The speaker in our evening devotional talked about our gifts. He read from 1 Corinthians 12 on our spiritual gifts, but he ended up in Job talking about Job’s friends judging that Job’s calamity to have arisen surely from unknown unrighteous actions.
The pastor from Finleyville continued to tell us that he had been down here only twice. The first time was two weeks after Katrina. (Isn’t it interesting how many pastors made this trip so fast after the storm?) Most of his mission time has been spent in Central America.
He talked about the admonition we give all the volunteers in our first briefing. We are here to help these people who have suffered harm for no apparent reason, not to judge them. He remarked how hard it is to distinguish between the collective damage to their dwellings from years of poverty and Katrina damage.
His first home to work on this week was a house that would have sold for over $300,000 back in Pennsylvania. The crew’s job was to put up drywall in the garage. He said he stopped and wondered what on earth he was doing in the garage of this large house. He came down here to get people out of FEMA trailers, not work in some luxurious home.
The house did not suffer any surge damage; the wind blew off all the shingles of the roof and gave the entire home a 13 and one-half hour soaking. Every ceiling had to be removed. Including even the multi-car garage. He went further into the house. As he noted 24 foot cathedral ceilings in the large living room, bile soured his stomach.
As he walked further into the home, he met the woman living in the house. He really wasn’t so interested in her story; he was still simmering about why he was here. Then the woman began her story and it poured over him wave after wave buffeting him as if were itself Katrina’s surge.
Her husband was a quite wealthy businessman. He had walked out on her two days before Katrina hit and headed for a resort city in an island archipelago in the Pacific.
She continued. Her son had followed dad and left her and her adult daughter behind living with her. Then Katrina hit and wreaked this damage.
Then she talked about her automobile accident. It was a bad accident that shattered both of her femurs. It crushed one ankle, crushed and broke both arms. She has metal pins and rods from hip to feet as well as in both arms.
She turned her story to her daughter, a young woman of twenty or so years who lives with one of those autoimmune diseases we hear about once in a while. After the storm her disorder took a turn for the worse. Mother is not fully sure of her daughter’s prognosis but doesn’t expect her to live more than a few more weeks.
She continued her worry not only about her daughter but about her own health. Then the next turn came forth. She has had a heart attack and two strokes during all this post-Katrina chaos.
In grief at the realization of what he had done, the pastor observed that Job's “friends” at least sat in silence with Job for seven days before beginning their presumptive judging. He had started within the first hour, even after the admonition of the first day not to do so.
Listening to the pastor tell this story, I paged through earlier pages in 1 Corinthians and was caught by Paul’s comments in chapter 4,
“…do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purpose of the heart. Then every one will receive his commendation from God.”
The pastor ended by observing that the volunteers do this thing for God. This work, they do it for God.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Day 27 – Mrs. Betty Gets A New Roof
The work site manager had been asking me to go by and look at the roof of a house that had been severely damaged by Katrina’s wind not too far from our village. She’d been asking me for about a week but I was tied up on a few other estimates.
Friday a week ago, about 10AM I had just finished another home visit and decided I’d go ahead on drive out to assess the job so we can get it done this week. I called ahead and arranged to be there in about 30 minutes.
I got lost twice. First I followed the written instructions but missed a landmark and gave up driving around in the backcountry. Then I used my Google GPS on my Blackberry cell phone. It told me to go further north to a certain street but I’d already driven more distance than I though necessary. I imagined that I knew where I was better than the Blackberry and I turned back.
Finally I gave up and retraced my steps to my trailer and started out again. I got to the house 15 minutes late but she was still there.
It is a small four-room house, two bedrooms and a bathroom on one side, the kitchen and living room on the other. I first checked out the exterior appearance. Navigating around the fire ant hills scattered all over the yard, I saw an earlier crew had reinstalled the old tin roof, badly replacing sheets that were too damaged to use. Her front porch had asphalt shingles installed. The work site description noted a leak. I could see where by the way the flashing was installed between porch and house.
Mrs. Betty said it was OK for me to look in the attic so I retrieved my stepladder and climbed through the small access in the ceiling of the kitchen. I didn’t feel good about going up in all the way because I couldn’t see the rafters. I could see light shining through unsealed nail holes. The roof rafters were the original old cypress or hemlock 2x4 boards on 24-inch centers. There was no ridge board. Someone had nailed crossties to brace the rafters. It looked like the ceiling rafters were also 2x4’s on 24-inch centers. My gut said we need to tear off this roof and install a good shingle roof, but there is no way the 2x4 rafters were going to support that weight.
I told Mrs. Betty we’d be out Monday with a good crew experienced with roofing. I could read the doubt in her face. She was very polite but had a passive air about her. I read her look to show that she imagined this is just another promise that would end in a bad finish. Already two earlier crews had been out and created mostly disruption and not solved the whole problem.
I drove back thinking maybe this new crew with its roofer and contractor would have a solution other than mine; namely, the only way to salvage the roof was to tear it off and put up shingles. That would entail at least new rafters on 12-inch centers between the 2x4’s but 2x6’s at least are required. How were we going to fit them into the 2x4’s? On top of that, the house is about one hundred years old. Its roof ridge looked like an old mare’s swayback and the foundation did not look too sound.
Come Sunday afternoon, two of the crew from Wake Forest Presbyterian Church in North Carolina went out with me and confirmed my assessment. We looked at each other and ignored the obvious, that the house really was in too bad a shape to warrant this expense, but Mrs. Betty had told us the house was one hundred years old and she’d lived in it her whole life.
What else could we do?
They decided we probably could get this done by Thursday or Friday morning (their flight out was Friday afternoon late.) I spent Sunday afternoon and evening at Home Depot pricing out lumber, roof sheathing and shingles. I arranged for the crew to start tearing off the roof while one of the guys from WFPC and I went to Home Depot at 6:00AM.
There was more than I could carry in one pickup. I took my work truck and he drove my Dodge. We loaded thirty-two 2x6x16 foot boards, ten 2x4’s, sixteen sheets of roof sheathing and seven rolls of roofing felt in the two pickups. It took almost three hours to get out of that store. I would come back later in the week to pick up the shingles.
We drove up to the house but the guys were on the roof just standing on the bare rafters and scratching their heads. I climbed a ladder and looked. On each rafter anywhere from a couple of feet to four or five feet was rotted away or eaten up by a past termite infestation. We were going to have to put in all new rafters. This was growing into a large job.
By Tuesday they had all the rafters replaced and were starting on the sheathing. There was no way to get it all done by noon Friday. We were respecting the homeowner’s peace (and getting a nice cooked breakfast at the village) by getting to the site at 8:30AM.
Since we take down all the ladders and tools in the evening and stretch a tarp over the roof to protect the insulation and ceilings from dew, in the morning we have to undo all this. It is close to 9 AM or later when work starts and it is so hot mid day that the roof work slows to a crawl.
The crew decided to commit to get the roof done, no matter what. They decided they would be at the site at 7AM if I could get the ladders and equipment there. We did this. The breakfast crew made us a separate breakfast and one of our volunteers went back to retrieve it so we could have some breakfast while we worked.
Wednesday about 6:30PM at dinner we realized there were severe thunderstorms up around Hattiesburg. I brought my laptop over to the mess tent and showed the weather radar to the crew. The storms were sinking south towards us.
By now we were pretty much in each other’s minds. We exchanged a few glances and one of the volunteers said, do you have any big tarps, we can’t take a chance on the rain ruining the drywall. That tarp we are using is OK for dew but a strong wind or hard rain will strip it off. We got up almost in formation and headed out the tent.
It was close to sundown. I went off in search of tarps but the ones I found at our site were not big enough. One of the village staff graciously drove down to Home Depot for the biggest they have. Meanwhile, we loaded ladders and headed to Mrs. Betty’s place. The new tarps arrived soon after and working by truck headlights we got the roof covered. I hit the sack about 10PM thinking about how soon that 5:30AM alarm would come.
