Many of you have already read this from two years ago. I wrote this after my travels to see South Louisiana after Katrina.
So many people are leaving the southern Louisiana, but I often wonder about the people who decided to stay. There’s something magical about New Orleans, If you haven’t felt it, you can’t understand. John Paul is a fictional character, but all of the things written have come from different individuals statements that I have heard on the news or in person or family folklore and my historical studies of New Orleans and the Flood of 1927.
John Paul, Slidell
by Gyla k.Whitlow
I had to go. Against all my family and friends wishes, I had to go back to the God’s country that has drawn me to it all my life. The drive was long. Two hurricanes, whose names I shall never forget Katrina and Rita had ripped through my home state of Louisiana.I drove to the bedroom community of Slidell, Louisiana which is 18 due miles north of New Orleans and which was built on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. This city had been hard hit by the tremendous storm surge of Katrina. Stories of homes and business lost by 20’ feet of water had been reported on the news for four weeks now. I had to see it for myself and see if there was anything I could do for its families. I came across the parish Red Cross command center. I stopped to volunteer. I was told that I needed to go back home, have a background check and take the harassment and sensitivity training. I asked how long that would take and the estimate was three weeks. Finding that my conversation and arguments were going nowhere with the lady at the front desk, I decided to leave.
I had a little cash and gas in my car. It was more than a lot of people had that surrounded me, so I decided to strike out on my own to see if I could help someone in need. There was no way that I would drive back to Houston and not have helped a soul. All the roadblocks were gone now so it was easy to move about the city.
My mind would not let me think that it had been four weeks since the storm and there were still hundreds of trees down, electricity out and thousands of people misplaced from their homes. People, Americans, were living in tents in every roadside park or vacant lots. Debris lined street after street, stacked six to eight feet into the air. Cars, washing machines, freezers, TV’s, furniture, clothes were mingled in with the sheet rock and rolls of wet carpet. I wondered how many children lost their favorite toys or grandmothers lost the grandchildren’s pictures that night Katrina came ashore.
I went directly to my old stomping grounds, one block from Lake Pontchartrain Drive to a road named Rats Nest Road. It curves and follows the lake’s shore and once had fishing camps built out into the water. Twelve feet high, the locals built their camps to protect them from the Big One that they knew, one day, would come. There was Salveaux’s restaurant that had the best oysters in town; well its gone now, all gone. Time and time again, I have driven down that road to
find fresh oysters, shrimp and crabs. The fishermen would come in with their catch for sale. Now, their roadside shops and boats are gone.
It was dusk and the sun was going down, I looked ahead and I saw a camp fire blazing. I drove slowing through the debris; missing the hull of boats, lumber and trees. I parked out in the middle of the road, there was no traffic to worry about, and that is all gone too. There sat a man, leaned against a pine log. Maybe this is who I am supposed to help. Surely I can buy him something that he needs.
Getting out of my car, the old man smiled and said, “How are ya this evening? What brings you out here?”
“I am just out driving to see if there’s anything I can do?” He seemed to be in his eighties, his clothes looked as if he had worn them all week. His salty smile was inviting as I walked up to the camp fire. He had a twinkle in his eye to say he would enjoy some company for awhile.
“I’ve got some coffee brewing. If you have a cup, you are welcome to join me. I only have one that the Salvation Army left me.” As he picked up his cup, his hand shook a bit, but I could tell that he was still strong.
“I happen to have a Starbucks cup in my car, I will be right back.” As I walked back to my car, I hear his voice rise a bit so I could hear him say “I will never understand you city slickers paying $4 dollars for a cup of coffee, something ain’t right with that.” with a chuckle in his voice.
“Here, find yourself a seat. Sorry, it will have to be on the ground. At least, it is dry now.”
“Did you run from the storm or ride through it?” That seems to be the question, you ask these folks. It makes for a good conversation start and people always to have a lot to say when you ask.
“I wanted to ride it out. I have done it before with Betsy and Camille, but I think everyone thought this was different some how. The police came in buses and announced to evacuate. I ain’t been out of town in awhile so I decided to take a ride. I knew there would not be any crabbing so I decided to go. They took me to Baton Rouge where they set up cots after cots. You got some water and a sandwich or two. I still can’t figure out how them people knew that the storm wouldn’t come to Baton Rouge. I guess Baton Rouge had some acorns on their oaks. I stayed there for three days and decided it was time to check on the ol’ place and the boat here.” he said while he look over the water at the dozen pilings that were left.
“For some reason, there were no buses coming back. So, I just checked myself out and took to highway 190 east. I must have walked for a couple of hours then I caught myself a ride with some tree cuttin boys. They had fifteen trucks lined-up to come down here. They were from Colorado. They tried to talk me out of coming, but I told them I had seen worse. After I got to the edge of town, I walked around the sheriff ‘s road block and went down thru town. It was a mess down there. And it still is. The sheriff was probably plenty mad at me when he saw that I had made it down here. I told him to get ahold of himself and he went on.”
