I drive up to Gary’s home about 11AM. The house looks pretty good from the outside, but it has been almost three years since Katrina. Gary is sitting in a chair in his front yard watching the volunteer crew work. It looks like both he and the work crew perk up as I pull up into his drive way.
Gary is a really happy guy with no good reason other than he is still alive. I hope I can find that strength to laugh, to engage people, to talk when I’m carrying a heavy burden inside.
I guess Gary is in his late 60’s, it’s hard to tell. His health does not appear the best. (Later walking into his house, the smell tells me that he is a heavy smoker. Prescription bottles litter the table in his living room.)
“Mr. Gary, that siding looks really good. Somebody did a really good job.”
As I say this a really large, satisfied smile grows on his face.
“You know, that siding was done by the Mennonites. They told me it was the first time they had installed siding. “
I walk around outside, looking at the edges and window fit in more detail.
“Well, the Mennonites have a good reputation for building houses, I’m not surprised. It looks like a fine job.”
“It was done over a year and a half ago.”
While he is talking, I am mentally going through my checklist from the work-site manager over what we have to do here. I know there is a floor to install, some painting and replacing a column on his carport. I’m here because we need to install his kitchen floor and the crew is nervous about it.
A large roll of sheet vinyl lies on the pavement of carport. All I can think is when was the last time I saw sheet vinyl installed? I am not sure I’ve ever done it but I do remember some issues about how easy it is to tear, how hard it is to make a good seam, and how once you cut it too short you are up the creek. Uneasily I go into the house to check out the kitchen floor.
None of the crew or the work-site manager say anything. They just look at me expectantly, as if they are reading my doubts. Mr. Gary is looking at me too, and smiling. He seems to be project a confidence in me, as if I had an expertise that I plainly do not feel I have.
I look at the floor for a few minutes, revisiting those few painful things about vinyl, first the floor has to be spotlessly clean. The least little particle left behind reveals a distinct pimple in the vinyl if it is not removed. Crevices between subfloor, nail heads, anything will eventually show up as a mar in the surface. It is easy to tear. The troweling of the contact adhesive is a messy job. I am not looking forward to this one.
“Let’s get some measurements and see how the kitchen lays out on the vinyl. We are going to have to cut it, roll it up and carefully lay it down on the floor to check its fit. We may have to trim some more after that.”
I am looking for something to delay all this. I use my tape again to get the floor dimensions between cabinets, range, refrigerator and doors. Doing this again, I see that the lauan plywood that had been laid down as a subfloor for the vinyl was nailed with smooth-shank nails. Even now some of the nails not well seated are creeping up as the plywood flexed.
“I thought I said to use ring-shank nails, or even screws? These nails are going to have to be sistered with ring-shank nails, every nail head be well seated, and if necessary covered with leveling compound.”
There are no ring-shank nails, or screws on site and the leveling compound is partially dried out. I’ll need to go to the homebuilders’ supply store and get the nails and fresh compound. I put the crew to work nailing down the emerging nail heads in the plywood and head outside to the store.
After I get back with the nails and leveling compound I get them started on that. Now I have to tackle the vinyl on his concrete driveway. I measure and lay out the lines with blue masking tape.
Confused about one measurement, I keep repeating, “measure twice, cut once” as I walk back to the kitchen. It sounds like something an experienced pro would say.
Well then I saw this new fellow looking into the kitchen doorway besides Mr. Gary. He didn’t say much but Mr. Gary was smiling beside him.
One thing I learned a long time ago, when you are doing this kind of construction work and someone with some experience drops by to look in, you get a lot of information from comments or facial expressions. You usually get it fast.
“Mr. Henry, this is Edward, he did the plumbing and electrical work for free. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Mr. Gary’s expression changed after Edward’s visit. He seems even more respectful and friendly towards me.
“Yes, Mr. Henry, you’re going to give me a nice floor. I can tell.”
Of course this just raises the ante for me, puts a little more pressure on me. I keep thinking if those nails come up later, it’s my fault.
“Now Mr. Gary, I’ll do my best but I can’t promise anything but what I can do.”
“Mr. Henry, I just want my kitchen floor. I know you’ll do a good job; there isn’t anyone else around to do it. Do you think we can get the stove back installed today? I know you are going to do a fine job.”
“Well, Mr. Gary, I think I want to lay out these lines and see how we are doing. Also after the crew finished re-nailing we are going to want to apply some leveling compound to fill in the low spots. We want to let the compound dry.”
