Post-Katrina Coast Visit: Part I

I've never witnessed anything like this. It's hard to imagine a thriving beach resort area when you're observing destruction and devastation all around. First off, I never thought I'd be in Mississippi. What do I know about Mississippi except that it holds the name of the Mighty River, Tom & Huck, Civil Rights, and the Bible Belt. The capital is Jackson and Neil Simon wrote a brilliant World War II, semi-autobiograpical play, Biloxi Blues, a comic documentation of his basic training experience set in Biloxi. And I have no reason to go to Mississippi except that a friend of ours had a wedding there this past weekend. That's the only reason we found ourselves flying into New Orleans and driving an hour east along I-10, to Biloxi and Gulfport, neighboring towns on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi.

After landing in New Orleans International Airport, I felt this excitement that we were taking a break from New York, and getting a chance to tour post-Katrina New Orleans. I had been there for the Sugar Bowl at the end of the '95 college football season, when Virgina Tech lost to Texas, and I experienced a resemblance to Mardi Gras for New Year's '96. I was hoping that after more than a year, life might have begun to return to the once thriving Crescent City. The ominous Superdome had re-opened for the Saints return, so I thought that that signaled a start to recovery. I was only partially right.

We decided to grab an authentic cajun lunch in the French Quarter and contribute to the local economy, before heading east to Biloxi. Taking I-10 downtown from the airport, we saw the crisp white dome from the highway, surrounded by skyscapers. It looked brand new, but hidden beneath, I couldn't help remembering the images of human suffering, so publicized by the media. Driving further, questions arose: What was underwater? What was it like before?

As we exited onto Esplanade, the northern border of the Quarter, we encountered damage for the first time, in the form of collapsed housing and piles of wooden debris, completely wiping away large lots. This has been covered again and again, but I've never seen it first-hand. It was awful. And this is only the visible manifestation of nature gone wild. We parked our rental car on Burgundy Street, close to the Hotel St. Pierre, my haven a decade ago, and walked past a closed and vacant corner bar on the corner of St. Anne, which used to overflow with leather-clad men. My first encounter with a gay bar back then, but now the streets were empty.

Blue flags hung high along buildings, donning the Saints' fleur-de-lis and claiming New Orleans' "Rebirth." The sound of hammering and sawing echoed along the silent streets and breeze at noon. This was not the vibrant city that we had once visited, overflowing with people. Not even on the famed Bourbon Street was debouchery pouring into sidewalks for lunch hour cocktails. Scattered tourists and convention goers (I overheard a passing patron) left ample room to wander, and aside from two or three re-opened bars broadcasting jazz and pop hits on loudspeakers, Bourbon did not boast it's party atmosphere. Many neon lights were lit for business despite the lack of customers.

Although we had to hurry on to Biloxi for the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, I doubt we would have stayed much longer. There was a quiet sadness in the air, much like, as my wife put it, New York City after 9/11. I tend to agree. So we got the heck out, only after being lured into a pastry/candy shop by the aroma of cooking pecans and pralines. Our first contribution to local business. After a quick and spicy gumbo at Cafe Beignet, we bolted, leaving a fallend city behind.

On the road, along the raised highway, we surveyed the damage from above, which was still clearly visible. So many homes destroyed, and especially on the way to Biloxi, crossing the swamps leading up to the Bayou, whole communities are the skeletal remains of once, suburban neighborhoods. Gas stations, malls, Six Flags... all ripped apart and left to give passersby a constant reminder that a horrible tragedy occurred here, and there is still so much to be done.

(to be continued)