Hurricane Katrina Aftermath-1

Part One - New Orleans Evacuation - Chronology

By Chuck Cooper
(September 5, 2005)

Author’s Note: As a part-time motor coach driver for His Majesty Coaches in Kennesaw, GA, I was among six drivers from our firm who volunteered to participate in the evacuation of New Orleans following the devastation and flooding of the city caused by Hurricane Katrina on August 29, 2005.

This three-part report is nothing more or nothing less than one man’s account of his activities - the re-telling of the horrendous stories related to me by the evacuees I drove from the disgusting conditions in the SuperDome in New Orleans to the safe, secure confines of the AstroDome in Houston, TX, including some personal observations about the evacuation. It was an odyssey I shall never, ever forget.

This account is very detailed (the former reporter in me dictates it!) because I want it to be an accurate historical account for my family and friends. This disaster is destined to take its place among the most-remembered events in our generation’s national history.



Wednesday, August 31, 1:00 p.m.

As I drove out the gate from our terminal to pickup the visiting US National Junior Baseball Team for an Atlanta Braves baseball game, His Majesty Coaches, Inc. owner Tom Brown stopped me and said he had just received a call from FEMA in New Orleans asking for assistance in the evacuation. Tom asked if I’d like to volunteer to make the trip, adding that our team of six would depart about 6 a.m. the next morning. Without hesitation, I told Tom to “count me in; I want to go.” He advised we could be gone as long as a week or so and to pack accordingly, including sleeping bag and plenty of food and water for our personal use.

Wednesday, August 31, 11:30 p.m.

Having returned home and loaded the car with the required snack foods, water and personal items, I finally drifted off to sleep wondering what we had in store for us and praying that we would all be safe and thanking the Lord for the opportunity to serve our fellow humans in dire need. Before going to bed, I e-mailed friends asking for their prayer support. We were all aware of the reports of anarchy and shootings in the affected area.

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 6:00 a.m.

Leaving the terminal in a six-bus caravan, we headed just west of Atlanta to stop at Trinity Community Church (Tom’s church) to pick up supplies the church was donating to the relief effort. What we saw was incredible. Lined up was a wall of marked and taped boxes at least 60 feet long and three boxes high – all donations from church members who had responded to a request in the previous evening’s worship service. Church volunteers worked until 2:00 a.m. to prepare them for us and we filled the luggage bays of five of the buses.

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 7:00 a.m.

Following a group prayer, we departed for La Place, LA where FEMA instructed us to report for fuel, a hot meal and further instructions, including where to drop the supplies we were carrying. FEMA advised they had waived all federal and state driving restrictions meaning we were not required to keep official logs of our trip. We taped FEMA signs in the windows of our coaches to allow us entry into the restricted areas. Because the damaged roads east of New Orleans were closed, we were forced to take I-20 from Atlanta to Jackson, MS where we headed south to I-10. La Place is at the intersection of I-10 and I-55 some 25 miles northwest of New Orleans.

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 11:00 a.m.

A cell phone call from Ron Ezell, former fellow driver at Christian Tours in Newton, NC advised me that a team of ten had left their terminal the previous night and were several hours ahead of us. He said they were having difficulty finding fuel because of the power outage south of Jackson. I advised Tom (driving the lead bus) by two-way radio and we stopped outside Tuscaloosa, AL for fuel and a bite to eat.

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 5:00 p.m.

Not far south of Jackson on I-55, I lost cell phone service and began to notice slight wind damage to the trees. I was finally able to find a radio station in Jackson and listened to all the horrible reports of conditions in New Orleans and the thousands of hungry, frightened, thirsty, miserable evacuees waiting to be bussed to safety. The continuing violence in the city concerned me greatly and I wondered if I had spoken to my wife, Sue, for the last time. My continual prayer was for our safety, for the evacuees we were about to encounter, for the troops and lawmen trying to restore order and giving thanks that I was part of the hundreds of volunteer bus drivers heading to help

(I do NOT apologize for my prayer references: I am a committed Christian and believe strongly in the power of prayer. Praying is a part of who I am! And, I honestly believed and still believe that I was on a mission for the Lord called by Him to serve in this way.)

