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Posted on Tuesday, 4 March 2008
Chapter 60
Sunday, September 18, 2005
K plus three weeks
The monster wasn’t the end of the Hurricane Season of 2005. The people in K-land were unaware that five named tropical systems emerged in the following three weeks. Tropical Storm Lee and Hurricanes Maria, Nate, and Philippe formed, grew, and dissipated in the expanses of the Atlantic Ocean. Only Ophelia, a minimal hurricane, threatened habitable areas, and the storm danced off the Carolina coastline from September 13 to 15 before dashing off to fall apart in the chilly waters off Newfoundland. On the day Ophelia was declared extinct, a sister was born north of Hispaniola.
Jane sat in front of Carrie’s computer holding her head after another frustrating day. The mortgage company had finally admitted that the management had not come up with a plan to help the Gulf Coast customers affected by the storm, but they promised they were working on it. Meanwhile, Gallic National Bank, while moving forward with the reopening of their branch offices in the surrounding parishes, still had made no announcement about the future of the main offices in downtown New Orleans. As for the Red Cross, Jane still couldn’t get in by phone to register for financial relief, and the spokespeople on the radio continued to deny any plans for setting up local serve centers to handle this program and patronizingly insisted that people continue to call the always-busy, toll-free telephone line.
Added to that was the anticipation of going home. The electrical utilities had set up web sites where customers could see the progress in restoration. The utility servicing Covington had started by restoring power to government buildings, hospitals, schools, and other vital facilities. They were slowly fanning out along the major thoroughfares, restoring service to residential and commercial buildings. It was agonizingly slow, for in the effort to clear roads after the storm, all downed cables had been cut up for safety. It wasn’t a matter of re-hanging cables and drops. They had to rebuild the entire network, often setting new power poles as well.
Today’s progress report showed they were a mile from the house. How much longer it would take for them to get there, she didn’t know. Jane was antsy to leave. Carrie had been all that was loving and gracious during their stay, but Jane ached to be in her own house, especially with St. Tammany schools reopening that week.
The telephone interrupted her thoughts. “Hello – Buford residence.”
“Hey, babe. How’s everything?”
“Chuck? Oh, hi. We’re fine over here. Just a little stir-crazy. How are you?”
“Oh, good. Listen up – I want you to hear something.”
Jane frowned, wondering what her husband was about. In the background she heard noises. “Honey, what are you talking about?”
“You didn’t hear it?”
“Hear what?” There was the sound of a motor followed by a familiar ding.
“The microwave.”
“Oh, that’s what that…THE MICROWAVE!? CHUCK, IS THE POWER BACK ON!?”
She heard her husband laugh. “It sure is!”
“Mommy?” Jane turned to Hailey, standing in the doorway of the Buford’s home office. “Why are you yelling?”
Jane’s grin threatened to split her face wide open. “It’s Daddy! He says the power is back on at home!”
Hailey clapped her hands while jumping in place. “Yay! Yay, Daddy! Can we go home now?”
“We sure can, sweetie! As soon as we can pack!”
The Bingleys’ twenty-two day exile had ended.
Emma never thought she would walk into her sister’s house in Rockville, Maryland, with almost nothing but the clothes on her back. Yet, all of her and her husband’s worldly goods were contained in the two suitcases George and Tyler pulled out of the Parker’s trunk. Almost everything else they had ever owned remained in their still-inundated house back in Lakeview.
Emma and Irene took the opportunity to play with the Parker’s daughter as Tyler showed George the spare bedroom that would be the Katz’s home for the foreseeable future.
“Irene? Is there a chapter of NCJW near here?”
“Yes, Emma. They meet at the Jewish Community Center on Montrose Road.”
“Can we go by there soon? I’d like to start getting involved.”
Monday, September 19, 2005
The tropical weather quickly built up to tropical storm status, earning the next name on the 2005 list. As the letter Q was never used, the 17th named storm would use the letter R, and that was Rita. She was still a tropical storm as her wind lashed southern Florida, the Keys, and Cuba, but the models forecasted a rapid strengthening over the next couple of days.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
The models got worse as Rita sped into the Gulf of Mexico after slapping Key West. The scientists all said it was going to be a major storm by the time it made landfall, and while they spread a wide warning about it, the target seemed to be Houston.
However, the storm surge would affect a broader area. As shaky as the levees were, New Orleans had to abandon its resettlement plans and re-evacuate the city. The city called for a press conference with Joint Task Force Katrina and the state at the Convention Center.
It wasn’t going well, Ellie could tell. The mayor was trying to lay out the plan to get residents out of town, but the reporters kept demanding the city justify its actions during Katrina. It was turning into an interrogation.
Bryan Thorpe didn’t see it that way, of course. This was an opportunity to grill the city’s officials over their mismanagement of Katrina, and he and the other reporters weren’t going to let it go by. Thorpe had to talk his station into extending their stay in New Orleans, and with another hurricane in the Gulf, management gave them approval, as long as the crew beamed back film equivalent to the footage they had shot the last time they were by the Convention Center.
The mayor was growing increasingly frustrated, when General Honoré politely took the microphone. In beret and sunglasses, he repeated that the purpose of the press conference was to explain the plan to move the remaining people out of the area as Rita moved closer. He talked about how buses were going to be at the Convention Center when several reporters broke in. A male reporter overrode Thorpe.
“But General, that didn't work the first time –”
“Wait a minute. It didn't work the first time. This ain't the first time. Okay?” Honoré shot back. “If…we don't control Rita, you understand? So there are a lot of pieces of it that's going to be worked out. You got good public servants working through it. Let's get a little trust here, because you're starting to act like this is your problem. You are carrying the message, okay?” The general again repeated the details of the plan to the assembled press, reemphasizing the importance of getting this information out. He asked for more questions.
Another male reporter asked about the rumor of a staging area on the West Bank, which the general repudiated. Once again he explained the plan, and Ellie thought he showed incredible tolerance with the mostly hostile reporters.
Honoré then added, “Let's not get stuck on the last storm. You're asking last storm questions for people who are concerned about the future storm. Don't get stuck on stupid, reporters. We are moving forward. And don't confuse the people, please. You are part of the public message. So help us get the message straight. And if you don't understand, maybe you'll confuse it to the people. That's why we like follow-up questions. But right now, it's the Convention Center…and move on.”
The same reported reporter then said, “General, a little bit more about why that's happening this time, though, and did not have that last time –”
Honoré, his patience exhausted, exploded, “You are stuck on stupid! I'm not going to answer that question! We are going to deal with Rita. This is public information that people are depending on the government to put out. This is the way we've got to do it.”
Thorpe and the other reporters were taken aback at the set-down. Ellie tried to contain the grin on her face, something that Mayor Nagin made no attempt to do.
The general, realizing he had been harsh, pulled back a bit. “So please. I apologize to you, but let's talk about the future. Rita is happening. And right now, we need to get good, clean information out to the people that they can use. And we can have a conversation on the side about the past in a couple of months.”(1)
The press conference continued, and the needed information was relayed to the residents. However, the general’s comments made all the national news and cable outlets that night. Within days, Honoré would become a folk hero.
The cable still wasn’t working in Covington, but Chuck had found an old set of rabbit ears for the TV. He, Jane, and the kids watched the news about the new monster.
“Are we going to evacuate, Chuck?”
Chuck thought for a moment. “I’d rather not. It looks like Rita’s heading for Houston, anyway. But, it’s up to you, honey. Whatever you want.”
“We stay,” she said firmly without hesitation. “I’d rather be in my own house without power than go through another three weeks like what we’ve just had.”
“Mommy, are we going to lose ’lectricity?” asked Hailey.
Her father answered. “After the last storm, there’re a lot of weak limbs and trees, sweetie. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few fell and took out the new power lines even with just a little bit of wind. But don’t worry,” he quickly reassured her. “With all the crews around, it won’t be long before we get power back. That’s not what worries me.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Jane.
