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Hurricane Katrina
Ocean
Springs, MS -- Web Posted October 19th, 2005
On August 27th,
after watching Hurricane Katrina make that hooking approach from the
Florida Keys, first targeting Louisiana but inexorably tracking more
northerly, then northeasterly, we grew more and more anxious. There had
been that heart stopping satellite photo of Karina absolutely filling to
the contours, the entire Gulf of Mexico. We didn’t need The Weather
Channel to tell us this was unprecedented. We didn’t need to hear about
Category 5. We were already struggling to breathe. This was not only a
historically strong storm, already Camille comparisons were common, but
this was also a giant storm. Not the more typical 45-60 miles of
hurricane force winds from the eye, mostly in the northeast quadrant.
No, this monster was miles and miles beyond that… up to 120 miles out.
New Orleans had every reason to run for cover. It looked like the sky
was finally going to fall and right on top of them and we were the
northeast quadrant.
On the 28th,
we hurried our preparations. By noon, Ocean Spring’s harbor was
officially closed and about seven of us began moving our boats out of
slips and into the center of the harbor. From there, we ran multiple
lines to pilings on both sides, using loops of chain to hold the lines
on the bottom, hence avoid simply pulling up the pilings once the water
rose. I ended up using just about every heavy line I had plus used all
of a new spool (600’) of 5/8 three strand nylon. I stripped off the
foresails and ran a series of half hitches down the main boom to secure
that sail. I took off the blades from my wind generator and headed
ashore with the dinghy. I took that up on a ridge (elevation about
15-20 feet) and secured it to a live oak with two loose hoops of line.
I took a final set of pictures. I’d done all I could for AT EASE.
Back home, with the help
of Lanny Smith, a boating friend of ours who would stay with us during
the storm, we had rigged his boat much like mine, we started hanging
plywood over windows, finishing near dark, with brief and gusty flurries
of light rain urging us on. We brought in patio and yard “stuff”,
finding room for it in a garage already crowded with one car, generator,
gas cans, and water and then made a final run through grocery stores to
stock up on food. Kirk and Jennie Halstead, also friends, whose home
was on East Beach, moved into the house with their luggage. We turned
on television and worried. We ate dinner and worried. I’m sure each of
us went over and over lists in our minds. What had we forgotten? What
more could we have done?
I alternated through the
evening between the computer, checking on National Weather Service’s
website, and the television, focusing more and more on the Biloxi local
station (WLOX). If anything, the storm track seemed to be moving a bit
more to the east. We are approximately 60 miles, line of sight, from
New Orleans… something like 45 miles from the eastern edge of Lake
Ponchatrain. It looked to come in just east of New Orleans and would
arrive predawn there and just about dawn here. Finally, exhausted, we
all fell into at least fretful sleep.
The winds began to blow
in earnest about 0400. We didn’t know then, but do now, that Katrina
made another hop east before landfall and came ashore just about at
Waveland, Mississippi, with 120-130 mph sustained winds, some reports up
to 140 sustained, and for Biloxi and Ocean Springs a 30 foot storm
surge. She dropped to a Category 4 before coming in, but she still
brought a Category 5 surge ashore. We lost power by 0500. By daylight,
we clearly had hurricane force winds. WLOX stayed on the air with much
reduced, generator power. Mostly they just stayed on the air… talking…
sharing their own personal observations. They didn’t have access to
much more information than we did. Sometimes, they received phone calls
from area residents reporting on conditions. We heard very early that
the water was already over the Biloxi-Ocean Springs Bridge. We heard a
family in Gulf Hills, further south in our neighborhood, report the
water was already several feet above Camille. By 1000, the air had
become more opaque with water and shredded leaves were pasting
themselves on all surfaces and piling on the ground. A cell phone call
(surprisingly they still worked then) from our friends David and Kathy
Wilson, riding out the storm in their house a block or so from Front
Beach, ominously informed us they had punched a hole in the ceiling and
climbed into the attic. He said he thought his truck was pounding into
the side of the house. It was really waves… waves clogged with rubble
from other demolished houses… rhythmically pounding… beating his house
apart as well. These same waves, probably 10-15 feet when they came
ashore, along with the 30 foot surge, had already demolished every other
house between him and the beach. He didn’t know if his house would hold
together. All we could do was worry.
