October 17, 2005 - Another Katrina Story: Devastation on a War-like Scale

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Another Katrina Story: Devastation on a War-like Scale
By Bryan Dudley
October 17, 2005

Nothing draws people together more rapidly than a great tragedy. This has been demonstrated many times over in the past and especially by the recent catastrophe of Katrina and her devastation. While this is by no means the only disaster to strike in our world, it is the one closest to home, and the one we relate to the easiest in North America. Though the United States was the hardest hit, the effects have been indelibly imprinted in the minds of all peoples of North America.

While everyone grieves for broken families, lost life, and tragic destruction of material wealth and productivity, it is particularly hard (I hope) for those within the Christian community. I Corinthians 12:26 states that “whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it.” This is still a time of suffering.

I am unable to gauge the response of the church as a whole but I can relate the parts I saw. I attend Gateway College of Evangelism in St. Louis and recently our college president announced an opportunity for us to minister in perhaps an unorthodox way. He told us they were arranging a trip down to Biloxi, MS for several days to aid in Hurricane relief. There were about 30 of us who had an opportunity to go.

Morbid Curiosity, Deep Mourning
We were excited, perhaps because of the novelty of the trip, or the chance to minister, and also I am sure because we would be able to satisfy our morbid curiosity. We drove about 11 hours and got there late at night on a Thursday. Damage seemed light looking out the window, and we wondered if we would have much to do. We slept that night on the pews of a church. We found out that there were two showers in the church we could use, and we got a tour of the gym where they had gathered food and necessary items for distribution.

The next morning the novelty wore off and the seriousness of the situation dawned on us. It happened as we were grouped outside helping to unload a truck that had shipped supplies from Florida. The Pastor brought a very unkempt man to us. He hadn’t shaved in days, and was dressed in raggedy clothing. I saw such hopelessness in his eyes as he followed the pastor over to us. The pastor asked us to pray for the man. He had lost all his belongings, his home, and he had no idea where his wife or children were.

We gathered around him and I watched tears of grief fall from his eyes. I realized this was more than a game—or an adventure. It was very real. Pictures do not do it justice. People mourning drives it home.

Destroying Your Own Home
We unloaded several more trucks, and personal vehicles of the supplies they brought, then were divided into groups to work in people’s homes. I was working for a man who had served in the Marines for 20 years. On the way to his house I noticed that many houses seemed perfectly fine, and yet everyone was piling belongings on the street corners, and curbs. Many did not even have broken windows. At the man’s house we started tearing out drywall and insulation. I finally asked him why the wanton destruction.

That’s when he showed me the water line nine feet high, where the water had flooded into his house in two hours. We cleared out his whole first floor of walls and everything that makes a house a house, except the wall studs, and the floor. We also chopped some trees.

Food and Shower
That day I was also initiated into another grand world—the world of the MRE (meal, ready to eat). They are better than you think. My beef stew was real meat; it came out piping hot, had real fruit with it, plus snacks and condiments. We ended up eating those every day, and I developed a certain taste for them (I brought a box of them back to school). Don’t eat the egg omelet, but I loved the beefsteak in mushroom sauce.

When we got back that first night, we were fed a hot meal, which I postponed to be the first one in the shower. The shower was a little closet where they kept the extra paper towels and toilet paper. At the back of a narrow “crawl space” they had crammed a shower stall. There was no light in the closet (another new experience). We all ate, cleaned up, and then started tearing around the church; sharing experiences, playing games, and doing the ever-present, ever-hated homework (we had a lot).

The next day I got some sort of loosely defined pancake substance (which almost drove me to my ever faithful MRE’s) and then we broke up to work again. We helped unload some more trucks that had come in from various states, and individual churches, which provided me with some new pet peeves.

If you ever send stuff to disaster aid, send decent items. One bag I took off the truck contained neck ties, ugly old used grandpa neckties. I also threw out broken toys, and other storeroom trash. People pulling themselves out of the dirt and debris of a disaster don’t want people’s junk collection. Disaster is not your opportunity to empty the garage. That minor irritation resolved, I do have to say that almost everything was good quality, much of it brand new, and greatly appreciated by all. (I would like to thank the person who sent a whole collection of perfect condition Beanie Babies. There were a lot of happy little faces when everything from Pink Flamingos to Platypus stuffed animals where given out.)

Steaming, Stinking House
After unloading trucks, my group was put with a man on active duty at the local barracks repairing the base. It was now the second week after the tragedy, and he had just finally gotten permission to work on his house.

Imagine a house that is completely soaked, then left to steam for two weeks in hot temperatures—you get a miniature jungle. There were mold growths up the walls, funky smells from the kitchen, little frogs hopping around on the floor, and odors such as I hope never to smell again.

We helped that man, probably saved him a month of work by himself, and when we left he had tears of gratitude in his eyes. He asked us to come back when the South could show a little more hospitality.

While we slaved away under the Mississippi sun, some of my lazy compadres were taking a tour of the coast. Destruction there was a lot more than steamy fungal jungles. The flood water had leveled everything. The stench was horrible, and the pastor giving the tour said that the smell was coming from the woods where they had not yet searched for bodies. There was part of a body stuck in a fence off the road. There were grand marble staircases leading up to nothing, as the flood had washed away the whole multi-million dollar house. Empty lots, homes stripped bare on their first floor leaving only the studs of the walls, roofs of houses lying on the concrete foundation where a building had once stood, boats a mile from shore resting against a tree or in a house. It was devastation on a war-like scale. Few people even wandered these areas as there wasn’t much left to cling to.

But the Worst of It…
Our worst work day was the next day, which I don’t want to talk about. Let’s just say that it was dusty fiberglass clouds all around us, choking fits, itchy body conditions, and yes, we will all have lung cancer in 15 years.

Did I mention that after working, we got cleaned up and then drove back to school? I had class the next day, which I participated in with the gusto of a zombie. It took me several days, and a lot of anti-itch cream to feel better.

But I left with a certain satisfaction of knowing I’ve done a little good. No media acts worthy of heroism. We were no special group, just a few guys helping out; like the Red Cross volunteers, the people dispensing goods from the backs of their vehicles, and the military men kept away from their homes to help others. But I was fulfilled, and we made friends, and I left with a realization that there are needs out there far greater than mine. If I turn my energy to others, I will find that I’m much more blessed than I think. I would do it again in a heartbeat, and I recommend it to anyone with an affinity for anti-itch cream.

Besides I got a cool CSI Compassion Services International (CSI) shirt courtesy of a Sheaves for Christ offerings. How do you beat an offer like that?

ninetyandnine.com

Bryan Dudley’s a Canadian who likes guns, cowboy boots, steamy hot weather and short bios. Actually the only thing true is the Canadian part, but that's good enough for me. I think my favourite pastime is watching Americans, ya'll are unbelievable fun.