Inside Northside's Hurricane Katrina Special Issue--October 2005

Tales of Survival

Steven Showalter:
Chalmette survivor

by Karen B. Gibbs

Driving up to the Covington home of Steven Showalter’s sister, Trish, I knew we were at the right house. This was the home he was sharing with 12 other family members, all refugees from Katrina. Brother Chris and his two sons, Mikey and Chris Jr., were in the driveway scrubbing gray mud from stainless steel cookware. “Go get Steven,” called Uncle Bo, “and somebody get me some more green pads to scrub the pots.”

Steven walked around the mud-caked articles spread out on the driveway. “Come on in,” he said. “Don’t mind the dogs—there’s ten of them,” he cautioned, as we tiptoed over the sleeping lab in the foyer. In the room off to the left, mattresses covered the floor. A tiny dog, awakened from his nap, moved beneath the covers—a yipping lump trying to find his way out.

Steven continued into the kitchen and past his mom, Verlene. “Look,” she smiled sweetly as she lifted a glistening angel from the soapy water. “They managed to save my Seraphim angel collection. They were all covered with mud but they’re looking better now, don’t you think?”

She had lost practically everything, as had others in her family yet she was still happy and grateful. What remarkable buoyancy. What love and gratitude this family showed. It was then I had insight into the character of Steven Showalter. It was then the heart of his story began to stir.

One week before Katrina hit, Steven Showalter decided he would not evacuate his Chalmette home. The elevation of his two-story house on Damour Street in “downtown Chalmette” was +10, and his neighbor boasted he “never even took on water during Betsy.” Add to that Steven’s bad experiences evacuating, plus the promise he made to his daughter not to leave behind Duchess, her German shorthaired pointer, and he had four very good reasons to stay put. Or so he thought.

Like many who rode out Katrina, Steven was relieved that his house fared well through Sunday night. It was a different story, however, when the winds changed direction and the storm started to pass. That’s when the water rose from four inches in the street at 8:15a.m. to above the kitchen’s counter tops by 9:15a.m. In less than 40 minutes, Steven was in waist deep water, carrying as much as he could to the safety of his second floor.

After saving some of his belongings, Steven swam through floodwaters 10 feet deep in the street to rescue a red dog that was drowning. That being done, he unlatched his 22-foot semi-V bottom boat from its trailer and went about helping people in trouble. He ferried a neighboring family to the courthouse, rescued a few desperate people off their rooftops and brought cigarettes and water to a man who said he was too old to go to an evacuation center.

A couple of high school buddies, Jeff Hawkins and Mike Darby, came by in a flatboat toting an African Gray parrot and a 10-week-old lab puppy. They told of how they had to kick out the windows of their house to escape. Happy for their safety, Steven invited them to stay. Later that night, the trio gathered in the kitchen barbequing food salvaged from the freezer. Remembers Steven, “We were sitting there eating with candles burning while my dog was trying to catch the shrimp flicking on top of the water.”

Tuesday morning found Steven sitting in a kitchen chair, water in his lap, watching schools of minnows swim over the tops of his tennis shoes on their way through his living room. Despite his own predicament, Steven was haunted by Monday’s memory of desperate people at Chalmette High School calling out for help. He needed to find water for them. Riding down the street in his boat, he spotted a Kentwood truck. Miraculously, Steven was able to open the door at the back of the truck and retrieve gallons of life-saving water that he delivered to some of the many who needed it.

That evening, as the water receded, Steven and his friends washed mud out of the house. It was a futile gesture. With so much destruction around them, there was no hope of staying in Chalmette. Evacuation programs were in place, but they would not accept animals. The trio knew if they were going to get out with their lives and their pets, they had to do it on their own. They decided to leave in two boats the next day, hoping to go over a breach in the levee.

Problem one: Steven needed a smaller boat to make it over the breach. Solution: Just like the Kentwood truck, the answer to Steven’s prayer was floating in the water around him—a half-submerged flatboat. He bailed out the water, got the motor working and siphoned fuel out of his boat for the trip ahead.