There was little
information available over the radio. The weather channels on our
marine VHF were dead. Nobody was talking on channel 16 or any other
channel I scanned. Commercial stations seemed largely off the air or to
have little to no information themselves. I tracked the progress of the
storm by noting wind directions and plotting them along with time on a
circle showing the counter rotation typical of a hurricane. The leading
edge of the storm would be from the east. The direction would then
clock, east to southeast, then south and finally, the trailing edge
would be more from the west. By noon, we were pass the peak and winds
were clocking. We were able to go out onto the back porch where we had
some protection from direct wind and from there we could see at least
portions of the neighborhood. We knew the storm came in with winds
sustained about 120-130 mph. Trees were swaying in gusts probably up to
about 150 mph at its worse. Some trees were already down, the tops of
others out. One tree in our yard was literally raising the ground up
about 18” on the windward side each time a heavy gust struck. I
expected it to go any moment but it survived. Around us, we watched as
aluminum trim and roof shingles departed from neighbors’ homes. We saw
no structural damage to the roofs; just bare paper or plywood, but did
see insulation blowing in the wind. Across the street, and out on
Washington Avenue, we watched as various signs were destroyed and as the
roof of a convenience store-gas station came apart, bit by bit.
On several occasions,
plywood on our windows would spring free or threaten to come free. We
were able to go out and replace plywood on more vulnerable windows
downstairs, staying very close in to the side of the house to avoid the
bulk of wind, but could do relatively little for upstairs windows.
However, there was surprisingly little debris flying in the air and that
which was seemed to be swirling in such a way that direct line velocity
was relatively low. We were also struck with how relatively little rain
was in the air. At its worse, about 1000, the air did have more of an
opaque appearance because of the rain but most of the day rain was
relatively light.
By mid afternoon, now
some 12 hours into the hurricane, the winds were moving to the
southwest. We ventured out. Our house had most of its roof trim
stripped off but the roof and all its shingles were intact. Houses
around us had not faired as well but we saw no real structural damage.
Even our immediate neighbors to the southeast had escaped serious damage
when two large pine trees had come down in their yard.
We tried to get a vehicle
out to check on the harbor and our boats. So many trees were down that
we needed to detour here and there around the development, searching for
a clear road. Chain saws were already working, trying to clear lanes
through the streets. Some alternate routes were through peoples’
yards. No one seemed to mind. High water, some to within 100 yards of
our house, and/or fallen trees stopped us from departing conventionally
but across the street from our house our neighbor’s fence was down and
that exposed a route across his yard and into a parking lot. With
permission, away we went.
Driving south down
Washington Avenue, we passed fallen signs, broken light poles, and
obvious damage, including considerable structural damage, to businesses,
apartments and some houses. At Fort Bayou Bridge, a city front end
loader was already at work removing debris from where it had formed a
high water line, clearly above the level of the bridge. The debris
included trees and limbs, but also a large amount of lumber, insulation,
appliances and such. Clear evidence homes had broken up. Off to our
right, in lower Gulf Hills, practically every home we could see had
major structural damage or gutting. Traffic was crossing the bridge,
however, and so did we.
All through Ocean
Springs, huge live oak and pine trees were down or had limbs blown off,
many crunching buildings and homes beneath. Numerous detours took us to
within a block or so of the harbor on the north side. That was as close
as we could get. Already we could see boats blown inland and aground in
yards, even where we were. Ahead piled in the road, were five boats,
their masts entwined with standing trees and with fallen trees holding
them in place. Climbing over the debris piles of obviously destroyed
homes, we got down to the water’s edge. There, grounded boats littered
the west and north sides of the harbor, some 40 we later counted. There
lay AT EASE, on her starboard side, lying at about 60 degrees, setting
in someone’s front yard, just inland of the seawall, along with some 7-8
other boats, one of which was parked on the front porch and perhaps had
even penetrated the house. Two of AT EASE’s restraining lines remained
and had apparently held her from drifting further inland and into or
among the homes surrounding the harbor.