By this time, we had been on the road for nearly 11 hours, with only the fuel stop and a couple of quick pit stops along the highway to exercise our legs and let our eyes rest. Drowsiness was a constant companion so I prayed for the alertness to safely complete our mission. I looked forward to a brief respite from the miles that seemed to click away so slowly though we were driving at speeds above 70 mph.

Just south of the intersection with I-12, we encountered a roadblock, but we were waved through without any difficulty and with an encouraging wave from the Louisiana State Troopers manning the station.

Traffic was very thin now because westbound non-essential traffic had been diverted onto I-12. I was so drowsy all I could think of was getting to La Place. About 10 miles north of La Place, we stopped along the roadside so Tom could call FEMA for instructions on where to drop our supplies. To our dismay, FEMA informed Tom that they could not accept the donations and to try to find some charitable group who would accept them. We were terribly frustrated and angry at the FEMA response

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 6:30 p.m.

What a wonderful sight! The Army had commandeered a Texaco truck stop at La Place where we could re-fuel and get some exercise, some promised “real” food and even some rest before heading on into New Orleans.

The Army was very well organized and I counted 40 buses in some stage of service and lined up on the outbound highway. There was NO food and it took about 40 minutes to get re-fueled. Meanwhile, the soldiers fueling my bus from one of the many Army tankers on site advised me to get in line on the highway because we would soon be escorted into New Orleans.
No rest for the weary!

As we departed behind state trooper escort, Tom (the lead bus of about 30 in the convoy) advised us by radio that we would be escorted to a place about 10 miles from downtown New Orleans where we would pick up evacuees who had been brought there by boat and chopper and drive them the 341 miles to the AstroDome.

Once off I-310 onto U.S. 90, the wind damage became very apparent, although I didn’t see any flooding along the way. Signs and downed trees were everywhere. Buildings were de-roofed, windows blown out and damage to most of the shops and restaurants was obvious. Debris was everywhere. Locals who had apparently not evacuated wandered around and along the highway. Many had plastic bags full of who knows what. It appeared they were trying to find shelter before dark. There was a fairly strong police presence watching over things.

I must confess my apprehension was getting more intense. I wasn’t afraid of dying, just concerned about our safety and whether or not we would be victims of the increasing violence. But this time, I could not find a single radio station on the air.

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 7:30 p.m.

The first hint of confusion (there would be many to come!) was when our escort missed a turn so we did a U-turn and returned several miles back to our assigned pickup spot. Seeing the hundreds of military vehicles, the armed soldiers and utter calm as we staged in the area was a tremendous relief to me. We soon learned this was the Louisiana Army National Guard command post for the area.

Strangely, there were no evacuees to be seen!

The only civilians we saw were locals in cars and pickups coming to pick up food and water. The National Guard was loading it into cars in a very orderly manner.

As we staged along the road, our escort drove off without a word, leaving us unattended and wondering what was going on. We were totally confused about why we had stopped there. An armed soldier standing guard duty told me we would wait there until someone in authority would advise us where to go.

He also told me his unit had been evacuated from the turmoil around the Convention Center at 2:30 that afternoon because they were so outnumbered by the violence perpetrators that it was unsafe for them. He said a division of some 4,000 infantry men was en route to quell the uprising and in his words: “We will take control of the Convention Center and get those folks out of there.” (I’ll relate his description of the anarchy at the Convention Center in Part 2. I’ll also relate the frustrated comments of an owner of a French Quarter nursing home who was there seeking help in evacuating his patients.)

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 9:00 p.m.

Finally, an ANG Lt. Col. told us that we would leave soon for the SuperDome where we would pick up evacuees destined for Houston’s AstroDome. We inquired about military escort and he assured us we would be protected.

We drove several miles under state trooper escort to the tollbooths approaching the bridge over to the SuperDome. ANG soldiers ordered us to stage at the side of the road and told us we would wait there for military escort to the SuperDome. By this time it was pitch dark. After an hour of waiting an ANG humvee loaded with armed soldiers led us across the bridge. The scene was surreal. The only lights we saw were flashing blue police lights and an occasional flashlight beam triggered by what seemed like hundreds of armed soldiers. Debris was everywhere. Tons of it (mostly appearing as trash) had obviously been bulldozed to clear the roadway around the SuperDome. I could see literally thousands of people lined along the roadway on my left, across the flooded street from the SuperDome. We splashed around several corners until we came to the loading area where there was a sea of waiting evacuees. The ANG was in control of the crowds and the loading process was a very orderly one.

