KATRINA RESCUE
by Al Knowles

Part 2:

The men lay Linda down in the bottom of a flat-bottom boat and see to her comfort. 

An electric motor starts up quietly and we begin to move over the water.  It is disconcerting to watch them navigate by street signs that are barely sticking out of the water. 

"Who are you guys?" I ask.  "Coast Guard, National Guard, Red Cross, FEMA?" 

"No, we're just some guys with boats.  Most of us are from Exxon Mobil.  Remember that the next time you buy gas." 

"Count on it.  Where are you taking us?  The Superdome?" 

"You might eventually wind up there, but our mission is just to get you out of the water and to the I-10.  We don't keep track of where the trucks go from there. 

After taking on some more passengers from another boat, we eventually wind up docked at the on-ramp to the interstate.  Another boat pulls up beside us. 

"Hey, Al, you made it!"  Lenny says from the other boat, and I am relieved to get confirmation that he, too, has been rescued.  I smile and wave. 

A few moments later the men put Linda and I in the back of their SUV and drive us to the I-10 interstate high-rise.  There is a crowd of about a hundred people already there. Our rescuers take the back seat of the SUV out and set it down on the interstate, then they put Linda on it. 

One of the men tells me, "When the trucks come (which won't be until first light), you need to get in line and state your case. Tell them your situation and maybe they'll have pity on you.  Otherwise, its first come first serve and you'll still be here during the heat of the day." 

They drive away, back to continue their rescues.  We are far away from the crowd, and I need to determine exactly where I should be when the trucks arrive.  I leave Linda, walk to the crowd, and start walking up a very long line.  All along the line I see people doing everything they can to help everyone else.  Along with the fear, there is also a sense of "we are all in this together."  It gives me an idea.  Instead of fighting with the crowd, why not ask it to work FOR me? 

On the way back to Linda, I stop every few feet and address whomever I find. 

"My wife is paralyzed.  She's way over there. We can't run to the trucks.  If you get on a truck, can you please let them know about us?" 

Everyone I ask agrees to help. 

Almost all the way back to her, a balding white-haired white man with a goatee catches up with me. 

"Excuse me, I overheard you talking to the crowd. I've gotten together a group of special needs people so maybe if we are all in the same place we can have a little clout when the trucks come.  Would you and your wife like to join us?" 

"Thank you, yes...??" 

"Robert." 

"Thank you, Robert.  I'm Al.  I appreciate it.  That's a really great idea. So they aren't automatically taking special needs first?" 

"No.  I've watched three runs go by.  The healthy people go first because they can." 

"We need to move Linda to your group.  She's here." 

I introduce Linda to Robert and after some discussion we use the blanket she is wrapped in to carry her to Robert's group in the crowd.  Some are in wheelchairs, some are on crutches. Some are partially deaf and some are mentally impaired.  One person is blind. Only one other person is trapped on her back.   I am not sure about Robert.  If he has a handicap, it is not an obvious one. I get the impression that many of these people are from the same facility.  Robert may have been an administrator, or perhaps a caregiver for one of the special needs people.  

I don't get a chance to ask him, because the other healthier special needs people start fussing over Linda immediately and he slips away. Linda is given water and a candy bar from somewhere.  Someone, concerned about her modesty, gives her a dress, and incredibly, an adult diaper!  She is asked numerous times if she is comfortable.  A pillow is put under her head. A little of this generosity spills over to me. 

Now we wait. I sit with my back against the concrete center of the interstate and wrap my arms around my knees.    

I don't have a watch, so I am not sure how long I have tried to sleep before the sun comes up and, true to the rumors, the trucks arrive.  Along with the trucks there is a white van from an assisted living facility.  The driver stops and yells at the crowd, -- Special needs only! 

Robert's strategy worked! 

Linda and the other paralyzed woman are loaded in first, then the wheelchairs are placed around them, then people with crutches and their caregivers file in.  There's a brief argument between a caregiver and an elderly woman about whether or not to separate.  In the end the caregiver decides to take the next special needs shuttle so as not to risk losing track of her charge.  

Finally the van departs the interstate and attempts to find a ramp to the Superdome,  but while the Army trucks can carry the healthy people to their next ordeal, the van is not high enough.  The driver fears getting stuck in the high water that surrounds the Superdome ramps. 