AT EASE looked intact. I
waded and climbed around her, she was at the edge of an extensive debris
field, 3-4 demolished houses from the other side of the harbor. Her
hull was abraded and scarred but no obvious breaches. Rigging, apart
from a bent roller furler, seemed good. Her auxiliary masts for wind
generator and radar, were both bent and torn, as was her stern pulpit
and Monitor self steering wind vane. The forward pulpit had one
significant dent and mounting bolts had been sheered free. Her teak cap
and rub rails were heavily damaged. They had done their sacrificial
thing, undoubtedly protecting her hull from more extensive damage. I
climbed aboard and worked my way below. No obvious water intrusion
anywhere. Most things were still in place. I did cut the wiring for
the screaming high water alarm but this was triggered by the pronounced
heel to starboard and not by water intrusion. I climbed back out and
Shirley and I just hugged one another… sad, of course, but also relieved
it was not worse. We already knew how very lucky we were and how very
bad the storm had been.
Lanny Smith, the live
aboard boater staying with us, found his boat afloat but pinned
dangerously under two other boats suspended on pilings. He had
extensive topside damage as well but his boat was afloat and intact. He
secured it as best he could. Kirk and Jenny Halstead found their boat,
ashore. It was one of the five entangled in the street some 100 or so
yards in from the water. The boats of two other friends were still
afloat although damaged.
I later counted over
forty boats aground immediately around the harbor, some 1-2 blocks
inland in various yards. Some had obvious hull damage, either from
coming down on pilings or from contact with other boats or rubble. There
were masts sticking up out of the water from boats that had stayed in
slips and sunk. Many other boats were clustered toward the west end of
the harbor, some up on docks or on top of other boats. Probably some 30%
of the boats in the harbor before the storm survived in place with some
damage, some worse than others. Of all the boats that had been tied off
in the center of the harbor, where AT EASE had been, the ones at either
end had survived in place, although all damaged. Those in the path of
the demolished homes from the southern side had all been forced ashore
by the rubble.
We went to check on Kirk
and Jennie’s home. More circuitous detours and finally we just parked
and they went wading… wading in blackish standing water, not yet
receded. Their home was on East Beach, inland of about three other
homes, all of which had been demolished. That rubble had crashed into
his home and the first floor was flooded out, walls and windows broken,
but the structure still stood and what had been upstairs seemed to
survive. Kirk’s neighbors had tried to ride out the storm in their
home. As their home came apart, they had to swim to Kirk’s home and
“break in” the second floor to find refuge.
We finally just went back
to my house… all emotionally drained… all thankful in our own way for
our survival. We already knew Russell and Lucy Thompson had lost their
home and that David and Kathy Wilson had survived. We still didn’t know
the extent of their losses. Jerry Anderson’s house and boat had survived
although his boat’s hull was breeched well above the water line. Kurt
and May Ann Oberhofer had survived with minimal damage to their home and
actually relatively little damage to their boat and it was still afloat.
Tom McIlwain’s house could barely be seen from the road because of all
the fallen limbs but none had damaged his home. We had all survived. We
were all grateful and we were all exhausted. Tomorrow would be harder…
we knew that.
August 30 dawned and we
began to piece together the post-hurricane routine that would carry us
through the first week. We had a generator supplying enough electrical
power to run refrigeration, lights and fan. Although fallen pressure
compromised the city’s water supply, we had bottled water to drink and
had stored water in bathtubs before we lost power. We had a two burner
propane stove we could cook on and a propane grill if needed. In this
neighborhood, sewage is dependent on 220 volt power; we all have our own
sewage pumps. Without that power, we didn’t have functional plumbing.
We learned quickly that by going into Ocean Springs proper, specifically
to Kirk Halstead’s real estate office, we could use his toilet. Regular
runs ensued. We had food… plenty of food… from our last minute grocery
run.
