight of them sit around the guard shack at the front gate. In the total of three times I've entered the compound since Sunday, I was given three different directives for where to park. I'm told be a Habitat person that this is a choice gig for these guys as they're making lots of money. Who knows, maybe they were supplied by Halliburton.

We are told we're getting on the bus after 7 a.m., but it's really around 8 a.m. Our group consists of 11 people. They are pretty varied by age, consisting of a few fiftysomething women, a sunny couple from San Diego, a couple my age from DC and that's about it. Everyone is enthusiastic.

So we all get on the bus finally and, to the sound of morning drive classic rock, head off to St. Bernard Parish.

St. Bernard is more or less a suburb. It is one neighborhood removed from the Lower Ninth Ward. The Lower Ninth was all black, the homes were wood and small and the place is an utter ghost town and in shambles. St. Bernard is somewhat mixed racially (85 percent white I'm told), also a ghost town and in complete shambles. However, due to the economic divide, these homes were larger and brick. The homes also had more stuff. St. Bernard was described to me as a working class neighborhood and what I saw made me think, more or less, that it was populated by the same people who live on Chicago's NW Side.

Both these neighborhoods took water to the ceiling or higher and the water sat there for a few weeks. But no holes in roofs because these people had the means to leave town. So once we arrived at the home — a nice little bungalow home to a couple and, we presume from the stuff we hauled out, two young daughters — we entered a total mess. Imagine if you grabbed a few suitcases full of some stuff for a weekend trip, left your home with your family and expected to return three days later. Except it's not three days, it's eight months. And swamp water filled your home to the ceiling and in some cases, the attic. That's the scene we came upon in St. Bernard's.

Here's our block:

Here's the entrance to our house. Like most of the homes here, the couple left their name and cell phone on the wall so neighbors can find them. Notice the rosary placed over the shudder's edge.

The water became mud so what was essentially a mud blanket was over everything. Quintessential visuals like stuffed animals (lots of them, from a Teddy Bear to any assortment of animals), the Finding Nemo DVD were in the wreckage, dishes were in the dishwasher still, CDs and records were everywhere and the closets were stuffed wtih clothes. I would have provided photos of all of this but as luck would have it, my batteries died on my camera. So the photos that follow are from after we worked on the house and after I found a Kwik E Mart to purchase batteries (itself a feat considering nothing is open here and traffic lights are dead. the only things open are the occassional bar and gas station and of course the insurance office).

From the time we arrived to about eight hours later we hauled out the crap, knocked down drywall, tore down insulation. I started shoveling debris in the living room until finally I could see a wooden floor. Then I went to the back sun room where I worked solo, hauling away tons of stuff including speakers, stereo, piles of mud caked with CDs, records (Bad Company to Dean Martin), bank statements, window blinds, tiles, chairs, and a chest filled with antique glassware. I then grew tired of that and moved back into the front room and tore down drywall until finishing.

We were instructed to bring debris out and make three piles: the largest was general debris, then there were piles for hazardous debris from the medicine chest, another for electrical and another for personal belongings.

Here's the pile of general debris we hauled out by day's end:
It's much more expansive than what it looks like. Here's a hazardous pile:

Here's a food pile. Pickles and Coke anyone?

Here's the electrical pile:

Here's the house the way it looks after today. I wish I could have a "before" shot to compare. Believe me, it was the type of mess that makes people wonder where to start.

The personal belongings set aside were jewelry and a shotgun, plus ballerina trophies from the two girls, a wedding dress luckily encased in plastic (but still with mold), and cups from the world's fair in New Orleans.

Oh yeah, and the snake. The snake wasn't a pet. It was found in the kitchen by Rob (who, like me, weeps at the sight of snakes) and two co-workers. I was in the sun room next door. I heard silence and then our team leader suddenly announced everyone needs to leave. They saw something wiggling under the sink and thought it was two baby snakes. Turns out it was one baby water moccasin, you know, the deadly snake they put up on the slide projector Sunday night and told us were extremelly venomous? So in what was one of many surreal moments, we sat in the car port of the abandoned house next door (well, all homes here are abandoned), munched our sandwiches and waited for a fire dept. guy to come out. He did and our team leader and him went inside to get the snake. In fact they brought it out from the sink with a rake and the other guy chopped off its head and it proceeded to lunge at him. San Diego guy asked if it was given last rites before the chopping, but sadly the answer was no.

