While Katrina’s unbelievable devastation has changed the landscape of our area and the lives of its people, it has only served to heighten the resilience and spirit of those who call the northshore home—and those who came from far and near to lend a hand.
From the sharing of homes to the serving of meals to the care of abandoned animals; from the clearing of downed trees to the tarping of roofs—the countless times and the different ways that people have come together to help one another will never be counted and put into statistical tables. Most cared nothing for the glory; they just responded to some unquenchable urge to get up and do something.
Here are just some of the thousands of similar stories that could be told.
Angels on Assignment
by Karen B. Gibbs
From the moment Circleville, Ohio resident Jeff Scudder heard about Katrina’s devastation, he wanted to help. For starters, he agreed to ride with a friend to Louisiana to deliver a FEMA trailer. With the blessing of his wife, he took a week’s vacation from his job as a corrections officer and headed for Slidell. Once there, he felt compelled to spend the next two days helping the beleaguered victims.
That’s when Scudder walked up to flood-soaked Pontchartrain Animal Hospital and offered his services. According to owner Dr. Michael Edwards, accepting help from a stranger was initially awkward. “At first it was embarrassing that someone thought I needed help. Then I was embarrassed that I needed help. Then I was humbled by the fact that God provided an angel.” (Editor’s note: Before Katrina hit, Edwards himself had been an angel. When he and his family evacuated to Mississippi, they took with them 33 animals that his clients had to leave behind.)
Scudder worked two days with Edwards and knew he had to come back. Promising to return with some friends to help get the business back in order, he notified his wife of his plans. In no time, she posted his intention on the e-mail of their church.
Kevin Withers and Ken Good believe the e-mail was an answer to their prayers. Withers, a volunteer fireman from Circleville, was heartbroken because he wanted to help, but couldn’t find a way to do it. “When I saw Jeff’s e-mail, I figured wow, I do have a way of getting there,” he recalls.
Similarly, missionary Ken Good planned to work with refugees at the proposed shelter near Columbus, Ohio, but the Red Cross moved the shelter south. Good prayed for guidance. When he read the e-mail, he knew he’d be heading to Louisiana.
At this point, the fine folks of Circleville stepped forward, providing two tile remover machines, discounts on supplies, cash and a truck. Ironically, the morning the men were to leave for Louisiana, the power steering went out on the truck. At no charge, mechanic Dan Coffman made emergency repairs, sending the anxious volunteers on their way.
That leads to an interesting aside. The trio was understandably frustrated with the sixteen-hour delay in leaving—until they heard reports of four tornado touchdowns in Mississippi and fourteen in Alabama along the exact route they planned to travel. “Had we left at 4 a.m., we would have been in that area during those storms,” Withers explained. “God was looking out for us once again.”
To complete the story, Edwards adds that the power steering on the truck broke as the men backed into his parking lot in Slidell. “Well,” Withers laughs, “I only asked God for a safe trip down.”
Once the Ohio angels arrived, they worked non-stop for two weeks with Edwards. “It was hard work tearing this floor up. Mike had done a real good job of putting it down,” Withers teases.
“I’m not sure it’s a pleasure working this hard, but it’s certainly a blessing to be here,” Good admits. “We’re helping someone who’s going to open up his business, and then the employees are going to come back, start working on their houses and so on. I’m intrigued by the multiplier effect.”
“What brought me back after working here for a few days was Mike,” Scudder begins. “He is unbelievable. While in the middle of tearing up this clinic, someone would come to the door asking, ‘Dr. Edwards, would you take a look at my dog?’ and he’d stop everything and take care of the pup. He lost his house and his business, yet he still has a heart that says, ‘If somebody needs me, I’m going to help them.’” Addressing Edwards’ embarrassment at being in need, Scudder adds, “I told him he has to accept help, too. That’s something he has to understand.”
“It’s a blessing what they’ve done,” Edwards glows. “I could help people and still move ahead, because I had these guys behind me who kept the work going.” Commenting on the accolades the men gave him, Edwards jokingly says, “It’s hard to listen to them say all these nice things about me. When I think that I tried to tempt them to sin … gluttony was the one I was working at.”
The men explode into good-natured laughter, and then they rave about the meals that Edwards’ son, Pete, and two now-homeless friends, Rick and Gina, prepared for them. “A bunch of homeless people cooking for others,” Edwards says shaking his head. Can you beat that?
Now that their two weeks are over, the volunteers comment on what they gained from this experience. Begins Jeff, “I left a wife and two kids, came 16 hours and walked through the doorway of a man I never knew and formed a relationship that will last a lifetime.”
Continues Kevin, “I wanted to help, and in return I’ve got something worth more than money. It’s the friendships I’ve made.”
With that, the men get back to work, not wanting to waste a single moment of their last day in Louisiana. They’ve got sheetrock to hang, tiles to remove and—oh yes—newly repaired power steering to pray for. “Just let it last ’til we get home, Lord. Amen.”
Helpers from
near and far
by Becky Schoen
Kimberly and Kristian Hahn, who own Madisonville Drugs, opened their store the day after the storm. They were concerned for the elderly in their community who depend on them for their medicines. The week after Katrina struck, they fed those special customers—and anyone else who needed a hot meal—in their parking lot, about 200 people a day. “Whom, exactly, did you feed?” I asked.
“Everyone. Neighbors, workers, shelter victims, people from all over. One person came from the Convention Center, but I have no idea how he got here.” I asked her what she fed 200 people for lunch. “Red beans and rice, jambalaya, rice and gravy, and hot dogs and chili on Labor Day.” Kim says people actually complained when she occasionally burned something. “What do you expect? I’m cooking in a crawfish pot!” she told them.
Madisonville Drugs, along with the Piggly Wiggly, became the “information station” in their community—a sort of clearinghouse for the homeless and helpless. The Hahns posted signs for people who needed lodging, distributed clothing and just tried to help anyone who came their way. And, rather than take their customers’ last dollar, Kim and Kristian gave those in need a week’s worth of their meds. Free. Kim explains very matter-of-factly, “We had to sleep at night.”
Six days after the hurricane, some men in a truck from Tyler, Texas were wandering around looking for someone to help. They were a Godsend for my friend Helen, whose car was trapped in her driveway by huge power lines hanging a foot off the ground. They simply stood on the wires and backed her car over them so she could leave town again. Then they went off to tarp a roof and clean up a yard.
Another group—Michael Cane, Shawn Hayden and Ryan Schwartz of Stens Corporation—outfitted a trailer with special equipment and headed south from Indiana. They set up shop outside The Home Depot in Covington and for a nominal fee sharpened chainsaw blades on the spot.
My husband went home the day after the storm. He called every night from Baton Rouge, because it was the only place his cell phone worked and it was the only place he could buy gas for chainsaws and generators. One night I asked him what he was doing later. He said, “I’m going to do what I do every night—eat sausage and drink red wine.” The men had formed a logging crew. They worked to clear the streets of our neighborhood by day and grilled the thawing contents of each other’s freezers by night. Apparently there was a never-ending supply of sausage flowing forth from the freezers, and the red wine needed no refrigeration. One of the men offered up his kitchen and den as “H.Q.” I pictured hot, dirty, sweaty men roughing it for the sake of their families and neighbors. When I returned home several days later, what I found was actually a big boys’ fort equipped with generators, satellite TV and window air conditioners!
