Hurricane Katrina Aftermath-2

Part Two - New Orleans Evacuation – Their Stories
By Chuck Cooper
(September 7, 2005)

“Total Anarchy” At The Convention Center

While staged at the Louisiana Army National Guard command center awaiting our escort to the Super Dome, I had the opportunity to visit with two of the armed soldiers standing guard. What they told me about their experiences at the New Orleans Convention Center, from which they were withdrawn just hours earlier, was heart breaking.

They had spent two long nights attempting to control the ever-growing throngs of refugees who congregated there awaiting evacuation. They described the situation as “total anarchy” with the criminal element becoming bolder and bolder.

“We were so out-numbered we knew we had lost control and were waiting for reinforcements. We went in locked and loaded with standing orders to protect each other and to open fire if we were attacked,” they told me, “but we knew that if we fired we were dead men.” They explained that many of the “young punks” were packing firearms.

“What we saw happening there is unbelievable,” one said. “We saw things that I never dreamed would be possible and we were so out-numbered we couldn’t do anything about it.”

They told of a white woman who came out of the Convention Center in broad daylight who was immediately jumped by a gang of “black punks”, thrown to the ground and repeatedly raped while a crowd gathered and cheered. “It was a terrible thing to see,” one said, “and we couldn’t do anything to help her for fear of being shot.”

They said no woman there was safe and saw many submit to sex in order to save their lives. Even young girls, they said, were beaten and repeatedly raped.

They explained that when a disturbance broke out in one location, they would rush there to help control the situation, but another disturbance would break out in the area they had just left.

“Were we frightened?” one asked. “Whadda you think? I didn’t think I would get out of there alive.”

One told me he saw a church van arrive loaded with food and water. When the female driver got out to open the doors, she was overwhelmed, beaten and thrown to the ground. A riot ensued as desperate refugees pushed and shoved to get to the supplies. Gunfire from “the punks” dispersed the crowd and the punks emptied the van and distributed the supplies among themselves. When empty, the van was rolled onto its side. He doesn’t know what happened to the driver.

Shortly thereafter another similar van appeared. The male driver was dragged from the van as two of “the punks” jumped in and drove off with a horde of other young men following it.

The soldiers said they had no food, but did have bottled water.

Finally, after ANG commanders realized they had lost complete control and were about to be overwhelmed, the order was given to withdraw. The left at 2:30 p.m. on Thursday and set up headquarters where we were staged. One of the young soldiers said a 4,000-man infantry division was on its way and should arrive that evening. Through clenched teeth he grimaced: “When they get here, we will take back control. It might get ugly, but we are going back in and kick butt.”

Postscript: I heard the next day on a Houston radio station that the infantry force had in fact taken control and the refugees at the Convention Center were being evacuated.


“A Distraught Plea For Help”

While talking with the soldiers we were interrupted by a white man in a dilapidated pickup. He pulled alongside and said he desperately needed to talk with someone in charge.

He was a mess. A man of about 50, it became obvious as he stepped from his truck that he was sleep-deprived, had not changed clothes in a while, was unshaven and needed a shower. He was shaking uncontrollably as we approached him and apologized for his appearance.

“I need four of these busses right now and I’m not leaving until they come with me,” he demanded. “I’m tired of not getting any help. Nobody cares. Nobody will listen to me,” he said in an obvious British accent. One of the soldiers said: “I care, sir, what can I do to help you”

As calmly as he could, the man explained that he owned a small nursing home in the French Quarter and that he had arranged and paid in advance for four busses to come to his facility the previous Sunday afternoon to evacuate his 16 patients (aged 80 to 105) to a nursing home in Baton Rouge.

“The driver called me Sunday afternoon and told me they had been commandeered by the Army and couldn’t come to my aid,” he explained, “so I called and arranged for four more busses. They, too were taken over by the Army when they got here Sunday night.”