Chuck gestured at the set. “Look, you know me, I’ve never wished a hurricane on anybody. The worst thing that can happen is if we get hit again. But, if Houston takes a hit from a storm like Rita, it’s almost as bad. Houston’s the fourth largest city in the country. If it gets clobbered, who’s gonna care about us?”
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Rita kept surprising the experts. The storm intensified incredibly quickly, jumping from Category 3 to Category 5 in just a couple of hours. Incredibly, the internal pressure reached 897 mb, one of the lowest ever recorded, and with winds of 175 mph, it was stronger than the monster that had wrecked the Central Gulf three weeks before. If such a storm, with its storm surge, ever ran up the Houston Ship Canal, unbelievable damage and flooding would occur in Texas’ largest city.
But no one trusted this monster. Yes, it was moving rapidly, and that usually meant it would keep its heading constant. But storms had been known before to stop and turn. Nobody was taking chances. It was now due south of New Orleans, and the Crescent City could breathe a little easier. But for people from central Louisiana to Corpus Christi, Texas, all eyes were glued to the weather forecasts.
Henry and Cathy Tilney could appreciate the irony. Only a few weeks before, they had housed Emma Katz during the evacuation from Hurricane Katrina. Now, with Hurricane Rita bearing down on Texas, it was their turn to get out of Dodge.
Texas ordered a mandatory phased evacuation from the coastal areas on Wednesday, September 21. One of the last scenes the Tilneys saw on TV before they left the house was a stream of school buses heading towards Galveston, commandeered to move people without vehicles from the seaside city.
Henry had originally planned to head north, but after receiving a quick call from Chris Breaux, they decided to make a dash eastward to Lafayette, skirting before and beyond the expected track. The traffic was bad but not impossible, especially after they hit Louisiana. While the southwestern part of the state was evacuating, the traffic flowed relatively smoothly, as it seemed the locals had things well in hand. It made sense to the refugees from Bayside – after all, the Louisiana officials had plenty of practice. The Tilney family reached the Breaux homestead before nightfall, and to their surprise they were greeted with hugs from Marianne Breaux.
“Mari,” Cathy managed, “thank you so very much. We really don’t deserve this kindness.”
Mari faced her once and future friend in a perfectly collected manner. “What’s done is done, and what’s in the past stays there, Cathy. We’re very happy to have you for as long as you need. May I introduce you to my in-laws?”
Thursday, September 22, 2005
The limo pulled up to the DGS Citation jet parked at Houston’s William P. Hobby Airport in the early hours of the morning, discharging the dozen Delta Global executives right at the hatchway. Leon Anderson talked to his boss on the cell phone as he helped his wife aboard.
“Is there anyone left downtown?” Will asked.
Leon shook his head. “Anyone who wanted to save their car got out yesterday. What about New Orleans?”
“Evacuating now. I’ll be all right here at Pemberley.”
“Okay. We’ll be in Miami in a few hours. How did the handoff to London go?”
“Smooth as silk. Ed’s in the Miami office, now.”
“Good. Hey, I just thought of something. I don’t think Osborne is gonna give us any more grief about relocating to Houston now.”
“You’re probably right. Call me when you land.”
The generosity of the people of Texas can never be doubted. During the early weeks of the Katrina evacuation, up to 200,000 were sheltered for some time in the Lone Star State. However, with that big heart comes a big ego. Texans watched the chaos of the Louisiana flight from Katrina with a mixture of sympathy for the victims’ situation, and smugness that such a confounded mess could not happen there.
The forecasters’ models indicated that Houston was still in the cross-hairs as dawn arose on Thursday. Heeding the entreaties of the mayor and the governor, and the sensational warnings of disaster from the newscasters, the nation’s fourth largest city began to empty. Three million people, twice the number that fled from Katrina, moved inland, away from her sister. Unlike the Crescent City, the residents of the Bayou City could go in three directions – north, east, or west – and had no large bodies of water in the way. Yet, the carefully laid out evacuation routes were quickly overwhelmed, and Texas Governor Perry called for the implementation of Texas’ own Contraflow plan.
To the officials’ consternation, they found Contraflow was not so easy to implement. It took hours for the Department of Transportation to coordinate various law enforcement entities to close the southbound lanes of I-45, the eastbound lanes of I-10 from San Antonio, and the southeastern lanes of US 290 from Austin and reverse traffic. The state was woefully unprepared. Half of Texas was in gridlock as traffic collapsed to a crawl. Trips out of the strike area were taking ten to thirty-six hours, depending on the destination.
It was more than inconvenience. Cars ran out of gas. Scores of people, the very young and the very old, died from dehydration in the hundred degree heat. Early that day, a charter bus carrying elderly residents from a retirement home caught fire in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-45 south of Dallas and exploded before it could be evacuated, killing twenty-three. The earlier satisfaction of the phased migration from the coast faded in the face of the horror on the highways.
As the hours moved on, Rita’s track moved ever eastward. Faded from its Category 5 peak, it was still a dangerous Cat 4 with an enormous storm surge. She moved across the Gulf, forcing water towards the Louisiana coast. From the Texas line to the mouth of the Mississippi, the tide rose higher. The flooding in St. Mary, Terrebonne, and Lafourche was worse than during the monster, and many levees were breached. A thousand people had to be rescued from Vermillion Parish flooding. As the waters moved into the Barataria estuary, it overcame the inadequate levees that the Corps had long neglected and flooded Lafitte and the southern parts of the West Bank that had escaped Katrina’s fury.
Worse, the pressure placed upon the patches in the Industrial and London Avenue canals was more than they could stand, and with their failures, the city began to re-flood. By Friday night, parts of the Crescent City were once again under as much as eight feet of water. The Corps and the levee boards had to start all over again.
Lost in the suffering was a bit of news from federal court.
In 1922, the City of New Orleans chartered a new company called New Orleans Public Service Inc. to take over the struggling competing companies that provided electricity, gas, and transit to the city. By 1926, it was known as NOPSI. This company would be a subsidiary of a larger holding company eventually known as Middle South Utilities. However, the citizens of the city did not trust State regulators to set utility prices and demanded that power remain with New Orleans government. Therefore, NOPSI and MSU’s other Louisiana operations, LP&L, would be run as separate companies.
In 1979, the transit operations were transferred to the Regional Transit Authority, and ten years later MSU changed its name to Energy Corporation. LP&L and NOPSI became Entergy Louisiana and Entergy New Orleans, with separate boards and operations. By this time Entergy New Orleans could not generate its own power and had to purchase most of its electrical and gas needs from its sister Entergy companies in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Arkansas. Still, rate regulation stayed with the New Orleans City Council.
Because of the set-up, in the wake of the storm, the finances of Entergy Louisiana and Entergy New Orleans were separate, and Entergy New Orleans ran through its cash reserves very quickly in its efforts to repair and restore service. Every erg of power, every cubic foot of gas, and every foot of electrical cable had to be bought from Entergy Louisiana, and Entergy New Orleans was broke.
On September 23, Entergy New Orleans filed for reorganization under Chapter 11 of the US Bankruptcy Code. New Orleans’ insistence on a separate utility had borne the inevitable fruit.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Hurricane Rita continued to fade, but not quickly enough, and made landfall between Sabine Pass, Texas, and Johnson Bayou, Louisiana, at 02:38 CDT as a 115 mph Cat 3 storm. Cameron Parish, south of Lake Charles, took the brunt of the hit and like St. Bernard twenty-seven days before was completely wiped out by a twenty-foot storm surge. Calcasieu and Beauregard parishes received heavy damage from wind and rain.
On the Texas side of the strike, communities in the so-called Golden Triangle of Beaumont, Port Arthur, and Orange sustained enormous wind damage. But thanks to on-shore winds, the surge was far less than the one that hit Louisiana. Thousands of acres of trees were felled, a major part of the East Texas economy, and two million people lost power.