We're going back there Tuesday to finish the house and then move onto the next one. In this neighborhood -- essentially a subdivision -- there was no sign of life but people from other charity groups. I will upload photos I look of all of this in the next post.

Sunday Part III

2006-04-24T01:34:00.000-04:00

Rob and I also took part in two separate training sessions for Habitat. Habitat is essentially using a FEMA camp on the outskirts of town. Other non-profits utilizing the same space is Americorp and a group associated with Billy Graham. There are about 100 Habitat volunteers and they tell us they need volunteer desparately. In fact we are encouraged to bring cameras on the worksite to bring home photos to our friends and family to provide a first-hand look at what's being accomplished.
We will bring homes in this blue collar neighborhood down to the studs. No one, including the homeowner, have been allowed back into these homes since August 29, 2005. Here, water took to the ceiling and sat for months. If you can afford gutting your own home or can't do it yourself -- not many can -- your only reliance is on church groups and non-profits. It's pretty dire.
Therefore we will be the ones to dismantle the homes — setting aside personal belongings, dragging out fridges, ripping up carpet, hauling out furniture, demoing kitchen cabinets. Everything goes except the sinks and tubs. At the end the home will be down to the studs and available to be rebuilt. The homes in this area are brick which makes them good candidates for coming back to life. The homeowners are notified before Habitat shows up. For many, this is the opportunity to see their homes for the first time since taking part of, what they thought was, a temporary evacuation -- three days, tops.
Our team consists of 11 people including Rob and myself. Rob was excited as he was the one chosen to enter the home, decide if it's sound and dismantle the electric. Good luck Rob!
We were warned of many unseemly things. First, there are snakes. And spiders. Both deadly and nesting. They have been found nesting in the moist, dark hovels, perfect space for them both. Also, 97 bodies are STILL unaccountable in this neighborhood, as unbelievable as that may sound. I hope that by Friday I do not encounter either.
FEMA was going to shut this camp down in early April because it was meant for responders only. A public outcry forced them to extend it, but it will close this summer. FEMA also closed the temporary morgue it built for $17 million (you read that right!) but closed it soon after once the body count was in decline. See a pattern? The federal government seems to only understand disasters as immediate affairs. This disaster will take much longer than that. The sad thing is, it's the non-profit world that seems to understand this. So far, Habitat has recovered about 1,100 homes.
Time for bed. Have to be at the camp by 7 a.m.

Sunday Part II

2006-04-24T00:55:00.000-04:00

In Lakeview, you'd happen upon a home that was being brought back. But many people are waiting for insurance claims and FEMA money, plus they do not necessarily want to rebuild because they're waiting on the government to say how strong the new levee will be this time around. So in general, not many signs of hope.
Then we went to the Lower Ninth Ward, the hardest hit black neighborhood in the city. Homes? Many were swept away leaving only the foundation. Others were crunched like an accordian, shifted and then slammed into a neighbor's house. Cars were crushed in piles and mountains of debrie were everywhere. I'm not the most capable person to trust with a camera and there is no way a few random shots can tell the story, but here are some photos to give you a good idea.

The Oak trees did not die, but all the magnolia trees all did.

Cars, either on their front or on their back, were everywhere in some crushed form.

The front gate and steps to a house. But no house.
The gas meter ... to nothing.

The front steps to home but no home. The levee wall is in the background.

A boat wrapped around an electrical pole.
The home of the great Fats Domino. He still lives in the neighborhood he grew up in (or did). Looters stole the gold records and he had to be rescued from the roof of this house by a boat. But his house still stands. Proceeds from his new CD, available here, goes directly to relief efforts.

No one's eating at Popeye's anymore. In fact most of the fast food chains are closed. Only one or two Rallye's are open, but that's about it.