By this time it was after 4:30PM. I knew the leveling compound wouldn’t set soon enough for us to sand, sweep and vacuum today. Plus the one chance I have to cut that vinyl was still worrying me.
“Mr. Gary, I think we need to let the leveling compound set until tomorrow, to be safe.”
“OK, if you say so Mr. Henry.”
“Mr. Gary, we will get it all set up and lay the floor tomorrow morning. Is that OK with you.”
Yes, Mr. Henry, you’re in charge, I know you’ll do a good job.”
He said that with such confidence that it only increases my discomfort.
During the late evening at my trailer, I find one of my reference books. Vinyl floors.
“Of course! The paper template.”
My book says carefully lay out, cut and tape Kraft paper on the kitchen floor to form a template, them roll it up and transfer the layout to the unrolled vinyl.
On the way back the next morning I stop by the builders’ supply store and buy a roll of Kraft paper and masking tape. We lay out and cut the paper template, carefully taping it so we can transfer the outline to the vinyl. If we mess it up it is going to be my fault.
Finally I have to take my knife in hand and with the help of my crew cut out the pattern. As I cut the vinyl I can tell how soft and resilient it is, how it is going to be a nice slightly cushioned floor. And, on top of that the ceramic tile pattern is remarkably realistic. This is going to be a nice floor. If I do not mess it up.
I kept delaying the final step. I asked the crew to sweep and vacuum the floor twice. Then I went over it carefully. Finally, I had to move on.
“Let’s roll it up and see how well it fits the kitchen.”
No one objects. When we unroll it I realize I’ve used the wrong dimension to the door left about 15 inches excess. Thank goodness everything else but the looks ok, but I will have to cut the curved pattern of the door just before we glue.
“OK, I guess we roll it up and take it outside so I can trim this long edge.”
All this time I’m thinking every time we roll and unroll this vinyl we risk a tear. It could be 100 degrees outside by the way I am sweating heavily from the stress.
Finally, I have no choice but to cut the long edge.
“OK, let’s roll it up. We will place the rolled vinyl down, trowel the adhesive and unroll, and then gradually troweling and unroll a few feet at a time working our way across the room. One of you needs to use the roller behind us to ensure the glued vinyl makes good contact and squeegee any wrinkles as we go.”
By this time it’s close to five in the afternoon. The crew is supposed to fix dinner at camp tonight for the 6:30 dinnertime. It is a 40 minute drive back. I look at the crew leader who is staring at me. Mr. Gary is sitting in his chair the living room but is listening with a keen ear to our deliberation. It is an obvious decision. We send back all the crew as the team leader says to me that we’ll work until we are done. I nod my assent.
Mr. Gary stands and walks to the doorway watching us trowel, unroll a little and wait the designated 10-20 minutes and start again until we are done.
“It surely looks nice, Mr. Henry.”
“Mr. Gary this is a beautiful floor. I sure hope our nailing is ok. “
Mr. Gary’s smile is beaming.
“Mr. Henry, you’ve done well. I’m sure it is OK. It’s been almost three years since I’ve had a kitchen. Say, do you think I can walk on it now?”
“Well, I’d think I’d want to give it about 24 hours to set. What about tomorrow evening?”
I can see his disappointment.
“Oh, I want to brig my grandchildren over to see it! Do you think it would be ok? I guess I can just keep them off it and let them look.”
“I’m not so sure, Mr. Gary, we need to let the glue set a little.”
I stand there listening to this, thinking how happy he is, how something a straightforward as a new kitchen is so great an emotional achievement in Mr. Gary’s life. Right now his greatest joy is for his grandchildren to see this fine, new floor.
I relent.
“Mr. Gary, I guess if you are really careful and don’t let them walk on it very much it will be fine to show it off to night.”
“Don’t worry, it might be 7:30PM before thy can get over here.”
We pack up our tools and toss all of the debris cluttering his carport them into my truck, leaving carport clear and clean. Mr. Gary and I shake hands and exchange good byes.
”Mr. Henry, tonight is the first time since Katrina that I can park my car in the carport.”
All the way back to Gulfport I’m thinking how something as simple as a new floor, the expectation of a working kitchen tomorrow and a clean carport can be such a great joy to give someone.
I’m thinking how true it is that for these surge-stricken people. They measure the context of their life in time “after Katrina, ” as what ever happened previously pales in significance.
And then I realize between a tear or two how true this measurement is for me.