With bottles of water and red fuel containers midway in the boat, and Duchess in her life vest as his masthead, Steven took off in the commandeered flatboat with Jeff, Mike, parrot and pup following close behind. As they were leaving the neighborhood, they fished a box of Snickers out of the water for the hours ahead.

Along the 40 Arpent Canal, they came upon three young men in a large flatboat who needed help finding their way out. The three boats traveled until they found a spot where foot-deep water was topping the levee. Backing his boat into position, Steven revved the motor and, with Duchess holding on for dear life, sped over the top of the levee Dukes-of-Hazzard style. Less dramatically, the other two boats were pushed and pulled over the levee into Bayou Bienvenue. Heading down the bayou, they found a 300-yard breach frothing with white water rapids.

This was the only time Steven admits to being fearful. His 14-foot flatboat took three major waves as it went through the whitewater and into calmer water, where he bailed out the boat. At this point, Duchess was ready for a Dramamine, but all she got was a pat on the head. Jeff and Mike made it over without incident, but the three young men who tagged along came through sideways, killing their motor in the process. After one hour, the men got the motor started again.

Going south through Chef Pass, the three-boat-armada crossed the lake at the shortest point—five miles. Once across, they struck a heading toward the Causeway. The journey took nine hours, with choppy water all the way. Passing Hwy. 11, Steven observed the destruction along Carr Drive. When he came to the jostled Twin Span, he began to fathom the power of Katrina. For hours and hours after that, there was nothing but blue sky and choppy water.

“It was God’s grace that we made it out as we did,” he relates. “From the Kentwood truck full of bottled water to the boat adrift coming down the street just when I needed it to a box of Snicker’s bars that came floating by as we left Chalmette, God’s hand was on us the entire way.”

By the time they reached the Causeway tollbooth, Duchess was so seasick she could only lie in the grass. While she recovered, Steven got a ride on a motorcycle to the house of his sister, Trish. There he got a pick-up truck and went back to the Causeway to get everyone.

Today, Steven, along with his mother, Verlene, Uncle Bo, ten other family members, plus their 11 pets, all live with Trish. While they are all proud of Steven, he dismisses the accolades. “There was so much need; I feel like I should have done more. I don’t feel like I did enough.” Focusing on the positive, he adds, “I am thankful all my family made it out without loss of life—even the pets.” Then, summing it all up he smiles and says, “The important things made it.”

The Hills family:
homeless to hope in 28 days

by Karen B. Gibbs

When Katrina was upgraded to a Category 5, Roy Hills and his family of four evacuated to Beaumont, Texas. They slept in the family car in the parking lot of a Holiday Inn while Katrina took aim on Louisiana and their Covington home. As soon as the storm had passed, the eager family took off for home, braving tropical force winds and rain en route. Aghast at the devastation around them, they snaked their way through the fallen trees that littered the road. Upon arriving home Monday evening, their hearts sank. Two enormous trees had crashed through the house, devastating their lives in the process.

“I couldn’t believe it,” recalls Kimberly Brown, Roy’s wife.

“It was terrible,” echoes eight-year-old Brianna.

“We should have stayed in Beaumont,” Roy remembers thinking as he loaded his family back into their car. Twenty-four hours ago they were evacuees. Now they were homeless.

With only the comfort of one another and the precious few belongings they took with them, the family spent Monday night in the parking lot of Rouse’s supermarket. Brianna snuggled against her big pillow, while seven-year-old Matthew hugged his favorite teddy bear. Kimberly thought of the wedding pictures she’d grabbed as they fled, and Roy was glad he’d remembered to take the TV. And so slept the family of four, surrounded by hastily chosen clothing and mementos—items that would ultimately become the only tangible reminders of a life now gone.

