And Her Name Was Katrina

I think about Hurricane Katrina this time every year. Sometimes even more often when we travel to New Orleans. With all the talk of this year being the 5th anniversary, I thought I would share our story.

2005 was the first year that my mother-in-law came to puppysit during our annual New York vacation to the US Open. The previous two years, after moving to Natchez, we had taken our then much smaller family to a "bed and biscuit" right in the heart of New Orleans on Magazine Street. But in 2005 our family included a 16 year old Pomeranian, a 9 year old Lab and three puppies under a year and half old. The population explosion had begun. I called our usual place only to discover the owner had closed up and moved elsewhere. I didn't really like the place she'd gone to and even though she offered to keep our Pom at her home we just decided to keep everyone at home and see if Billy's mom would come.

The Hand of Providence guided that decision for sure.

Since it was Margaret's first time and there was much to learn, she was already at our house on Friday night when I returned from a seminar in Jackson. We typically drove the two and half hours to New Orleans on Saturday for an early flight out on Sunday mornings. Her Friday arrival also turned out to be a good thing. Billy and I were still new to living in "hurricane country" so we hadn't been watching television much and when my friends came over Saturday morning to meet Margaret (Brenda and Mike were going to help her with anything if she needed them) they couldn't believe that we weren't packed up and heading out the door. Didn't we know a hurricane was coming?

Mmmm. Hadn't really thought about that.

We finished going through everything and left just after lunch. We thought we had planned it all just right. While there are two routes from Natchez to New Orleans, we went through Baton Rouge that time. The interstate between the two cities is fairly straight and flat and I'll never forget the sight of approaching the causeway and starting to see three full lanes of traffic coming towards us.

We were almost alone on our side.

We got into town and checked into our hotel and turned on the television. The mayor, whom I truly liked at this point, was on and telling the citizens to get out. To leave however they could but not try and ride this one out. As a part of this plan to help everyone get out of the city he informed the city that the interstate out would be in contraflow - meaning no one else would be getting into the city. All roads would be leading out.

Had we been even 30 minutes later in our schedule we would never had made it.

Still fairly clueless to the severity of the whole thing, we went looking for dinner. Person has to eat, right? We drove up and down the main roads out by the airport only to see "closed" signs and boarded up establishments.

We finally found a Chinese buffet that was going to be closing within the hour but we were welcome to grab a table in the meantime. It wasn't exactly what we had planned, but it was good.

While watching the news that night I did, finally, come to the realization that this might be bad and maybe we had better get to the airport a little early. Just in case it was raining and there were delays.

For those that don't know me, I HATE to get the airport any earlier than is absolutely necessary. Prior to September 11, 2001 I was one of those people that pulled up the airport, checked in and walked onto the plane without ever stopping. I traveled a lot with my job and I hated wasting time at the airport. Especially those 6:30 AM flights to Dallas on Monday mornings. No need to get there any earlier than 6 or 6:10. Even now, I can time it to get there about an hour before a flight, but not much.

But that Sunday morning we arrived very early. Still pitch dark outside. I don't remember what time the flight was scheduled for, but we were there in plenty of time.

Or so I thought.

Every parking space was full. We circled the short term lot, the full term lot, and the employee parking lot. We found one space in the employee section. The last one. I didn't care at this point. We had a plane to catch and I was starting to clue in that maybe the situation was worse than I gave it credit.

Once parked and inside the terminal I was stunned. I had never seen that many people in my entire life. Security lines stretched the length of the terminal - in both directions. People were huddled in front of the boards looking at departure times - trying to find a way out, to anywhere. Children clutching stuffed animals and blankets, barely awake, holding onto their parents' legs.

A little anxiety is starting to creep into my world. Didn't these people know I had a vacation to get to? That I had planned and booked my flights months ago and I wasn't pleased that they were clogging the lines.

To the airline personnel's credit, they were all calm. They kept the lines moving as best they could. They pulled people out of the security line that had flights readying to board but they were also reassuring everyone that they would get out. Planes were delayed but that was so that they could be full and so that everyone would get out of New Orleans. Planes would be leaving as long as they could.

Mmmmmmm. Maybe this whole hurricane thing was something to which I should have been paying attention.

We boarded, and left. A little late but we were airborne and vacation had begun.

I didn't think about anything else the rest of the day. We just enjoyed ourselves.

Monday morning. My cell phone rings. It's work. I got a little concerned, but it isn't unusual for me to get work calls even on vacation. Usually about nothing that is overly important. But my coworkers were keeping an eye on my mother-in-law and I was afraid that maybe something had happened at home.

Never really, honestly, thought about a hurricane traveling a couple hundred miles inland so that wasn't on my mind.