Here it is Thursday night and I’ve still gotten no help. I’ve walked all over New Orleans trying to get someone to help me. The police don’t care, the Army doesn’t care. Four of my patients have already died and I’ve got one more who will go tonight. Why can’t I get any help? This is America and no one will help. No one will even give me body bags for the dead ones. I’ve got one woman dead in her wheel chair with a blanket draped over her. Will you please, please help me?” he cried out desperately. One soldier tried unsuccessfully to calm him down, telling him he would find an officer.

Screaming, the man turned to me. Will you help me. All I need is four of these busses that are just sitting here not being used. Please come with me. I’ll give you anything you want if you will just help save my patients.”

Thankfully, the other soldier interrupted before I could answer. “Sir,” he said calmly, “these busses are assigned to FEMA and are headed to the SuperDome.” “But why can’t they help me?” the man interrupted. Can’t you see I’m desperate to save my patients?”

About that time an out-of-uniform ANG officer arrived, introduced himself and both moved out of earshot of us to talk privately.

It was then that I saw our escort had arrived and I got the signal to move out. As I pulled away I saw the officer and desperate man in my rear view mirrors. They were talking animatedly!

(That man and his patients were constantly in my prayers the rest of my trip. I’ve never seen someone so distraught and so in need of help. Just recalling the incident for you has brought tears to my eyes once again.)

I have no idea when or if the situation was resolved. However, when I related this story to my wife Sue after I arrived home, she told me she heard a television report that rescuers found 16 dead patients in a nursing home in downtown New Orleans. How pitiful!


“Chaos At The SuperDome”

Author’s Note: As I mentioned in Part 1, most of the evacuees I picked up wanted to talk about their ordeals once they realized they were safe, had gotten a nap and had bonded with me. They talked with me privately, but more often in groups. I was an attentive listener and they willingly responded to my numerous questions. Apparently, talking helped them. The following is a summary of their comments and descriptions of their stay at the SuperDome. Most on my bus had been in the SuperDome four and a half days.

Of the 65 evacuees (including 8 infants) I had on my bus, fully two-thirds of them had done precisely what they had been told. They went to the SuperDome Sunday afternoon arriving by bus, bicycle and on foot. Most took very few possessions with them believing they would weather the storm safely and return home after Katrina had blown thru. How wrong they were.

Of the remaining one-third on my bus, seven had stayed in the Convention Center Monday night after the storm, but left early Tuesday morning because conditions there were so bad. Two had been delivered to the SuperDome in boats; a family of five walked and waded thru suddenly rising floodwaters. The remainder on my bus had been rescued from rooftops and delivered safely on Wednesday.

The scene at the SuperDome Sunday night was rather calm. Many of those gathered had been thru this drill during Hurricane Ivan. They still had electricity and water and staked out their territories on the SuperDome floor. Nearly all had brought food and water with them and a change of clothes.

By midnight Sunday, the floor was nearly full and recent arrivals were heading for the seats and rooms upstairs. By this time, the toilets were overflowing and filthy, and although most were concerned about the impending Katrina, the situation was calm.

Sometime during the night, the rain began falling, ever increasing in intensity. Early Monday morning the roof of the SuperDome began leaking; by mid-morning the floor was flooded and the refugees moved to the safety of the stands. More and more refugees arrived and conditions deteriorated quickly.

“The wind was frightening,” one lady told me. “I could hear things banging into the building and people screaming,” she said. “Then the power went out and it was total darkness and we began to get hot.” She said once the wind died down she could hear the rain pounding on the roof and water raining down on the floor. By the time the rain stopped, she estimated there was “about 2 feet” of water covering the floor.

Now the floor of the SuperDome was becoming an open latrine. With bathrooms flooded, the evacuees had no option but to relieve themselves on the flooded floor of their shelter. “I can’t tell you how bad the odor was,” one young man told me, “and people were vomiting everywhere.”