The next morning, Roy and his family sought refuge at the Red Cross shelter in William Pitcher Jr. High in Covington. For the next 25 days, they slept on cots and ate their meals uncomfortably close to strangers who shared their fate. Roy continued working 12-hour days at his gas station job, while Kimberly pulled 16-hour shifts at a local nursing home. Fortunately, Kimberly’s grandparents, also in the shelter, were able to care for Brianna and Matthew.

On their 26th day at William Pitcher, the Hills family was moved to the Red Cross shelter in Folsom. Frustration and helplessness weighed heavily on Roy. He and Kimberly had just married in April, and now he was faced with providing not only a home, but also everything that goes in it for his new family. More than anything, he and Kimberly wanted a place to call home again, but the prospect of finding another rental house was extremely poor.

It was at this time that the Young Life Christian Organization from Slidell came to talk with the residents of the shelter. Unbelievably, this remarkable group had tapped into a network of fellow Christians in five states who wanted to open their arms and hearts to the displaced victims of Katrina. Roy and Kimberly applied for assistance and chose to relocate to Springfield, Ohio. They were promised two weeks lodging in a hotel and help in finding jobs matching their skills, housing within their budget and schooling for Brianna and special-needs student Matthew, who is deaf.

“Everything’s starting to work out with this move,” Roy says softly, obviously touched by the love of total strangers. “Family, the people you hope would be there for you, tell you ‘I hope you’ll be okay.’” He shakes his head slowly, obviously unable to comprehend such indifference. Then, eyes brimming with tears, he adds, “There are good people in the world. You think nobody really cares until something like this happens. Those you ordinarily wouldn’t count on are here to do for you.”

On Wednesday, September 28, Roy and his family loaded bags of their meager belongings into their car and headed north to begin life anew in Ohio. Standing tall in the face of tragedy, the Hills family survived—not alone, but with the love, help and support of the Red Cross and Christian strangers who offered what money can’t buy: hope.

The ten-mile stretch leading out of Folsom is lined with thousands of once-majestic pines now broken and piled helter-skelter atop each other. Like so many matchsticks they lie, their twisted trunks mute testimony to the battle fought. Every now and then, however—like the Hills family—a survivor tree appears, bruised, yet still standing, gleaming in the afternoon sun. The Hills and the tree both signal hope to the broken spirits around them, and the promise of good things to come.

Katrina saves a life

by Jan LeBlanc

Hurricane Katrina affected so many lives in different ways, but none quite like Covington native Gary Keife. With so many tales of destruction, devastation and heartache, his story of survival is unlike any other you may have heard thus far. Hurricane Katrina saved Gary’s life.

After being on a donor waiting list for over a year for a liver transplant, the once-vibrant 42-year old and his family had just about given up hope. The twelve months prior to that fateful August 29 date had been terribly challenging for Gary. His liver was shutting down, he couldn’t eat normally and he was sleeping nearly twenty hours a day. “I had so little energy, making it difficult to raise my son,” he says.

Gary was receiving excellent care at Ochsner Hospital in New Orleans, one of the largest liver transplant centers in the state, but was becoming increasingly discouraged with each passing day that a liver was not available for donation. “Every day we would wait for the call to come saying that one was available,” Gary remembers. “The call never came.”

Lucky for Gary, Katrina did. He rode out the storm at his Covington home, but found it necessary to leave the next day, as trees had fallen through his roof. Before setting out, he called ahead to his friend Scott in Shreveport, who agreed to provide Gary a room for a while. Additionally, Scott contacted Shreveport’s Willis Knighton Hospital and set up an appointment for Gary to be seen the next day.

“They couldn’t believe I wasn’t already in a coma. My levels were the highest in the state,” he says, referring to his elevated levels of liver enzymes, bilirubin and creatine. “Ochsner forwarded my medical records, and I was immediately moved to the top of the list at the hospital for a transplant.” Within two weeks, on September 16, a liver became available in Bossier City. The transplant surgery was scheduled immediately.