My guilt of such an easy life had taken over while he spoke and I interrupted him “Do you need anything? Is there something I can do for you? I have some money. You need food, clothes, water? Is there anything……..”
“No, I have everything I need. The Salvation Army gave me this tent, a couple of pots and a blanket. And I have dried beans and some rice. I suppose there will be a lot of Mondays around here, for awhile. The Chaplain came down here to check on me and I told him I would not be able to give my ten dollars to the Christmas drive this year. He said he understood. I suppose in a way, I’ve brought the things that were given to me. I gave ten dollars to that man for thirty years. Them government boys gave me a credit card and told me that money was on it. I ain’t got no car and besides that there ain’t no electricity or phone lines. Now, how am I going to use that card?”
We sat there awhile starring into the camp style fire. Then suddenly, we both heard a rumble. Turning to see, the headlights started to appear. The dust from the torn out sheet rock rose behind the trucks that went down the road. They passed one by one, each having a sign in the window that said “Disaster Relief: FEMA”.
“That’s the third time, them carpet baggers have been down here.” The tone in his voice began to change with each passing truck.
“I have heard about the carpet baggers after the Civil War, but…….”
“The Civil War carpet baggers changed a whole lot of things including my family’s business. Before the war, my dad said that his father could buy rare silks from China right off the boats in New Orleans. Taxes got too high, he could not afford the fabric anymore after they came down from Washington.”
I wanted to know more, I had to hear his story. I wonder who “they” were, the carpet baggers and what they had to do with now……..“So, your family owned a business in New Orleans?”
“Yep, but that was years ago. We lost it to the Big Flood in 1927. My family lost everything that year and they say water stood ten feet higher where you are sitting today. I guess you could say my whole life changed the day the waters came. It really changed everything.”
The twinkle in his eyes had changed now. There was a distant sadness that I could see with the glow of the fire. “I was nine years old in 1927. My family had lived there as did my grandparents. We owned a fabric store down there on Poydras Street, you know where that is? The store was on the first level and upstairs was our home. New Orleans was something to see back then, one of the largest cities in the Country. You could go down to the French Market and find anything you wanted from around the world. Our houses were decorated with furniture from Europe. We got iron fencing from places like England and Germany. We were the center of the country economy and in those days cotton was king. The whole world wanted our cotton. Want another cup of coffee?”
“Sure!” was my reply and in hopes that he would finish the story of his life. He took a break to pour the coffee. Again, he let out of chuckle and shook his head as he filled my Starbucks cup.
“In those days, you could go to the edge of this lake and take out crabs with your hands. Me and my dad would go every Saturday fishin’ and crabbin’. My mother would cook a big pot of gumbo for Saturday night. We always ate good. Crabs are way back in the bayous now.” He lifted his hand and pointed to the north. “You have to hunt for them, now. Me and Louis made some money in our day. If Louis can find his boat, we’ll go find ‘em again.”
I wasn’t much into fishing stories. I wasore anxious to know more about the flood, so I quickly asked a question to get him back on track, “What was the flood like back then?”
“It was big, bigger than you can even imagine. But, you know New Orleans didn’t have to go through all of that. I will never forget it, never. My dad came in all bothered one night, yelling for us to pack our things, we had to leave. He had been to a town hall meeting, and ‘em bankers decided that they needed to blow up the levees to save New Orleans. See, it had been raining for a long time up north and places like Ferriday and Vicksburg were underwater. All them plantations along the Mississippi were hurtin’ real bad. Some say the water of the ol’ river went all the way to Monroe and the Mississippi and Ouachita became one river. There was an Indian mound up North that people sat on for days waiting for help.”
“We went over to Lake Charles by train and stayed at my aunt’s house for a month or so. They blew the levee around where Ninth Ward is now and then they blew another hole at the end of Canal. They said they had to do it to save New Orleans. Turned out the overflow was in North Louisiana. But they did it, them bankers did it. Water flowed twelve feet high down Poydras, filled our house to the top floor.”
“When we got back, I think my Dad lost his mind. He went to pulling out all them rolls of fabric, trying to spare them for something. All he kept saying was ‘The ladies of News Orleans will need something to wear when they get back to here.’”
“He took real sick after that. The doctor told mother that we needed to move to a dryer climate, his lungs had filled with black mold and he was coughing up blood. So, we packed a suitcase and rode a train to Arizona. We lived there. I buried my daddy and my mother there in the dirty rocky place. I wouldn’t go back there for nothing now.”
“When I was growing up my dad would wave around the envelope and say ‘This is yours when I die.’ Come to find out, it was the deed to the land that our house sat on Poydras Street.’”
I guess in was my turn to answer a question or two, he turning quickly and said “I hear them folks in the Ninth Ward didn’t make out too good in this storm. You know anything about it?”
“No, sir….they didn’t. The levee broke and 60 percentage of New Orleans is underwater. Ninth Ward took it real bad. A lot of them had no transportation and couldn’t get out. They sat at the Superdome for four days. Things got real bad down there. No water, no food, no medicine.”