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 10:25 p.m.

We formed two lines in about 18 inches of floodwater at the instruction of the soldiers. As I came to a stop an armed soldier approached, asked how many seats I had (57) and said he’d be right back. Within two minutes he and others brought five cases of MREs (food packages) and two huge cases of bottled water. I placed an MRE and a bottle of water on each seat. When I asked the soldier about the people lining the streets on the left, he informed me they were latecomers waiting to get into the SuperDome. How pitiful!

As each evacuee climbed up the steps after wading thru the polluted water, I offered an encouraging word and asked them take the rear seats first. They were very orderly and cooperated fully. Most of them had only a plastic bag or a backpack with them, but many had nothing with them at all.

The expressions on their faces varied from a faint smile to a simple gaze. Some acknowledged my comments with a nod and a few uttered a faint “thank you.”

The odor was horrific and it continually gagged me to the point that I had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. I tried to disguise my gags with a cough or a clearing of my throat so I wouldn’t embarrass them. I had a mouthful of Life Savers, but they didn’t help much until I learned to breathe thru my mouth rather than thru my nose. I used that technique all the way to Houston.

All of them immediately began ripping open the bottled water and MREs, which thru some sort of chemical process heated the food when opened. Many asked for extra bottles of water. Several said it was the first food or water they had consumed in four days! When fully loaded, I had 57 adults with 8 infants on board. Their ages ranged from infants (the youngest appeared to be only weeks old) to elderly. Of the 65 people on board there were three whites (a mother and her two sons, aged 10 and 12); the rest were blacks.

Following instructions, I closed the door and moved forward about 100 yards to wait for the military escort to the tollbooth across the bridge. The entire bus broke out in spontaneous applause and cheers!

As we waited for the escort, I felt the need to say something encouraging. I introduced myself, acknowledged what they had been thru, told them I admired their courage and told them things would be getting better immediately. When I told them I was glad to see them, one lady shouted: “Thanks, Chuck, but you aren’t as glad as we are to see you.” I heard a muffled chorus of “amen’s” and “halleluiahs.”

When I asked if they had been told where we were going, most shook their heads “no” but one shouted “AstroDome” and I advised them that indeed was our destination, that it would be about a five-hour ride and that we would stop at the Texas Welcome Center so they could stretch their legs and perhaps get some more food and cold drinks and maybe some dry clothes.

Next, I asked if they had been told of the damage done by the Hurricane. Most had no idea, so I gave a brief overview of what I knew. You could have heard a pin drop as I briefly explained the flooding in New Orleans and the devastation to Biloxi, Pass Christian, Gulfport and Mobile. I also explained that we wouldn’t see lights until we approached Baton Rouge.

About then, the Humvee appeared and led our group of coaches out of the area to the final staging area at the tollbooth. It was 10:50 p.m. By then, I had been awake nearly 18 hours and had driven more than 700 miles. I was mentally exhausted and continued my prayer for alertness and safety. I heard no talking whatsoever as we drove toward the tollbooth. I literally cried with tears freely flowing down my cheeks as we wound our way thru total darkness, following only the reflectors on the Humvee in front of me.

Thursday, September 1, 2005, 11:05 p.m.

While waiting for the some 15 buses behind me to catch up at the tollbooth, I asked if they wanted to watch a movie on the drive to Houston. There was a resounding “NO” which surprised me. (I thought it would be a welcomed diversion from their frightened, wondering thoughts.) There were several shouts indicating they preferred to sleep. However, one young man asked if I would turn on the radio. His mother cried “No” and I told the young man she wanted to take a nap. She replied: “Praise The Lord.” And the bus was deathly quiet.

The lights in the distance indicated we were approaching Baton Rouge and murmuring was evident. The first laugh of any kind was in response to a shouted request that we stop in Baton Rouge for some chicken. The entire busload went quickly back to sleep or passengers were deep in thoughts and unanswered questions.

