Into the City, Part I
Our third day here was a long one. We were expecting to head to the airport in New Orleans but ended up assigned to a story about civilians who reentered the city to feed rescue workers, military, and police officers. I was glad we were finally going to be able to see all that we witnessed on television and Wayne really wanted to check on his mother's homes as well.
It took a few hours just to get through Jefferson Parish and into the city. Police had roadblocks set up along Airline Boulevard, the only alternate road aside from Interstate 10, which was being used for buses, supply trucks, police, and the military.
The first mission was to find Wayne's house. We switched spots as Wayne knew the city, and I wanted to get video of all we saw along the streets. Upon entering Orleans Parish, we saw a great deal of destruction, mostly in the form of wind and tree damage. We finally made our way into his neighborhood, an area called River Bend in the west side of the the city known as Uptown. Navigating through the trees, downed power lines, and debris, we came across a couple of guys standing watch in front of their house. They had a generator running in a tent and .45s strapped to their hips. No one was going to do any looting on their street. They were also unsure of how long they would remain in the city.
They followed us around the block where we had to park and make our way on foot to Wayne's house. The minivan rental would not be able to go any further along his street.
"Oh my God..." - a phrase echoed many times by Wayne as we made our way closer to his home along the street where he grew up. The closer we came, the more distraught he became. He pointed out trees he used to climb that now lay in the street, on cars and houses.
As we moved further, more standing water was found in the street, abandoned cars in the road with doors flung open, and seemingly more trees, power lines, and debris littered the ground.
We came across his house. In front of it was a twisted mass of wires and broken posts knotted together in the street, anchored to the ground by a massive transformer soaking silently in the toxic soup that covered the road.
"Mrs. Taylor," he yelled.
"Hi, baby." Across the street from his house, an elderly woman in her eighties stood on her second story porch waving. This woman, Wayne later told me, used to come check on him when he came from school.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm trying to get out of here. I want to get down to the convention center so I can get out."
Everyone was already gone from the convention center at this point and in the area we were, the roads were impassable. There were no rescue workers or police present in this section. She had ridden out the storm and aftermath for the past week.
"We're going to get you out of here Mrs. Taylor," Wayne promised. "We're going to get you out."
We checked his house. The damage was minimal, a few shutters and roof shingles lie on the lawn, but everything seemed dry and in good shape. In the backyard, a small tree had fallen on the roof. Otherwise, the house was in better shape than any of us had expected.
While heading back to the street, two guys rolled up on mountain bikes, looking dirty and possibly dangerous.
"Who y'all with?" one asked.
"ABC," I answered. "This house is where my reporter Wayne grew up."
We talked to them and the older man had apparently been policing his neighborhood as well, keeping looters at bay. He even told us that he shot at a few of them a few nights before.
We headed to the end of the block and came across a group of rescue workers. We hailed them and told them about Mrs. Taylor. They got her packed up and got her out.
We both felt a sense of pride. My mother told me before I left to come down here that if I could help just one person, it would be a blessing. Happily, we did...
---and on to downtown....
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