By Thursday afternoon the crew had one side of the roof shingled. Still I couldn’t see them finishing by noon Friday.
That is when determination set in. These volunteers said we have to be on the plane at 5:30PM but we are going to work as late as necessary to get the job done. They worked hard and fast. I went off and dealt with other pressing issues at some other homes so I could get back in time to load the truck and get these good Samaritans to the airport. I drove up about 11:45AM. They had only about 5 or six shingles to install, trim the edges and caulk the joint where the electricity stack penetrated the roof.
By 12:30 we had Mrs. Davis out in her yard looking at her new roof. We took a picture of the whole crew with her. The Wake Forest crew gave her a plant stand with petunias and placed it on the corner of the house in her front yard as a home blessing gift.
Mrs. Betty had that priceless look in her face, a smile beaming the transformation of despair to joy. I’ve seen it in so many faces down here after a job is done. It is a humbling experience for me to see the big effect of our little effort over a few days. That smile alone justifies everything, the sleep-deprived days, the sunburn, the exhaustion and the absence from family. It is a semaphore showing someone knows hope is worth hanging onto.
The Wake Forest people were a great group of workers. It is an honor to know them.
I’m listening to rain drops on my roof as I write this entry. Mrs. Betty will be dry tonight thanks to Wake Forest.
Peace and sleep well tonight.
Friday a week ago, about 10AM I had just finished another home visit and decided I’d go ahead on drive out to assess the job so we can get it done this week. I called ahead and arranged to be there in about 30 minutes.
I got lost twice. First I followed the written instructions but missed a landmark and gave up driving around in the backcountry. Then I used my Google GPS on my Blackberry cell phone. It told me to go further north to a certain street but I’d already driven more distance than I though necessary. I imagined that I knew where I was better than the Blackberry and I turned back.
Finally I gave up and retraced my steps to my trailer and started out again. I got to the house 15 minutes late but she was still there.
It is a small four-room house, two bedrooms and a bathroom on one side, the kitchen and living room on the other. I first checked out the exterior appearance. Navigating around the fire ant hills scattered all over the yard, I saw an earlier crew had reinstalled the old tin roof, badly replacing sheets that were too damaged to use. Her front porch had asphalt shingles installed. The work site description noted a leak. I could see where by the way the flashing was installed between porch and house.
Mrs. Betty said it was OK for me to look in the attic so I retrieved my stepladder and climbed through the small access in the ceiling of the kitchen. I didn’t feel good about going up in all the way because I couldn’t see the rafters. I could see light shining through unsealed nail holes. The roof rafters were the original old cypress or hemlock 2x4 boards on 24-inch centers. There was no ridge board. Someone had nailed crossties to brace the rafters. It looked like the ceiling rafters were also 2x4’s on 24-inch centers. My gut said we need to tear off this roof and install a good shingle roof, but there is no way the 2x4 rafters were going to support that weight.
I told Mrs. Betty we’d be out Monday with a good crew experienced with roofing. I could read the doubt in her face. She was very polite but had a passive air about her. I read her look to show that she imagined this is just another promise that would end in a bad finish. Already two earlier crews had been out and created mostly disruption and not solved the whole problem.
I drove back thinking maybe this new crew with its roofer and contractor would have a solution other than mine; namely, the only way to salvage the roof was to tear it off and put up shingles. That would entail at least new rafters on 12-inch centers between the 2x4’s but 2x6’s at least are required. How were we going to fit them into the 2x4’s? On top of that, the house is about one hundred years old. Its roof ridge looked like an old mare’s swayback and the foundation did not look too sound.
Come Sunday afternoon, two of the crew from Wake Forest Presbyterian Church in North Carolina went out with me and confirmed my assessment. We looked at each other and ignored the obvious, that the house really was in too bad a shape to warrant this expense, but Mrs. Betty had told us the house was one hundred years old and she’d lived in it her whole life.
What else could we do?
They decided we probably could get this done by Thursday or Friday morning (their flight out was Friday afternoon late.) I spent Sunday afternoon and evening at Home Depot pricing out lumber, roof sheathing and shingles. I arranged for the crew to start tearing off the roof while one of the guys from WFPC and I went to Home Depot at 6:00AM.
There was more than I could carry in one pickup. I took my work truck and he drove my Dodge. We loaded thirty-two 2x6x16 foot boards, ten 2x4’s, sixteen sheets of roof sheathing and seven rolls of roofing felt in the two pickups. It took almost three hours to get out of that store. I would come back later in the week to pick up the shingles.
We drove up to the house but the guys were on the roof just standing on the bare rafters and scratching their heads. I climbed a ladder and looked. On each rafter anywhere from a couple of feet to four or five feet was rotted away or eaten up by a past termite infestation. We were going to have to put in all new rafters. This was growing into a large job.
By Tuesday they had all the rafters replaced and were starting on the sheathing. There was no way to get it all done by noon Friday. We were respecting the homeowner’s peace (and getting a nice cooked breakfast at the village) by getting to the site at 8:30AM.
Since we take down all the ladders and tools in the evening and stretch a tarp over the roof to protect the insulation and ceilings from dew, in the morning we have to undo all this. It is close to 9 AM or later when work starts and it is so hot mid day that the roof work slows to a crawl.
The crew decided to commit to get the roof done, no matter what. They decided they would be at the site at 7AM if I could get the ladders and equipment there. We did this. The breakfast crew made us a separate breakfast and one of our volunteers went back to retrieve it so we could have some breakfast while we worked.
Wednesday about 6:30PM at dinner we realized there were severe thunderstorms up around Hattiesburg. I brought my laptop over to the mess tent and showed the weather radar to the crew. The storms were sinking south towards us.
By now we were pretty much in each other’s minds. We exchanged a few glances and one of the volunteers said, do you have any big tarps, we can’t take a chance on the rain ruining the drywall. That tarp we are using is OK for dew but a strong wind or hard rain will strip it off. We got up almost in formation and headed out the tent.
It was close to sundown. I went off in search of tarps but the ones I found at our site were not big enough. One of the village staff graciously drove down to Home Depot for the biggest they have. Meanwhile, we loaded ladders and headed to Mrs. Betty’s place. The new tarps arrived soon after and working by truck headlights we got the roof covered. I hit the sack about 10PM thinking about how soon that 5:30AM alarm would come.
By Thursday afternoon the crew had one side of the roof shingled. Still I couldn’t see them finishing by noon Friday.
That is when determination set in. These volunteers said we have to be on the plane at 5:30PM but we are going to work as late as necessary to get the job done. They worked hard and fast. I went off and dealt with other pressing issues at some other homes so I could get back in time to load the truck and get these good Samaritans to the airport. I drove up about 11:45AM. They had only about 5 or six shingles to install, trim the edges and caulk the joint where the electricity stack penetrated the roof.
By 12:30 we had Mrs. Davis out in her yard looking at her new roof. We took a picture of the whole crew with her. The Wake Forest crew gave her a plant stand with petunias and placed it on the corner of the house in her front yard as a home blessing gift.
Mrs. Betty had that priceless look in her face, a smile beaming the transformation of despair to joy. I’ve seen it in so many faces down here after a job is done. It is a humbling experience for me to see the big effect of our little effort over a few days. That smile alone justifies everything, the sleep-deprived days, the sunburn, the exhaustion and the absence from family. It is a semaphore showing someone knows hope is worth hanging onto.
The Wake Forest people were a great group of workers. It is an honor to know them.
I’m listening to rain drops on my roof as I write this entry. Mrs. Betty will be dry tonight thanks to Wake Forest.
Peace and sleep well tonight.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Day 22 My new friend Boo
I met Boo today.