It wasn't a problem at work or home. One of my co-worker's husband works offshore and the storm had turned suddenly and the rig was in the direct path. They hadn't been able to move it. There was no communication with the rig so no one knew if they were OK or not. I'm starting to get the bigger picture here. I reminded my boss that my mother-in-law was at our house with no means of knowing what all was going on with the storm in our area so if there was anything she needed to know would someone there please make sure she knew it. He assured me they would take care of her.

A few hours later another phone call. From home this time. The power is out. Had been out for a few hours.

Katrina had hit, and hit with a viciousness.

I started trying to call friends. All circuits were busy. Cell phones and land lines were out. I could, finally, get a few text messages through. It was bad. The whole city was dark. Trees were down all over. Roads in and out were impassable. Hotels and shelters were full. Store shelves were empty. Gas stations were drained. Neither had any hope of being refilled. I had a hard time convincing my sister-in-law that her mom was safe, being watched over, and would be fine. That she would be doing more harm than good by trying to get down there. Mostly likely she wouldn't make it and, if she did, they might not be able to get back out. Brenda and Mike had offered their RV for Margaret and our Christy if needed. It was air conditioned and they were welcomed to it if necessary.

Tuesday, we got the call that our power had been restored, mostly. Margaret said that it came on roughly 24 hours after it had gone out. It had blinked a few times after that, but it was mostly on. I felt better.

Until I watched the news that night. The pictures coming out of New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast were devastating. There is no other word that really covers it. Horrific, yes. Inhumane, yes. Many adjectives come to mind, but devastating is pretty all-encompassing.

The next phone call was from JetBlue. Our flight home was canceled. New Orleans International Airport was closed - indefinitely. OK. What did they suggest as an alternative? Silence on the other end. The customer service rep started typing into her computer. Here we go, she said. We can get you to Orlando.

Orlando.

With as much politeness as I could muster I pointed out that, geographically, Orlando was on the wrong side. All my information indicated that the lower Gulf Coast was closed and the interstate was gone. There was no way we could get from Orlando to Natchez. What did they have west of the Mississippi? More silence. JetBlue, at least at that time, didn't service any airports west of the Mississippi. (Even now there are only 15 stops, and most of them in California. But there are, now, two in Texas. There weren't then.) In a very quiet voice, the young lady on the other end of the phone replied to my question of "how are we going to get home?" with "I have no idea. Good luck."

Ordinarily, I wouldn't mind being stranded in New York. Matter of fact, I might relish it under ordinary circumstances. These weren't ordinary circumstances. I spent all day Wednesday on the phone trying to reroute us to Baton Rouge, which had been hit hard but at least the airport was still operational, and trying to find a rental car. It took a while, but I did it.

We tried to enjoy the last couple of days of our trip. There was nothing we could do for anyone back home, and could barely get home if we wanted to. We'd gotten word that the offshore oil rig employees were all safe, if a little seasick, so felt like we could enjoy ourselves some.

Saturday morning came and it was time to go home. Much to my, honest, surprise the New Orleans airport still wasn't open. Now, I'd figured that flights would not be going in and out but it didn't occur to me that the airport would be closed.

Of course, the city itself was closed and people were living in the airport so my naivete' was showing.

Our rerouted flight home included a stop in Houston before making the last leg to Baton Rouge. I remember looking out the window and thinking we'd made a wrong turn and landed in Baghdad. We were surrounded on the tarmac by military cargo planes, loaded with supplies for the Coast and New Orleans. Our plane was almost completely silent. There were simply no words to describe what we were seeing and many of the passengers, like us, were trying to get home and see the damage for themselves. Some didn't know if they could get home or if they even had a home to go to. We at least knew that our family and our home were safe and still standing.

But we did still have a problem. My car. Now, that may not seem like a big problem to some of you, but it was an issue. Billy had to take his mom back to Arkansas and work. We didn't know when he'd be back. And the news was full of stories of New Orleans being looted and vandalized so you had to wonder if there would still be a car to pick up if we left it there. No one could even begin to predict when the airport would reopen. I had to have transportation and a rental car for an indefinite time period, given the supply and demand for them, was an expensive prospect.

So we discussed it. We didn't actually make a decision until we left the Baton Rouge Airport. We headed east. We were going to see if we could get my car out of there.

It's dark now. We hadn't been able to leave as early as we normally did but we had limited options. We were driving those 60 miles towards New Orleans. Same as we had the week before only this time the lanes coming towards us were empty. No cars where it had been bumper to bumper 6 days previously.

We got close to the Causeway but were met by a wall of flashing blue lights. Police cars crossed I-10 and no one was getting through. Everyone exited at LaPlace. Some people would have turned around at this point, but not us. Oh, no. We had a car to retrieve and we weren't giving up that easily.

We took old roads. We took back roads. We turned and twisted and doubled back and did all kinds of things that I can no longer remember. Suddenly, we found ourselves on I-310 headed south towards Houma. Houma had pretty much been wiped off the map so going that way was not going to get us far.

