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16480. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 3:04:46 AM
I walk to my car and get a gallon of water and two Slim Fast bars, which I give to Rogers. He puts the bars on top of his guitar case, hands the water across the bar. "I was fine at my house," he says bitterly. "Now I'm going to lose my dogs."
A man in leather pants, a blue shirt, with long black hair and tattoos down his forearms, arrives at the bar with a cooler full of medical supplies. The bartender is now on the other end of the counter, doing speed. "I'm not really a bartender," he tells me. "I'm a drunk. I was just helping out." This is still the city I visited, I decide, concentrated into one bar.
The medic dresses Rogers' wounds. He has cuts on his legs and arms, apparently from diving into the water a few days ago to save his neighbor, who had been blown off the roof of her house by a helicopter. He had to walk all day and swim to get to Johnny White's last night. He says he was stopped and searched eight times. I spy the sign behind the bar, "Never Closed."
It seems to get hotter in New Orleans now that it's totally dark. Down the street, some lanterns burn. The humidity has increased. The medic's name is Ride Hamilton. "I'm not really a medic," he says, just like the bartender is not really a bartender. "But I'm the only medic here. I wear this uniform because it helps me get through stuff." I wonder to myself what kind of medic wears leather pants, especially in this heat.
I ask him where he learned how to do these things. He says he watches a lot of military documentaries. (The New York Times reported that Hamilton is a firefighter.) He says he stitched up a guy a few days ago, using a sewing needle and fishing line. FEMA left the stitches in. Said they were as good as any stitches they had ever seen.
16481. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 3:06:47 AM
"I got a warehouse full of supplies in my house," Hamilton says. "I went to all the places, all the pharmacies, before the wrong people got there. I took ointment and medicine while they were taking food. I'm doing this on a quarter tank of gas and a donut tire."
I talk to the Indian woman for a while. She used to live in San Francisco, close to where I live. "I got so bored in San Francisco," she says. "New Orleans never closes." It's a strange thing to say but it's true on this particular corner. Near 10 p.m., I decide I should probably go. "Don't," she says. "You're a target. People are being killed for bicycles. You have gasoline."
Six blocks away from Johnny White's is Canal Street, which is now Media City. Stretching for nearly a mile down the street are tents, buses, campers, generators, satellite trucks and cars. There's a makeup area with arc lights. Heavy police presence. The Sheraton is still open, the only hotel in town, commandeered by federal agents. Workers clean trash in front of the hotel. The rest of the street is covered in broken glass.
Journalists sleep in their vehicle seats and in the meridian. I hang out for a while with the crew from the Cleveland Plain Dealer and they offer me Gatorade. They have made chairs from boxtops placed on top of a fallen palm tree.
We swap stories about the things we've seen. I mention the shelter in Alexandria that was ready and open for two days before the displaced arrived. One of the reporters says he ordered a shot of whiskey at Johnny White's yesterday and it tasted like piss. We talk about the 4,000 people left for days on the causeway. A reporter says he's never seen anything like it. "They left those people to die," he says.
"Look at that," someone says. It's a row of white trucks with green stripes -- Immigration. Then the red berets come marching past. Then Fish and Wildlife. The federal government has arrived in force.
16482. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 3:08:01 AM
"Think it's safe to drive out of town tonight?" I ask, and everybody says no, it is definitely not safe. I have a plane to catch in the afternoon in Jackson, Miss. I've been on the Gulf Coast five days and there's certainly no shortage of reporters here.
Eventually I take off anyway. I drive past the hospital and the military trucks there. Heavy weapons are set on the lawn. No one is supposed to be on the streets.
The disaster, it seems to me, is the failure of a philosophy. A philosophy of small government, tax cuts, deficits and privatization. The federal government should have arrived sooner but the federal government was doing other things.
I drive east on 90, an empty highway, but I'm forced off by flooding. I drive down to the entryway, where a state trooper is parked. He is also lost. The streets in front of us are submerged. I drive back beneath concrete columns, half a dozen warnings in my head. I turn right below the highway and dead end at a giant pool. Men sit on orange theater chairs beneath the overpass. I pass them slowly. Nobody smiles or waves. A man in a blue police shirt holding a shotgun stops my car. Two men in camouflage and bulletproof vests are with him.