Boo was sitting in the dust out in the small fenced-in front yard of a home I visited. I’d pulled up out front; the house was at the end of the road on a wide circle, about 10 miles from our Village. There was an old Ford station wagon with dust-covered windows sitting on flat tires. The whole car listed towards the driver's side, hood and fender leaning down into the bank of a shallow ditch as if the car were a boat digging into a wave out on the gulf.
Boo circles around in the yard on his tether beyond the gate of the low, rusty chain link fence. The fence slumps on the left side of the gate, it's missing part of the piping that holds it up.
Boo has short thick, dusty black fur. He is a mongrel, looks to have a splash of pit bull, lab and who knows what else stirred around in his blood. His coat is foggy, its shiny black patina dulled.
Boo, however, is a skittish dog, really skittish. He’s tied to a long chain, the kind you see on a child’s swing set. The chain isn’t long enough to make the distance as far as he wants between him and me. He’s not happy but I’m not sure he knows why.
I talk gently to Boo but he keeps circling around in the dust, moving up and over the old plywood ramp up to the tattered screen door on the porch and back, uncertain of my intent. Boo seems to me to be the kind of dog who would long for human friendship if he’d ever known it.
“Come on in, he won’t bother you, he isn’t very sure of strangers. His name is Boo.”
The voice comes from a living room beyond the screen door. The room isn’t very well lit but I can see a man in a chair.
“Mr. Drye? Is that you?”
“Yes, come on in.”
I turn from Boo and walk up the ramp to the screen I pull on the handle but the door will not move.
“You’ve got to open the latch.”
I look around for this missing latch feeling a little inadequate that I can’t find it.
“The latch is on the inside, you have to reach through the screen to get to it.”
I see the lower right corner of the screen is torn at the door handle, a tear easily big enough to put softball through it. I reach in and feel around for the latch and lift it.
I walk into the living room traversing the porch that is littered with old furniture, chairs, and pieces of ordinary life long since abandoned. The room is shaded, not dimly lit, but barely bright enough to read my case notes. Some game show plays on the TV. Mr. Drye reclines in a large upholstered chair. He has the thin double plastic oxygen lines in his nose, the tubing runs back in the kitchen behind him. A hospital bed sits in front of the couch behind him. A wheeled walker with handbrakes sits in front of the bed. There is a hospital toilet stand in front of the walker.
“I’m sorry I can’t get up to show you in. I took a fall yesterday and I’m sort of staved up today. I’m not getting out of my chair anymore than I have to today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you ok?”
"Yes, I’ll be alright. I was in the hospital for about a month, had a pace maker installed. They thought I wasn’t going to make it but I did.”
He says this in a matter-of-fact way but with an obvious determination that projects no grief or despair, just expectation that comes from hope. He is fairly positive given all that has happened. I don’t follow up on his health.
“Mr. Drye, my notes say you have some drywall that needs to be done and something about leveling a floor.”
“Yes, if you look in the back bedroom you’ll see the floor has sunk about 3 inches, I’d like that jacked up. My son put up some drywall in the bedroom but you can see the ceiling needs it. I think in places you can see the light shining in from the outside.”
I go through the door into the back rooms, stepping down to a floor is a little mushy. I can see no easy way to raise or level this floor; the house sits on single cement blocks, maybe eight inches clearance. I look into the back bedroom; there are two of them, one of each side of the bathroom.
The front bedroom is full of stuff. Two single mattresses are standing on edge; one looks like it has had rats eating in it. There is a makeshift closet running across one side of the room. Boxes in the floor. It is too full for me to get into the room itself. Clothes hang in the closet and it appears as if they have been unused for a while. The walls have been dry walled but the seams aren’t done. The ceiling is old ¼ inch paneling and the face ply is delaminated and hanging down a bit. I see a rat hole in the corner at the base of the wall in the closet.
“My son did the walls of the bedroom, could you to jack up the floor and do the ceilings. I’ve been waiting three years for this help, you know.”
I look in the bathroom, the commode rocks on the floor. The flooring is probably half-rotten, I think. We can't get under the house with its low clearance except by directly cutting out the existing flooring. To do that we will have to find a place to move all the collected items stowed in the room.
I look in the other bedroom. This one was obviously Mr. Drye's at one time. Again the same wall length closet with a row of old, untouched clothes. The same weathered paneling on the ceiling. The room holds a double bed, its been made up. I notice two or three rat droppings on the bedspread. I’m thinking this four-room house is falling down. He doesn’t need to be here and if we spend effort and his money, or his niece’s for materials, are we doing the right thing? I'm not sure I see a good path out of this. I have to talk to his niece. I feel like I'm stuck in one of Camus' stories.
Coming back into the living room, I leave him my phone number and those of my associates.
“Would you look at those wrens? They’ve been building a nest on my front porch up over the door. Isn’t that something? They are really working hard on it.”
“I’ll work something up on your house Mr. Drye, and our case worker will figure something out. If anyone has a question you can call one of us on these numbers.”
I take my leave, back out the front door. I look at Boo. I decide I’m going to try to get him to let me scratch his head. I kneel down on the ramp and talk to him gently. He just paces. Once in a while he narrows the circle he paces, getting a little closer to me, but even my slightest move makes him back off.
After about 5 minutes of talking and coaxing him, I can see him relaxing a little. I ease a little lower so I don't present an intimidating stance. I don’t turn to follow his movement or keep obvious eye contact as he moves up onto the ramp dragging that chain. I know he wants to figure out my mystery. Boo edges closer behind me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye as he edges up and sniffs my back, but I shift almost imperceptibly and he quickly draws away, moving back around in front of me.
I continue to talk softly and gently to him. He edges back towards me. I slowly extend my hand in front of my body. He edges even closer and finally gets the nerve to sniff my hand and then gives my finger a couple of tentative, slight licks but immediately pulls away again as I move my hand to pet him. I stop moving and we repeat this little ritual two more times.
He is terribly distracted by fleas. He twists his head as far as he can towards his back and gnaws viciously his backside, his leg reflexively scratching the ground. I feel so bad for him; his torment from the biting is obvious.
“Mr. Drye, he seems to have a bad case of fleas.”
“Yes, I know. I have some stuff to put on him but I can’t get out in the yard. I’ll have to have my son do it.”
I really want Boo to relax and let me make friends with him; I’d really like to dose him with that flea powder. I kneel again and try to get on Boo’s good side. He approaches me the same way, slowly circling towards my backside and then as I slowly extend my hand and hold it out for him, finally he edges up and nudges my hand with the same tentative lick.
Mr. Drye is watching all this through the screen door from his chair. He periodically gives Boo encouragement.
“He is really pretty wary of strangers.”
"I haven't met too many dogs I couldn't befriend, Mr. Drye.”
Once after he edges up and licks my hand again, finally Boo lets me scratch his forehead. I see his eyes relax and he lets me scratch him only for a few seconds before he moves away. He is still too skittish to stand near me for very long. We repeat this once more but he decides he’s had enough. I know I’ve made a friend though.
Squatting there with Boo warming up to me; I wonder if I should stay and try further to gain his confidence. I look at my watch, it is getting late and I need to get back to the village for dinner. Boo will have to wait.
“Mr. Drye, I’ll be leaving now, but I’ll be back after we decide what to do. I want to call your niece and talk about what we do next.’
I pass through the gate, carefully closing it behind me.
“See you Boo.”
Driving off, I can’t stop thinking about what I'm going to do with Mr. Drye’s house, and how I’ll get that flea medicine on Boo before too long. Boo’s not Churchill’s ever-present companion, his black dog of despair. Just like Mr. Drye, Boo just needs some attention.
Boo was sitting in the dust out in the small fenced-in front yard of a home I visited. I’d pulled up out front; the house was at the end of the road on a wide circle, about 10 miles from our Village. There was an old Ford station wagon with dust-covered windows sitting on flat tires. The whole car listed towards the driver's side, hood and fender leaning down into the bank of a shallow ditch as if the car were a boat digging into a wave out on the gulf.