Desperate, hungry, frightened, sweating profusely and angry, tempers began to flare. Nerves were raw and violence began to erupt. Fights and even shootings were becoming common. “We had no medical attention, we had no information, we had no food or water, we had nothing,” one of my passengers explained, “and suddenly it was every man for himself. It was a war zone,” she said. “People began kicking down doors at the offices upstairs, I saw youngsters break into an office and steal liquor and beer. Drugs were everywhere. Even the trophy cases were ransacked,” she continued.

An elderly male passenger described the SuperDome as a “mad house” with more and more people fighting to enter the SuperDome to avoid the flooding which had started.

He wondered why there wasn’t more security. “I heard fights everywhere and women screaming for help as they were raped in the pitch blackness,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “And the noise. It was so loud none of us could even rest, much less sleep. I knew I was gonna die if help didn’t come soon.”

Eventually, help did come. The first busses began arriving late Wednesday afternoon but people were fighting to get on them. Rumors that they were going to the AstroDome began circulating. Finally, this man said, the Army showed up and things calmed a bit. He said the soldiers were able to loosely control the hordes of people trying to load the busses. They apparently tried to evacuate the women, youngsters and those needing medical attention first, but, unwittingly, that procedure separated families. As more and more busses arrived on Thursday, things calmed down.

When I arrived late Thursday night, the Army had organized the waiting evacuees. The loading of my bus was very orderly, perhaps, as one passenger believed, because everyone was so tired and worn down. What little energy they had left was being used to survive.

Postscript: According to news reports, officials found nine dead bodies in the SuperDome after all had been evacuated.


“Mr. Chuck, Please Help Me Find My Baby”

Accompanied by two children of about 5 or 6, a young mother approached me as soon as she exited my bus at the Texas Welcome Center.

“Does your cell phone work here?” she politely asked, “I need to find my baby. Mr. Chuck, please help me find my baby.” She explained that she had left her six-month old daughter in the care of her 19-year old nephew and his young brother. They had been loaded onto a bus early Thursday afternoon and she wasn’t sure where they were.

She asked me to dial his cell phone number. All circuits were busy. We tried again several minutes later. Same response. A third try with the same response. I tried to calm her obvious panic by telling her that all the busses I knew of were headed to the AstroDome and that she would likely find her relatives there. It really didn’t help much.

As soon as we got to the AstroDome in Houston, she hustled over to me and I tried again, but no answer. Then, she said she had a sister who lived in Biloxi and asked me to try to call there. I told her there was likely no cell phone service there, but I would try. No response.

With tears in her eyes, she said: “Thank you, Mr. Chuck,” gave me a quick hug, grabbed her two youngsters by the hand and hustled off toward the AstroDome entrance saying as she went: “I won’t be back here, Mr. Chuck, I’ve gotta go find my baby.”

I didn’t see her again.


“Only One Was Rescued From The Roof”

He appeared to be in his late 50’s when he approached me in the AstroDome parking lot. “Chuck, do you know how long we are going to be here?” I told him it would be about 8 or so hours before they would be processed into the SuperDome. “No,” he replied, “I mean how long are we going to be in Houston?” He explained that he had a cousin in Baton Rouge and he wanted to try to find her. “She’ll put me up until I can get back on my feet,” he said.

I told him I had no idea how long they would be in Houston, but at least he was safe and would have plenty to eat and drink. “I sure hope this place isn’t like the SuperDome,” he said, “that place was a hell-hole. People shouldn’t be treated like that.”

When I asked if he had other family, he teared up. “Not any more, “ he said, “I lost them in the flood.” Like an unthinking idiot, I asked him: “Which flood.?” Giving me a quizzical glare, he replied: “Wednesday, they fell off the roof into the water and drowned,” he explained, obviously fighting to control his words.

Speaking quietly and under control, but with tears flowing from his eyes, he told me the terrible story. His family decided to ride out Hurricane Katrina at home ignoring the Sunday warning to evacuate. “We had a choice to spend the $25 we had on food and stay there or on gas to try to get out of town,” he said, “we decided on the food.” They were able to safely ride out the storm with little wind damage to their house.