"Where the hell are you going?" he asks me. I tell him I'm trying to get out of town, to Mississippi, but everywhere I try to drive is under water. The man is fat, a thick layer of sweat across his face, a lock of hair stuck to his forehead. He wants to know why my driver license says San Francisco and I give him the card of the lieutenant, who told me to call him if anything went wrong.
The fat man gives me directions. The troops keep their hands on the triggers. Earlier today, two blocks away, troops shot five assailants who opened fire on contractors. I wonder if these are the troops that did the shooting. "Man," he says, handing me back my license. "You are in a bad neighborhood. You need to get out of here."
16483. jexster - 9/7/2005 4:49:02 AM T'fil...condolences as well..I found such bedside deaths as the one you witnessed both awe-ful and awe-som...kinda felt like a birth in a way..the few I've seen anyway..but every death is unique,just like every person is... 16484. Ulgine Barrows - 9/7/2005 8:25:11 AM thoughtful, glad to hear about your MIL passing, sounds like she didn't want to stay here.
Such a dork. Please forgive me.
I also thought it wonderful that jexster addressed you as T'fil.
I couldn't 16485. Ulgine Barrows - 9/7/2005 11:41:00 AM Good morning little puppies, carry on. 16486. Ulgine Barrows - 9/7/2005 11:53:51 AM One thing I know
I want more
(and I need all the love I can get)
(and I need all the love that I can’t get to)
(and I need all the love I can get)
(and I need all the love that I can’t get to)
All the love that you can get
All the love
That I can’t get to...
Sisters of Mercy
16487. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 12:17:53 PM Hello, Ulgine, and everybody. 16488. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 12:19:23 PM Hi, Mac. 16489. Macnas - 9/7/2005 12:24:02 PM Hey Mago. 16490. Ulgine Barrows - 9/7/2005 12:26:44 PM Macnas is worth a separate hello every morning, isn't he Magoseph?
His comment about "I may cry" is worth the price of admission.
O, this bad. Sorry. 16491. Ulgine Barrows - 9/7/2005 12:33:36 PM I forget my manners. Hi Macnas. 16492. Macnas - 9/7/2005 12:39:46 PM Hello UB. 16493. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 1:04:27 PM Macnas is worth a separate hello every morning, isn't he Magoseph?
Yes, Ulgine, he always answers my morning greeting. 16494. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 1:27:35 PM I’m going to be very busy today at a couple of wifely loving activities. For example, Flexy will have thoughtful’s grandmother’s sauerkraut dish, plus the boiled potatoes he wants with it. I’ll tackle Butch and give him a good soaping, drying, and brushing, now that I have such good advice from my pals here. I’ll wait, though, until Flexy is in a meeting later this afternoon with a Chicago developer who made us an offer. 16495. thoughtful - 9/7/2005 1:28:48 PM Thanks Arky and jexster. Actually, jex, I just found it heartbreaking.
Ulgine, you have an odd way of putting it, but thanks nonetheless. 16496. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 1:59:26 PM Of course, instead of cooking sauerkraut and washing the dog, I could do one of these two activities--well, considering my advanced age, I guess I'd have to dabble in paint..
16497. Magoseph - 9/7/2005 7:03:24 PM Thoughtful, the sauerkraut dish is done and I keep it warm until Flexy gets of the phone. If he takes too much time, I may eat it all, so good it is. 16498. thoughtful - 9/7/2005 7:06:48 PM I'm glad you're enjoying it...grandma B. would be pleased. She was a great cook, and loved feeding people, though oddly enough, she hated cooking itself. She was one of those who never actually had dinner with the rest of the family. She was always up and getting more dishes, serving food to everyone. After we were all full, she'd make a plate for herself and sit down and eat. 16499. Magoseph - 9/8/2005 2:12:01 PM One plate and the man was sated, so I finished the rest. I never got to shampoo Butch since there's always something around here to foil my projects, but today is the day to do that chore.
Hello, Moties.
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