Friday, September 2, 2005, 4:30 a.m.

The Texas Welcome Center was a welcome sight for all of us. I was so groggy I could hardly stay awake and the thought of some fresh air and exercise refreshed me. It was even more welcome to my weary evacuees.

On arrival, I could see a long line of tables and tents with tubs of cold drinks, hot food, and clothing strung on makeshift clotheslines. Our convoy of some 30 buses wheeled into place and a law officer jumped aboard, welcomed the evacuees and told them to help themselves to the hot food, cold drinks and clothing.

Tom recognized that this was the perfect place to drop our supplies and found a lady who seemed to be in charge of the clothing distribution. She said she could use them, but when she discovered how many boxes we had she refused them, saying that to offload them and begin unpacking them would create a riot. We quickly realized she was probably correct about the chaos we would create. She suggested we take them to the AstroDome with us and told us where to safely drop them.

As we drivers stretched our legs and backs and washed our faces with bottled water, we were approached by a Texas Ranger who said we needed to have a meeting. When he advised us that the AstroDome was full and wasn’t accepting any more busses and that we would instead have to take our evacuees to Dallas, there was open revolt. Some agreed to continue there, but Tom informed the officer that our group absolutely could not continue all the way to Dallas. (We were 150 more miles to the AstroDome and another 244 miles to Houston!)

The Ranger was apologetic and understanding, but told us we had no choice. Tom offered two options: the first to continue with our six coaches to the AstroDome or, secondly, to leave our evacuees there to wait for additional busses. Tom was calm, but very firm. The officer said he’d be back shortly.

He returned in about 10 minutes saying he had received the okay for our six busses to peel off the caravan to Dallas and to head for the AstroDome. However, just as we began to leave, he returned to say he had received clearance for the entire caravan to go to the AstroDome. What a relief!

While at the Welcome Center, it became apparent that many of my passengers wanted to explain their ordeals to me. They just needed someone to listen. So, I listened patiently to the horrifying details of what they had endured. They cried. We cried. By that time, I could feel a real bonding with my passengers and they with me. (My sister, Marjo, had warned me before I left how emotional the situation could be, but this was the first time I realized how emotionally involved I had become!) I will relate many of the evacuee stories in Part 2.

Friday, September 2, 2005, 7:00 a.m.

What a glorious sight to finally see the AstroDome! My evacuees cheered again! We saw hundreds of busses and slowly wound our way into the spacious parking lots following nose to tail. Just inside the parking lot we were stopped by a volunteer who jumped aboard with diapers and formula for the babies. Their parents were ecstatic!

Another volunteer came aboard offering more bottled water and informing the evacuees that they would need to go through a processing station where volunteers would collect names, social security numbers, etc. She informed them each would be searched for any firearms, drugs and other contraband before being admitted into the AstroDome, The reason, she said, was to prevent the violence of the SuperDome and Convention Center from being repeated. Too, she explained, each would be issued a pink wristband to indicate they had been cleared. Once into the AstroDome, she said, those needing medical attention would be directed to a makeshift clinic manned by volunteer physicians and nurses. My passengers were very patient and cooperative, but eager to get off the bus to get some exercise. I agreed, but asked them to stay near the bus because I didn’t know how long it would be before we needed to move up.

As we waited patiently, many other evacuees came to the bus asking for friends and relatives. They all wore the pink wristbands and many were carrying signs with names of lost friends and family scribbled on them. One man on my bus was re-united with his wife and two children who had arrived on a bus which had left the SuperDome without him more than 24 hours earlier, but he couldn’t enter the AstroDome until properly processed.

Eventually, we were directed into the primary parking lot. My heart sank when I saw a line of at least 200 busses around the AstroDome. I asked a volunteer guard what the procedure was and he explained that they were in line waiting to be processed and unloaded. He estimated it would be at least eight hours before we could unload. He explained that the busses were being searched and processed one at a time because the AstroDome had been overwhelmed with the number of busses arriving and didn’t have enough volunteers to set up additional processing teams.

