Labor Day Message

 

Dear Friends,

On Sunday, 9-4-05, I checked out of my motel room after four hours of sleep. Check out was 11AM. My body hurt all over and not use to an emergency operation that this has turned out to be.

I got a cup a coffee and acclimated myself to the downtown Houston area in my rent-a-car. I proceeded to the George Brown Convention Center about noon to see what was happening. Given the holiday weekend and the national media's call for help, volunteers were abundant and made a line around the building, four people wide. It was enough to bring anyone to tears.

I parked my car nearby to see what was happening only to find out from my contact there that my services were again going to be needed during the late night hours and early morning hours when most Houston residents and volunteers from neighboring communities and nearby states would not be able to assist, for many reasons...

Across the street was the grand and beautiful Hilton hotel where many evacuees who could afford it were lodging there. Many of these folks had the sense and ability to drive out of New Orleans before the storm. I set up my laptop computer in the lobby and got my first email out before my evening shift began. It was almost surreal to be in such a beautiful hotel just a couple hundred feet from where bus loads of refugees who had lost nearly everything they have ever known were now sitting on fold-out cots, showering in makeshift bathrooms, and trying to find their family members.

As we watched the large televisions tuned to CNN, a few folks sat down next to me and we struck up conversations. One affluent white woman admitted that her and her family had lost it all. She educated me as to the culture of New Orleans and how this situation had gotten out of hand over the years. She explained the "white flight" out of New Orleans that has been taking place over the years, and about the culture of poverty and despair for many of her fellow citizens living on welfare. Another man I spoke with in the hotel claims to have gotten his family out in time and was staying in the hotel. He described the black culture of crime and violence in New Orleans and his story of climbing out of that world that he knew as a child and now part of the working middle class. As a former police officer and firefighter, he explained that his wife was a social worker in Louisiana with her masters degree and they have a ten year old son. They have no place to go and don't know what they are going to do next. He sincerely appreciated my concern and that Californians were here and helping them in this crises. These folks have my personal information, and I hope they keep in touch with me, for I told them that I don't know what California or my small community will decide to do to do their part in sharing the burden of this disaster. Only time will tell.

Late Sunday night, the volunteer line had disappeared, as I predicted. The volunteer coordinator recognized me and put me right back to work. Most of the refugees had bedded down for the night, but for many others, this was time of the day they were accustomed to being "active", so there was a need for security as well. There were police officers present as well as private security personnel watching exit doors, bathrooms, and communication areas for safety.

I was put to work separating the supply of diapers and separating bags of clothes brought in earlier that evening. This was a grueling task. We also organized food products that were not approved or inappropriate for use there and organized those items to be sent back out to other local charities. Many articles of clothing donated simply needed to be discarded for many reasons you might expect. There was plenty of snack food for us volunteers to enjoy including peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips, bottled water, and fresh fruit.

By dawn, another flood of volunteers arrived which was my cue to leave and get some rest. My car was parked nearby and I decided it was useless to get a motel room for a few hours of sleep, so I decided to nap in my rent-a-car and listen to the news on the radio for updates of the situation. It was hot and humid and trying to nap in the car parked in the shade was virtually impossible. Later that morning, I was able to wash up in the hotel lobby, shave, and brush my teeth in the restroom before grabbing some coffee. I checked my email and made a call to the local Red Cross who told me that I was needed at the Astro Dome, so I headed that way.

Labor Day at the Dome became quite an experience. After driving a few miles to find it, it was something out of a Hollywood movie. Helicopters flying all around, police, fire, medical trucks, news vans, church buses, mobile cellular phone vans, SBC vehicles and people everywhere. Refugees and volunteers intermixed everywhere. I was immediately taken into the volunteer registration area where I was given an orange wristband and told to sit through an brief five minute orientation. They were orienting about thirty people at a time before separating us into work groups. This was a bigger operation on a grand scale. ( side note: I never saw a celebrity or rock star among the volunteers... ) After orientation we were separated into groups depending on our skills. One look at my girth and they quickly put me with other able bodied men to unload the trucks waiting to be unloaded into the basement of the Reliant Center and the Astro Dome. We walked in single file across the facility to trucks waiting to be unloaded, then filled up on bottled water and began the task of loading hundreds of cots, then moving them by cart to the storage area nearby.

Truck after truck, the supplies rolled in. We took breaks when we felt the need and were told to mingle with the evacuees and try to comfort them. We even had a checklist how to do that in a sensitive way. I thought this would part would be easy, but I was sadly mistaken. I don't care how much public speaking one may do in their lifetime, or how outgoing one's personality might be. I was unprepared to handle what I was about to do next; strike up a loving and caring conversation with some fellow Americans who had lost it all. I will never be the same again as long as I live.