Since the successful operation, Gary has enjoyed sharing his amazing story with others who have been affected by the storm, as it offers a positive balance to so many stories with unhappy endings. “Everything was truly a miracle,” he says. “When the hurricane forced us away, we thought there was no hope. But if not for the evacuation, I would still be there waiting.”

The War Zone

by Taylor Harvey

Driving slowly and cautiously down the bumpy street, my family had our brights shining on the dark, rough gravel ahead of us. We were getting prepared to see our destroyed neighborhood. It was a week after hurricane Katrina had hit and according to the news, everything was damaged. The feeling that I had in the pit of my stomach was like a thousand butterflies having a field day. As I looked around, I saw complete devastation. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

It looked as if someone had come and bombed all of our yards. Trees were down everywhere. All the neighbors’ yards looked like a torn-up forest. Every house that I could see looked like torpedoes went through the roofs. Across the street were debris mounds that reminded me of those trenches the soldiers hide behind. It looked like helicopters flew down and cut the tops of all the trees off. It felt like a total war zone around me.

When we finally drove into our driveway, we had a feeling of what to expect. A tree had fallen into our kitchen, which made it totally unusable. The hole was the size of a school bus, and since we had no electricity, everything in our freezer melted. The smell of rotten eggs and sour fish filled the air. Since we have a guesthouse, we were able to use that kitchen.

I guess I should be thankful that the war zone is a lot better than what other people experienced. My sister, her husband and my six-year-old nephew are living with us. Their house is totally uninhabitable, except for the maggots and horseflies that seem to enjoy their new home. Her downstairs had about six feet of water in it, and mold is growing everywhere. The mold problem is so bad that it is growing all the way up to the upstairs. I even know people whose houses are totally burned down and have nothing else left. I am thankful that mine is “okay”… considering what other people are facing.

Ever since hurricane Katrina, nothing has been normal. You always hope that maybe all this is a dream and that you will wake up any moment now. Even though this tragedy has been very tough, the people of New Orleans and the surrounding area can get through this. Our spirit can never be broken.

Taylor is a student at St. Scholastica Academy in Covington.