This looks like a genteel street, but it once was a neighborhood with rows of homes. Those homes are gone but the cars and debrie are left behind. No people in sight except those poking through the mountains of personal belongings.
The foundation of a home, the family car, yet no family, no home.
Signs like this one were plentiful. Many believe the levee breach was an intended cleansing of the area's poorest residents. I can't say I agree since the water also damaged the city's wealthiest residents. Yet I can understand why people are blaming the government, one reason being, there's nothing being done. Disaster hits, the neighborhood is turned into a pile of rubble, and then ... nothing. Would the same thing happen in Boston, Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago? Somehow I doubt it. Just as in Sept. 11, clean-up would be instantaneous and if not, heads would roll. Come down here to see first hand what inertia looks like.

Sunday Part I

2006-04-24T00:34:00.000-04:00

How to describe at the end of the day today. Stunned.
I feel I'm someone who had a good grasp of the situation in New Orleans post-Katrina, but the enormity of the disaster is far greater than I thought. Considering that about 70 percent of this city took water, a majority of its residents have not returned, businesses are not open and most neighborhoods are ghost towns, driving through blighted areas is a troubling and confusing experience. You bombard yourself with questions: Why is it still like this eight months later? Where is everybody? Why is there no clean-up? My guess is that answer lies in the vortex of government beauocracy, insurance company inertia, economic turmoil and also: Where you do you start?
Ken and Denise took us on the "slum tour." We visited Lakeview, Gentilly, the Lower Ninth Ward, from the middle class enclaves to the poorest area of town. All got hit bad. There are common sights: uprooted trees, overturned cars, buildings with spraypaint markings, messages scrawled on the fronts of homes and commercial buildings with such messages as:
"Michael Where Are You?"
"Help Help Help Help"
"1 Cat 1 Goldfish petfinder.com"
"Broken Dreams"
"Dog inside"
"Next time we'll vote for someone who cares"
Trash is everywhere, the doors to homes are left open, stray dogs wander, streetlights (some) do not work, traffic lights (some) the same. It is difficult not to be moved because the strains of human stores are everywhere. People lived in these neighborhoods, ate here, went to school here, etc. And now, everyone's gone.
I'm lucky I'm not in the FEMA camp. Here's where I'm staying, the lovely Reyes home.
That's Ken on the front porch. We drove through neighborhoods and visited their last home, now owned by their son. The home took water on the first floor and they brought it down to the studs.

Here's Ken on the second floor where they had a renter. She left many months ago and left her stuff behind.
Here's the home of their neighbor across the street. A couple that considered their cats their only children, they stayed until the bitter end. Check out the hole in the attic where rescuers saved the cats upstairs.

Here's the home of someone they know: An engineer who, with his own funds, raised his home by 14 feet. There is nothing short of curiosities in this place.

We drove through Lakeview. Here's a typical empty street.

No one lives here either. Except whoever go the FEMA trailer parked in their front yard. That's temporary home for many people here.

We also visited where one of the levee breaks occured. Here are the homes that are obviously unsavable. The levee was in their backyard, the water claimed the neighborhood.

Coming and then going

2006-04-23T12:19:00.000-04:00

"Coming?"
That's the first word Rob said to me when he called me at 6:40 a.m. Saturday. See, we planned to leave at 6 a.m. I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. Either it didn't go off or I turned it off in my sleep.
So we rushed through the spine of Illinois, into Missouri, Arkansas, Tenn, and then once in Mississippi got off the Interstate and onto Hwy 61. Rob suggested that we go to a place called Abe's BBQ, the quintessential bbq joint hidden off the highway. After a good lunch of pork, beans, coleslaw, we got back on 61 and drove through all the Delta towns and then the Interstate.
Rob took over the driving an hour outside of New Orleans since I obviously got sick, the result of having a sore throat Friday. I had a fever, chills. I don't remember entering the city, but once we got the windows down we could smell the mold. The parts of the city hit with water smells putrid. In Charles' neighborhood, around midnight, it struck me how things had changed. Most businesses were vacant storefronts -- the hardware store, barbershop, Dominos pizza, etc. Yet amid some of the businesses would be a bar where college kids hung out. Partying next to devastation. It was humid, which didn't help the smell much. I dropped Rob off and then made my way to Ken and Denise's home where they waited up for me, setting up their front parlor with a bed upon my arrival. I collapsed and woke up this morning. We ate breakfast in their backyard and now are about to go on a tour to see how really things have changed.