About that time, I spotted a group of Christian Tours coaches about 100 busses ahead of me and took off on foot to quiz them about the procedure. They had arrived about 11 p.m. the previous night and had been waiting in line for more than eight hours and weren’t even half way around the AstroDome!!

What a bottleneck! Here were nearly 300 busses still trying to unload approximately 50 desperate evacuees each and unable to return to New Orleans to pick up other evacuees. All of the drivers I talked with had been awake for more than 24 hours.

When I returned to my bus, Tom advised me he had gotten clearance to drop our passengers in the parking lot so we could leave for a nearby motel where we had made reservations. He also told us that we couldn’t drop our supplies there and would deal with them after we had gotten some sleep.

You can’t imagine how tough it was to ask the folks to leave the bus. Many wanted to remain, but it was impossible for us to stay awake any longer and they realized it. I was totally drained and so groggy I had difficulty keeping my balance.

As they departed the bus, each stopped to thank me personally for what I had done for them. Many asked me to pray for them and most of them gave me a hug. By that time, the terrific odor had permeated my clothing and as distasteful as it was, there was no way I could refuse a hug of appreciation. I held my breath as each approached me, wished them good luck and told them as a group that they were “survivors” and again that I admired and respected their courage.

In parting, I said to the group that God had allowed them to survive because He let them get safely to the SuperDome, then He kept the roof from caving in on them, then He had delivered them to from the atrocious violence in the SuperDome and had led them to the safety and security of the AstroDome. They seemed very responsive and pleased when I told them that God had brought them this far and He wouldn’t let them down now!

Friday, September 2, 2005, 9:30 a.m.

We finally arrived safely at the Super 8 at Bayview, TX, some 25 miles east of the AstroDome, more than 900 miles from home and nearly 28 hours since we’d waked up in Atlanta. I grabbed what was left of the continental breakfast the motel served, took a hot, hot shower, and climbed into bed for needed sleep. As I quickly drifted to sleep, I felt guilty that I had showered and had a nice, comfortable bed in which to sleep.

Friday, September 2, 2005, 4:00 p.m.

While we were sleeping Tom found a local church group that was collecting items to be distributed at the AstroDome. We headed just two exits down I-10 into an abandoned Wal-Mart parking lot where it took just minutes for the volunteers to unload our goods and load them onto a waiting Wal-Mart tractor-trailer.

We returned to the Super 8 and after a healthy meal at a nearby restaurant, each of us spent the next two hours cleaning, sanitizing and deodorizing our individual busses. I was greatly rested, but faced with the most distasteful task I’ve ever encountered. The bus was totally trashed. I found a tee shirt stuffed down the commode; dirty baby diapers on the floor; filthy, skanky clothing on the seats and floor; and urine and fecal material all over the bathroom.

I was afraid to touch anything, so simply used a broom to sweep everything to the front of the bus. I filled two 50-gallon trashcans, then sprayed the bus with disinfectant and mopped the floor.

We learned late that evening that the AstroDome bottleneck had been relieved and that the SuperDome was nearly cleared of evacuees. Tom told us FEMA was willing to release us from further duty so we could return home with the provision that they may need us later to begin hauling evacuees to northern states once all had been processed and arrangements made for other shelters. He said that he believed it was time to go home the next morning. We all agreed, certain that the critical evacuation was winding down and that we wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind without help.

Saturday, September 3, 2005, 9:00 a.m.

Feeling unusually rested, we fueled at a nearby truck stop after breakfast and headed for home. En route we saw many caravans of electrical trucks, telephone trucks, tractor-trailers loaded with supplies and equipment and several bus caravans headed toward southern Louisiana.

We stopped for lunch in Baton Rouge where we were met by one of our driver’s nephew who had been rescued from the Tulane University campus in New Orleans, flown to Baton Rouge, and rode with his uncle back to the Atlanta area.

At each rest stop along the way strangers approached asking us to relate our experiences with them. Many, particularly in Baton Rouge, were evacuees themselves with stories of their own.

Sunday, September 4, 2005, 2:00 a.m.

Exhausted again after a 17-hour drive I pulled into the driveway at home eager to see Sue again and to crash into my bed. I slept peacefully for 12 hours.

(END)