I crossed the median and turned around. Exits for the airport were in sight! We'd made it!

As Lee Corso would say, not so fast my friend!

A state trooper was sitting on the side of the road at the exit. But he wasn't blocking it so I kept going. Blue lights appeared in my rearview mirror. I stopped. The officer walked to the passenger side and Billy rolled down his window. I just sat there. Sometimes it is best to let the man do the talking.

Billy explained our situation. Officer didn't really care. The city was closed. The airport was closed. We needed to move along. I'm thinking about all the hours we'd spent getting there only to be stopped with the destination in sight. Billy kept talking to the officer. He just kept telling us bad things were. We'd seen the news. We knew. Finally, the officer relented. He looked at Billy, looked at me, then back at Billy. He said it was a bad idea and he was advising against it, but he wasn't going to stop us.

Billy thanked him and off we went.

Blackness was all we saw. Complete and utter darkness.

Billy started with the phrase I'd hear many more times before the night was over - don't stop this car for anything.

We saw the exit for the airport. Don't stop this car for anything.

We pulled closer. For the first time I thought about the electronic arms where you take the ticket and pay the cashier. Don't stop this car for anything. What would we do if they were down? Don't stop this car for anything. My heart is beating faster. Don't stop this car for anything.

Billy told me to pull up as close to the back of my car as I could when we got there, stop only long enough for him to get out and then take off. Don't stop this car for anything.

I wasn't running red lights, because there were none. There were no traffic lights, no street lights, no lights of any kind. I see the parking garage. The arm was up! I was glad we had parked in the employee lot. It was on the ground floor. I pulled up to the first row. Terrified that someone might step out from between the cars. Don't stop this car for anything. Billy had his keys in his hand. Get back to the Baton Rouge Airport as quickly as possible after he got out, he instructed. I see the car. It looks undamaged. I see no one else in the garage. Don't stop this car for anything. I pull up to my trunk. Billy bolts, hitting the remote to unlock the car door. He's in. The engine turns over. I hear it. I see the reverse lights. I pull off.

I don't need him to tell me not to stop the car. I can hear him saying it my head. My voice has joined in repeating the mantra. I get to the exit. This arm is down. I turn and circle the lot. Billy is right behind me. Close behind me. I turn and go out the entrance. I head back to the interstate. I've never seen it so dark. I'm driving quickly. The airport isn't exactly in the best part of town and I'm scared. But I'm not stopping. There's no reason to. I get on the interstate and head west. I see the police cars crossing the interstate but they're on the other side. Nothing is in our way. I'm not stopping for anything.

We cover the 60 miles back to Baton Rouge a lot more quickly than we should have. Driving with fear and adrenaline. My heart was pounding in my ears. It is now after 10 PM and we're still nervous about the Baton Rouge Airport. It doesn't do much business that time of night. The parking garage was a prime place for anything to happen. We park in the rental car lot, transfer the bags to my car with surprising efficiency and turn the keys in. The rental car counter looked at us with surprise but I think they were glad to get the car back so they could re-rent it. The line waiting for a car was long.

The journey wasn't over, though. We had completed our mission, but we had no idea if we could actually get home. Highway 61 is two lanes for a great deal of it and there are several small towns along the way. Could we get through? Was it passable?

It was after midnight when we pulled up at home. Exhausted. But home, safe and sound.

Several weeks later I had to fly to Atlanta. The trip had been booked months before and I was to fly out of New Orleans. The airport opened a couple of weeks before my flight, but you sure couldn't tell it. When Billy dropped me off he questioned as to whether or not I had actually verified the flight. The airport was deserted. Quiet. The complete opposite of a mere few weeks before.

There had been no changes so I went in. Checked in and got through security in minutes. I called Billy's cell phone to tell him I was in and at the gate. He'd barely gotten off the airport property. I pretty much had the place to myself.

As is part of my normal routine when I fly, I visited the ladies room first. I was struck by the knowledge that people had been living in there only weeks before. Living in the bathroom. Living in those gates and hallways where I was about to go sit and wait until the plane was ready to board.

It still happens to me - every time I go to the airport. I see the police blocking the interstate. I see the darkness. My heart pounds. I see the road that was our only way in. I envision the people camped out in the hallways.

Some folks will say we took foolish measures to retrieve an object. An object that could be replaced. But that night it was all we could focus on. Maybe it was the need to feel complete, or in control of a situation where we'd had none all week. Maybe it was just the urge to put New Orleans in our rear view mirror and not have to worry about it again for a long time which we couldn't have done if our car was still there.

At home, everything was normal. Puppies waiting on us to lick our faces. A happy mother-in-law, for a lot of reasons. There was laundry to do. Order to restore. And a good night's sleep was top of the list.

It was a bad storm. So bad that people still talk about it. It left lasting effects on us, the country, the city, and all her citizens.

And her name was Katrina.