Boo circles around in the yard on his tether beyond the gate of the low, rusty chain link fence. The fence slumps on the left side of the gate, it's missing part of the piping that holds it up.
Boo has short thick, dusty black fur. He is a mongrel, looks to have a splash of pit bull, lab and who knows what else stirred around in his blood. His coat is foggy, its shiny black patina dulled.
Boo, however, is a skittish dog, really skittish. He’s tied to a long chain, the kind you see on a child’s swing set. The chain isn’t long enough to make the distance as far as he wants between him and me. He’s not happy but I’m not sure he knows why.
I talk gently to Boo but he keeps circling around in the dust, moving up and over the old plywood ramp up to the tattered screen door on the porch and back, uncertain of my intent. Boo seems to me to be the kind of dog who would long for human friendship if he’d ever known it.
“Come on in, he won’t bother you, he isn’t very sure of strangers. His name is Boo.”
The voice comes from a living room beyond the screen door. The room isn’t very well lit but I can see a man in a chair.
“Mr. Drye? Is that you?”
“Yes, come on in.”
I turn from Boo and walk up the ramp to the screen I pull on the handle but the door will not move.
“You’ve got to open the latch.”
I look around for this missing latch feeling a little inadequate that I can’t find it.
“The latch is on the inside, you have to reach through the screen to get to it.”
I see the lower right corner of the screen is torn at the door handle, a tear easily big enough to put softball through it. I reach in and feel around for the latch and lift it.
I walk into the living room traversing the porch that is littered with old furniture, chairs, and pieces of ordinary life long since abandoned. The room is shaded, not dimly lit, but barely bright enough to read my case notes. Some game show plays on the TV. Mr. Drye reclines in a large upholstered chair. He has the thin double plastic oxygen lines in his nose, the tubing runs back in the kitchen behind him. A hospital bed sits in front of the couch behind him. A wheeled walker with handbrakes sits in front of the bed. There is a hospital toilet stand in front of the walker.
“I’m sorry I can’t get up to show you in. I took a fall yesterday and I’m sort of staved up today. I’m not getting out of my chair anymore than I have to today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you ok?”
"Yes, I’ll be alright. I was in the hospital for about a month, had a pace maker installed. They thought I wasn’t going to make it but I did.”
He says this in a matter-of-fact way but with an obvious determination that projects no grief or despair, just expectation that comes from hope. He is fairly positive given all that has happened. I don’t follow up on his health.
“Mr. Drye, my notes say you have some drywall that needs to be done and something about leveling a floor.”
“Yes, if you look in the back bedroom you’ll see the floor has sunk about 3 inches, I’d like that jacked up. My son put up some drywall in the bedroom but you can see the ceiling needs it. I think in places you can see the light shining in from the outside.”
I go through the door into the back rooms, stepping down to a floor is a little mushy. I can see no easy way to raise or level this floor; the house sits on single cement blocks, maybe eight inches clearance. I look into the back bedroom; there are two of them, one of each side of the bathroom.
The front bedroom is full of stuff. Two single mattresses are standing on edge; one looks like it has had rats eating in it. There is a makeshift closet running across one side of the room. Boxes in the floor. It is too full for me to get into the room itself. Clothes hang in the closet and it appears as if they have been unused for a while. The walls have been dry walled but the seams aren’t done. The ceiling is old ¼ inch paneling and the face ply is delaminated and hanging down a bit. I see a rat hole in the corner at the base of the wall in the closet.
“My son did the walls of the bedroom, could you to jack up the floor and do the ceilings. I’ve been waiting three years for this help, you know.”
I look in the bathroom, the commode rocks on the floor. The flooring is probably half-rotten, I think. We can't get under the house with its low clearance except by directly cutting out the existing flooring. To do that we will have to find a place to move all the collected items stowed in the room.
I look in the other bedroom. This one was obviously Mr. Drye's at one time. Again the same wall length closet with a row of old, untouched clothes. The same weathered paneling on the ceiling. The room holds a double bed, its been made up. I notice two or three rat droppings on the bedspread. I’m thinking this four-room house is falling down. He doesn’t need to be here and if we spend effort and his money, or his niece’s for materials, are we doing the right thing? I'm not sure I see a good path out of this. I have to talk to his niece. I feel like I'm stuck in one of Camus' stories.
Coming back into the living room, I leave him my phone number and those of my associates.
“Would you look at those wrens? They’ve been building a nest on my front porch up over the door. Isn’t that something? They are really working hard on it.”
“I’ll work something up on your house Mr. Drye, and our case worker will figure something out. If anyone has a question you can call one of us on these numbers.”
I take my leave, back out the front door. I look at Boo. I decide I’m going to try to get him to let me scratch his head. I kneel down on the ramp and talk to him gently. He just paces. Once in a while he narrows the circle he paces, getting a little closer to me, but even my slightest move makes him back off.
After about 5 minutes of talking and coaxing him, I can see him relaxing a little. I ease a little lower so I don't present an intimidating stance. I don’t turn to follow his movement or keep obvious eye contact as he moves up onto the ramp dragging that chain. I know he wants to figure out my mystery. Boo edges closer behind me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye as he edges up and sniffs my back, but I shift almost imperceptibly and he quickly draws away, moving back around in front of me.
I continue to talk softly and gently to him. He edges back towards me. I slowly extend my hand in front of my body. He edges even closer and finally gets the nerve to sniff my hand and then gives my finger a couple of tentative, slight licks but immediately pulls away again as I move my hand to pet him. I stop moving and we repeat this little ritual two more times.
He is terribly distracted by fleas. He twists his head as far as he can towards his back and gnaws viciously his backside, his leg reflexively scratching the ground. I feel so bad for him; his torment from the biting is obvious.
“Mr. Drye, he seems to have a bad case of fleas.”
“Yes, I know. I have some stuff to put on him but I can’t get out in the yard. I’ll have to have my son do it.”
I really want Boo to relax and let me make friends with him; I’d really like to dose him with that flea powder. I kneel again and try to get on Boo’s good side. He approaches me the same way, slowly circling towards my backside and then as I slowly extend my hand and hold it out for him, finally he edges up and nudges my hand with the same tentative lick.
Mr. Drye is watching all this through the screen door from his chair. He periodically gives Boo encouragement.
“He is really pretty wary of strangers.”
"I haven't met too many dogs I couldn't befriend, Mr. Drye.”
Once after he edges up and licks my hand again, finally Boo lets me scratch his forehead. I see his eyes relax and he lets me scratch him only for a few seconds before he moves away. He is still too skittish to stand near me for very long. We repeat this once more but he decides he’s had enough. I know I’ve made a friend though.
Squatting there with Boo warming up to me; I wonder if I should stay and try further to gain his confidence. I look at my watch, it is getting late and I need to get back to the village for dinner. Boo will have to wait.
“Mr. Drye, I’ll be leaving now, but I’ll be back after we decide what to do. I want to call your niece and talk about what we do next.’
I pass through the gate, carefully closing it behind me.
“See you Boo.”
Driving off, I can’t stop thinking about what I'm going to do with Mr. Drye’s house, and how I’ll get that flea medicine on Boo before too long. Boo’s not Churchill’s ever-present companion, his black dog of despair. Just like Mr. Drye, Boo just needs some attention.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Day 20 - Old Friends
I got a call from Jimmy Lamy Friday.
His wife and daughter are doing a crawfish boil Saturday afternoon and he asked me to come on over about three o’clock. I have to do an assessment of a home Saturday morning and I figure I’ll head over to Pearlington after I’m done.
This assessment is the home of a young family, the mom teaches and the husband is under some medical condition. She and her daughter live with family and the father lives where his medical condition can be managed. My objective, written loud and clear on the summary is to get her back into her home. I’ll tell you more about it later.