		Tales of Survival
		Steven Showalter: Chalmette survivor by Karen B. Gibbs Driving up to the Covington home of Steven Showalter’s sister, Trish, I knew we were at the right house. This was the home he was sharing with 12 other family members, all refugees from Katrina. Brother Chris and his two sons, Mikey and Chris Jr., were in the driveway scrubbing gray mud from stainless steel cookware. “Go get Steven,” called Uncle Bo, “and somebody get me some more green pads to scrub the pots.” Steven walked around the mud-caked articles spread out on the driveway. “Come on in,” he said. “Don’t mind the dogs—there’s ten of them,” he cautioned, as we tiptoed over the sleeping lab in the foyer. In the room off to the left, mattresses covered the floor. A tiny dog, awakened from his nap, moved beneath the covers—a yipping lump trying to find his way out. Steven continued into the kitchen and past his mom, Verlene. “Look,” she smiled sweetly as she lifted a glistening angel from the soapy water. “They managed to save my Seraphim angel collection. They were all covered with mud but they’re looking better now, don’t you think?” She had lost practically everything, as had others in her family yet she was still happy and grateful. What remarkable buoyancy. What love and gratitude this family showed. It was then I had insight into the character of Steven Showalter. It was then the heart of his story began to stir. One week before Katrina hit, Steven Showalter decided he would not evacuate his Chalmette home. The elevation of his two-story house on Damour Street in “downtown Chalmette” was +10, and his neighbor boasted he “never even took on water during Betsy.” Add to that Steven’s bad experiences evacuating, plus the promise he made to his daughter not to leave behind Duchess, her German shorthaired pointer, and he had four very good reasons to stay put. Or so he thought. Like many who rode out Katrina, Steven was relieved that his house fared well through Sunday night. It was a different story, however, when the winds changed direction and the storm started to pass. That’s when the water rose from four inches in the street at 8:15a.m. to above the kitchen’s counter tops by 9:15a.m. In less than 40 minutes, Steven was in waist deep water, carrying as much as he could to the safety of his second floor. After saving some of his belongings, Steven swam through floodwaters 10 feet deep in the street to rescue a red dog that was drowning. That being done, he unlatched his 22-foot semi-V bottom boat from its trailer and went about helping people in trouble. He ferried a neighboring family to the courthouse, rescued a few desperate people off their rooftops and brought cigarettes and water to a man who said he was too old to go to an evacuation center. A couple of high school buddies, Jeff Hawkins and Mike Darby, came by in a flatboat toting an African Gray parrot and a 10-week-old lab puppy. They told of how they had to kick out the windows of their house to escape. Happy for their safety, Steven invited them to stay. Later that night, the trio gathered in the kitchen barbequing food salvaged from the freezer. Remembers Steven, “We were sitting there eating with candles burning while my dog was trying to catch the shrimp flicking on top of the water.” Tuesday morning found Steven sitting in a kitchen chair, water in his lap, watching schools of minnows swim over the tops of his tennis shoes on their way through his living room. Despite his own predicament, Steven was haunted by Monday’s memory of desperate people at Chalmette High School calling out for help. He needed to find water for them. Riding down the street in his boat, he spotted a Kentwood truck. Miraculously, Steven was able to open the door at the back of the truck and retrieve gallons of life-saving water that he delivered to some of the many who needed it. That evening, as the water receded, Steven and his friends washed mud out of the house. It was a futile gesture. With so much destruction around them, there was no hope of staying in Chalmette. Evacuation programs were in place, but they would not accept animals. The trio knew if they were going to get out with their lives and their pets, they had to do it on their own. They decided to leave in two boats the next day, hoping to go over a breach in the levee. Problem one: Steven needed a smaller boat to make it over the breach. Solution: Just like the Kentwood truck, the answer to Steven’s prayer was floating in the water around him—a half-submerged flatboat. He bailed out the water, got the motor working and siphoned fuel out of his boat for the trip ahead. With bottles of water and red fuel containers midway in the boat, and Duchess in her life vest as his masthead, Steven took off in the commandeered flatboat with Jeff, Mike, parrot and pup following close behind. As they were leaving the neighborhood, they fished a box of Snickers out of the water for the hours ahead. Along the 40 Arpent Canal, they came upon three young men in a large flatboat who needed help finding their way out. The three boats traveled until they found a spot where foot-deep water was topping the levee. Backing his boat into position, Steven revved the motor and, with Duchess holding on for dear life, sped over the top of the levee Dukes-of-Hazzard style. Less dramatically, the other two boats were pushed and pulled over the levee into Bayou Bienvenue. Heading down the bayou, they found a 