What do you say, "How's it going, Pal?" I felt like an idiot. Walking inside the Dome and through the corridors was a chilling experience.. Among the volunteers that were everywhere were these poor folks sitting in folding chairs and on cots, many by themselves, or holding a loved one. I was from a different world and quite taken back. What could I say? How could I begin to give love, comfort, and understanding to an individual I had little in common with? I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth compared to these folks. Born and raised in the bay area in an upper middle class environment, how was I going to begin to find a common thread between me and these poor folks? My insecurity almost got the best of me before I convinced myself that I was not coming this far to fail in this part of the operation. This was as important as anything else we were doing there, according to one of the coordinators, and I am sure many volunteers could not bring themselves to comfort these individuals because I did not see a lot of this going on. Oh, there was a lot of hard work to be seen all around, but the human touch was missing to a very large extent, in my opinion. The reasons for this are probably many that I don't fully understand.

The only strength I could muster to approach these poor folks was to ask myself, what would Jesus do? Not being a deeply religious individual, I don't ask this question very often. But under these circumstances, it was the only question I could come up with to find the strength. In addition, I began to think about all of the other volunteers and rescue personnel who were doing their part and were out there on the frontline of the rescue operations, in the blazing heat, who were risking their lives ever since this disaster began, and that was all it took for me. I gathered my composure and the strength I needed to reach out to these folks in a personal way one footstep at a time.

In this email, I can't begin to tell you my experiences of what happened next. To make this short, I spoke with and held people who had lost it all and don't know what they are going to do next. After a minute, I got down on the cement floor to speak with them so I would not be looking down at them when talking with them after I got the feeling they wanted someone to listen to them. I allowed them to look down at me to empower them and help make them feel more comfortable. I was a complete stranger. I think this worked well. They opened up after a few minutes and words can't describe how we shared our humanity with each other. I began to feel so guilty. I have so much back home. I have so much to live for. I have everything, and they have lost it all. Many of these folks may never survive their deep depression, or find a way out of their plight. The road to rebuilding their lives is overwhelming by any stretch of the imagination. Many have little or no skills that we take for granted. Even their English skills which leaves much to be desired will be an impediment to their relocation into many communities. What worked for them in New Orleans will be unacceptable in many other parts of the country. This is a disaster the likes of which we are only beginning to understand.

I did not fear for my safety in the Dome, although gang members were obvious to many of us who were subdued by the show of force from the military and local police on duty there. Volunteers at the Dome ate and drank along side the refugees and their families at large round folding tables. While dining with a family there, I got to sing a little Aretha Franklin with a young girl about twelve years old after asking her what kind of music she likes. We joked around about our singing and her parents got a real kick out it. We stood in the food line with them and only our different colored wrist bracelets separated the volunteers from the refugees.

Some of the refugees in very small number had both orange (volunteer) and pink (refugee) bracelets on showing they were willing and able to chip in and help themselves and the others by working as volunteers. Sadly, many other refugees did not wish to be volunteers and we should not rush to judge the reasons why.... According to some volunteers from New Orleans who got out in time that I spoke with said that this was the best many of these people had ever had it. Three meals a day, medical care, air conditioning, new clothes, etc., and no illegal drugs delivered to their doorsteps. Remember, some of these folks, young and old, have never seen a doctor in their life and pride themselves on this fact. This is a different world from anything I have ever known.

I did not see one teenager or young adult refugee with an orange bracelet on designating them as a volunteer, and I looked hard to find them. Many were released outside the stadium and had become a problem to the neighborhoods and businesses nearby. Later that evening as I left the stadium, I witnessed many of the teenage refugees on the street in small groups in what appeared to be good spirits looking for "something to do". How long they can be confined to a stadium now that they are well fed and clothed is anyone's guess.

I witnessed for the first time in my life fellow Americans in dire distress at the hands of a government that was tripping over its own feet and couldn't get out of it's own way to help Americans in need. Thank God for the volunteers who came to the rescue while we waited for our government to fill the gap. Whether this was a Gulf Coast disaster or a California Coast disaster made no difference to me. The only difference for me was a cheap plane ticket. This was not someone else's problem. These were Americans crying for help on a level I never imagined possible.

I fear that my three day trip to Houston, Texas, to help in the early stages of this relief effort, is only a glimpse into what our nation faces next.