Of Rita’s one hundred thirteen victims in Texas, only about nine were directly caused by the storm. Many of the rest died during the evacuation, something that would haunt state officials for years.
The effects on the oil industry were greater than Katrina. More rigs were damaged or sunk, and the rest of the refineries in the central Gulf were shut down. Twenty percent of the US refinery capacity was out of service. Between the two storms, over one hundred oil platforms were destroyed and more than four hundred fifty pipelines were damaged.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
At a hastily called news conference, NOPD Superintendent Eddie Compass stunned the assembled by announcing his retirement. Everyone knew the pressure the police chief was under since the storm, with suicides and alleged desertions among the force, tearful exaggerated stories to the press, courts overturning the mandatory confiscation of firearms, and false rumors the chief had driven his family to Texas during the crisis - actually, his eight-months pregnant wife was in Denham Springs with their daughter, while the chief was at his post - but no one expected this result. Mayor Nagin, present at the event, claimed he did not force Compass out and thanked him for his service. He then named Assistant Superintendent, Warren Riley, as acting superintendent during a forty-five-day transition period.
Richard Fitzwilliam, in attendance, wasn’t buying it. He had already heard the rumors of an angry confrontation between the two men early that morning and that Compass was effectively pushed out. Riley was a good, solid cop, so there were no worries there.
But Compass was a guy who rose through the ranks. Yes, he became emotional during many of his press conferences and passed along bad intelligence, but was the chief let go for the good of the NOPD – or as a scapegoat for the mayor?
Saturday, October 1, 2005
K plus one month
For the first time in many years, the joyful shouts of children were heard at Pemberley Plantation. Will and Lizzy had invited the Boudreaux clan for a relaxing afternoon, a chance to unwind from the agonies of the storms, and a last chance to refresh themselves before the mid-October wedding of Mary Boudreaux and Bubba Teresina. The weather since Katrina had been dry, except for some rain from Rita, so it was a fine day to dash about the yard, as Hailey and Brett Bingley were doing. At least, Brett was trying to dash.
“Hailey!” cried her mother from her chair on the patio. “Be careful with your brother! Don’t let him fall and hurt himself!”
“Kit, why don’t you go keep an eye on them?” suggested Mrs. Boudreaux.
“Aww, Mom! Why me?” she complained.
“Because Jane is eight months pregnant, that’s why! Now, go on!” Mrs. Boudreaux shook her head as Kit stalked off. “That girl will be the death of me.”
“Now, Franny, don’t you get all wound up again,” mumbled T.B. Boudreaux while he sipped his beer.
She glared without rancor at her husband. “My nerves wouldn’t get all wound up if people around here would mind what I say!”
T.B. grinned. “See how it is, Bubba? You know what they say, ‘Know the Momma, know the daughter.’ You sure you wanna go through with this?”
“T.B.!” growled Mrs. Boudreaux.
Bubba grinned good-naturedly as he hugged his intended. “More that ever, T.B.”
“William!” cried Mrs. Boudreaux. “Did I tell you how lovely your family home is?”
“Five times already, Mom,” said Elizabeth under her breath.
“Yes, thank you,” said Will.
T.B. snorted. “Franny, stop drooling all over Will’s house. You’re embarrassing the boy.”
Lizzy could tell an argument was about to break out, so she turned to Bubba. “So, I suppose you’re pretty happy about last night’s football game, huh, Bubba?”
“Oh, yeah. Anytime we beat Vandebilt, it’s a good night.” Vandebilt Catholic High in Houma was E.D. White’s biggest rival. “What makes it better is that we’re 3-and-1 going into conference ball.”
“No problems about taking time off during the season?” asked Will.
“Nah, I’m an assistant coach, after all.”
“The storm messed up everybody’s life,” added Mary. “The school administration is being very accommodating.”
Bubba shook his big head. “Shoot, we’re not as messed up as the New Orleans schools. Their seasons got canceled.”
Chuck piped in. “Those storms tore up the football season. LSU had to move all those games around, and the Saints home games are going to be split between the Alamo Dome in San Antonio and Tiger Stadium in Baton Rouge. Tulane’s got it the worst. They haven’t got a home. Their entire season will be on the road.”
Will sighed. “It was going to be a good season, too. They’ll be lucky to win any games now.”
Mrs. Boudreaux got out of her chair. “Well! If you’re going to do nothing but talk sports, I’ll just go inside to the kitchen and start warming up the appetizers I brought. Kit! Come inside and help me!”
Kit, sitting on the grass playing with the children, looked up. “Aw, Mom! Why me?”
“Because I said so, that’s why! Now, come on!” As the two walked into the house, T.B. finished his beer. After taking requests, he and Chuck followed the others into the kitchen.
“So, how are you two holding up?” Lizzy asked the other engaged couple.
“Okay,” said Mary, “but Mom’s been a bit of a pain.”
“I can’t complain – Mary’s been doing most of the work,” Bubba said, earning a look from his intended. “Hey, you told me to stay out of the way!”
“And now you listen? Men!” She would have protested more, but Bubba picked her up and kissed her. “No fair!”
Bubba laughed. “Hey, Will, when are ya’ll gonna go through this, huh? When are you gonna get hitched to Lizzy?””
Will blinked and turned to Lizzy. “To be honest, we haven’t given it much thought lately.”
Bubba sobered. “Heard that.”
“We’ve been so busy, just putting one foot in front of the other,” Lizzy explained.
Bubba chuckled. “Why don’t you just run off to Vegas or something? It’s what we should’ve done.”
“Bubba!” cried Mary.
“Aww, I’m just kidding, Mary, you know that.”
Mary grunted, pretending to be offended, and missed the horrified look Will and Lizzy shared with the Bingleys.
“Umm, no, I don’t think we’ll be going to Vegas,” Lizzy said. Not while Lydia’s there.
Chuck had a suggestion. “If not Vegas, how about the islands? Aruba or Barbados, or some place like that?”
“I think Lizzy wants a church wedding,” Will answered, and Lizzy nodded.
Mary screwed up her face with a thought. “Church wedding, hmm? Well, how about…”
“COME AND GET IT!” cried T.B. from the kitchen door. “It’s your Momma’s oyster dip! Hurry up, I’m starved!”
Mary and Lizzy went to gather the children as Chuck helped Jane out of her chair. “We’ll talk later,” she told Lizzy.
“Hey, T.B.! Is the LSU – Florida game on, yet?” Bubba turned to Will. “Can’t wait to watch that one on your big-screen TV, Will.”
Will smiled. “That’s what it’s for, big guy.”
The group went into the house for a few hours of normalcy.
(1) – Excepts from verbatim transcript of General Honoré’s press conference on Hurricane Rita preparations in New Orleans on September 20, 2005.
Posted on Saturday, 8 March 2008
Chapter 61
October, 2005
K plus one month
Louisiana and Texas were reeling from the effects of Rita, so it was understandable that their attention was not on their neighbors to the south. From October 1 to 5, Hurricane Stan, a minimal Cat 1 storm, sat off the coast of Central America, dumping tons of rain onto unstable hillsides. Fifteen hundred people were estimated to have died in the floods and mud slides, proving you don’t need a monster storm for a storm to be monstrous.
There was no doubt about it. The Crescent City was broke. Cash reserves were gone. Without business and commerce and the sales tax they generated, there was no hope of quickly restoring the city to fiscal health. On October 5, Mayor Nagin announced that due to lack of funds, New Orleans would lay off 3,000 non-essential employees from the city's payroll, or about half of its workforce, over the next two weeks.
He also said that residents from all parts of the city, with the exception of the Lower Ninth Ward, would be allowed to return to their homes. He warned, however, that many houses were damaged to the point of being uninhabitable, that there was little chance of restoration of power soon, and that the “boil water” order remained in effect.
The line outside Pelican Park athletic center in Mandeville moved up a bit, and like the hundreds of others queued up, Chuck Bingley dutifully moved his folding chair.
