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Oregon Road Conditions & Cams Email Story to a Friend September 19, 2005 In New Orleans, images of horror and hope By PARIS ACHEN Mail Tribune Rolling through the devastated streets of New Orleans in a Humvee, I couldn’t help remembering better days in the Big Easy. As a resident of Houston for more than four years, I had visited the colorful, vibrant city once every year, reveling in the Mardi Gras celebrations, joining in the throng of people in the streets, marveling at historic sites and shopping the French Quarter. I had browsed the French Market and delighted in the artisans, the merchants and their offerings. The collective humorous, animated character of the city, exhibited in individuals I met, fascinated me. What photographer Jim Craven and I saw as Army National Guard troops from Southern Oregon escorted us through the city was a sharp contrast to the festive, music-filled streets I encountered during past visits. The French Market was deserted, the shops boarded up or looted. An open-air cafe where I had enjoyed crawfish �touff�e and had my picture taken with a jazz band was empty. Stuffed animals, clothes, trash, fallen trees and other debris were piled up on the sidewalks; cars swept away in the floodwater sat in the street medians. It was the eerie quiet after the storm, the city deserted except for troops, police, aid workers and contractors scrambling to restore utilities. Gone was the visible agony of the residents who fled for their lives, witnessed death of loved ones, lost their homes and scavenged for food and water in the ruins. I could only imagine what they went through, and it was incomprehensible. Advertisement Except for two old men we saw evacuating, there were only material clues: holes punched in the roofs of houses, the imprint of a body left on the side of the road for a week, broken windows, a brown teddy bear floating in six feet of oil-glazed floodwaters and emaciated pets searching for food. Among the debris, I saw one of the distinctly tall and twisted plastic cups used to serve the city’s famous cocktail, the Hurricane. A few Mardi Gras beads hung from tree branches, pieces of New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina. They were the kind of plastic beads I had reached for among crowds of people during the riotously colorful parades, an illogical competition for tokens with no value at all, save the fun of the pursuit. All of it was mixed with the scent of decaying corpses, gas leaks, sewage and putrid food. I, like many of the soldiers I chatted with, felt I had entered a city after an apocalypse. I felt the emptiness. As 1st Battalion, 186th Infantry Chaplain Ron McKay put it, "It’s like the rapture took place." Only when I saw the body print next to a road near City Park did anger well up in me over the corpses left on the side of the road for days, passed by troops and police. Anger turned to outrage as I sat in a boat and watched soldiers patrolling floodwaters bypass houses that might contain survivors, ordered not to enter unless there was an open window, unlocked door or a hole through the roof or wall. At Baton Rouge airport, on the way home to Oregon, I was finally able to gauge Louisianans’ reaction to the hurricane and the government’s response. The animation that sets Louisianans apart from much of the nation was still there. But their humor and easygoing way were replaced with anger about the lethargic response from the government, the needless deaths and lack of dignity given to the survivors as they evacuated and to some of the deceased. To a tourist, New Orleans was all about enjoyment; Hurricane Katrina tore off the city’s Mardi Gras mask. For residents, living in a city located nine feet below sea level, plagued with poverty and infested with crime and corruption, was a dance with danger. But hurricane was a threat for which the city, state and federal governments could have prepared a more efficient response. For me, much of New Orleans’ charm has to do with its people, their drawl, their sense of humor and their unique culture. I hope city officials will keep that in mind as they rebuild the city. New Orleans will never be the same. Whether the city will be better or worse depends on the course city, state and federal officials take in its reconstruction and rehabilitation. Reach reporter Paris Achen at 776-4496 or e-mail In New Orleans, images of horror and hope ">[email protected] . 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