300-yard breach frothing with white water rapids. This was the only time Steven admits to being fearful. His 14-foot flatboat took three major waves as it went through the whitewater and into calmer water, where he bailed out the boat. At this point, Duchess was ready for a Dramamine, but all she got was a pat on the head. Jeff and Mike made it over without incident, but the three young men who tagged along came through sideways, killing their motor in the process. After one hour, the men got the motor started again. Going south through Chef Pass, the three-boat-armada crossed the lake at the shortest point—five miles. Once across, they struck a heading toward the Causeway. The journey took nine hours, with choppy water all the way. Passing Hwy. 11, Steven observed the destruction along Carr Drive. When he came to the jostled Twin Span, he began to fathom the power of Katrina. For hours and hours after that, there was nothing but blue sky and choppy water. “It was God’s grace that we made it out as we did,” he relates. “From the Kentwood truck full of bottled water to the boat adrift coming down the street just when I needed it to a box of Snicker’s bars that came floating by as we left Chalmette, God’s hand was on us the entire way.” By the time they reached the Causeway tollbooth, Duchess was so seasick she could only lie in the grass. While she recovered, Steven got a ride on a motorcycle to the house of his sister, Trish. There he got a pick-up truck and went back to the Causeway to get everyone. Today, Steven, along with his mother, Verlene, Uncle Bo, ten other family members, plus their 11 pets, all live with Trish. While they are all proud of Steven, he dismisses the accolades. “There was so much need; I feel like I should have done more. I don’t feel like I did enough.” Focusing on the positive, he adds, “I am thankful all my family made it out without loss of life—even the pets.” Then, summing it all up he smiles and says, “The important things made it.” The Hills family: homeless to hope in 28 days by Karen B. Gibbs When Katrina was upgraded to a Category 5, Roy Hills and his family of four evacuated to Beaumont, Texas. They slept in the family car in the parking lot of a Holiday Inn while Katrina took aim on Louisiana and their Covington home. As soon as the storm had passed, the eager family took off for home, braving tropical force winds and rain en route. Aghast at the devastation around them, they snaked their way through the fallen trees that littered the road. Upon arriving home Monday evening, their hearts sank. Two enormous trees had crashed through the house, devastating their lives in the process. “I couldn’t believe it,” recalls Kimberly Brown, Roy’s wife. “It was terrible,” echoes eight-year-old Brianna. “We should have stayed in Beaumont,” Roy remembers thinking as he loaded his family back into their car. Twenty-four hours ago they were evacuees. Now they were homeless. With only the comfort of one another and the precious few belongings they took with them, the family spent Monday night in the parking lot of Rouse’s supermarket. Brianna snuggled against her big pillow, while seven-year-old Matthew hugged his favorite teddy bear. Kimberly thought of the wedding pictures she’d grabbed as they fled, and Roy was glad he’d remembered to take the TV. And so slept the family of four, surrounded by hastily chosen clothing and mementos—items that would ultimately become the only tangible reminders of a life now gone. The next morning, Roy and his family sought refuge at the Red Cross shelter in William Pitcher Jr. High in Covington. For the next 25 days, they slept on cots and ate their meals uncomfortably close to strangers who shared their fate. Roy continued working 12-hour days at his gas station job, while Kimberly pulled 16-hour shifts at a local nursing home. Fortunately, Kimberly’s grandparents, also in the shelter, were able to care for Brianna and Matthew. On their 26th day at William Pitcher, the Hills family was moved to the Red Cross shelter in Folsom. Frustration and helplessness weighed heavily on Roy. He and Kimberly had just married in April, and now he was faced with providing not only a home, but also everything that goes in it for his new family. More than anything, he and Kimberly wanted a place to call home again, but the prospect of finding another rental house was extremely poor. It was at this time that the Young Life Christian Organization from Slidell came to talk with the residents of the shelter. Unbelievably, this remarkable group had tapped into a network of fellow Christians in five states who wanted to open their arms and hearts to the displaced victims of Katrina. Roy and Kimberly applied for assistance and chose to relocate to Springfield, Ohio. They were promised two weeks lodging in a hotel and help in finding jobs matching their skills, housing within their budget and schooling for Brianna and special-needs student Matthew, who is deaf. “Everything’s starting to work out with this move,” Roy says softly, obviously touched by the love of total strangers. “Family, the people you hope would be there for you, tell you ‘I hope you’ll be okay.’” He shakes his head slowly, obviously unable to comprehend such indifference. Then, eyes brimming with tears, he adds, “There are good people in the world. You think nobody really cares until something like this happens. Those you ordinarily wouldn’t count on are here