It was a strange experience for the one-time high-level corporate lender. A little over a month ago, he would have been in an air-conditioned office in downtown New Orleans, working on deals worth millions of dollars. Today he had been in line for hours in the late morning sun, waiting for his turn to apply for $1,265 in Red Cross assistance, and he had hours yet to go.
Ever since the storm, the American Red Cross had been telling people that the charity was offering cash assistance. All people had to do was call a toll-free phone number, and the money would be transferred into their bank accounts or a debit card issued for those who did not use banks. For Chuck and his family, twelve hundred dollars wasn’t the solution to all of their troubles, but it would help.
The problem was that the phone line was always busy, no matter what time you tried it. Chuck heard of horror stories of people who told of being fortunate enough to get into the phone queue, only to wait for hours and hours for an operator. Those with cell phones were cut off when the batteries died. One family talked of being on hold for thirteen hours before their call was handled by a human.
The Red Cross spokespeople interviewed regularly on the radio said they were aware of the problem, but that they had “hundreds of operators, working around the clock” to handle the thousands of calls. They promised to put more operators on the lines and urged people to be patient. The Red Cross would not allow people to apply via the Internet and denied time and again persistent rumors they were going to set up local Relief Centers. “Just be patient and call,” was their mantra.
Though twelve hundred dollars would not solve all of the Bingleys’ problems, hearing about it day after day wore on them. It was their money, they deserved it, and the Red Cross was being unreasonable and cruel to offer the money and make it impossible to collect.
Finally, in late September, the Red Cross breathlessly announced the establishment within forty-eight hours of a drive-up relief center in Slidell. They warned it would only be in operation for a few weeks, and they would only take about 700 applications per day at the facility. People were urged to arrive early, and police would turn cars away when they reached their daily quota.
Arriving before five in the morning and sitting in one’s car for up to seven hours, as many people would experience at the Slidell center, was not Chuck’s idea of a good time. He waited a week until the walk-up center at Pelican Park was established.
That’s how he found himself in a lawn chair and ball cap, sitting in line with hundreds of others. He had been there since before five a.m. and had been in line for five hours. He figured he had at least two hours to go.
Everyone was good-natured about the whole thing. Red Cross volunteers handed out endless bottles of water, and those in line who brought food shared with those who didn’t. There was a bank of portable toilets set up, and people were happy to hold places in line for those who had to use them. It was a very socially-mixed bag of mostly North Shore residents – workers, doctors, professionals, teachers, housewives, poor people, young people, and elderly. The majority was white and had never stood in line for anything, except the Department of Motor Vehicles for their driver’s licenses. People joked around, shared their storm experiences, and asked for advice from those who had sought assistance in the past. It was fascinating watching a single mother on TANF(1) explain the expected procedures to an accountant.
While people were appreciative of the local Red Cross personnel, they weren’t so kind to the national office. They, like Chuck, were not fools. They knew the Red Cross had planned for weeks to put in these relief centers. It took time to pull together the logistics of such an effort. Why then did the charity lie to the people for over a month? Their spokespeople said over and over that there were going to be no centers until the centers were going up; then they changed their stories. Why be so cruel?
Chuck sat contemplating cruelty. The American Red Cross weren’t the only ones acting in a way that could only be described as wrong. The expected letter had arrived that week from Gallic National Bank. It was a politely phrased ultimatum. His boss, Manwarring, had decided to move Corporate Lending out of Louisiana to the Dallas regional office. All lenders were expected to transfer to Dallas, or they would be placed on unpaid leave until the Louisiana office reopened – if ever.
He and Jane had talked it over. Even with house prices jumping twenty-five percent after the hurricane, only undamaged homes were selling. Even if they wanted to, the Bingleys could not sell their house until it was repaired. And they did not want to sell.
So Charles Bingley was unemployed, sitting in a folding chair, waiting for his chance to apply for free money. He had signed up for unemployment – on the Internet, ironically – and a woman just told him of the emergency food stamp program available across town. Chuck had no false pride left, and if he finished with enough time, he would go and get in another line later.
At least Standard Insurance had come through. The same day the hated letter arrived from Gallic, their settlement check from their home insurance came in. The settlement was fair, but the check was made out to both the Bingleys and Acme National Mortgage Company. A young man named Karl assured him that the company would simply co-sign the check and the $25,000 would soon be in Chuck’s bank account. In a week or so, Chuck could start looking for a contractor to fix Hailey’s window.
What was weird was that the Prechters down the street from him were also Standard Insurance customers and had put in their claim, but they had seen neither hide nor hair of an adjustor. Chuck’s adjustor had explained that no insurance company had enough people to work a major event like a hurricane and that most of the adjustors were contract employees. They worked a set area, a county or parish, but the insurance company wanted different adjustors in each neighborhood. That way the different adjustors’ recommendations could be compared and keep the settlement fair. Assignments were generated randomly. It was only by luck that Chuck was on the beginning of the list, while the Precheters were apparently on the end.
FEMA, Red Cross, insurance, trees falling on your house – everything was a crap-shoot, Chuck thought as he moved his chair up again.
The Army Corps of Engineers, the levee boards, and their contactors worked like demons to repair the new breaches in New Orleans. Soon the pumps were operating again, and the waters receded. It would take two weeks, but by October 11, the Corps could declare New Orleans dry.
For some time, those National Guardsmen not involved in assisting the police were occupied in a grimmer and just as necessary task – recovery of the bodies. It was a time-consuming, dirty, hot, terrible job. Each and every structure in Orleans Parish and St. Bernard Parish in Louisiana, and Harrison County, Hancock County, and Jackson County in Mississippi would have to be painstakingly searched for human remains. Damaged areas in Slidell and Plaquemines Parish would undergo the same procedure.
Captain Buford sat in his Humvee watching a squad from New Mexico go through the process. A two- or three-man detail would go into a house, breaking in if necessary, and search each room. Knowing that strange things happen in a flood, they looked in closets and behind furniture. Most bodies were found in bedrooms or attics, so those areas got the most attention. As the smell was unmistakable, using one’s nose was often the best method to accomplish this gruesome mission.
Once the inspection was done, a large X was spray-painted on or near the front door. This indicated that the house had been searched. In the top quadrant, they put the date, and in the left quadrant, they put some indication of who searched it - in this case “NMNG” and unit number. The right quadrant indicated any hazards that future teams should be aware of, such as unstable stairwells or missing floors. If any bodies were found, their number and location were put in the bottom quadrant. The teams did not remove the bodies; that was left to the DMART teams.
Some houses had lots of markings, since the animal rescue teams adopted the same system; one could see X’s where the team was marked as “SPCA” and the bottom quadrant might say “1 dead dog” or “1 cat under house, left food 9/18”. It could lead to confusion, if one didn’t pay close attention.
A loud shout came from a house, followed by cursing. Buford got out of the Humvee, unfastening his service pistol, although he had a fair idea what had happened.
Sure enough, two Guardsmen rushed out the front door, one of them falling to his knees and vomiting in the grey-brown grass near the porch. Buford put on a surgical mask as the tell-tale god-awful stench followed the men outside.
“All right,” cried the leader of the detail, “who opened the refrigerator?”
Buford listened as the men claimed that it was an accident. But under the glare of their commanding sergeant, they finally admitted that they had disregarded the warnings and opened the appliance on a beer bet of who could take the stink the longest. They had no idea what food locked in a sealed container in ninety-degree heat for two months would turn into, but they just found out.
The sergeant had no sympathy for the retching privates and ordered them back into the house to complete the inspection. The two sad sacks trudged back in, and Buford had to grin from behind his mask. At least it wasn’t a body, he thought.
“Whoa!’ cried Mack from behind him. “Are you through here, sir?”
“Yeah. Let’s get back to the staging area.” He climbed back in the Humvee.
“Two more days and we’re outta here.”
“Can’t be too soon for me, Mack.” Carrie, I’m coming home!
“New York.”