I spent the better part of two hours on the home and got back to my office about noon. After I took the time to write up as much of my observations as I could it was already almost three in the afternoon. I finished up and made the forty-minute drive over. The weather was great, it started in the low 60’s with a lot of sun. By noon it is over 70 but really low humidity and still no serious mosquitoes yet.
As I pulled into his drive way about four o’clock, regrettably late, I got a good view of the new roof we put on his house last May. Boy was that a hot three days! And there they were sitting by a table piled high with red-glistening crawfish, decorated with yellow and white buds, ears of boiled corn and garlic heads. His two sons, daughters and grand daughters were there as well as some cousins and acquaintances.
As you may know, you make a boil by soaking the crawfish, garlic heads, mushrooms, onions, bell peppers and brussel sprouts in a strong spicy seasoning (I think Beaudreaux’s crab boil is he one they use,) and then fire up the gas burner and boil until everything is done. Then you just pull up the strainer to drain then and pour it all out onto the brown paper on a table top.
After the introductions I picked around at three or four crawfish, (they really take more effort than they are worth to me) I got a couple of ears of corn, some green bell peppers and then worked over a couple heads of garlic and the white onions. THey really take up the seasoning. We sat around and talked, under the oaks.
It brought back memories of our farewell dinner on my first trip down (See Pearlington Diaries down in the blog). And , lo, who should drive up into the yard? Lizzie, our karaoke wizard. Her home was the first I worked on. She did not recognize me until I told her who I was. She has a good job now but still runs the karaoke at Turtle’s down on the bayou.
So things are getting better. But boy, the wounds are still there. Jimmy said if another one comes as bad as Katrina, he is moving out for good.
His wife and daughter are doing a crawfish boil Saturday afternoon and he asked me to come on over about three o’clock. I have to do an assessment of a home Saturday morning and I figure I’ll head over to Pearlington after I’m done.
This assessment is the home of a young family, the mom teaches and the husband is under some medical condition. She and her daughter live with family and the father lives where his medical condition can be managed. My objective, written loud and clear on the summary is to get her back into her home. I’ll tell you more about it later.
I spent the better part of two hours on the home and got back to my office about noon. After I took the time to write up as much of my observations as I could it was already almost three in the afternoon. I finished up and made the forty-minute drive over. The weather was great, it started in the low 60’s with a lot of sun. By noon it is over 70 but really low humidity and still no serious mosquitoes yet.
As I pulled into his drive way about four o’clock, regrettably late, I got a good view of the new roof we put on his house last May. Boy was that a hot three days! And there they were sitting by a table piled high with red-glistening crawfish, decorated with yellow and white buds, ears of boiled corn and garlic heads. His two sons, daughters and grand daughters were there as well as some cousins and acquaintances.
As you may know, you make a boil by soaking the crawfish, garlic heads, mushrooms, onions, bell peppers and brussel sprouts in a strong spicy seasoning (I think Beaudreaux’s crab boil is he one they use,) and then fire up the gas burner and boil until everything is done. Then you just pull up the strainer to drain then and pour it all out onto the brown paper on a table top.
After the introductions I picked around at three or four crawfish, (they really take more effort than they are worth to me) I got a couple of ears of corn, some green bell peppers and then worked over a couple heads of garlic and the white onions. THey really take up the seasoning. We sat around and talked, under the oaks.
It brought back memories of our farewell dinner on my first trip down (See Pearlington Diaries down in the blog). And , lo, who should drive up into the yard? Lizzie, our karaoke wizard. Her home was the first I worked on. She did not recognize me until I told her who I was. She has a good job now but still runs the karaoke at Turtle’s down on the bayou.
So things are getting better. But boy, the wounds are still there. Jimmy said if another one comes as bad as Katrina, he is moving out for good.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Day 19 - Our Canadians Leave
Goodbyes are commonplace but grow more meaningful.
Our Canadians left at 6:00AM this morning. I had just entered the village after a morning walk. They were packing the last bags into the cars. We shared good byes and they gave me a small Canadian flag to post somewhere around the camp.
The Canadians have a thousand mile drive back to Windsor, Ontario - broken by a stop tonight in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. I believe this is the third group from their church this year, quite a commitment.
They left with some extra satisfying news.
When the crew with the police left our dear lady and her finished kitchen yesterday and revealed their identity she was a good sport about it.
Thankfully the fired waitress came back to work to pick up her check and called the number one of our staff left behind. We were able to meet her, get her name and point her towards possible help.
She had just moved to Gulfport when Katrina hit. The storm wiped out the house she was to move into. So really, she has been homeless since August 2005 (that is, living in a FEMA trailer with her two children). I’ll try to follow how her story unfolds.
Today, I’ll check out another house with a bad roof, try to finish a comparative estimate to convince an elderly lady that stripping and rebuilding her home is a better economical alternative than tearing it down and building a new one. In between, I'll probably drive to Pearlington to check in on the work for next week. I finally have made contact with another woman who is managing a family by herself and whose husband is disabled. Their partially de-roofed home, scalped by Katrina, has stood empty since. Tomorrow, respirator equipped, I will check it out including the mystery water-sodden attic. Who knows what grows there.
Keep our volunteers and mission workers in your prayers. They work hard. The emotional toll of the unflagging effort and the pathos of the people gradually build a burden upon them too heavy to carry alone.
Peace.
Our Canadians left at 6:00AM this morning. I had just entered the village after a morning walk. They were packing the last bags into the cars. We shared good byes and they gave me a small Canadian flag to post somewhere around the camp.
The Canadians have a thousand mile drive back to Windsor, Ontario - broken by a stop tonight in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. I believe this is the third group from their church this year, quite a commitment.
They left with some extra satisfying news.
When the crew with the police left our dear lady and her finished kitchen yesterday and revealed their identity she was a good sport about it.
Thankfully the fired waitress came back to work to pick up her check and called the number one of our staff left behind. We were able to meet her, get her name and point her towards possible help.
She had just moved to Gulfport when Katrina hit. The storm wiped out the house she was to move into. So really, she has been homeless since August 2005 (that is, living in a FEMA trailer with her two children). I’ll try to follow how her story unfolds.
Today, I’ll check out another house with a bad roof, try to finish a comparative estimate to convince an elderly lady that stripping and rebuilding her home is a better economical alternative than tearing it down and building a new one. In between, I'll probably drive to Pearlington to check in on the work for next week. I finally have made contact with another woman who is managing a family by herself and whose husband is disabled. Their partially de-roofed home, scalped by Katrina, has stood empty since. Tomorrow, respirator equipped, I will check it out including the mystery water-sodden attic. Who knows what grows there.
Keep our volunteers and mission workers in your prayers. They work hard. The emotional toll of the unflagging effort and the pathos of the people gradually build a burden upon them too heavy to carry alone.
Peace.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Day 17 - Who requires this trampling of my courts?
Hear the word of the LORD,
you rulers of Sodom!
Give ear to the teachings of our God,
you people of Gommorrah!
What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices?
says the LORD;
I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams
and the fat of fed beasts;
I do not delight in the blood of bulls,
or of lambs, or of he-goats.
When you come to appear before me,
who requires of you
this trampling of my courts?
Bring no more vain offerings;
incense is an abomination to me.
New moon and Sabbath and the calling of assemblies-
I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly.
Your new moons and your appointed feasts
my soul hates;
they have become a burden to me,
I am weary of bearing them.
When you spread forth your hands,
I will hide my eyes from you;
even though you make many prayers,
I will not listen;
your hands are full of blood.
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes;
cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
defend the fatherless,
plead for the widow.
Isaiah 1:10-17 (RSV)
“Lord, when did we see thee a stranger and welcome thee, or naked and clothe thee? And when did we see thee sick or in prison and visit thee? “ And the King will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.”