“It ain’t the first time that has happened. Them folks shouldn’t be living there in the first place. But after the big flood, the President came down here proclaiming jobs and shelters for anyone that would come and help build the levees back. All the share croppers came down ‘cause their bosses could no longer farm the land that the flood got. People were starving everywhere. Them, carpet baggers, they never change, always promising somethin’ for a vote.”
“Them poor blacks worked for 14 cents a day and was given a tent. Some of them worked at gun point. It was real bad… real bad. Then they gave them a swamp to live in. That’s Ninth Ward, now. President didn’t help us none. After it was all over, he was gone.”
Knowing what I had seen on CNN and other news, the Ninth Ward of New Orleans is a very poor and neglected part of the city. It all seemed to come together in my mind as he spoke.
“A lot of folks don’t understand them people in New Orleans. But they came down here and rebuilt the city. They didn’t have no training or no education. All they knew was how to work with their hands. After the city came back, they had nothing to do. But, you know, they made it. Well, their biggest pay day was during Mardi Gras. They would be carrying them oil torches so all the rich folks could see the floats pass by. The richest folks rode wagons to their parties and threw out oranges and bananas, rice and beans to the poor. And the people watching the parades would throw pennies for the torch carriers. Their children and their children’s children became tap dancers, street entertainers and beggars. But, when it came to music, man they can play that jazz. You know that wasn’t that long ago. Some people seem to think that if you forget it will go away.”
I couldn’t believe what he was telling me, had history repeated itself? I asked “Did the levees get rebuilt?”
“Oh, yeah….they did, but it took Hugh P. yelling all the way to Washington to get somethin’ done. He told those guys in Washington if they didn’t do it, he would. He even taxed them big oil fellers from Texas saying if you were going to drill in Louisiana, you were going to pay Louisiana. He called out the National Guard on Standard Oil. The Rockefellers got real mad. Huey P. shut down every one of Rockefeller’s oil wells. Everyone in the country loved Huey P. Long. It didn’t take long before they took him down, too.”
“As long as I lived in Arizona, I wanted to come back. I married myself a woman back in 1947 and came back to New Orleans. She didn’t like the south and didn’t stay too long. I put her on a bus for Utah and I never saw her again after that. I knew I had the deed to the land on Poydras and New Orleans was slowly coming back. I could sell the land and find me a place somewhere Uptown. I got me a job at Jax Brewery. It was downtown. I rode the trolley to work. But Betsy blew through in 1962, Camille in 1965 and then brewery took a big hit. It closed down in the late seventies.”
He seemed to pause as if he was looking back in time. A lot of scenes were passing through his mind. I gave him time to gather his thoughts then I asked “What brings you to this side of the lake?”
“I always loved crabbing and the outdoors. I guess that comes from my Dad and those days we spent out on the lake. I had built me up little retirement and I sold the land on Poydras to some city slicker. So I decided to buy me this little camp.” He points back to the pylons sticking out of the water.
“It’s getting harder and harder to find dem crabs now. You have to know the bayous and where they’re hiding. I made me a little pocket change here and there. Enough to keep me afloat. “
With a smile, I said “So, what are you going to do now?”
“Well, ain’t no other place I would rather be. I have made a deal with one of the dump truck drivers. He’s gonna bring me a truck load of some good lumber when he finds it. I have been needin’ to remodel anyway.” he said with a smile. “It’s gonna be tough for a while. I’ve got my social security check coming in and if I get sick, the VA will take care of me. I told you I did two years in the Army, didn’t I?”
Fear came over me, this man is staying. What would he do next time, how will he make it with nothing. “So, you are going to stay?”
“Girl, this is my life! They say to run from water and hide from the wind. Well, I am tired of running and tired of hiding. If God wants me, he will take me next time with the wind cause I ain’t running no more.”
A cool front came in as we will talking and I moved closer to the fire. He looked up in the sky and said, “Ol’ man winter will keep them storms away for the next couple of months. It’ll give people time to rebuild and get their lives back together. God knows what he’s doing, he knows. Hopefully, there will be some acorns on the trees.”
It was getting late now and I knew he had a tough day or days ahead of him. I asked him again if he needed anything, clothes or food. He looked down the road and pointed to an RV sitting in the road and said, “Yep, you can do me a favor. See that RV, the man has a wife and four kids. He’s a good man, lost his job cause the company is gone. Give him your money and your food. He’s the one that needs it.”
“Well, I better go now. It’s getting late. Oh, by the way, my name is Alice. What’s yours?”
“Well, nice to meet you Alice, I’m John Paul! And I got my name before the Pope got his.” he laughed and smiled. “I had a good time with ya tonight and come back to check on me next October.”
“I will, John Paul…I’ll be back.”
As I drove home the next day, I was thinking of John Paul and his story. I remembered Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” and thought to myself that things never really change. One verse kept repeating itself in my head over and over again. “Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink, water, water everywhere and all the ships did sink.” Maybe, just maybe I have met the modern day mariner or the ghost of one from the past. But I do know that every summer I will look in the oak trees to see if the acorns are there.
