The Storm

The drive from the airport was telling. Debris and flooded-out cars were everywhere. Partially submerged houses had their rooftops and windows jutting up just above the waterline. Huge piles of tree limbs, trash, and even larger piles of sheetrock were stacked high where folks had already begun trying to reclaim their homes. Heaps of personal belongs covered over with blue tarps, and roped-off sections with blockades, were in the hundreds. To prevent looting, local and state police, along with the National Guard and Army reserve units, were everywhere. Checkpoints were on the main roads with law enforcement checking the papers and identification of true homeowners trying to get back to their property, or what was left of it. Boats were in the middle of the streets, high and dry, where they had washed up out of the river and gotten landlocked. The misting rain had been continuing throughout the morning since we landed, and yellow and orange emergency raincoats could be seen everywhere. It was as if everyone had gotten an inner office memo concerning the dress code for the day. We arrived at the command post, which consisted of several large box trucks, five large motor homes with official decals on them, and some semi-tractor-trailers. Generator trucks and flatbed trailers with high intensity lighting on elevated poles were scattered around the perimeter. Large water trucks were present with scores of lines of people all waiting for rations. There were ambulances and medical teams present and a sizable police force moving around, changing out barricades, and helping with crowd control. Everyone seemed hurried but calm enough. I believe the whole city was in shock.

1 7