Sending off

2006-04-22T00:20:00.000-04:00

Why am I still up? I wake up (not naturally) in about five hours.
Today on the phone the Habitat volunteer coordinator told me to tell FEMA that I am staying in the tent city because otherwise I will not be fed. My first taste of government beaurocracy! Apparantly FEMA will only feed those volunteers who stay in a tent. (He implied that this was one of many problems they've had dealing with that agency of which they are supplied housing for volunteers) We are staying off site in homes. And it's too complicated to separate the tent volunteers from the home volunteers. So I'll have my very own cot waiting for me. I can't wait. It will be a lonely cot as I will be in a bed come night.
Bad news: I'm getting a cold. I have the lump in my throat already. This isn't good.
I'm listening to The Band right now. Ripping their recent box to my iPod. This isn't necessary. But yet it IS. Or else it will be once I cross the Arkansas state line. True Band afficianados will understand why.
I'm off tomorrow. Anxiety is in the room. Maybe it'll leave when I'm asleep.

Serious

2006-04-21T00:50:00.000-04:00

One more day. This one spent on preparing an essential facet of any road trip: the music. For this outing, I went a little nuts.

I will bring with me advances of upcoming records from Pearl Jam, Golden Smog, Springsteen and some others. Plus my iPod which is just about maxed out. But the biggest score is Sirius radio. Yes, I've wanted this for quite some time and thanks to Mike and Mary Ann for including me in their family plan so I can get the cheap rate. Dial through Sirius and you realize why commercial radio chased away its listenership considering that it features the same five awful corporate rock bands and thick-skulled conversative barkers, barking. I enjoy the reasoned voices of NPR but even they get old. Too smug. So now I have and endless pool of music to choose from, the BBC and Howard Stern. It'll make those 14 hours glide by until I reach New Orleans and can shut down the entire system and just listen to local station WWOZ.

Tomorrow I file a story for next week's paper, run some errands and pack.

Oh yes: On the way down I plan on getting off the Interstate after Memphis and visit the Delta town of Clarksdale, Miss., and then continue taking 61 South. I love those towns and explore them every trip down. But on Saturday, Clarksdale will have the added benefit of staging this festival. Blues music, racing pigs and monkeys, oh my.

Two more days ...

2006-04-20T01:19:00.000-04:00

... Until the Delta drive South. I bought work gloves and latex gloves, both, today. Don't want the toxic sludge to pour into the pores. Much remains. I still have to tell people I started this blog. Up to now, including now, I've been writing these entries for myself and just trying it out. My hope is to provide some kind of journalism for what I experience and build a story, one that unfolds on its own. Who knows how it will end. Maybe it already ended and I just need to find out what it looks like ending. Sometimes you need to walk through these things and take a look around before someone calls it history, closes the book and puts it on a shelf where it'll be dusted but never pulled back down.

Charles sent a map of his home's innards from the highlands of New Jersey where he is now. I stayed in his excellent and eccentric N.O. home many times over many years but never had to turn on the water, the gas, the electricity from scratch. His basement is where his dog died, floating in muck. He had to bury that dog in the backyard. It's a whole new world.

Ouch

2006-04-19T11:55:00.000-04:00

Just got back from Northwestern Memorial downtown. Got poked with a tetanus shot, a requirement for Habitat. It was necessary to get needled. The technician was kind. I asked her why she did what she did and she told me it was because she watched her dying father get treated roughly by nurses when he had cancer and she felt someone could do it with more heart and concern.It showed.

Bells ringing

2006-04-18T19:24:00.000-04:00

The Jeep is ready.