She drops everyone off at a closed Greyhound bus terminal.  -- Wait here! she says.  -- We have to arrange to transfer you to the Army's high water vehicles!    So we all file out and try to get comfortable on the sidewalk in front of the terminal's glass doors as the sun begins to rise in the sky and is just starting to make things warmer.  We know we might be there for the heat of the day.  None of us is looking forward to that. 

I should mention that at no point do I ever have trouble moving Linda from one point to another.  Always, there is someone I have never met before and will never see again, who takes it upon themselves to help move Linda or to find someone who will. 

A young black woman comes toward us.   She looks down at Linda, still wrapped in her sheet.

-- Oh, Jesus, --  she says to me, tears in her eyes.  -- What happened to her? 

 -- She has multiple sclerosis, I say.  Linda waves and says hi. 

The young woman jumps, -- Oh, Lordy!  I thought you was dead! 

-- No, its alright, Linda says.  -- Who are you? 

-- Ellen. 

-- Hello, Ellen.  I'm Linda. 

-- Nice to meet you Linda.  You need anything, I'm right here.  You just let me know. 

The van leaves and I hear the sound of glass breaking.  I overhear a woman say -- that policeman didn't say we SHOULD do it, ˜cause he can't say that.   What he said was if we DID do it, the NOPD don't have the manpower to do anything about it. 

-- Works for me says a young man on crutches as he uses one of them to clear the broken glass from the front door of the terminal. 

The group moves inside and though there is no electricity, we feel the welcome coolness of leftover air-conditioning.   Certainly, this will be more comfortable than the sidewalk.  Encouraged by the dial tones, some of the group try the pay phones, trying to get messages to friends and/or family, but without success.   

Ellen volunteers to watch Linda while I find my way to the unlighted men's room.  After groping around in the dark for ten minutes, trying to guess where the toilet might be, a man with a flashlight follows me in.  

I return to Linda's side in time to see the special needs group making a bee-line for the outside.  It doesn't take long to spot the reason -- a very very big bald black man with a very very big black shotgun.   The patch on his blue uniform says -- Security. Ellen is apparently trying to reason with him, but he is having none of it. 

-- YOU MUST LEAVE THE TERMINAL!! he shouts.  -- YOU ARE TRESPASSING!!  GET OUT NOW!! 

-- But... Ellen says. 

With one hand he cocks his gun and glares menacingly.  He never points it anywhere but the ceiling, but his meaning is clear. Ellen runs out of the building. 

Despite wheelchairs, crutches, and broken glass, the specials needs people filing out pick up the pace.  Amused, I think to myself, -- ...of course, we are such dangerous individuals indeed.

I know I did not say that aloud, but it is at this moment the security guard looks directly at Linda on her back and me kneeling beside her and says ominously -- You have to leave. 

-- We're going, I say, looking around desperately for someone to help me move her.  Ellen COMES BACK INTO THE BUILDING with two of her sons and explains to the guard that they need to help get us out.   Unbelievably, he agrees. 

So we're back on the sidewalk again, grumbling. 

A thin elderly woman declares, -- We are the great unwashed and unwanted.  People laugh at this in spite of themselves. 

Now we wait.  Occasionally, people pass us who are attempting to walk out of New Orleans, rather than stay at the Superdome.  Each is warned, before he or she can go rest in the terminal, that there is a big black man in there who will shoot them. We get some news this way, and just a hint of what is happening at the Superdome.  Since we think that may be our eventual destination, we hope the stories are exaggerated. 

We also get rumors.  One particularly disturbing rumor is that, in order to balance the water levels so the pumps can work, at 6:00 that night the mayor intends to flood downtown New Orleans -- exactly where we are.   So we have until 6:00 to get out of New Orleans, or we drown. 

Linda is terrified and starts crying.  Three or four young women tell her how ridiculous this rumor is, but she is inconsolable, at least at first.  She eventually calms down.  

While we wait a child in a wheelchair is placed next to us.  Her mother sits down beside her. The child has a spinal fracture.  She is unable to move or talk and her head hangs loosely from her neck.  Her mother asks me about Linda.   She asks if we have water and though we have some, she gives us a jug. 

-- I've got plenty, she says.  Then in rapid succession she provides a tiny tub of apple sauce, some soup, another adult diaper and a cooler to carry it all. 

The next group of special needs people and their caregivers arrive from the I-10.  In any group, there are those that follow and those that lead, and there are those that get things done.  Masie, an energetic young brunette caregiver, arrives with this second group.  She is clearly one that gets things done.   

-- Why is everyone still here? she shouts indignantly.   -- I saw most of you leave the interstate three hours ago! You should be on your way to a shelter by now! 