God bless such gentle spirits as Mr. Gary.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Day 56 - Mysterious Ways and Coincidences
A week ago Friday after reviewing the work and teams for the week, I was a little uncertain as the skill definition of the teams was not very clear in the paperwork. We had a team coming down from the northeastern Pennsylvania region, a team from South Carolina and a group from Davidson College (North Carolina) arriving early in the week in Pearlington.
On top of that we were to have a team of mostly rising college sophomores from Arkansas at our camp in Gulfport and a new work site manager. To top that off, our work site manager in Pearlington was slowed down quite a bit (90%?) from a mishap he had previously. Add to that a staff meeting Thursday in Houma, Louisiana. Nevertheless, the week took an interesting turn.
I spent the week driving back and forth from Pascagoula where half the Arkansas group was working and our Pearlington sites. Our Gulfport work site manager supervised the other half of the Arkansas group who were working closer to Gulfport. Pascagoula is quite a ways from Pearlington, east of Biloxi and Ocean Springs, almost at the Alabama state line.
Even Pascagoula on the other side of the state suffered the surge that baptized Pearlington. The house across the street from the home we were working offered a good idea of how the water rose in Pascagoula. We are about a seven minute walk to the ocean here at the house. You see in the picture the brick lamppost across the street. The water rose to the fourth brick from the top.
Mr. Gary told us he was sitting in his living room and he noticed a wet spot on the floor under his TV. Within minutes the water rose into his house about 2 ½ feet, just below the TV base. And like a surging wave at the beach, as fast as it rose, it fell in the space of a minute or two. Unfortunately it ruined drywall, flooring, food, appliances and anything else that close to the floor.
From the lamppost you can see it also pretty well soaked any cars in the driveway.
Mr. Gary was so happy we were there - of course the charm of our work crew had something to do with it. He brought us crawfish and for me, a shrimp poor boy sandwich. Excellent. I feel so bad that it has taken us 2 ½ years to get to him and his house, but our crew, thanks to the work site manager, completed everything but painting a few baseboards and replacing a column in the car port. They were so good.
Even though I wanted to be sure this crew was well established I had to go to Pearlington Monday to be sure the three teams there were set up right. I didn’t make it to Pearlington until after lunch and then didn’t make it back again until Friday.
I rushed over Friday because I wanted to meet the Davidson crew. I knew JoeB attended there and I had some peculiar sense about needing to meet the group.
What a surprise! As soon as I arrived Friday morning, I got the work location from Heather the village manager and located them about 8:30AM. I introduced myself to the team leader, the associate minister from Westminster PC. I knew she was a true trooper because as I looked up the steps of the house to the deck, there she stood with like the captain of a ship but with her very young infant daughter in her arms.
I introduced myself and mentioned Jodi and JoeB, my pastors at Northside in Chattanooga. She had this big, effusive smile and said,
“Jodi! She and I were classmates in seminary. I’m Kathy Beach-Verhey.”
After I finished talking with her about Jodi and Northside she asked if I knew Rachel Taylor!
‘Of course! Sometimes when I’m not singing in the choir I find myself sitting behind her.”
“Her daughter is in the other room.”
“Really?”
"Meet Linda Steber.”
Well Linda and I spent quite a few minutes talking about Rachel and how small the Presbyterian Church seems some times when these events happen. (I may have mentioned a few weeks ago that a daughter and son-in law of some Southwest Pennsylvania Presbyterian volunteers in Gulfport live in my old house in New Kensington, PA.)
Linda asked me if I knew Mary and Dennis Goodwin. I never had time to me to explain that when I sat behind Rachel it usually was also behind them.
It is written for us to be kind to strangers; one never knows when one is entertaining an angel. I’m not sure I believe in coincidences, only in mysterious ways.
On top of that we were to have a team of mostly rising college sophomores from Arkansas at our camp in Gulfport and a new work site manager. To top that off, our work site manager in Pearlington was slowed down quite a bit (90%?) from a mishap he had previously. Add to that a staff meeting Thursday in Houma, Louisiana. Nevertheless, the week took an interesting turn.
I spent the week driving back and forth from Pascagoula where half the Arkansas group was working and our Pearlington sites. Our Gulfport work site manager supervised the other half of the Arkansas group who were working closer to Gulfport. Pascagoula is quite a ways from Pearlington, east of Biloxi and Ocean Springs, almost at the Alabama state line.
Even Pascagoula on the other side of the state suffered the surge that baptized Pearlington. The house across the street from the home we were working offered a good idea of how the water rose in Pascagoula. We are about a seven minute walk to the ocean here at the house. You see in the picture the brick lamppost across the street. The water rose to the fourth brick from the top.
