Hurricane Katrina

At 10:30 on a late-August Saturday night in 2005, I was watching a rerun of Saturday Night Live on TV as I folded laundry. A news ticker crossed the screen - a call for 100 volunteers, needed immediately at the Austin Convention Center to help displaced Katrina evacuees. I dressed, grabbed my keys and left my husband a message that I wasn't sure when I'd be back. I wanted to be the welcoming face of the new home these folks were coming to, most of them with nothing. These were the people I’d seen on the news; they had been at the Superdome; they had waded through chest deep water after the levees broke; they were on the bridge; they were at the heart of the worst natural and human disaster our country has ever faced. And here was something I could finally do to help. I wanted to be there, in the middle of the night upon their arrival, with the energy, courage and strength to lift them up & light their way out of that darkness, even if all I could really do was put fresh sheets on a clean cot just for them.

Assigned to help register evacuees, I greeted their tired, embattled, sometimes bewildered faces and was awed by the resilience and the cooperative kindness of every person in those long lines. As time passed, I was assigned to help a group of a dozen autistic children and adults with their caretakers, a family by caring and compassion but not by blood or marriage, to set up their makeshift home in a 20’x40' square of space in the great convention center hall. Their commitment to stay together and make it out of the storm left me in tears and completely without words days later when I took pause to fully consider what they had endured.

That first night, late, after everyone had been registered, fed a solid meal, set up with a cot, given a care package of basic toiletries, and after most had fallen into their deepest sleep in days, I contemplated the unfortunate reality that despite a generous outpouring of donated clothing, many of the larger women could not find suitable clothing to change into, leaving them still clothed in the now heavily soiled outfits they'd evacuated in approximately 5 days earlier. So, at 4am, I found 2 local 24 hour stores, a Target and a Wal-Mart north of town, and I bought them clean out of women’s plus sized clothing, mostly pants and underwear, but also pajamas and dresses, to pass along to these women who so needed them. I returned to the convention center and hand delivered a new, albeit limited wardrobe to one of the autistic women who had found nothing in her size. She was one of the few people awake at that hour. I remember she cried as I handed her her very own new pajamas, and I escorted her to the ladies room where she could finally freshen up and put on clean clothes. The remainder of my purchases I left with a volunteer in the clothing area who was as troubled as I was concerning this critical need. Her spontaneous, broad, knowing smile when I told her what was in all those bags told me she knew exactly what to do to get them to the women who had previously found nothing in their size.

16 hours after I’d left home I made it back to my house. Exhausted and hungry, I fell into bed without explaining what I’d done and seen that night and morning; without sharing the stories I’d heard; without processing the suffering I’d seen on the faces that filed before me, all of which were exhausted and hungry beyond anything I’ll ever know. I spent hundreds to buy clothing that night, and still only made a dent in the effort to make Austin’s guests from New Orleans feel at home. Over the course of the next month, Austin’s Convention Center was home to approximately 5,000 people displaced by Hurricane Katrina. I spent 2 full 40-hour work weeks volunteering at the makeshift shelter, proud that the low number on my laminated badge evidenced my status as an early responder and earned me a measure of respect and a leadership role amongst the volunteer ranks. Most of my time was spent working at the Family Reunions Center, helping guests and visitors locate and connect with relatives and friends with whom they’d lost touch. Most rewarding, after searching online and making phone calls for hours one evening, I found a woman’s daughter and had the honor of telling her that her baby girl was safe in Houston. Mercifully, maybe miraculously given the sheer number of searches I conducted, I never had to tell anyone their loved ones were among those confirmed dead.

My story is not unique. There are thousands who answered that call, most sacrificing and contributing far more than I. Their stories and the stories of survival are the true tales of heroism and the triumph of the human spirit that need to be told. But for me, on that first night, and then in the weeks that followed, I know I made a small but meaningful difference to a few important, deserving people & knowing that is one of my most enduring treasures in life.