-- We have to wait here for the army's high water vehicles, someone tells her.  -- That's what the van driver told us to do. 

-- That driver doesn't know squat! Masie says and runs off.  While she is gone, we see high water vehicles underneath the interstate, heading for the Superdome, and yellow buses far across from us.  No vehicles stop near the terminal. 

A few hours later Masie returns.  She has been busy collecting information.  Masie has been arguing with drivers and officials all over the area, but to no avail.So the only hope is for the handicapped to make their way several hundred yards across neutral ground to the waiting buses. 

Those that can take off.  That leaves Linda, myself, and the other paralyzed woman flat on her back, to wonder what to do next.  Masie is trying to round up someone to help move us when we hear the frustrated puffing retort of a passing New Orleans Police Officer. 

-- Ma'am you HAVE to go to them, they are not coming here.  No one knows what's going on.  My radio does not work and I am out of breath.  Please do NOT make me repeat myself! 

He tries to move on, but Masie catches up with him.  About thirty minutes later he returns driving a flatbed truck! 

Linda and the other paralyzed woman are loaded on to the flatbed truck and I join them for a short ride to where the army's canvassed high water vehicles are loading.  Linda is placed on the floor and the other paralyzed woman is taken to a different vehicle.  I sit on a bench near Linda.  The army passes out some bottles of water just before we leave. 

In a moment we are sloshing through downtown New Orleans.  It is surreal to see familiar buildings now half-submerged in water, and amazing to me that even these specially-made vehicles don't get trapped in it.   

At the Superdome, we are turned away and given new instructions.  The Superdome is full and is no longer a staging area.  Instead, we are to go to the Causeway I-10 overpass.  This is normally a ten-minute drive, but because of the flooded and damaged streets, the driver must take a circuitous route that takes almost an hour at what feels like ninety miles an hour.  I keep my head down and hold on to my glasses to keep them from blowing off my face.  From the floor, Linda feels every bump as it leaves a bruise on her backside. 

At the Causeway, we are transferred into a convoy of yellow buses.  Linda is placed between the seats at the back of the bus.   I do my best to reposition her to minimize her discomfort, but the metal rods holding up the seats also hold her securely in place. Of all the places she has been on this journey, this is the most uncomfortable. 

The driver announces that when the convoy is ready, we will head for a shelter in Baton Rouge, but there are some things holding up the convoy.  An enraged man on another bus has decided to urinate on its window.  The police are taking him away.  On our own bus, a dehydrated baby is given water, after which it seems to be okay. 

Finally we are on our way to Baton Rouge.   -- That's only an hour's drive, I tell Linda.  -- Its almost over. 

But halfway there at a stop in Gonzales, the driver gets some unexpected news.  The shelters in Baton Rouge are full.  The driver must go to a shelter in Houston!  That is another five hours! 

Linda has had quite enough of this.  She begins screaming that she is in horrible pain and must get off the bus.  The driver hears her and calls for an ambulance.  We are taken to a nearby hospital where she is admitted as an emergency. 

A young intern lends me his cell phone and I dial my father in Shreveport.  His wife picks up the phone but the connection is terrible.    

-- We're alive! I shout.  -- We're at St. Elizabeth's hospital in Gonzales! 

-- What? -- Gonzales!, but then the connection drops altogether.  I don't try to re-establish it. I don't want them to come get us - a five hour drive from Shreveport - until I know we're going to be in one place for at least that long. 

I return the cell phone to the intern. 

He winks and tells us that Linda's horrible pain is just the result of an unusual muscle spasm, and we can go to a Gonzales shelter as soon as the transport ambulance arrives. 

The bus goes on without us.  While we wait for the ambulance, we are given blankets and the first hot meal we have had in days.  

Since Linda has been seen and is in no danger, the staff decides someone else can use the room while we wait for an ambulance.   Linda's bed is moved out into the hallway and a piece of cardboard with the number #5 crudely drawn on it is taped on to the wall above her. 

I find a chair, lean back, and both of us get some sleep. 

The next morning we are enjoying a nice breakfast when my father and his wife walk up to us! 

-- How did you find us? 

-- We got the cell phone number from our caller id, called the doctor you borrowed it from, and he told us where you were and where you were going next.  We decided to stop here first just in case you hadn't been moved yet. 

We check out of the hospital and the staff helps me move Linda into my father's old Cadillac. 

It is one sweet ride.