Mr. Gary told us he was sitting in his living room and he noticed a wet spot on the floor under his TV. Within minutes the water rose into his house about 2 ½ feet, just below the TV base. And like a surging wave at the beach, as fast as it rose, it fell in the space of a minute or two. Unfortunately it ruined drywall, flooring, food, appliances and anything else that close to the floor.
From the lamppost you can see it also pretty well soaked any cars in the driveway.
Mr. Gary was so happy we were there - of course the charm of our work crew had something to do with it. He brought us crawfish and for me, a shrimp poor boy sandwich. Excellent. I feel so bad that it has taken us 2 ½ years to get to him and his house, but our crew, thanks to the work site manager, completed everything but painting a few baseboards and replacing a column in the car port. They were so good.Even though I wanted to be sure this crew was well established I had to go to Pearlington Monday to be sure the three teams there were set up right. I didn’t make it to Pearlington until after lunch and then didn’t make it back again until Friday.
I rushed over Friday because I wanted to meet the Davidson crew. I knew JoeB attended there and I had some peculiar sense about needing to meet the group.
What a surprise! As soon as I arrived Friday morning, I got the work location from Heather the village manager and located them about 8:30AM. I introduced myself to the team leader, the associate minister from Westminster PC. I knew she was a true trooper because as I looked up the steps of the house to the deck, there she stood with like the captain of a ship but with her very young infant daughter in her arms.
I introduced myself and mentioned Jodi and JoeB, my pastors at Northside in Chattanooga. She had this big, effusive smile and said,
“Jodi! She and I were classmates in seminary. I’m Kathy Beach-Verhey.”
After I finished talking with her about Jodi and Northside she asked if I knew Rachel Taylor!
‘Of course! Sometimes when I’m not singing in the choir I find myself sitting behind her.”
“Her daughter is in the other room.”
“Really?”
"Meet Linda Steber.”
Well Linda and I spent quite a few minutes talking about Rachel and how small the Presbyterian Church seems some times when these events happen. (I may have mentioned a few weeks ago that a daughter and son-in law of some Southwest Pennsylvania Presbyterian volunteers in Gulfport live in my old house in New Kensington, PA.)
Linda asked me if I knew Mary and Dennis Goodwin. I never had time to me to explain that when I sat behind Rachel it usually was also behind them.
It is written for us to be kind to strangers; one never knows when one is entertaining an angel. I’m not sure I believe in coincidences, only in mysterious ways.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Day 51 – Year A.K.E.
For most people in the Gulf coast, time does not exist before Katrina. Everything is measured in AKE, the “after Katrina Era.”
They measure their experience from their baptism, when faith and hope became more than just two words.
I was listening to a volunteer from South Carolina at lunch today. She told us that her group came down only a few weeks after Katrina. Their volunteer coordinator directed the group to a name and address to begin helping.
Well, it was pretty confusing then. The road signs were mostly gone, toppled trees and debris lay everywhere.
Eventually they found their way to the disheveled house. After a knock on the door, there was nothing but silence. After a minute or so, another knock. Nothing. They turned to go away concluding either they got the wrong address from the volunteer or the people weren’t home.
As they reached the first step, the front door opened and a man stood with the weary look of a person who has carried too great a burden for too long.
The group leader introduced himself and explained they were here to start helping the family clean up. The man’s eyes brightened.
“We have given up hope, it just doesn’t seem like we are ever going to get any help.”
The leader objected.
“Oh Mr. Bryan, no, we just got your name, that is why we are here. We are going to be the first crew who will eventually get you back into a new home.”
Mr. Bryan had a strange look, it seemed that his mouth was frozen in a frown but his cheeks were forcing the crack of a smile. Except there were tears in his eyes.
By this time his wife had come to the door and was holding onto the husband’s left arm.
We are the Doyles. The Bryan’s have the same address but they live on the next street over. You are at the wrong house. He said this haltingly with a broken voice. His wife whose face was expressionless, was squeezing his arm tightly as if would she let go her whole world might just spin right out of existence into the either.
“We are sorry, we did not mean to disturb you.”
“Oh you just do not know what you have done. We had given up and were sitting in our home looking at the moldy walls and the dirt. We had just made our pact, one of us was going to shoot the other and then turn the gun and end it for both of us. You saved our lives.”
You make a difference in everyone’s life when you volunteer your life to help someone. That difference, I think, in part has helped change people’s outlook here in Mississippi.