to do for you.” On Wednesday, September 28, Roy and his family loaded bags of their meager belongings into their car and headed north to begin life anew in Ohio. Standing tall in the face of tragedy, the Hills family survived—not alone, but with the love, help and support of the Red Cross and Christian strangers who offered what money can’t buy: hope. The ten-mile stretch leading out of Folsom is lined with thousands of once-majestic pines now broken and piled helter-skelter atop each other. Like so many matchsticks they lie, their twisted trunks mute testimony to the battle fought. Every now and then, however—like the Hills family—a survivor tree appears, bruised, yet still standing, gleaming in the afternoon sun. The Hills and the tree both signal hope to the broken spirits around them, and the promise of good things to come. Katrina saves a life by Jan LeBlanc Hurricane Katrina affected so many lives in different ways, but none quite like Covington native Gary Keife. With so many tales of destruction, devastation and heartache, his story of survival is unlike any other you may have heard thus far. Hurricane Katrina saved Gary’s life. After being on a donor waiting list for over a year for a liver transplant, the once-vibrant 42-year old and his family had just about given up hope. The twelve months prior to that fateful August 29 date had been terribly challenging for Gary. His liver was shutting down, he couldn’t eat normally and he was sleeping nearly twenty hours a day. “I had so little energy, making it difficult to raise my son,” he says. Gary was receiving excellent care at Ochsner Hospital in New Orleans, one of the largest liver transplant centers in the state, but was becoming increasingly discouraged with each passing day that a liver was not available for donation. “Every day we would wait for the call to come saying that one was available,” Gary remembers. “The call never came.” Lucky for Gary, Katrina did. He rode out the storm at his Covington home, but found it necessary to leave the next day, as trees had fallen through his roof. Before setting out, he called ahead to his friend Scott in Shreveport, who agreed to provide Gary a room for a while. Additionally, Scott contacted Shreveport’s Willis Knighton Hospital and set up an appointment for Gary to be seen the next day. “They couldn’t believe I wasn’t already in a coma. My levels were the highest in the state,” he says, referring to his elevated levels of liver enzymes, bilirubin and creatine. “Ochsner forwarded my medical records, and I was immediately moved to the top of the list at the hospital for a transplant.” Within two weeks, on September 16, a liver became available in Bossier City. The transplant surgery was scheduled immediately. Since the successful operation, Gary has enjoyed sharing his amazing story with others who have been affected by the storm, as it offers a positive balance to so many stories with unhappy endings. “Everything was truly a miracle,” he says. “When the hurricane forced us away, we thought there was no hope. But if not for the evacuation, I would still be there waiting.” The War Zone by Taylor Harvey Driving slowly and cautiously down the bumpy street, my family had our brights shining on the dark, rough gravel ahead of us. We were getting prepared to see our destroyed neighborhood. It was a week after hurricane Katrina had hit and according to the news, everything was damaged. The feeling that I had in the pit of my stomach was like a thousand butterflies having a field day. As I looked around, I saw complete devastation. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It looked as if someone had come and bombed all of our yards. Trees were down everywhere. All the neighbors’ yards looked like a torn-up forest. Every house that I could see looked like torpedoes went through the roofs. Across the street were debris mounds that reminded me of those trenches the soldiers hide behind. It looked like helicopters flew down and cut the tops of all the trees off. It felt like a total war zone around me. When we finally drove into our driveway, we had a feeling of what to expect. A tree had fallen into our kitchen, which made it totally unusable. The hole was the size of a school bus, and since we had no electricity, everything in our freezer melted. The smell of rotten eggs and sour fish filled the air. Since we have a guesthouse, we were able to use that kitchen. I guess I should be thankful that the war zone is a lot better than what other people experienced. My sister, her husband and my six-year-old nephew are living with us. Their house is totally uninhabitable, except for the maggots and horseflies that seem to enjoy their new home. Her downstairs had about six feet of water in it, and mold is growing everywhere. The mold problem is so bad that it is growing all the way up to the upstairs. I even know people whose houses are totally burned down and have nothing else left. I am thankful that mine is “okay”… considering what other people are facing. Ever since hurricane Katrina, nothing has been normal. You always hope that maybe all this is a dream and that you will wake up any moment now. Even though this tragedy has been very tough, the people of New Orleans and the surrounding area can get through this. Our spirit can never be broken. Taylor is a student at St. Scholastica Academy in Covington.



		Copyright 2006, M&L Publishing, all rights reserved.