“New York City? You must be crazy out your mind, woman. I’m not having any daughter-in-law of mine livin’ in New York City.”
“Watch your lip, old man.”
“I’d rather watch yours. Heeheehee.”
“Knock it off, Dad. Don’t worry, we’re not going to New York City or Los Angeles. Too big. Too much competition.”
“Well, where then? Mari? What’s on the list so far?”
Chris and Mari sat in the living room with Mr. and Mrs. Breaux, discussing the younger couple’s future. “All right, we’ve got Atlanta, Chicago, Memphis, San Francisco, Miami, Dallas, and Denver.”
“What about Branson?” Mr. Breaux asked.
“Dad,” said Chris, “Mari is a little young for the Branson crowd. We want to build up her career, not bury her.”
Mrs. Breaux put up a finger. “Well, in that case, there’s Orlando. Lots of young people go to Orlando.”
Mari shook her head. “People don’t go to Disney World to hear a blues singer.”
“Maybe you should change genres, cher,” advised Mr. Breaux. “How about Nashville? Country music’s hot nowadays.”
“Yes, I know, and they’re doing some great stuff, but it’s not me.”
Chris cleared his throat. “We also need to find a place were I can get a job. A university-run hospital or mental health facility would be ideal.”
“Austin?”
Mari nodded. “Small, but…yeah.”
Mr. Breaux glanced over. “I think we’ve got enough for now. Let’s talk this over. Y’all need a place where Chris can work and grow in his profession, while Mari builds her singing career. Looks to me we’ve got us some good places. Anything stands out good or bad, Mari?”
Mari thought about it. “Memphis is known for the blues. Chicago, too.”
“Both of them are airline hubs. We can get out of there for gigs easy,” Chris noted.
“What about you, Chris?” asked his mother.
“Well…I’m not really into children’s care, but St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital is in Memphis. Really great behavioral medicine department. As for Chicago, there’s the University of Chicago Medical Center and Northwestern Memorial. My friend, Dr. Mickey Segura, has some contacts in the field. He can see if there are any openings.” He turned to Mari. “What about you, Mari? What’s best for your career?”
She bit her lip as she took her husband’s hand. “I can get restarted in either place. Which ever has an opening.”
“Any preference?” She shook her head. “Okay, I’ll call Mickey in the morning.”
Saturday, October 15, 2005
The congregation was gathered this fine, dry October day in Our Lady of Prompt Succor Catholic Church in Chackbay. Adam Teresina, uncomfortable in his rented tuxedo, and Mary Boudreaux, properly resplendent in her white wedding gown, stood before the altar, their attendants on either side, the bridesmaids in silver and crimson, as the priest recited the Liturgy of the Sacrament of Marriage.
“My dear friends, you have come together in this church so that the Lord may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Church's minister and this community. Christ abundantly blesses this love. He has already consecrated you in baptism and now he enriches and strengthens you by a special sacrament so that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity. And so, in the presence of the Church, I ask you to state your intentions.”
He read the names written before him. “Adam and Mary, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”
Each, separately yet together, answered, “I have.”
“Will you love and honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?”
Again, “I will.”
“Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?”
One last time, “I will.”
“Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.” Mary handed her flowers to Lizzy, as the priest turned to Bubba and had him repeat the words of the vows.
“I, Adam, take you, Mary, for my lawful wife...” Will smiled as Bubba shook from nervousness as he stumbled over the familiar phrases. It was then Mary’s turn, and she recited her vows in a clear, strong voice. Never had Lizzy seen Mary glow so.
The priest raised his hands in benediction. “You have declared your consent before the Church. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings. What God has joined, no one must now divide.” He accepted two rings from Bubba’s brother, his Best Man. “Lord, bless and consecrate Adam and Mary in their love for each other. May these rings be a symbol of true faith in each other, and always remind them of their love. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”
The congregation all responded with, “Amen” as the couple placed the rings upon each other’s hand. Mary reclaimed her flowers from Lizzy.
He then moved to his right, to stand before the other couple before him. “William and Elizabeth, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”
“I have,” they said together.
William and Elizabeth calmly recited the answers, both rather pleased and surprised to be there. When they mentioned their desire to have as short an engagement as possible in the wake of the storm, it was Mary who came up with the suggestion to share her wedding day. She and Bubba were able to convince a shocked and initially unwilling Lizzy and Will that they did not look upon the participation of another couple on their special day as anything other than an exercise in family affection and Christian love.
The next two weeks had been a firestorm of work. The cooperation from the local parish priest had been secured, after a special dispensation came down from the bishop in Houma. Family and friends were contacted. Gina was able to drive in, and Richard Fitzwilliam was in attendance with his parents, but the still grieving Katzes sent their regrets from Maryland.
To the two couples’ relief, Lydia couldn’t make it from Vegas. She promised, however, in a phone call to Lizzy and Will, that she and Annie would do a special dance in their honor. Lizzy was very thankful she would never see that performance.
Elizabeth’s bone colored dress was pretty and flattering, even though it was off the rack from a Baton Rouge shop and not the hand-made extravaganza most people would expect the woman marrying William Darcy to wear. The florist was able, at the last minute, to make a second bouquet to match Mary’s. Fortunately, Will owned a tuxedo.
The statement of intention completed, the priest said, “Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.” It was Mary’s turn to hold Lizzy’s flowers.
Will hardly needed the prompting, as his dark eyes were fixed upon Elizabeth. “I, William, take you, Elizabeth, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
Lizzy’s smile could have lit up all of Chackbay. “I, Elizabeth, take you, William, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” There was a slight pause as Mari cried out in joy, unable to resist celebrating this final stage of her dear friends’ odyssey.
The priest continued, accepting rings from Chris, who was standing for Will. “Lord, bless and consecrate William and Elizabeth in their love for each other. May these rings be a symbol of true faith in each other, and always remind them of their love. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”
If anything, “Amen” was louder than before.
The reception was held in the nearby fire station. Will found it amusing that the Fitzwilliam family was sitting on metal folding chairs, nibbling on finger sandwiches. Jane and Carrie, both too far along in their pregnancies to take part in the dancing, sat in a corner, keeping an eye on their children dashing about, and talking up a storm, thick as thieves. John Buford, back from New Orleans, was at the bar talking with Chuck and few of the locals. Mr. & Mrs. Boudreaux were with a group that included Chris and Marianne Breaux, and Chris’ parents danced to an Elvis Presley song, while Kit was begging the DJ to play some Gwen Stefani. Bubba and Mary, hand in hand, were making the rounds, while Elizabeth introduced Gina to some of her old school friends.
For his part, Will had his back against the wall, a glass of champagne in his hand, talking to his Uncle Edward as he surreptitiously watched another relative.
“Richard looks bad, Ed.”
Richard Fitzwilliam, sitting at a table with his parents, indeed looked like the world had punched him in the stomach.
Ed glanced at his other nephew. “Well, that’s understandable. This thing with Olivia is tearing him up. But, what did he expect? Did he really think she was going to leave their daughter with her folks in Atlanta and come back to live on a boat with him in New Orleans? Her job is gone, the schools are closed, the city is just now crawling back onto its feet, and their house is trashed. Richard’s being unrealistically stubborn.”
“She still wants him to move to Atlanta?”
“She’s suggested he do that and try to get a law-enforcement job there or take a position with DGS, outside of Louisiana. The bottom line is she wants him out of the NOPD.”
“And he says no.”
Ed raised his eyebrows. “He says he’ll think about it, which is the same thing as no.”
Will sighed. “Want me to talk to him again?”
Ed put a hand on his shoulder. “No, Will, this is your wedding day. This is Richard and Olivia’s problem to solve. Your attention should be on more pleasant subjects.” He took a sip of his scotch and soda. “You sure you don’t want to use the jet for you and Elizabeth to go somewhere?”
He smiled. “We both have work on Monday. Don’t worry. Lizzy and I have talked about it. We’ve got the rest of our lives to travel.”