Matthew 25:37-40. (RSV)
you rulers of Sodom!
Give ear to the teachings of our God,
you people of Gommorrah!
What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices?
says the LORD;
I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams
and the fat of fed beasts;
I do not delight in the blood of bulls,
or of lambs, or of he-goats.
When you come to appear before me,
who requires of you
this trampling of my courts?
Bring no more vain offerings;
incense is an abomination to me.
New moon and Sabbath and the calling of assemblies-
I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly.
Your new moons and your appointed feasts
my soul hates;
they have become a burden to me,
I am weary of bearing them.
When you spread forth your hands,
I will hide my eyes from you;
even though you make many prayers,
I will not listen;
your hands are full of blood.
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes;
cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
defend the fatherless,
plead for the widow.
Isaiah 1:10-17 (RSV)
“Lord, when did we see thee a stranger and welcome thee, or naked and clothe thee? And when did we see thee sick or in prison and visit thee? “ And the King will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.”
Matthew 25:37-40. (RSV)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Day 16 - Some have entertained angels unawares
Two Encounters With Strangers
This month has been the one for Canadians. We have a group here this week from Windsor, Ontario. we have several policemen amongst them. They have brought unintended hilarity and pathos to our camp.
One of elderly people whose home we are working on (the one who couldn’t afford the fee to cut the gas off and on), has an antipathy towards the police and has been quite blunt with her assessments. She has yet to discover that a majority of the people working on her house this week are police.
Our volunteers have seen her brightened markedly in their presence as the shade of loneliness and despair is brushed aside, if only for a few days. She has taken one of the women frog and lizard hunting in the back yard today. The volunteers are far more relieved by her transformation into an interacting person with a hint of joy in her voice to worry much about her opinion of police. Our crew has a close affection for her and are admirably good sports about her negative commentary. Tomorrow or Thursday when they finish her home, they are going to surprise her with their true identity.
Will she laugh with them? I think so.
One of the guys went on a donut and coffee run for his crew early this morning. He had his hands full with donut holes and several cups of coffee. One of the young employees, a woman in her late twenties perhaps, offered to carry the donuts to the car. Of course he said no, it was no problem, but he said why not come out and enjoy the sunshine (We had a heavy frost this morning.)
She did. When she saw the magnetic sign on his car “Presbyterian Disaster Assistance” one thing led to another as she found out what he was doing in Gulfport. She started talking about her situation.
She has two young children and it doesn’t appear there is a man in their life to help out. She lives in a FEMA trailer but the officials are pressing her to move out into permanent housing by the end of the year. The officials found an apartment for her, it rents for only $1,000/month. She makes $7/hr.
She hadn’t heard of PDA but asked a lot of questions. After the volunteer returned to the work site he realized how blind he had been (Oh, Isaiah!). This might have been the opportunity their group was hoping to find, someone very needy to help. He was full of remorse and talked to our construction site manager who agreed to take an application form over to the donut shop later in the day.
When the site manager went in to the donut shop late in the afternoon and asked around, one of the other employees said she was not there. She was the one that was fired this afternoon.
Will we find her? I hope so.
This month has been the one for Canadians. We have a group here this week from Windsor, Ontario. we have several policemen amongst them. They have brought unintended hilarity and pathos to our camp.
One of elderly people whose home we are working on (the one who couldn’t afford the fee to cut the gas off and on), has an antipathy towards the police and has been quite blunt with her assessments. She has yet to discover that a majority of the people working on her house this week are police.
Our volunteers have seen her brightened markedly in their presence as the shade of loneliness and despair is brushed aside, if only for a few days. She has taken one of the women frog and lizard hunting in the back yard today. The volunteers are far more relieved by her transformation into an interacting person with a hint of joy in her voice to worry much about her opinion of police. Our crew has a close affection for her and are admirably good sports about her negative commentary. Tomorrow or Thursday when they finish her home, they are going to surprise her with their true identity.
Will she laugh with them? I think so.
One of the guys went on a donut and coffee run for his crew early this morning. He had his hands full with donut holes and several cups of coffee. One of the young employees, a woman in her late twenties perhaps, offered to carry the donuts to the car. Of course he said no, it was no problem, but he said why not come out and enjoy the sunshine (We had a heavy frost this morning.)
She did. When she saw the magnetic sign on his car “Presbyterian Disaster Assistance” one thing led to another as she found out what he was doing in Gulfport. She started talking about her situation.
She has two young children and it doesn’t appear there is a man in their life to help out. She lives in a FEMA trailer but the officials are pressing her to move out into permanent housing by the end of the year. The officials found an apartment for her, it rents for only $1,000/month. She makes $7/hr.
She hadn’t heard of PDA but asked a lot of questions. After the volunteer returned to the work site he realized how blind he had been (Oh, Isaiah!). This might have been the opportunity their group was hoping to find, someone very needy to help. He was full of remorse and talked to our construction site manager who agreed to take an application form over to the donut shop later in the day.
When the site manager went in to the donut shop late in the afternoon and asked around, one of the other employees said she was not there. She was the one that was fired this afternoon.
Will we find her? I hope so.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Day 13 The Valley of the Shadow of Death
The flood - Gulfport
Early last Sunday evening we had volunteers coming in over several hours. A group from London, Ontario has been driving down repeatedly over the last two years (16 hour drive). I did not think any of them had arrived other than the leader who came a little early. He was attending to several members one of the local families they had helped rebuild so they could move back into their own home. The family had come by to see the group.
Suddenly I heard a loud yelling and crying out and a commotion in the yard by the meal tent. I was a little concerned so I went out. The London group had just arrived in several cars and the mother of the family was crying and jumping with joy to see them drive into the camp. There were hugs, tears and shouts, and more hugs. After they all had the time to renew their friendship we invited everyone to eat. After dinner the mother wanted to tell their story again. As you know by now, we didn’t have to ask.
"The day of the storm early Monday it was really raining and blowing hard. My husband was sleeping. My mother and daughter were also in the house. I looked out the window for some reason and saw a wall of water coming towards the house. It crashed over the fence in my back yard and splashed up against the window of the house, steadily rising. I ran and woke up my husband but by that time the water was halfway up the window and water was coming into the house. It went above the window and suddenly the window burst, then the front door popped open as the pressure was released and water poured into the house. It happened so fast all I could do was just stand there and pray for deliverance for what seemed a long time. I can't swim and was petrified. I just kept on prayin'.
'Lord, oh please Lord ! We need you now, we need you now.'
There was a panel in the ceiling that covered a door into the attic. This attic door was in the middle of the room and no one could get to it. Water was sloshing in higher and higher. My husband pulled a chair over under the door, stood up and pushed open the door. We were all floating and hanging on to each other by this time. He helped me, our daughter and my mother up into the attic and was struggling to get in himself. The chair toppled and he was hanging on as the water rose. Suddenly something floating in the room came underneath him and he could stand enough to pull himself up into the attic.
In the dark attic we could hear all sorts of noises. The refrigerator and furniture were swirling around banging into the walls, knocking holes in them. We could look out the small attic window and see live animals floating around struggling to get onto something solid. We heard the screams of neighbors. We found out later our next-door neighbors also went up into their attic but they had no windows. The water went so high they had on a few inches of air to breathe but, thank the Lord, the water stopped rising.
Finally it became deathly quite outside. All there was to see through the window was the water and debris swirling around.
When the water subsided, we got down out of the attic. My husband went first and helped us down. The house was covered in thick mud and all sorts of smelly mess. My husband tromped through the nasty mud to make a path for us out of the house.
Neighbors discovered one of the old men in a house a few doors down, drowned under his refrigerator. It took four days for the coroner to come and take the body. It was so bad a time.
Then a little later you all came. You gave us food, clothes, water and helped us clean up the mess."