We had gas in our
vehicles; each of us had topped off. We had some additional gas in cans
to run the generator and chain saw. We thought we had enough. None of us
then knew that modern cars have some “trap” in the gas filler line that
precludes siphoning of gas. One simply can’t get a hose down to the
gas. There went much of our reserve generator fuel. Very quickly, over
the next several days, gas became a critical need… for the entire
coast. Everywhere, people scurried about looking for gasoline. Many
had generators, now well guarded by all as some looting and theft had
begun already, but nobody had more than a couple of days supply of gas.
We began conserving… running the generator only intermittently to keep
the refrigeration functional and for fans to help us sleep in the very
hot nights to come.
We spent our first couple
of days out in recovery work. Kirk and Jenny, and Shirley, went to
their house and Lanny and I went to the harbor area and walked around
searching for our dinghies. We first found mine, partially hanging from
a tree a good block from where I had left it. Both tethers were sharply
cut near the hard points. My internal lifting harness was disconnected
from the transom and this had apparently snarled high in the tree
arresting the boat. I cut it down, still puzzled about how that had
happened. Lanny found his dinghy half filled with water and at the
water’s edge. We drug both back to the water and I found a broken board
to use as a paddle. There were plenty to choose from.
.We climbed aboard and
slowly worked our way up the harbor, past sunken, half sunken and
strangely unharmed boats… back up to the rubble field that had broken
both his and my boats free. I secured the dinghy and we walked back
through the rubble the several blocks to where we had left the vehicle.
We passed three women picking through the debris that trailed from where
their home had been. As did we all, they wanted to tell their story.
One elderly woman and her adult granddaughter had abandoned their home
as it disintegrated from wave action. Wading out in chest deep water,
they found a “raft” (my dinghy) and cut it free. Climbing in, they let
the wind and waves take them the block or so inland to where they could
get out into the second story of an apartment house. The granddaughter
prided herself on safely securing the “raft” in a tree… grateful it had
saved them and eager to save it in return. I let them know it was my
boat and thanked them for securing it so well. I got hugs and we all
cried a bit. Puzzle solved.
Chain saws and tree
cutting crews, along with power crews that had been working even as the
storm diminished, were everywhere. By August 31, it became obvious that
Kirk would have to find some way to move his boat from the road else
when the power line crews arrived at that obstacle they would simply
push the boats out of the way with heavy equipment. He went to talk to
the city maintenance folks to see what could be worked out. Our
neighbor, George, drove back in from Destin, bringing in a couple of
gallons of gas for us as a way of thanking us for calling him and giving
him a report on his home. We were grateful… but wished he had
understood just how very bad the gas shortage was becoming. We needed
more.
We wandered around trying
to find gas. Some stations were trying to reopen with generators,
pumping some minimal gas from what remained in underground tanks. Long,
really impossible, lines formed everywhere… any rumor would start a
line... and each line was so long it was clear available gas in the
tanks would be depleted well before all cars were served. Few stations
were able to open. Some grocery stores tried to open, at least for a
few people at a time, cash only. Even some banks opened doors to a few
at a time to provide the wherewithal for this sudden cash economy. I
saw a parking lot of a mall off Highway 90 full of trucks and trailers
and large commercial generators… just setting there. They were
obviously part of the rescue and recovery effort. I couldn’t understand
why they weren’t producing power so businesses could open. I still
don’t understand. I never saw them used.
That afternoon (the 31st),
Lanny and I went to Mobile in an effort to find gas. We had some 8-9
cans collected from various sources and had heard of people successfully
finding gas. Mobile, some 50 miles further east, had relatively less
wind but record flooding, even downtown. We drove north of Mobile and
through Mobile, finding only a few stations open and there the typically
long lines, too long lines, that told us clearly how futile our trip had
been. We went back to Ocean Springs, passing cars and trucks going both
ways with backs full of empty gas cans.