At that moment, the subject of their conversation approached. “Hey, handsome. Buy a girl a drink?” Lizzy asked as she slid an arm around her husband. Will handed his wife his glass as Gina hugged her uncle. They talked for a few minutes until the music changed to Roy Orbison’s version of “Pretty Woman.” That brought Kit over in a huff.
“Gina! Come on with me,” she demanded as he took the coed’s hand in hers. “We’ve got to talk this guy into some real music!” Will grinned as the two made their way through the dancers to berate the DJ.
“Care to dance, Mrs. Darcy?” he whispered.
Lizzy looked at him coquettishly. “Why, Mr. Darcy! How is it I always seem to be dancing with you?”
As he pulled her onto the dance floor, he answered, “If I have my way, you’ll be dancing with me for the rest of your life.”
She moved into his arms. “I’m counting on it.”
The two couples adjourned to separate rooms in the back of the hall to change into their going-away clothes. Will and Lizzy were able to finish changing first and were successful in intercepting Bubba and Mary before they reentered the hall.
Will offered an envelope. “Here, Lizzy and I want you to have this. It’s our wedding gift to you.”
“What?” cried Mary. “You already gave us those lovely crystal candleholders.”
Lizzy smiled. “This is a thank-you for today. Open it.”
Bubba was confused as he handed the paper from the envelope to Mary. “What is this?”
Will and Lizzy grinned as Mary stared at the paper. A bit quicker on the uptake, she cried out, “This is a credit notice from the resort in Gatlinburg! They’ve refunded our deposit!”
“What?” Bubba took the paper back as Mary stared at the other couple. “‘Paid in full?’ What do they mean by ‘paid in full?’”
Mary gasped. “You didn’t!”
Lizzy laughed. “We did.”
Will put an arm around Lizzy’s shoulders. “Your honeymoon trip to Gatlinburg is all paid for – room, meals, everything. You just go and have a great time.”
Bubba spurted, “This is too much! We can’t accept this!”
Lizzy took Mary’s hand in hers. “Please let us do this. We can never thank you enough for sharing today with us.” She squeezed her sister’s hand.
Will nodded. “Use your money towards the down-payment on your first house.”
Realization stuck Mary and Bubba, as they had decided to put off starting a family until they could afford a house. This gift just moved that dream a lot closer.
“You make it impossible to say no,” Mary breathed.
“Good, then you won’t.” Will’s laughter turned into a grunt as Bubba pulled him into a bear hug. Mary and Lizzy were tearing up in each other’s arms.
“Look what you two did to my make-up,” Mary giggled as she wiped the tears from her face after she kissed Will. “Lizzy, help me repair this damage.”
Back at Pemberley Plantation that evening, Elizabeth and William lay intertwined, their bedroom lit by a dozen candles, skin glistening from the delightful labor of the consummation of their vows.
“So long,” Will murmured. “So long we’ve been on this journey. Seven years.” He turned to her, propped on one arm. “Over seven years since I first saw you at that smoker at the Alpha Iota House. Seven years since I fell in love with you.”
Lizzy’s eyes were wide. “You fell in love with me at first sight?”
He gently pulled back the hair from her face. “I didn’t know it at the time. Heck,” he chuckled, “I fell in lust with you at Fat Harry’s a few weeks before, watching you eat those cheese fries.”
She gently slapped his chest, as she had heard this part before. “You and cheese fries. Besides, I thought it was my great rack.”
He laughed. “I forgot about that remark! And, yes, you do have a magnificent rack.” He then showed his appreciation by kissing each nipple.
Lizzy grew thoughtful, her eyes falling to the plain platinum band next to her engagement ring. “I had no idea, Will. I was so hateful to you at school.”
“Shush. We’ve already gone over that. Besides, how were you to know? I fought my attraction to you all semester, thinking you were too young for me. I was a moron.” He stroked her face. “You are everything I have ever wanted.”
She took his hand and kissed the palm. “It’s terrifying, in a way, isn’t it, this needing? This requirement of another person’s presence to assure your own happiness? William, never leave me. Never.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Darcy. Me and Riptide will always be watching out for you. You’ll never get rid of us.”
She followed his eyes to the beanie, still standing sentinel over her jewelry box. One eyebrow arched up provocatively. “Well, then, if Riptide’s here, then I’ve got nothing to worry about!” She drew a single fingertip down his chest. “Though he does a lousy job of protecting me from being ravished by a certain insatiable beast.”
“Any complaints?”
She gave him a slow, sexy smile. “Not if he does it right – and right now!”
Will’s grin widened. “I think I can handle that.” He took his beloved bride into his arms, and the two of them made love again. As they lost themselves in a tempest of feelings and desire, a completely different sort of tempest was brewing in the Caribbean Sea south of Cuba.
October 16, 2005
The Bingleys had a happy surprise awaiting their return from Chackbay. After almost two months, cable television service had been restored. While Hailey was overjoyed at the return of Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, and Sesame Street, her parents were far less excited. During their forced withdrawal from the boob tube, they had grown used to the silence of reading a good book or a quiet conversation. The only times they used the TV after Chuck hooked up the rabbit ears antenna was to catch the local news and weather, not to watch the latest inanity out of Hollywood. The return of Internet was more profound. Chuck could again job search, and Jane could email without waiting in line to use a computer at the parish library. They didn’t know how long this recovery from their TV addiction would last, but they had no intention of testing themselves.
It was during the news that they learned of Tropical Storm Wilma.
(1) – TANF - Temporary Assistance for Needy Families, which replaced what was commonly known as welfare: Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC) and the Job Opportunities and Basic Skills Training (JOBS) programs.
Posted on Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Chapter 62
October, 2005
K plus two months
The rule of three is a principle in writing that suggests that things that come in threes are inherently funnier, more satisfying, or more effective than other numbers of things. But there was nothing funny or satisfying about the 2005 hurricane season. Never before had there been three major hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico in a single year.
Wilma grew at an astonishing rate as it moved northwesterly towards Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. It almost exploded with power, moving from tropical storm to Category 5 horror, as the central pressure dropped in thirty hours to 882 mb, the lowest of any Atlantic storm in recorded history. By the 19th, sustained winds were clocked at 185 mph.
Fortunately for the people of Cozumel and Cancun, the inner eye dissipated and underwent an eyewall replacement cycle just before it made landfall on the 21st. Still, the now Cat 4 monster caused great damage with its 150 mile per hours winds. It slowed down considerably and wracked the coast for almost two days. Amazingly, there was only one confirmed death.
The people of the southern United States, still reeling from the one-two punch of Katrina and Rita, worried about their neighbors, for the Yucatan was a favorite vacation spot. But, truth be told, they were even more concerned about what the new monster would do once it entered the Gulf late on the 22nd.
Thanks to an upper level trough high in the atmosphere and shearing winds closer to the surface, the Cat 3 storm would only grow to125 mph strength as it dashed across the Gulf at over twenty-five knots. It slammed into Cape Romano, Florida, twenty miles south of Naples, with an eight-foot surge a day and a half later at 0630 EDT on October 24. Wilma crossed the state in less than five hours, dumping as much as nine inches of rain and killing thirty-six people, and entered the Atlantic Ocean near Jupiter, still capable of generating winds in excess of 110 mph. It raced off to the northeast, transitioning into an extratropical cyclone, and the remnants of Wilma were absorbed by another extratropical storm over the Atlantic near Canada on the 27th.
The government moved as quickly as it could to help those affected by the latest calamity to strike the United States. Resources already stretched to meet the needs of Katrina and Rita were brought almost to the breaking point.
Now that Will was permanently back in New Orleans, Lizzy was assured of seeing him every night - which was about the only time she could see him. EDNO had continued to work hard to help New Orleans get back on its feet, but the cash reserves of the non-profit were eating away fast. EDNO had to cut expenses, and most of the staff, including management, took a healthy pay cut.