Her husband then spoke. These are his words as best I recall:
“Katrina is still hanging on. It is still happening. The PDA has helped in so many ways. Their help has been color blind. They have helped close the racial gap that exists ‘down here.’ We are so thankful for you. As Christians, you’ve done the best job.”
Amen.
Early last Sunday evening we had volunteers coming in over several hours. A group from London, Ontario has been driving down repeatedly over the last two years (16 hour drive). I did not think any of them had arrived other than the leader who came a little early. He was attending to several members one of the local families they had helped rebuild so they could move back into their own home. The family had come by to see the group.
Suddenly I heard a loud yelling and crying out and a commotion in the yard by the meal tent. I was a little concerned so I went out. The London group had just arrived in several cars and the mother of the family was crying and jumping with joy to see them drive into the camp. There were hugs, tears and shouts, and more hugs. After they all had the time to renew their friendship we invited everyone to eat. After dinner the mother wanted to tell their story again. As you know by now, we didn’t have to ask.
"The day of the storm early Monday it was really raining and blowing hard. My husband was sleeping. My mother and daughter were also in the house. I looked out the window for some reason and saw a wall of water coming towards the house. It crashed over the fence in my back yard and splashed up against the window of the house, steadily rising. I ran and woke up my husband but by that time the water was halfway up the window and water was coming into the house. It went above the window and suddenly the window burst, then the front door popped open as the pressure was released and water poured into the house. It happened so fast all I could do was just stand there and pray for deliverance for what seemed a long time. I can't swim and was petrified. I just kept on prayin'.
'Lord, oh please Lord ! We need you now, we need you now.'
There was a panel in the ceiling that covered a door into the attic. This attic door was in the middle of the room and no one could get to it. Water was sloshing in higher and higher. My husband pulled a chair over under the door, stood up and pushed open the door. We were all floating and hanging on to each other by this time. He helped me, our daughter and my mother up into the attic and was struggling to get in himself. The chair toppled and he was hanging on as the water rose. Suddenly something floating in the room came underneath him and he could stand enough to pull himself up into the attic.
In the dark attic we could hear all sorts of noises. The refrigerator and furniture were swirling around banging into the walls, knocking holes in them. We could look out the small attic window and see live animals floating around struggling to get onto something solid. We heard the screams of neighbors. We found out later our next-door neighbors also went up into their attic but they had no windows. The water went so high they had on a few inches of air to breathe but, thank the Lord, the water stopped rising.
Finally it became deathly quite outside. All there was to see through the window was the water and debris swirling around.
When the water subsided, we got down out of the attic. My husband went first and helped us down. The house was covered in thick mud and all sorts of smelly mess. My husband tromped through the nasty mud to make a path for us out of the house.
Neighbors discovered one of the old men in a house a few doors down, drowned under his refrigerator. It took four days for the coroner to come and take the body. It was so bad a time.
Then a little later you all came. You gave us food, clothes, water and helped us clean up the mess."
Her husband then spoke. These are his words as best I recall:
“Katrina is still hanging on. It is still happening. The PDA has helped in so many ways. Their help has been color blind. They have helped close the racial gap that exists ‘down here.’ We are so thankful for you. As Christians, you’ve done the best job.”
Amen.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Day 12 The Call for the Good Samaritan
So far I have reviewed four families who hired contractors to do work but who took the money and disappeared. Yet, I’ve seen people coming down to volunteer their hands and feet and have brought $500, $1000 or more to use to assist families who are rebuilding. I think the good still outweighs the bad.
I do not use the word “poverty” often or lightly, but you have to appreciate the relative poverty that many of these people find themselves. One may walk into a home and realize there is flood damage but also recognize it is hard to tell sometimes where the flood damage stops and the wear and tear of a home long neglected due to lack of money begins. Their homes often are not as well maintained as our garages.
Driving into Gulfport on US 49 one is struck by the contrast of new, large and brightly lit billboards advertising free drinks for gamblers, highest payouts on slot machines, professionally designed golf courses, an evening with Liza Minnelli or some other theatrical notable, and homes only a few blocks from the new casino on the coast standing empty and severely damaged while the owners live with relatives or in FEMA trailers. It is hard to accept without feeling anger, or guilt.
You can drive west a mile or three and discover story after story. I worked on one lady’s home replacing a kitchen. We had to call the local gas company to cut off her gas so we could remove her stove that was rendered useless by the salty surge of Katrina. She protested almost to the point of tears out of her fear of not being able to afford to pay the gas bill because the gas company charges $20 to cut service off and $20 to cut service on.
The framing in the walls of her house are spaced 24 inches or more. The standard is 16 inches. When we removed the soaked drywall, you could see through the exterior siding since there is no insulation in her wall.
Forgive me, my friends, for harping on our largess. Let us try to walk a mile in her shoes the next time we have the urge for a new cell phone, hall table or tickets for the symphony.
There is poverty in America and the call for the good Samaritan in us all echos across this land.
I do not use the word “poverty” often or lightly, but you have to appreciate the relative poverty that many of these people find themselves. One may walk into a home and realize there is flood damage but also recognize it is hard to tell sometimes where the flood damage stops and the wear and tear of a home long neglected due to lack of money begins. Their homes often are not as well maintained as our garages.
Driving into Gulfport on US 49 one is struck by the contrast of new, large and brightly lit billboards advertising free drinks for gamblers, highest payouts on slot machines, professionally designed golf courses, an evening with Liza Minnelli or some other theatrical notable, and homes only a few blocks from the new casino on the coast standing empty and severely damaged while the owners live with relatives or in FEMA trailers. It is hard to accept without feeling anger, or guilt.
You can drive west a mile or three and discover story after story. I worked on one lady’s home replacing a kitchen. We had to call the local gas company to cut off her gas so we could remove her stove that was rendered useless by the salty surge of Katrina. She protested almost to the point of tears out of her fear of not being able to afford to pay the gas bill because the gas company charges $20 to cut service off and $20 to cut service on.
The framing in the walls of her house are spaced 24 inches or more. The standard is 16 inches. When we removed the soaked drywall, you could see through the exterior siding since there is no insulation in her wall.
Forgive me, my friends, for harping on our largess. Let us try to walk a mile in her shoes the next time we have the urge for a new cell phone, hall table or tickets for the symphony.
There is poverty in America and the call for the good Samaritan in us all echos across this land.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Day 11 New Orleans
This week has been quite full. My stack of jobs to review and estimate is growing. I made two trips to New Orleans this week and will make another tomorrow to Pearlington.
I had to fulfill a prior obligation Tuesday to give a talk at the Spring Meeting of the American Institute of Chemical Engineers on some work two colleagues and I had done a while back. The drive over is only about 1 and one-quarter to 1 and one-half hours depending on what is going on with traffic on the twin spans of I-10 across Lake Pontchartrain (that are being rebuilt from the damage from Katrina). Coming in over the east side the devastation in town is still unavoidable. Many houses still covered with the blue tarps, windows gone, some roofs buckling. The devastation goes on and on in that city.
I also attended there some meetings with organizations active in the Katrina and Rita recovery activities. At a meeting in Metairie I found that despite the visible work to be done, in 2007 at least 20,000 cases have been addressed and closed. In 2008 the groups estimate there may be 20,000 rebuilds. There are about 4500 families on the waiting list and about 1800 still in FEMA trailers.
Even though people wonder what we can possibly be doing in this area, there is still far more work than people to do it. The local agencies are estimating they may help 1000 families, about 55% homeowners and 45% renters. This rebuilding just in New Orleans is expecting to last into 2015 or beyond. So believe that your help is needed.
I had to fulfill a prior obligation Tuesday to give a talk at the Spring Meeting of the American Institute of Chemical Engineers on some work two colleagues and I had done a while back. The drive over is only about 1 and one-quarter to 1 and one-half hours depending on what is going on with traffic on the twin spans of I-10 across Lake Pontchartrain (that are being rebuilt from the damage from Katrina). Coming in over the east side the devastation in town is still unavoidable. Many houses still covered with the blue tarps, windows gone, some roofs buckling. The devastation goes on and on in that city.
