Come Hell and High Water

A volunteer goes deep into Hurricane Katrina's disaster zone and reports on the sacrifice, death, and destruction.

Reporting for Duty

Six days after Hurricane Katrina pummeled the Gulf Coast, the American Red Cross had still not reached many who needed them most -- 10,000 residents who stayed behind in New Orleans. Following the storm's landfall on Monday, August 29, authorities had barred all traffic into the city; there were reports of looting, arson, even rapes and murders. In the flood zone, rotting bodies, sewage, and an appalling blend of chemicals commingled to create a revolting and dangerous toxic stew.

Like hundreds of others, I went to the stricken area to bring supplies and comfort to people who had been trapped in this hell since the day of the storm. The closest I could get was Abita Springs, about 35 miles away. "Don't expect to get into New Orleans anytime soon," a Red Cross worker cautioned. "It's too dangerous, and we never ask our people to put themselves in harm's way."

Really? The Red Cross? Didn't they dodge bullets on battlefields and perform daring rescues? "You're going to Spirit of America," the woman told me. "It's at the St. Tammany Parish government complex. They'll put you to work in the yard."

Louisiana is divided into parishes, a vestige of its French colonial past. St. Tammany, one of the largest, is 854 square miles of pine and oak forests, and small, relatively well-to-do neighborhoods. Many of its residents commute to New Orleans via the 24-mile toll causeway that cuts across Lake Pontchartrain.

Most of the communities of St. Tammany had escaped flooding. But Katrina's 150-mph winds had knocked over so many trees that the heavily wooded area looked like a giant game of pickup sticks. It was stifling hot, and there was no electricity, running water or phones.

On the sprawling parking lots of the government complex stood a semi trailer converted into a mobile kitchen. This was Spirit of America. My job was to off-load rigs filled with cases of bottled water and food -- everything from military Meals Ready to Eat (MREs) to cookies and noodles -- sort it all and load it onto ambulance-style Emergency Response Vehicles (ERVs), which would transport it to feeding points and shelters in the parish.

When an ERV came wheeling into the yard, the driver would throw open the doors, and we would push food items like salesmen. "Want some bananas? How many boxes? How about MREs? Take four cases."

The ERVs always returned empty.

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