On Thursday, September 1st,
I saw the first distribution points where large semi trucks were being
emptied of water, ice and food. These were the “heater meals” that
mimic MRE’s. The MRE’s didn’t come until some days later. These very
efficient distribution points would give a case of water and two bags of
ice and a couple of meals to anyone that could get there. This was the
first “relief” or “recovery” effort from non-locals that I had seen,
apart from the power and tree service crews that had been hard at work
from the very beginning. The word was being passed, largely word of
mouth, and crowds were forming but it was all orderly and efficient.
I drove by the city hall,
the Emergency Operations Center (EOC), and went in looking for
information about the Red Cross. They were just unloading their first
truck… just setting up their own EOC in the city’s Senior Citizens’
Center. Ham radio operators, basic staffing and health services
personnel were scurrying about setting up. I may have been the first
local volunteer. After first seeing my license as a psychologist, they
signed me up. They wanted me to float between two local shelters just
being opened that day; St Paul’s Methodist West and Christus Victor
Lutheran Church, providing whatever psychological services seemed
needed. I didn’t realize then, but much appreciated later, the latitude
this loose, essentially self directed job description gave me.
While waiting for people
to arrive at the new shelters from the temporary shelter at the Middle
School, I helped unload a truck full of food and water donated by
various churches… somewhere. Over the next several weeks, these trucks
came in, unscheduled, always loaded, simply donated by church groups
from all over the US. It was an amazing effort and actually became a
significant part of the immediate and extended relief of the coast.
By evening, people began
to arrive at the shelters. I got busy quickly doing crisis intervention
and debriefs, trying to identify existing mental health patients and
getting some initial idea what the needs were. Over the first couple of
weeks, it was all a scramble to identify and respond to needs.
Medication needs immediately became an issue. Most had lost all
possessions and had no money or medication. No pharmacies were then
open although within a day some opened to distribute first three day
supplies, later seven day supplies, to anyone with a bottle or written
prescription. Each of the shelters had nurses, Red Cross in one and
Church sponsored volunteers from out of state in the other. They dealt
with first aid and medical triage, and coordinated with the various
Disaster Medical Teams (DMAT) that showed up from various states, making
rounds to shelters or other locations where people could access their
services. They even brought some medications with them.
After the first week, our
guests moved out. Lanny went to live with Jerry Anderson where Russell
Thompson later joined them. The Halstead’s moved into their daughter’s
apartment. She had been transferred by her employer to another state.
Both Shirley and I experienced a sense of loss. We gradually got power
back (about two weeks), then water (three weeks) and later cable (five
weeks) and finally a functioning phone (seven weeks).
For the month immediately
following Katrina, I continued to rotate among the Ocean Springs, later
added Gautier, shelters, dealing with mental health and behavioral
crises and, increasingly, doing program and staff consultation with Red
Cross mental health and shelter management people. At the same time, I
worked on getting my insurance claim started for my boat. I heard from
friends that a 100 ton crane on a barge had come into the harbor on
9/12. I worked with my adjuster and with the crane operator and got
permission to negotiate up to $175 per foot to lift AT EASE back.
However, Hardy Kreeger, the man whose yard AT EASE sits in, had become
irrational and adamant that no boats could be removed from his premises
until owners signed some claim he had drawn up that basically said each
would be liable for any, really all, damages he might have experienced.
I negotiated with him for half a day, on and off, and finally realized
he was just frightened and being outrageous in an effort to gain some
control over a life out of control. He needed something concrete he
could trust. I had my insurance company fax him proof of insurance.
With a piece of paper in his hands, he agreed to my removing the boat.
On 9/14 I had the boat lifted back to the water and then moved, under
her own power, into my old slip.
The populations in the
shelters kept changing. Certainly the displaced survivors were there.
Some were able to find alternate places to stay, with family or friends,
and some even moved out of state in response to offers of housing from
other states. New families kept coming in, finally forced out of their
fractured homes either because of very primitive living conditions, or
because of condemnation as more homes were inspected. Later, we started
to get more individuals, some clearly homeless for a long time, from out
of state, drawn here either by expectations of employment or simply
because they somehow knew that shelters, free food, free medical care,
handouts… it would all be very available for at least a while. The
shelters quickly became mostly filled with people who had been the most
vulnerable before the storm and, post storm, when support services
infrastructure was fractured along with everything else, they were even
more vulnerable. Ultimately, these people would benefit the most from
the various federal and state disaster programs, and some would actually
find their lives improved compared to pre storm as a result of all the
help.