I also attended there some meetings with organizations active in the Katrina and Rita recovery activities. At a meeting in Metairie I found that despite the visible work to be done, in 2007 at least 20,000 cases have been addressed and closed. In 2008 the groups estimate there may be 20,000 rebuilds. There are about 4500 families on the waiting list and about 1800 still in FEMA trailers.
Even though people wonder what we can possibly be doing in this area, there is still far more work than people to do it. The local agencies are estimating they may help 1000 families, about 55% homeowners and 45% renters. This rebuilding just in New Orleans is expecting to last into 2015 or beyond. So believe that your help is needed.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Day 4 - The Greatness of Soul
Robert Fagles in a discourse on Sophocles’ Antigone stated, “…in certain heroic natures unmerited suffering and death can be met with greatness of soul which, because it is purely human, brings honor to us all.”
Today, I’ve been assessing the work to do on homes we have received to repair, from Gulfport to Pearlington. I have four or five more I have not yet gotten to, and I know more are coming before I get these done. Some need only a few pieces of drywall and a new door, others far more, new roof, tear down to studs, you name it.
After dinner tonight during the devotional (we have a large repeat group from the Presbytery of Cincinnati and from Colorado) one person remarked that when he faced his first home Monday the question he asked then seems so hollow now, “Why would they want to stay in that house?”
I’ve had people remark a similar question in the past, “Why don’t they just move somewhere else since they know another storm will come?”
This gentleman speaking after dinner said that his group worked hard all week to repair this woman’s home and today they stood beside her as she looked at this work completed by strangers; her gratefulness and her joy, the relief in her eyes that now she has a home for her family that she could not afford to repair herself was the answer to the question.
Today, I’ve been assessing the work to do on homes we have received to repair, from Gulfport to Pearlington. I have four or five more I have not yet gotten to, and I know more are coming before I get these done. Some need only a few pieces of drywall and a new door, others far more, new roof, tear down to studs, you name it.
After dinner tonight during the devotional (we have a large repeat group from the Presbytery of Cincinnati and from Colorado) one person remarked that when he faced his first home Monday the question he asked then seems so hollow now, “Why would they want to stay in that house?”
I’ve had people remark a similar question in the past, “Why don’t they just move somewhere else since they know another storm will come?”
This gentleman speaking after dinner said that his group worked hard all week to repair this woman’s home and today they stood beside her as she looked at this work completed by strangers; her gratefulness and her joy, the relief in her eyes that now she has a home for her family that she could not afford to repair herself was the answer to the question.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Day 2, continued
Today we visited the Harrison County LTR (Long Term Recovery) group. We met the local Red Cross person and the two key guys in the Harrison County organization. We talked to the Case Manager about a couple of homes the Red Cross is taking under wing. The Harrison county Construction Assessment guy asked if we were taking new cases and of course we said yes! We have about 70 volunteers in the camp this week and work is a little light due to some unexpected dropouts. He said he has six cases to give us, actually four since one was one repeated on the list and our case manager had already put people on one of the others. These are my first cases. I have to go over and assess the actual situations, figure out what materials may be needed and if we need to call in any licensed journeymen such as electricians for more detailed assessments.
The cases are mixed bag. One looks like it is an easily one or two day job, put up some doors and a few sheets of drywall then paint. The other sounds not too much worse, appears there is a little framing and leaky roofing, some gutter work and drywall. A single parent with a number of children to watch for lives in each home. Neither have the money to do the required repairs without financial aid, which they have. One of them used an insurance settlement to cover living expense for the children, what else could he do? A contractor left the other with the money but much of the work undone. A common event.
However the description of the third job portends a big challenge. The home was inundated by the surge and has not been lived in since Katrina. The description states it has bad mold damage and no one yet has braved the task of entering the attic to see what lurks there. It sounds like a complete strip out to the studs. Still I’m eager to check it out, I have to go look for a good respirator for the mold.
Stay tuned.
The cases are mixed bag. One looks like it is an easily one or two day job, put up some doors and a few sheets of drywall then paint. The other sounds not too much worse, appears there is a little framing and leaky roofing, some gutter work and drywall. A single parent with a number of children to watch for lives in each home. Neither have the money to do the required repairs without financial aid, which they have. One of them used an insurance settlement to cover living expense for the children, what else could he do? A contractor left the other with the money but much of the work undone. A common event.
However the description of the third job portends a big challenge. The home was inundated by the surge and has not been lived in since Katrina. The description states it has bad mold damage and no one yet has braved the task of entering the attic to see what lurks there. It sounds like a complete strip out to the studs. Still I’m eager to check it out, I have to go look for a good respirator for the mold.
Stay tuned.
Day 2 - Sunrise! A new beginning
By the end of the day Sunday, after a seven hour drive under a sky that couldn’t make up its mind, changing repeatedly from overcast and blustery to sunny, I arrived at the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance program (PDA) village at Orange Grove Presbyterian Church on the north side of Gulfport, Mississippi and had connected with the Interim Village Coordinator. I got the keys to my trailer from her and checked it out. It’s really not too bad, a bed on one end, a modest kitchen with a microwave in the middle with a sofa and bench seats at the table that fold out into beds and the bathroom at the other end.
The Village Coordinator saved me a small piece of barbequed chicken that I ate while talking to her. I met the Village manager and her husband who came by the table while I ate.
Monday morning ready to start my new job, I rode over to the office with the Village Coordinator, met the case manager again and her assistant, a youth volunteer. The finance coordinator was there as well. The logistics manager who I’d met on an earlier trip had a bad cold and stayed in. By Tuesday evening, I’d gotten a fair feel for the personnel situation. We have a small core of people, maybe 40 of which most are volunteers - college-aged people on 3-6 month stints as well as a few retirement-aged folks working as volunteers on an hourly rate. The few salaried people who run the operation have their work cut out for them. They have to manage the stress of the effort to identify work to do, to be sure Village Managers know and plan for the influx of volunteers, and be sure everything is in order at the work sites. We expect over 4,000 volunteer hours in April, more or less evenly distributed between Orange Grove in Gulfport, Pearlington in Hancock County, Olive Tree and Luling north of New Orleans and Houma, southwest of New Orleans. Add to this the challenge to manage the interpersonal situations that arise within a very small group of people managing a very large job stretched over the two states where Katrina hit. Even the best can manage the stress for only a couple of years mostly due to their dedication, before exhaustion wears them out.
The Village Coordinator saved me a small piece of barbequed chicken that I ate while talking to her. I met the Village manager and her husband who came by the table while I ate.
Monday morning ready to start my new job, I rode over to the office with the Village Coordinator, met the case manager again and her assistant, a youth volunteer. The finance coordinator was there as well. The logistics manager who I’d met on an earlier trip had a bad cold and stayed in. By Tuesday evening, I’d gotten a fair feel for the personnel situation. We have a small core of people, maybe 40 of which most are volunteers - college-aged people on 3-6 month stints as well as a few retirement-aged folks working as volunteers on an hourly rate. The few salaried people who run the operation have their work cut out for them. They have to manage the stress of the effort to identify work to do, to be sure Village Managers know and plan for the influx of volunteers, and be sure everything is in order at the work sites. We expect over 4,000 volunteer hours in April, more or less evenly distributed between Orange Grove in Gulfport, Pearlington in Hancock County, Olive Tree and Luling north of New Orleans and Houma, southwest of New Orleans. Add to this the challenge to manage the interpersonal situations that arise within a very small group of people managing a very large job stretched over the two states where Katrina hit. Even the best can manage the stress for only a couple of years mostly due to their dedication, before exhaustion wears them out.
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