Chicagoland Auto ensured this for (only) $377.09. Who knows if this is justified as I am dum and dummer when it comes to this stuff. For the ride down, I received an oil change, "fluids," an air filter, fan belt, clamp and something smart was done for the air con. That was crucial.
More news: I was confirmed by the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival for my press credentials. Once my Habitat work is finished, I will be covering the festival for this publication. While some wowsa stars are scheduled (Dylan, Springsteen, Elvis Costello, Allen Toussaint), my story will actually focus on what I find down there. How has the tenor of the New Orleans music scene changed? And are there still drunk-as-crap tourists peeing in doorways? (answer: probably yes)

This blog has been stimulating since I started it up. Stimulating as in, I'm learning about what George W. calls "the Internets." I called my URL Ring Them Bells after a Bob Dylan song I love. It's on an overlooked 1989 album called Oh Mercy. I listen to this album A LOT. Mostly while walking, it is made for motion, slow, usually in the dark with few people around. This sounds pretentious, but on a trip to Paris I walked around that entire city at night, in thet December rain, with this album playing on repeat. It is the sound of someone's mind in the dark rain. The lyrics are made up of mostly questions we all ask ourselves: what good am I if I'm like all the rest? Shady characters enter and exit — The Man in the Long Black Coat hovers. I love this album because it gets into the thick of things immediately; the songs are weary, the voice who sings them feels he's lived long enough. I like songs where you can LEARN something from the person singing. Here's where he is coming from, pull up a stool.

So I picked my URL somewhat randomly. "Ring Them Bells" is a song from the album. It could be played in a church. In fact, it should. Just because you're not a 14th century Franciscan monk and dated Joan Baez once upon a time doesn't mean you can't speak to God in your music.
Anyway, today I made another connection. Oh Mercy was recorded in New Orleans. I could show you the building on Esplanade where it took place. The producer was Daniel Lanois, a Canadian known for his work on most of U2's stuff. He was living in New Orleans at the time. Dylan talks about making this album in his recent memoir Chronicles Volume One. He moved there, rented a house, suffered writer's block, and stayed up at night in the kitchen listening to the local radio DJs. He was depressed. He took the streetcar. He walked through the wildlife gardens. General soul searching of a guy at the top but was creatively suffering a long dry spell.

Here's what he wrote about this song:

"Later that night we began cutting "Ring Them Bells." There was one line in the song that I was trying to fix, but never did...the last line..."breaking down the distance between right and wrong." The line fit, but it didn't verify what I felt. Right or wrong, like it fits in the Wanda Jackson song, or right from wrong, like the Billy Tate song, that makes sense, but not right and wrong. The concept didn't exist in my subconsicous mind. I'd always been confused about that kind of stuff, didn't see any moral ideal played out there. The concept of being morally right or moreally wrong seemed to be wired to the wrong frequency. Things that aren't in the script happen every day. If someone steals leather and then makes shoes for the poor, it might be a moral act, but it's not legally right, so it's wrong. That stuff troubled me, the legal and moral aspect of things. There are good deeds and bad deeds. A good person can do a bad thing and a bad person can do a good thing. But I never did get to fix the line."

The album grapples with those questions: what makes us human? Our dignity? And does that really matter in the end, anyway? Is life really a con and we're the ones left empty-handed? It is soaked in doubt, hope, sadness. I've listened to this album so much, I can't shake it out of me.

In Chronicles, Dylan talks about New Orleans and the lure.

"The first thing you notice about New Orleans are the burying grounds — the cemeteries — and they're a cold proposition, one of hte best things there are here. Going by, you try to be as quiet as possible, better to let them sleep. Greek, Roman, sepulchres — palatial mausoleums made to order, phantomesque, signs and symbols of hidden decay — ghosts of women and men who have sinned and who've died and are now living in tombs. The past doesn't pass away so quickly here. You could be dead for a long time. The ghosts race towards the light, you can almost hear the heavy breathing — spirits, all determiend to get somewhere. New Orleans, unlike a lot of those places you go back to and that don't have the magic anymore, still has got it. Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there's a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There's something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in the their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can't see it, but you now it's here. Somebody is always sinking. Everyone seems to be from some very old Southern families. Either that or a foreigner. I like the way it is. ...

