First Time Back in NOLA Since Katrina

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I studied at Tulane University, but I haven't been back to New Orleans since Katrina, not since 1998. Like the rest of the country, I watched in horror as the flood washed in, causing so much destruction and suffering, aghast at the political debacle of the event, staring at the television in disbelief. Two years later there's still so much pain here. Still so much beauty. The air hits me right away in the airport- wet, heavy, laden with emotion. I have a lot of personal memory connected with New Orleans.

old absinthe bar in the french quarter
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Things are familiar, but different. I wonder where the line is between memory lapse, normal change that happens in a town (stores changing hands, etc.), and what's been washed away.

There are certain things I need to see.  My free time is minimal as I'm here to help my father with a conference, and much of our time will be spent at the conference center across town from everything I want to visit:  uptown, Tulane campus, French Quarter, mid-city, certain landmarks-- basically any place I used to hang out I want to visit again to see how it's fared in the storm and post-storm.

typical bluegrass street band
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And I want to tour the Ninth Ward and other areas to see what's become of the city, document, see what there is to see-- not as a tourist, per se, but more as a journalist.

First day, a Saturday, I fly in and my luggage is lost. Waiting in the luggage line, an airport staff person catches my eye. I ask him how he’s doing (he looks very tired). He says he’s been working since 5am, and will be working until midnight, and tomorrow he’ll go to his other job. He says he takes whatever jobs he can, since returning from Texas where he was staying for a while he wants to make enough money so he can move back into his house and out of ‘temporary housing.’ Two years and two months after Katrina and he still can’t move back home! It starts to really sink in why so many houses are still vacant—people just can’t afford to repair the damage and move back.  The man goes on and on about the flood once I get him talking with a few simple questions.  The rest of my stay there will be the same—in small interactions, from cab drivers to waiters, everybody I interact with is still talking about Katrina.

french quarter
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My father and I spend the first two nights at our cousins' house uptown.  We barely recognize it! They had to gut the two main living floors. All their furniture, all their photographs, their belongings-- gone. I never understood how water can cause so much damage, but I do now. The photographs they show me are astounding.

While they go to the Saints game the next day, I walk around the Tulane University area. Everything is so lush and green! Audubon Park, with its poetic hanging moss, beautiful trees, tranquil ponds with ducks and fat squirrels that come so close to me I wonder if I’m hallucinating. Bicycles glide by, parents push strollers, a photographer takes my picture as I sit against an oak tree and then shyly comes up to ask permission. The world moves at a gentle pace, the air is tangible, soft. I breathe in memory and integrate it with my present self.

formerly the site of one of my favorite restaurants, now boarded up.
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Only one thing is missing:  the streetcar.  It hasn’t been fully repaired since Katrina, but the very day I’m visiting it extends its service from Lee Circle to Napolean Avenue, not quite to Tulane but much further than it had been going.

When the football game is over, my cousin takes us on a driving tour of the Katrina destruction. We head to Lakewood South, which at first I mishear as “Liquid South” through his southern New Orleans' accent. This is a middle to upper-middle class devastated when the levee broke. Everywhere there were abandoned, boarded up homes or empty lots where houses used to lie. If you look at the photo with my father holding his hands up, you’ll see how deep the water was in this neighborhood. Twelve feet or so!

these walls around jackson square park used to be filled with artists. now there are just a few.
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Signs dot the front yards, contradicting each other. Some read “God bless the Corps” while others read “Stop the Corps from Stealing Our Property.”

He then brought me to the store he owns —M.Goldberg, a store of fine clothing for men—and showed me photos of what it looked like after the storm. It never flooded, but windows and a door were broken and several people had been living there riding out the storm, too-- he has no way of knowing how many since the security cameras were stolen.  It wasn’t the people living there that did the damage, but the looting. 80% of the store merchandise was stolen during the storm and its aftermath. (Their house was 100% flood-damaged, hence the redecoration.)  My cousin, a strong, proud, and stoic man, tears up while he recalls the events.  And in my four days in New Orleans, I encountered several more tears--- it seems that every class, every ethnicity of people were effected. Many tell pleasant stories-- babies that wouldn't have been born otherwise ("Katrina babies"), friendships reunited, heartening tales of people helping each other in a time of need, and some tell of still fresh betrayals and difficult challenges. One thing is for sure:  even after two years, emotions still run strong.

french quarter cafe
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....to be continued!