But, on Tuesday afternoon when the levees breached, his neighborhood was suddenly inundated with water flooding his car and making evacuation impossible. His wife and 14-year-old daughter helped move most of their belongings to the second floor. By Wednesday morning the flood was up to the second floor windows, so he chopped a hole in the ceiling and then in the roof.

His wife pulled herself out first, then helped the daughter onto the roof. As he pulled himself through the hole, he heard a scream. His wife had apparently slipped on the roof, grabbed for the daughter and both went crashing into the water. They tried to grab a gutter, but the current swept them away. He shouted for them to grab a tree or another house. Slowly they drifted away, crying for help.

Some while later (he couldn’t remember how long), a helicopter appeared and rescued him from the roof. Inside the chopper were friends of his from the next block who told him his wife and daughter had drowned. They were caught up in a tree across the street from his friend’s house.

The chopper took them to the SuperDome late Wednesday afternoon. They got separated sometime during the night and he had no idea where they were, but hoped to find them at the AstroDome.

I was at a loss for meaningful words of comfort for him. All I did was give him a hug and say “I’m so sorry.” With conviction and unimaginable strength, he said: “I’ll be okay. I’m a strong man. I’ll make a new life for myself, but I’ll tell you one thing, it won’t be in New Orleans. I’ll never go back.”

That said, he changed the subject. “I believe it will be very safe here for a while what with all the police around. Besides, we are all hurting too much to cause any trouble,” he said. Then he walked away looking for a cup of hot coffee. He was still in shock and there wasn’t anything I could do for him other than to pray.


“My Double-Chuck Friend”

“Hey, Chuck,” I heard someone shout behind me. Turning around in the AstroDome parking lot I saw three teen-aged young men from my bus approaching. The tall lanky one said: “That’s what they call me. Chuck, that’s my name.”

“Great,” I replied, “we can be ‘Double Chuck.’” They all laughed profusely while elbowing their approval of my stupid joke.

The lanky Chuck, eyes and gold teeth sparkling in the early morning sun, asked: “Wanna hear something funny?” When I nodded approval he continued, “I was supposed to move here to Houston today!” What irony!

He told me his family had moved most of their household goods to his uncle’s home in Houston the previous weekend, but because they couldn’t move into their newly rented apartment until the first of the month, they went back to New Orleans, planning to finish the move this weekend.

“So,” I joked, “are you gonna thank me for the free ride to your new city?” They all laughed again and he said: “Sure am, sir” as he offered a handshake.

When I asked him what he was planning to do he said he was going to try to locate his parents and sister, from whom he had been separated. Then, once he received his FEMA check he was going to find a job and go to work. “We ain’t going back to New Orleans,” he said.

One of his friends then asked him: “Are you gonna tell Chuck what happened to you at the SuperDome?” He began his story by saying how “crazy” things were there. “I don’t understand why people were doing all those stupid things they did,” he offered, “we were all in the same situation, but some of those hoodlums took advantage and caused lots of trouble raping and robbing and fighting with folks.”

Then he asked if I had heard about the man who committed suicide inside the Dome by jumping off the second floor balcony. “Yes,” I replied, “I heard he had been playing a game on the second floor and then, without a word, went to the balcony and shouted ‘lookout below’ and jumped to his death.”

“That’s right,” Chuck acknowledged. “I was taking a nap on the floor below when I heard screams. I rolled over and heard a loud thump. He landed about six feet from me on the concrete. There was blood and screaming everywhere.”

“What did you do?’, I asked. “Man, it scared me so much because he could have fallen on me and killed me, too.! That just wouldn’t do,” he said. They all laughed again.

Then they spotted some friends getting off another bus and took off. As they left, Chuck shouted: “Thanks, Double Chuck, see you later!” and they were gone.

(END)