Now in year 3 A.K.E. , so many have rediscovered hope and can laugh again, even joking about their worst calamity as I saw on the rear fender of this Ford pickup in traffic yesterday afternoon…
They measure their experience from their baptism, when faith and hope became more than just two words.
I was listening to a volunteer from South Carolina at lunch today. She told us that her group came down only a few weeks after Katrina. Their volunteer coordinator directed the group to a name and address to begin helping.
Well, it was pretty confusing then. The road signs were mostly gone, toppled trees and debris lay everywhere.
Eventually they found their way to the disheveled house. After a knock on the door, there was nothing but silence. After a minute or so, another knock. Nothing. They turned to go away concluding either they got the wrong address from the volunteer or the people weren’t home.
As they reached the first step, the front door opened and a man stood with the weary look of a person who has carried too great a burden for too long.
The group leader introduced himself and explained they were here to start helping the family clean up. The man’s eyes brightened.
“We have given up hope, it just doesn’t seem like we are ever going to get any help.”
The leader objected.
“Oh Mr. Bryan, no, we just got your name, that is why we are here. We are going to be the first crew who will eventually get you back into a new home.”
Mr. Bryan had a strange look, it seemed that his mouth was frozen in a frown but his cheeks were forcing the crack of a smile. Except there were tears in his eyes.
By this time his wife had come to the door and was holding onto the husband’s left arm.
We are the Doyles. The Bryan’s have the same address but they live on the next street over. You are at the wrong house. He said this haltingly with a broken voice. His wife whose face was expressionless, was squeezing his arm tightly as if would she let go her whole world might just spin right out of existence into the either.
“We are sorry, we did not mean to disturb you.”
“Oh you just do not know what you have done. We had given up and were sitting in our home looking at the moldy walls and the dirt. We had just made our pact, one of us was going to shoot the other and then turn the gun and end it for both of us. You saved our lives.”
You make a difference in everyone’s life when you volunteer your life to help someone. That difference, I think, in part has helped change people’s outlook here in Mississippi.
Now in year 3 A.K.E. , so many have rediscovered hope and can laugh again, even joking about their worst calamity as I saw on the rear fender of this Ford pickup in traffic yesterday afternoon…
Monday, May 19, 2008
Day 50 - It’s been almost three years, why are you still working here?
I’ve heard this question myself and heard other volunteers mention it has been posed to them. Certainly driving down US49 into Gulfport you would think everything is A-OK until you crossed I-10; that is, if you crossed I-10 and turned either east a few blocks on a crossroad and took a side street south, or turned west and did the same; or took I-10 west and drove down into Long Beach.
If you like, you could drive over I-10 west to the hamlet called Pearlington. Pearlington isn’t incorporated so it gets no particular attention, some people hope it would just go away.
A group of young volunteers asked how could you know if there was any work to do, or what had happened here. Then we turned into the neighborhood where the home we are working on is located.
They saw this house before we reached the street we were to turn onto to get to the house we are working on...
And then another and another ...
Then we turned and saw the houses on both corners...
The whole subdivision is like this, two years and nine months after Katrina.
Multiply these four by 10, 20 or 100, brick house or no; then imagine the same in every coastal city and town between Houma, Louisiana and Pascagoula, Mississippi.
Has work been done? Yes, thanks to volunteers.
If you like, you could drive over I-10 west to the hamlet called Pearlington. Pearlington isn’t incorporated so it gets no particular attention, some people hope it would just go away.
A group of young volunteers asked how could you know if there was any work to do, or what had happened here. Then we turned into the neighborhood where the home we are working on is located.
They saw this house before we reached the street we were to turn onto to get to the house we are working on...
And then another and another ...
Then we turned and saw the houses on both corners...
The whole subdivision is like this, two years and nine months after Katrina.
Oh, by the way, if you lived in one of these four brick homes and did not start rebuilding before June, 2006, you can’t, at least not with any grant money. You probably couldn’t afford the insurance even if you had the money to rebuild.
The only choice is a new home raised up to survive the “100 year flood” elevation. Probably some of those folks never made it back to Pearlington until after June, 2006.
Oh, by the way, the American Red Cross is not taking new grant applications after June 1, I hear. Which agency or organization will be next?
Multiply these four by 10, 20 or 100, brick house or no; then imagine the same in every coastal city and town between Houma, Louisiana and Pascagoula, Mississippi.
On the way back to lunch, I pointed out the window of the truck for one of the volunteers and asked nonchalantly if they saw over in the high grass the brick steps standing solitary and stopping at some non-existent doorway.
Or the set of steps in the lot next door.
