La Grange News

Louisiana Lifestyle Runs Deeper than Katrina's Floods

By Andrea Lovejoy, columnist La Grange News

First she lost her home. Then she lost her job.

She lost her cool, too, more than a few times, she admits.

But she never lost her love for her hometown, its streets, its style, its spirit. She never thought of giving up and going someplace else.

In the five years since levee failures in the wake of Hurricane Katrina put 80 percent of New Orleans under water, Jenny R. has managed to rebuild her home and reclaim her life. It's not the same - never will be, she now knows - but what she calls the "new normal" is feeling a lot better than it did a while ago.

The recovery has been hard. Hard for Jenny. Hard for her neighbors. Hard for almost everybody in the rollicking city better known for celebrating good times than for surviving awful ones.

Coming even partway back has required years - years! - of daily inconvenience, near-daily disappointments, mounting frustration and enough red tape to dam the mighty Mississippi.

Gentle-voiced Jenny put a face on that for me.

She has been let go by her employer, let down by her government and run around by insurors and agencies designed to help.

She and her husband lived upstairs in their two-story home for years, struggling to get the gutted downstairs rebuilt. She had to deal with a mold adjuster, a flood adjuster, a wind adjuster, an endless stream of inspections, estimates, permits and paperwork. She has little good to say about politicians at any level. She understands firsthand why many call FEMA the Futile Emergency Management Agency.

Yet when I meet her, her step is light and her long, full skirt swirls gracefully as she gets out of the white van. She considers herself one of the lucky ones.

"I had something to rebuild," Jenny said. "Lots of people had nothiing, nothing at all."

She got back her job as a tour guide when folks like me began returning to the undamaged French Quarter and Garden District. Even the work has changed. Visitors used to book plantation tours and airboats to the bayou. They still do, but more want to see what Katrina left behind.

I didn't set out to write about Hurricane Katrina this week. Coverage of Sunday's fifth anniversary of the disaster was exhaustive. You've already revisited the devastation and desperation, been reminded of the continuing struggle, been encouraged by promising signs of renewal and recovery.

But the images I saw and stories I heard as Jenny expertly drove that white van, narrating nearly nonstop for four hours, just won't leave me.

I wouldn't wish the Katrina experience on anyone, but I wish everyone could see what we saw, through Jenny's eyes.

There"s a depth to the Katrina story that words and TV photos can't convey.

It wasn't just a few blocks or neighborhoods. It wasn't just the much-photographed Lower Ninth Ward, scene of so much sufferiing. It was miles upon miles of misery. The entire St. Bernard Parish - a land area bigger than Troup County - was under water. A main levee breached not far from where Gen. Andrew Jackson led the American victory over the British in the Battle of New Orleans in 1815.

Upper-class neighborhoods. Middle-class neighborhoods. Working-class neighborhoods. The water didn't know the difference. All flooded.

Shopping centers. Grocery stores. Car dealerships. Restaurants. Schools. Hospitals. Nursing homes. Parks and playgrounds. The water didn't know the difference. All ruined.

After five years, the best-recovered areas still have gutted and abandoned homes next to rebuilt ones and sad-looking vacant lots where families used to live.

Many areas still lack things they once took for granted. Four hospitals remain closed. Eyesores abound. An abandoned Six Flags amusement park sits rusting and rotting. Weeds grow through cracks in concrete where discount stores and home improvement centers used to be.

But every little victory is celebrated. A drug store or a beauty shop reopens, and a community rejoices. "This neighborhood was excited a couple of weeks ago when that dry cleaners came back," Jenny said, gesturing toward a modest building.

Credit for much of what has been rebuilt in New Orleans - and in devastated Mississippi, too - goes to volunteers, especially the faith-based groups.

"They were the first ones here, and they are still here," Jenny said.

On street after street, she points out homes built or rebuilt by church groups, by Habitat for Humanity, by volunteers of all stripes, some inspired and financed by celebrities with New Orleans roots, but most just everyday folks who wanted to help.

"It's made all the difference," Jenny said.

She drove us by several rebuilt levees - if she hadn't pointed out that the green "hill" beside the road was a levee, I wouldn't have realized it. She explained how they work... or didn't work.

Design flaws in the levees ultimately were blamed for much of the flooding. It sickened me to realize it didn't have to happen.

The city is better protected now, Jenny thinks. New floodgates are in place, and construction is under way on more safety improvements.

"It was supposed to be done by this hurricane season," she said, her voice trailing off, then brightening. "It'll be ready next year."

Her optimism is brave and impressive. I find myself hoping it's not misplaced.

We round a forlorn corner and hear music, street musicians jamming joyfully on a sidewalk.

Jenny is not surprised. She knew it along. The close-knit families and distinctive ethnic gumbo of the Louisiana lifestyle would survive.

"It's our culture," she said. "It's in our blood."