" ... Everything in New Orleans is a good idea. Bijou Temple-type cottages an dlyric cathedrals side by side. Houses and mansions, structures of wild grace. Italianate, Gothic, Romanesque, Greek Reivial standing in a long line in the rain. Roman Catholic art. Sweeping front porches, turrets, cast-iron balconies, colonnades — thirty-foot columns, gloriously beautiful — double pitched roofts, all the architecture of the whole wide world and it doesn't move. All that and a town square where public executions took place. In New Orleans you could almost see other dimensions. There's only one day at a time here, then it's tonight and then tomrorow will be today again. Chronic melancholia hanging from the trees. You never get tired of it. After awhile you start to feel like a ghost from one of the tombs, like you're in a wax museum below crimson clouds. Spirit empire. Wealthy empire. One of Napoleon's generals, Lallemand, was said to have come here to check it out, looking for a place fo rhis commander to seek refusge after Waterloo. He scouted around and left, said that here the devil is damned, just like everybody else, or worse. The devil comes here and sighs. New Orleans. Exquisite, old-fashioned. a great place to live vicariously. Nothing makes any difference and you never feel hurt, a great place to really hit on things. Somebody puts something in front of you here and you might as well drink it. Great place to be intimate or do nothing. a place to come and hope you'll get smart — to feed pigeons looking for handouts. A great place to record. It has to be, or so I thought."

(Hi, this is me writing:) You walk there, it's true, you feel you're in a picturebook from the past and as you enter it, the walls separating then and now dissipate. The rest of the USA has made a concentrated effort to pave its history, flatten it with malls, but in New Orleans you do get a sense, as you might in the Grand Canyon or maybe the Badlands or probably in the middle of the Great Lakes, that something wild was once here.

Any good song makes you tap your feet, hum. Any great song stops you in your tracks, its lyrics and its sound, elastic in time.

For instance:

Ring them bells, ye heathen From the city that dreams, Ring them bells from the sanctuaries Cross the valleys and streams, For they're deep and they're wide And the world's on its side And time is running backwards And so is the bride. Ring them bells St. Peter Where the four winds blow, Ring them bells with an iron hand So the people will know. Oh it's rush hour now On the wheel and the plow And the sun is going down Upon the sacred cow. Ring them bells Sweet Martha, For the poor man's son, Ring them bells so the world will know That God is one. Oh the shepherd is asleep Where the willows weep And the mountains are filled With lost sheep. Ring them bells for the blind and the deaf, Ring them bells for all of us who are left, Ring them bells for the chosen few Who will judge the many when the game is through. Ring them bells, for the time that flies, For the child that cries When innocence dies. Ring them bells St. Catherine From the top of the room, Ring them from the fortress For the lilies that bloom. Oh the lines are long And the fighting is strong And they're breaking down the distance Between right and wrong.
Copyright © 1989 Special Rider Music PS: Someone email those last two lines to the White House.

She rules my life

2006-04-18T00:17:00.000-04:00

Yes she does. And her name is Jenny. This is really just a way for me to test uploading photos here. But that does not diminish this fine old lady. We call her Jenny. She's looking at you wondering what the hell you want.

Monday Monday

2006-04-17T17:20:00.000-04:00

It's Monday. We have almost a full week until leaving for New Orleans early Saturday a.m. I already have my respirator mask, goggles (thanks Mike C.). Now I have to buy some gloves and heavy duty pants. Oh yeah — get a haircut. It's going to be hot so this shag must go. I'm both excited and nervous about what we're going to witness as I know the work will be hard, the sun will be hot, and the sights will be devastating. But I think it's important to help so I'm willing to walk through it and do what I can, as much as I can.

This weekend I realized that we will be arriving the day of the mayoral elections! That will be exciting as it is a historical election for the city. I was there the week of the 2004 presidential elections. That was crazy. People stood on intersections holding signs, cars were honking. In a smaller city you get a more intense feeling of whatever is going on. You can't escape the news. What was depressing — of course — was the outcome. Around 10 p.m., once I realized the election was going to Boy Howdy, I walked to the Maple Leaf, alone. Even the brass hysteria of The Rebirth Brass Band couldn't lift my spirits. Though it was a nice, if temporary, escape.

Now, of course, that period of our history seems so innocent. Everything in our nation's rearview mirror are halcyon days, aren't they? The smoke and mirrors that our top federal officials have worked to their advantage is a type of magic that has layered its citizenry in numbing denial and its watchdogs with general apathy. Can't happen here? I'm about to travel to a city where it is proved: Yes, it actually can.