Still, it wasn’t enough. Lizzy and Carl Eden talked it over, and a decision was made. Lizzy would take unpaid leave from EDNO and sign up as a contractor for FEMA.
It really wasn’t all work on the dark side. Contracting firms like Fluor, CDM, and others were paying outrageous sums – $50 an hour or more, depending on experience, all out of federal contracts they had from FEMA. And contractors were expected to work sixty hours a week during their contracted period, lasting from sixty to ninety days.
The rules were strange. Lizzy received $50 an hour for the first fifty hours, but overtime was 80% of pay, or $40 an hour. So, an average week was $2,900.00 before taxes. And she was instructed to work exactly sixty hours, no less and no more, unless authorized. They did not want to pay for use of a personal car, but insisted that one be rented – it was easier to keep track of expenses that way. FEMA offered no benefits, but Lizzy was now covered under Will’s health insurance with DGS.
So, Lizzy soon found herself parking her rented Hyundai Sonata in the parking lot of the FEMA Joint Field Office in Baton Rouge. Located in the old massive Goudchaux’s Department Store, taking up most of a city block, the JFO housed over 1,900 government employees and contactors who labored to make sense out of the confusion.
Of course, things would be so much easier if there wasn’t so much confusion inside the JFO, Lizzy thought as she showed her photo ID to the Blackwater security guard. With a government-issued laptop in one hand and a government-issued cell phone clipped to her waist, she made her way into the building and to her cubicle. It wasn’t long before Charlotte stuck her head in.
“Lizzy, guess what I just heard. You know all those mobile homes FEMA has stored in Arkansas? Well, the agency won’t place them in the parks New Orleans has offered them.”
“Why not?”
“You’re gonna love this. The Stafford Act forbids any permanent government property to be placed in a flood zone. Those mobile homes are considered unmovable permanent government property, according to federal regulations. So, federal law says no government paid-for mobile homes in New Orleans, or almost anywhere in southeast or southwest Louisiana!”
“Oh, my god. I can’t believe it…Wait! What about all those travel trailers?”
“Those are ‘movable,’ according to the regs. Apparently, if they’re twenty-three feet long, they’re ‘movable,’ but if they’re forty feet long, they’re ‘immovable,’ even though they’re both on wheels!”
Lizzy put her head into her hands. “Great. The government spends millions to buy housing for people who need it, and then says you can’t use it. What a country!”
“Every time we try to do something, that stupid Stafford Act gets thrown in our face! Why doesn’t anybody do something about it? You know, suspend it or something!”
“That’s a good question. I have no idea.” Lizzy sat back, wishing Carrie was there and not on maternity leave. She might have a clue as to why the government wouldn’t act.
There were a few in Congress who saw the insanity of the Stafford Act and tried to have the government suspend all or part of it, but they got nowhere with their colleagues. However, the unions got much better service. Congress forced President Bush to rescind his suspension of the Davis-Bacon Act, assuring that the rebuilding of public property would be done at “prevailing wages,” which was government gobbledygook for union wages. The rebuilding would cost far more, but at least the politicians’ war chests would receive donations from the building trades, and with an election year coming up, it was most important to keep one’s priorities straight.
Every year, the hurricane forecasters have a roster of twenty-one names ready for the season. They almost never use the last few, so there are no names past W. But 2005 was not like any other year. Vince and Wilma were the first named "V" and "W" storms ever in the Atlantic basin. When a twenty-second tropical storm developed on October 22, it was named Alpha. Four days later Hurricane Beta formed near Nicaragua.
November, 2005
K plus three months
Chuck replaced the phone gently onto its cradle, careful not to dash it into a hundred pieces. Blast that mortgage company!
The Bingleys were fortunate not only to have their insurance company send out an adjuster to survey the damage to their property, but they had actually processed the claim and delivered a check into their hands. The Bingleys’ knew they were lucky, for many of their friends and neighbors were fighting with their insurers, and the stories they had heard on TV about insurance companies denying claims wholesale in Mississippi and New Orleans were beyond shocking.
The Bingleys’ problem was with their mortgage company, Acme National. The $25,000 insurance settlement check was made out to both the homeowner and the mortgage holder, and all parties needed to sign it. Chuck and Jane had signed the check, as instructed, and overnighted it to Acme National. They were told that Acme would endorse and return it, but they had not.
Instead, the money had been placed in an escrow account, and there was paperwork that had to be completed before the money would be released. In effect, Acme had turned the Bingleys’ money into a reimbursement account – once Chuck could prove he made repairs on the house and submitted the invoices and forms, a draw on the account would be done.
Chuck was furious. He had been misled, if not out-right lied to. The company maintained hat the $25,000 belonged to the Bingleys, not Acme National, and that this system was for their benefit. The problem was, how was Chuck supposed to get a contractor to fix his daughter’s window if he had nothing to pay him?
Acme National claimed that he should have received a packet of information, as well as an initial reimbursement check for $5,000 already. After repeated telephone calls, Acme admitted that nothing had been mailed, due to an overwhelmed mail room at Acme headquarters. Chuck suggested they direct deposit the funds into his bank account, but Acme could not until the proper forms were filed. They promised to fax those forms to Chuck, but that was three days ago, and Chuck had just gotten off the phone with yet another supervisor, who apologized for the inconvenience and promised to make things right.
They had made it clear that Acme needed receipts for all work. But, T.B. and his people from B&B had removed the tree and cleared the timber in Chuck’s yard for only fuel costs. To get the fair portion of the settlement for the house and tree damage, Chuck needed a receipt from T.B. He knew his father-in-law would draw one up at his request, but it was just one more pain-in-the-ass thing that needed to be done.
Chuck sat with his head resting in one hand. At least Acme National had suspended payments on the mortgage until February. It was a help, but not enough. Money was tight, the job search had little to show for it, the mortgage company was being difficult, and Jane was on maternity leave, and she was due at any time.
“CHUCK!”
Chuck jumped to his feet, as he had heard that cry from Jane twice before. Any time was NOW.
“Hi, Janie, it’s Carrie.”
“Oh, hi, Carrie. How’re you feeling?”
“Fine, just settling in. They released us from the hospital yesterday.”
“Chuck told me. So…how’s the baby?”
“Beautiful. John’s right here, holding our little Mackenzie. She already has her daddy wrapped around her finger.”
“Aww…I’ll bet.”
“So, how’re you doing?”
“Tired.”
“And the baby? Does she have a name yet?”
“She does. Miss Joanne Caroline Bingley.”
“Caroline? Oh, Jane, you didn’t have to do that!”
“Yes, I did. Remember Mackenzie Jane?”
There was a laugh on the other end. “Tell me what she looks like.”
“Well, she’s 7 pounds, 8 ounces, and 19 ½ inches long. She has a full head of hair, and she’s very pretty.”
“How long were you in labor?”
“Seven hours, about the same as you.”
“Was Chuck there?”
“The whole time, just like the first two.”
“I’m so happy John was here for Mackenzie. It meant so much to both of us. When are they sending you home?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Not wasting any time, are they?”
“No, they’re not.” Jane looked up as the door to the room opened. “Carrie, they’re bringing in Joanne now for a feeding.”
“I’ll let you go. Call me as soon as you get home, okay?”
“I will. Bye.”
Chuck Bingley punched the button on the coffee vending machine, thinking about his new daughter, hoping Brett wouldn’t be too disappointed that the new baby wasn’t a boy.
“Chuck? That you?”
Chuck recognized an acquaintance from the banking industry. “Tom? How’re you doing?” The two men shook hands.
“Nice beard,” Tom Lefoy teased. “I hardly recognized you.”
“Thanks a lot, buddy. What are you doing here?”
“My dad’s in for some tests. I just finished visiting. And you? Jane have that baby?”
“Yeah, a little girl.”
“Congratulations.” The two talked for a minute about their maternity experiences until Lefoy changed the subject.