But the big surprise was
the amount of time and energy spent simply dealing with Red Cross
staff. At its most benign, this was driven by the pattern of volunteer
staffing. They would show up for a 2-3 week tour, then go home. Another
group would show up, do their tour, then go home. There was little
continuity. When new guys had been here long enough to have some
understanding of what they were doing, they would leave. The new “New”
guys then would start from scratch until they too got the experience and
then they took that experience home. It was a learning model all the
time… lots of starts and stops. And when new folks came in, each
usually with their own agenda for how they would “fix” things broken
here, it always produced more stress on everyone, survivors and
volunteers.
The other issue that
surprised me but probably shouldn’t have, is the variable nature of the
volunteer. As best I could tell, there was little in the way of
screening that took place in local chapters. When volunteers came into
the disaster area, they were also exposed to trauma and stress. Much
like the survivors, all their personality traits and characteristics,
all that defined them before, simply got exaggerated. The good became
better and the bad became worse. I ended up spending more time doing
mental health interventions with Red Cross workers than I did with storm
survivors… and the more time passed, the more disproportionate that
ratio of effort became.
The Red Cross gives
interesting power to their mental health staff. One is bluntly
instructed to keep a sharp eye on Red Cross personnel and to intervene
where excessive stress or inappropriate behavior is identified.
Intervention can range from suggestions for managing stress or modifying
behavior, up to and including removal from the job (transfer) or
dismissal (send the person home).
I couldn’t help feel this
is just obviously not the way to manage a disaster intervention.
Volunteers should be essentially independent, at least neutral in effect
even if not productive. At least don’t contribute to the burden already
present in the disaster area.
In spite of all that, and
I certainly had other frustrations working with the Red Cross, I still
have to say that over all their intervention was a net positive. It may
be as simple as this… bring in well intentioned people who are trying to
do good and some good will get done in spite of the bureaucratic
structure that handicaps effort.
After five weeks, I
pulled out for a week to just rest and take care of some things at home
and on the boat. I had been doing a little of that, day by day, even
while working with Red Cross. Shirley had been doing volunteer work as
well, with the Lutherian Church, where one shelter was located, helping
with their food distribution program. We both stopped to take care of
ourselves. After a week of being out of it, I went back to the Red
Cross’s EOC to see if there was still some need for my time. New folks
had been arriving and those who had been here a while were leaving or
had left. New folks were all full of enthusiasm and had this sense of
having just discovered problems and needs and were sure they knew the
right ways to address all those needs. I didn’t want to do that
anymore.
We know it’s going to be
a long recovery… years not months. Estimates are that building will be
the largest industry on the coast for the next three years at least.
Major infrastructure is badly damaged. Highways and bridges are so
impacted even day to day traffic is suffocating. Fewer stores are open…
and the lines are outrageous. Things are getting cleaner… debris is
being picked up and hauled to huge piles in the surrounding countryside,
but the destruction is still all too visible all about. So many jobs
have disappeared that large numbers of people have just left the area.
Even where jobs are still present, people displaced because of lack of
housing have simply moved, apparently permanently, to other states and
areas. The Northrop Grumman shipyard had only about 50% of its
workforce return after the storm. Although not really needed given their
own damages, they were willing to employ the full work force just to
hang on to their workers. I understand even Walmart is working only 50%
of the people they need. There are signs everywhere announcing jobs
available. Many restaurants and other business have curtailed services
and hours because they have so few employees and can’t seem to hire
more.
It’s now October 18th…
some seven weeks following Katrina. We have a long way to go. There will
be problems we haven’t even anticipated, probably can’t even imagine,
but there will be problems aplenty to deal with on this coast for years
to come. And now Tropical Storm Wilma is strengthening, probably to
hurricane status in the next few days, and is following Katrina’s track
toward the gulf.
Bill Martin
Ocean Springs, MS |