Or the concrete pad in the next lot.
Or the FEMA trailer after FEMA trailer still mounted on cement blocks or posts beside the roads.
Has work been done? Yes, thanks to volunteers.
Is there work yet to be done?
Come and see, you won’t believe me until you do.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Day 48 - Strangers in the Night
Sometimes the effort is long, difficult, draining and still takes an unexpected twist at the end.
This week saw a couple of careless injuries in the work place. It saw severe thunderstorms and the threat of tornado. The week gave me the gift to see some fellow travelers from Chattanooga.
Mid-morning I was driving towards a worksite in Pearlington when I got a phone call that the weather radio was posting a severe thunderstorm warning, tornado watch and flash flood warning for the area. We had over 4 inches of rain in a very short time and more was predicted. The ground was fully saturated and water was up onto the road in places.
I rushed around on the back roads of town in my truck dodging potholes and downed limbs, trying to locate and caution our volunteers of the potential danger, all the while watching a dark and angry sky. Everyone relocated to our village and within an hour the rain and wind finally subsided. I heard later on the radio that over in northern Harrison County near Gulfport, a few miles north of my trailer, a tornado reportedly touched down inflicting minor damage.
At the end of the day, after all this chaos, while driving back East from Pearlington to Gulfport whom do I pass on I-10? A church van from Red Bank Baptist Church and a van and trailer from White Oak Baptist Church in Red Bank, TN. I surmise they are surely returning to Chattanooga from a work party in New Orleans.
I was taken by enthusiasm. I waved hello but with the Kentucky plates on my truck and traveling 70 mph, they could only think I am just a fellow Presbyterian traveler. So as I passed I just waved and wondered when I’ll see some of my other friends from Chattanooga.
This week saw a couple of careless injuries in the work place. It saw severe thunderstorms and the threat of tornado. The week gave me the gift to see some fellow travelers from Chattanooga.
Mid-morning I was driving towards a worksite in Pearlington when I got a phone call that the weather radio was posting a severe thunderstorm warning, tornado watch and flash flood warning for the area. We had over 4 inches of rain in a very short time and more was predicted. The ground was fully saturated and water was up onto the road in places.
I rushed around on the back roads of town in my truck dodging potholes and downed limbs, trying to locate and caution our volunteers of the potential danger, all the while watching a dark and angry sky. Everyone relocated to our village and within an hour the rain and wind finally subsided. I heard later on the radio that over in northern Harrison County near Gulfport, a few miles north of my trailer, a tornado reportedly touched down inflicting minor damage.
At the end of the day, after all this chaos, while driving back East from Pearlington to Gulfport whom do I pass on I-10? A church van from Red Bank Baptist Church and a van and trailer from White Oak Baptist Church in Red Bank, TN. I surmise they are surely returning to Chattanooga from a work party in New Orleans.
I was taken by enthusiasm. I waved hello but with the Kentucky plates on my truck and traveling 70 mph, they could only think I am just a fellow Presbyterian traveler. So as I passed I just waved and wondered when I’ll see some of my other friends from Chattanooga.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Day 40 - Déjà vu
We’ve had two groups working this week, one from Minnesota and the other from Virginia. It is a relatively small group comprised of folks from First Presbyterian Church and Ascension Episcopal Church of Stillwater, Minnesota and Grate Bridge Presbyterian Church in Chesapeake Bay, Virginia. Late in the week I find a number are cohorts of sorts, people who touch on important parts of my past. A navy pilot who flew General Dynamics’ and McDonnell Douglas fighters, a couple of mechanical engineers, a chemist, a PhD chemical engineer, two people involved in social services, a gifted musician and a medical doctor. It is inexplicable how the past and present come together in souls of the same ilk.
This week we’ve focused our efforts on one home in particular. It is one of the first homes we began working on after I arrived. It was in pretty sad shape structurally, but not as unlivable as some. Like most homes we work on it has a story in it.
This house is in one of the coastal communities near Gulfport, a city that took high wind damage and depending on where one lived a couple of feet or more of water damage. The house is a common ranch style built on a slab. As with many around here after Katrina, the owner had been working on the house himself to get it livable.
We felt a tremendous pressure to get this home ready due to Mike, the owner. Mike had been working hard to rebuild the house after it was severely damaged by Katrina’s winds and rain.