“Look, Chuck, it’s good I ran into you. You know my dad retired from Bayou State, and I got kicked upstairs.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” Bayou State Bank was a fast-growing local bank on the North Shore.
“Well, I can’t run the bank and the lending department, as fast as we’re growing. Especially since we’re trying to do more corporate lending.”
“Yeah?” Chuck tried not to get his hopes up.
“Tom Bennett told me you were available. Is that true?”
“Yeah, I am.” Thank you, Tom Bennett!
“Great!” He handed Chuck one of his business cards. “I know you’ve got stuff to do. Give me a call in a couple of days, and we’ll get together to talk about it.”
Chuck could hardly talk. “Thanks, Tom. I…I…Thanks, buddy.”
“Don’t mention it. I gotta run. See you.”
“Right. I’ll call you.” He pocketed the card.
“Good. Maybe we can do Friday?” Lefoy said as he backed out of the waiting room.
“Sure.” Chuck waved as Lefoy turned the corner, and then he collapsed into a chair. He pulled the card out again and stared at it.
We came in the hospital to have a baby, and we might be leaving it with a job offer.
The receptionist at the front desk could hear his “YESS!!”
The Port of New Orleans and St. Bernard Parish finally agreed to a plan to close the MRGO to deep-draft ships, expediting the design and construction of a vessel floodgate and storm surge protection, and completing the Congressionally-authorized Inner Harbor Navigational Canal Lock. It had been a long, hard battle, but after Katrina, there really wasn’t any argument that could have kept MRGO open.
Now, the plan needed to be approved and funded by the US Army Corps of Engineers. When that would happen, nobody knew.
“Do you want to pack this, dear?” asked Mrs. Dashwood.
Mari looked over from the cabinet. Her mother was holding up some strange kitchen implement. “I don’t know, Mom. What is it?”
“Don’t you know? It was in your drawer.”
“I think that came with the house. The previous owners didn’t really clean out everything. Just throw it out.”
The unusual-looking device was tossed into the trash can with a clunk, and Mrs. Dashwood went back to work. Margaret and she had come down to New Orleans during the Thanksgiving holiday to help Mari pack for her move to Chicago. Chris was up there now, working in the psychiatric department of Northwestern Memorial Hospital, a job secured through the efforts of Dr. Segura. He was planning to return to New Orleans the day after tomorrow to help complete the packing. The moving truck was due on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.
Mari was busy trying to put her life in the Crescent City into as few boxes as possible. The apartment they were paying an arm and a leg for in Chicago was a lot smaller than the shotgun house Mari was leaving behind.
At least it had sold to an institutional broker looking for a place close to Downtown. The real estate market in the city was generally non-existent, except for very particular properties. That Mari’s little six-room house had survived the flood and the looting without a scratch made the place worth its weight in gold. Mari was embarrassed that she was making a small profit on the deal, with the hospital covering all of their moving expenses.
Mari focused on the job at hand, trying not to think too much. It was exciting, in a way, to move to a new place, especially somewhere as different as Chicago. America’s Second City was a thriving center of music and arts, and a public transportation network that placed the whole city within their reach. She was pleased that one of her band mates agreed to move to the Windy City, too, as he had friends there. Together with Chris, they would rebuild the combo.
But she was leaving behind an entire way of life. Mari dearly loved her little house, so close to the French Quarter. It was the place she and Chris had decided to live before the storm, and the living room still had stacked all the boxes from Chris’ apartment they had spent the month before their wedding packing. Now, it was all set to be shipped up north.
Chris had promised that they would move back to New Orleans as soon as they practically could, and Mari knew he had every intention of keeping his word. The painful part was when they did come home, it wouldn’t be to this one.
“Hey Mari,” called out Margaret from the bedroom, “are you taking these shoes?”
Mari set down the drinking glass she was wrapping in newspaper. “What do you mean, am I taking my shoes? Of course I’m taking my shoes.”
“Oh! Well, I thought with all the snow up there, you wouldn’t need these open-toe heels.”
“Open-toe heels? Are you taking about my four-inch red stilettos? Of course I’m taking those!” She gave her mother a look as she began to make her way around the boxes to the bedroom. “You just get your cotton-picking hands off my Stuart Weitzmans!”
Usually when two families merge due to a wedding, one side of the family is at war with the other as to where the holidays would take place. There wasn’t a mother in South Louisiana that didn’t want all the holidays of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter at their house, for what could be better? Such was the constant stress that the Charles Bingley family often found themselves.
When Elizabeth Boudreaux became Mrs. Darcy, no one realized that this would be Chuck and Jane’s salvation. Will and Lizzy simply made it clear that as Pemberley Plantation was the largest and most centrally located of the houses in the Darcy/Boudreaux/Bingley/Buford families, there would be an open invitation to hold all family dinners at the Darcy estate. After all, they weren’t going anywhere. A huge dining room, an enormous back yard, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and the talents of Mrs. Reynolds to assist in the cooking effectively eliminated all but the most intrinsic arguments. Catherine Bingley didn’t like the idea of being out of control, but at least she wouldn’t have to journey down to the wilds of Chackbay and that woman’s house.
The downside was that this first Thanksgiving turned into what some thought as the biggest pot-luck meal in St. Charles Parish history. It didn’t matter that Will and T.B. were frying a twenty-eight pound turkey, as far as the Bufords were concerned, it wasn’t the holidays without a bird from John Buford’s commercial-grade smoker. Bubba and Mary brought a ham, and between the families, there were four types of stuffing. There was sweet potatoes with pecans, spinach Madeline, corn on the cob, and green bean casserole. Crescent rolls and garlic French bread. Gumbo and rice and salad. Gravy and cranberry and pepper jelly. Cases of wine. There was enough food to feed the 82nd Airborne.
The people staggered out of their chairs to find a place to collapse, not yet ready to take on the three pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, and a red velvet cake. Gina and Kit reestablished the friendship from the wedding and disappeared into her bedroom to burn up the Internet chat lines. The men sat in brotherly over-eating discomfort in front of Will’s big screen TV to catch the Denver Broncos beat the Dallas Cowboys in overtime.
Tropical activity slowed down very slowly during the record setting year that was 2005. Gamma was born on November 15 and Delta on the 23rd. Epsilon became a hurricane on December 2nd, two days after the official close of the season.
Everyone thought the season was over, but mother nature had one more surprise. Tropical Storm Zeta became the final storm of the season when it formed on December 30, six hours short of tying the record of Hurricane Alice of 1954 as the latest-forming named storm in a season. Zeta dissipated on January 6, 2006, having become the longest-lived January tropical cyclone in Atlantic basin history.
The meteorologists and climatologists immediately began arguing about what it all meant. The meteorological community claimed that tropical activity occurred in cycles and predicted that there would be more named storms in the years to come than had been the norm over the last few decades. The climatologists were even more alarmist. They pointed to the record-making activity as proof that global warming was changing the climate forever, that mankind’s foolishness was to blame for New Orleans’ destruction, and that it was only a matter of time before Miami, Houston, and New York suffered the same fate. Meteorologists weren’t prepared to go that far, which caused the other side to accuse their brethren of being “global warming deniers,” and therefore, unworthy of being regarded as scientists.
New Orleanians could not have cared less about the scientific cat-fight. It was the Christmas season and their famous black humor reasserted itself. Many wrapped the ruined refrigerators that lined their streets awaiting pick-up by FEMA contractors with over-sized red ribbons and bows. FEMA trailers were festooned with lights and decorations. Christmas cards often featured the family, standing in front of their flood damaged homes waving at the camera in full HAZMAT suits. Lakeside Mall caused a stir when an artist put blue roofs, FEMA trailers, and refrigerators in a miniature Christmas town display. The outcry from the public wasn’t over the artist’s supposed insensitivity; it was a demand that the mall owners return the display for public viewing.
Besides, they were too busy trying to rebuild their city and too worried about the slow pace of the repairs to the levees. After all, it was the US Army Corps of Engineers that was in charge of the reconstruction.