Three weeks ago when I first looked at the house, it had a new roof and new drywall was up, but the bare concrete floor of the living area had a 3-foot square hole in it where the natural gas meter had stood. There was a 1/8-inch ridge on a seam running the width of the living room floor where new concrete had been poured for an addition. No flooring had been installed in the house. There was no electricity, no painting, no kitchen and all the furniture and new cabinets were stacked in the living room and one of he back rooms. The old roof trusses were stacked 8 high on the ground of the back yard, now termite-infested.
When we came on the scene Mike had been in the hospital for quite a while and about to be discharged for home care and extensive, long-term rehabilitation. Our hope has been for his home to be the place for that.
Mike is a commercial roofer. He was working on a commercial job. A few months ago he was inspecting the finishing work on a new roof. The crew had covered with blue tarp the openings for the skylights remaining to be installed subsequently. Those tarps looked much like the roof itself. Mike stepped onto the tarp and fell through the opening 34 feet to a concrete floor. He shouldn’t be here; the statistics for this kind of industrial accident say he had better than maybe 90% chance of being killed. He came out of it with compression fractures of the spine, shattered elbow, torn rotator cuff, some other broken bones, extensive bruising, a long hospital stay and a longer recuperation.
He is very fortunate. His recovery has better and faster than expected. He can walk and other than his neck brace and full torso back brace, he has remarkable mobility. It will be a while until he is able to work. He faces a about a year of physical therapy, but if we get it done today he will have his home during his rehabilitation.
I drove over to the house earlier this week to figure out one of the last problems, how to respect the building codes and get a hot water heater installed in the attic. As I walked in the house for this second time I was amazed. The walls are painted, fixtures are in the ceiling, receptacles and switches are in their place, and there is nice new kitchen and the plumbing in the bathrooms work. All the floors have been installed.
I arrived about 11:30 of this Friday morning because I knew Mike’s fiancée was driving him way to his physical therapy and was stopping by to see what we had done this week on his. I was stunned; our work assignment was completely done.
Our work-site manager has done such a god job. She has instructed and supported three teams here. These folks from Minnesota and Virginia have worked hard all week for her and Mike, fixing all sorts of problems, switch boxes covered by dry wall, shorted fan lights, and leaky plumbing. You name it and these engineers have fixed it.
As I walked in, all I saw were a few people sweeping and mopping the floors. A couple of people putting finishing touches on mudding the edges of doors and attaching a few remaining pieces of molding. Not only the water heater was installed, but to my surprise and satisfaction so was the missing 230 volt power to it.
I was out in the back yard talking to his dogs when someone came out and said Mike was here. I hurried back inside. There he was standing in his kitchen and just saying he couldn’t believe it, he had a kitchen.
There was a bit of confusion with twelve or so people milling around. I watched Mike walk around. I told him the guys uncovered a hidden switch box in the living room wall. He said, yes he was supposed to have a three-way switch for the light in the foyer. He edged around and tried the switches. I could see his smile as he tried the switches and they worked. He turned the porch light on and leaned out he door. His smile and the quietly muttered comments wee not lost on me.
“Wow. I can’t believe I have a kitchen. I am so grateful. “
“You put in the porch posts. This is so great.”
There is nothing in this world as profoundly moving as to help someone in need, to do something that you feel is expected, if not demanded by God, and to see the profound gratitude in the eyes of the one you served. Is it God looking back at us through those eyes?
The goal of the team was to get done by noon and take it easy Friday afternoon. But they knew we had a half-full dumpster our front and that pile of Katrina-damaged trusses littering his back yard.
“Mike, do you want us to clean up that stuff in the back yard?”
“Well, I guess sure, if you have the time, I’d really appreciate it.”
So we decided to do it. Just like Josephine’s siding in Pearlington eighteen months ago, we were not going to leave a part of this job undone. The trusses were about sixteen feet long and pretty bulky. While the team ate lunch, I fished out a contractor saw and started cutting up the trusses so they would fit in the dumpster. By 1:30PM we’d finished that job. Drenched in the sweat of this 85-degree, high humidity day and all we had to do was load everything in my truck and head home to the village
Today Mike’s house is livable and one group of volunteers are a little closer to God.
Thanks to the Minnesota and Virginia folks from me, too. And thanks for dinner, the shrimp creole was great. I hope to see you all again.
This week we’ve focused our efforts on one home in particular. It is one of the first homes we began working on after I arrived. It was in pretty sad shape structurally, but not as unlivable as some. Like most homes we work on it has a story in it.
This house is in one of the coastal communities near Gulfport, a city that took high wind damage and depending on where one lived a couple of feet or more of water damage. The house is a common ranch style built on a slab. As with many around here after Katrina, the owner had been working on the house himself to get it livable.
We felt a tremendous pressure to get this home ready due to Mike, the owner. Mike had been working hard to rebuild the house after it was severely damaged by Katrina’s winds and rain.
Three weeks ago when I first looked at the house, it had a new roof and new drywall was up, but the bare concrete floor of the living area had a 3-foot square hole in it where the natural gas meter had stood. There was a 1/8-inch ridge on a seam running the width of the living room floor where new concrete had been poured for an addition. No flooring had been installed in the house. There was no electricity, no painting, no kitchen and all the furniture and new cabinets were stacked in the living room and one of he back rooms. The old roof trusses were stacked 8 high on the ground of the back yard, now termite-infested.
When we came on the scene Mike had been in the hospital for quite a while and about to be discharged for home care and extensive, long-term rehabilitation. Our hope has been for his home to be the place for that.
Mike is a commercial roofer. He was working on a commercial job. A few months ago he was inspecting the finishing work on a new roof. The crew had covered with blue tarp the openings for the skylights remaining to be installed subsequently. Those tarps looked much like the roof itself. Mike stepped onto the tarp and fell through the opening 34 feet to a concrete floor. He shouldn’t be here; the statistics for this kind of industrial accident say he had better than maybe 90% chance of being killed. He came out of it with compression fractures of the spine, shattered elbow, torn rotator cuff, some other broken bones, extensive bruising, a long hospital stay and a longer recuperation.
He is very fortunate. His recovery has better and faster than expected. He can walk and other than his neck brace and full torso back brace, he has remarkable mobility. It will be a while until he is able to work. He faces a about a year of physical therapy, but if we get it done today he will have his home during his rehabilitation.
I drove over to the house earlier this week to figure out one of the last problems, how to respect the building codes and get a hot water heater installed in the attic. As I walked in the house for this second time I was amazed. The walls are painted, fixtures are in the ceiling, receptacles and switches are in their place, and there is nice new kitchen and the plumbing in the bathrooms work. All the floors have been installed.
I arrived about 11:30 of this Friday morning because I knew Mike’s fiancée was driving him way to his physical therapy and was stopping by to see what we had done this week on his. I was stunned; our work assignment was completely done.
Our work-site manager has done such a god job. She has instructed and supported three teams here. These folks from Minnesota and Virginia have worked hard all week for her and Mike, fixing all sorts of problems, switch boxes covered by dry wall, shorted fan lights, and leaky plumbing. You name it and these engineers have fixed it.
As I walked in, all I saw were a few people sweeping and mopping the floors. A couple of people putting finishing touches on mudding the edges of doors and attaching a few remaining pieces of molding. Not only the water heater was installed, but to my surprise and satisfaction so was the missing 230 volt power to it.
I was out in the back yard talking to his dogs when someone came out and said Mike was here. I hurried back inside. There he was standing in his kitchen and just saying he couldn’t believe it, he had a kitchen.
There was a bit of confusion with twelve or so people milling around. I watched Mike walk around. I told him the guys uncovered a hidden switch box in the living room wall. He said, yes he was supposed to have a three-way switch for the light in the foyer. He edged around and tried the switches. I could see his smile as he tried the switches and they worked. He turned the porch light on and leaned out he door. His smile and the quietly muttered comments wee not lost on me.
“Wow. I can’t believe I have a kitchen. I am so grateful. “
“You put in the porch posts. This is so great.”
There is nothing in this world as profoundly moving as to help someone in need, to do something that you feel is expected, if not demanded by God, and to see the profound gratitude in the eyes of the one you served. Is it God looking back at us through those eyes?
The goal of the team was to get done by noon and take it easy Friday afternoon. But they knew we had a half-full dumpster our front and that pile of Katrina-damaged trusses littering his back yard.
“Mike, do you want us to clean up that stuff in the back yard?”
“Well, I guess sure, if you have the time, I’d really appreciate it.”
So we decided to do it. Just like Josephine’s siding in Pearlington eighteen months ago, we were not going to leave a part of this job undone. The trusses were about sixteen feet long and pretty bulky. While the team ate lunch, I fished out a contractor saw and started cutting up the trusses so they would fit in the dumpster. By 1:30PM we’d finished that job. Drenched in the sweat of this 85-degree, high humidity day and all we had to do was load everything in my truck and head home to the village
Today Mike’s house is livable and one group of volunteers are a little closer to God.
Thanks to the Minnesota and Virginia folks from me, too. And thanks for dinner, the shrimp creole was great. I hope to see you all again.
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