Luella's Corner
| 'The Faces of Katrina' |
It is wonderful the way the world responded to those whose lives were impacted by Hurricane Katrina. It
seemed that almost everyone helped in one way or another. I don’t remember ever seeing this reaction
from people before. Oh yes, people have always come to the rescue in a disaster, but not to this
degree.
Yes, I helped too. I got old clothes that I would never wear again and boxed them up You know those
clothes, the ones you’ve kept in your closet for years telling yourself that one day you will fit in them again.
Dream on, I told myself and started packing. Sent a donation through my church and prayed for these
people, those who lost everything unexpectedly, especially cherished mementos. Even those who
evacuated for the duration of the storm were not prepared for what they would find upon their return
home.
They returned to nothing. They returned to hopelessness, loss. Material possessions can be replaced,
but there are personal little treasures that we keep through the years that when lost, creates a scar in
your soul that can last through a lifetime.
I was one of the busy ones packing and donating for those unfortunate ones. I did care, really, but I cared
for someone I did not know. There wasn’t a face involved. It was just not personal. I cared while yet in
my own little world.
Then, I got an invitation to visit a friend in Mobile, Alabama. A preacher that had been an assistant pastor
in the church I attended in California. As I had not taken a vacation in four years, I thought it would be
about time to get away, a little R & R so to speak. In the meantime, a company with which I am affiliated
asked if I wouldn’t mind taking pictures of the devastation and talking to people while down there. So it
became a combination business and pleasure trip.
As I set out on my adventure that Wednesday morning, I wasn’t prepared for the reality that I would
encounter. I wasn’t prepared for the faces I would meet, the real people and the real devastation. Mind
you now, I took this trip about a month after the actual hurricane, so there had already been some clean-
up in the area. But just not enough clean-up. You could still get a clear picture of the effects of the
hurricane. I saw how it leveled houses. I found it astonishing how one house made it through the storm
with not a single shingle moved, while the house next door was completely demolished. It was an
awesome sight. I saw houses crushed by trees that had fallen on top of them. However, there was one
curious thing that I still can’t figure out. All the trees seemed to have been snapped off approximately 10
feet up. All of them.
I arrived in Gulfport on Wednesday afternoon and thought I would just drive through town taking pictures
and maybe, if was lucky, I would run into someone I could talk to. As I rode looking at the sights and
taking pictures, I came across the first face. This would change the tone for my entire trip. I met with
suffering, face-to-face. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I had never seen eyes like this
before. I am not sure there is a word to describe them. The best I can do is “determined pain.” This
woman’s eyes mirrored the pain she felt, but they also mirrored her determination to go on. I saw a
mobile home which had been virtually destroyed. And she and her granddaughter were still living in it.
As I drove up, I saw her working outside, cleaning up all the debris in her yard. I walked up and
introduced myself and told her of my mission. My heart broke as I looked into her eyes, as she called her
granddaughter to come join us. Whenever, my children or grandchildren have gone through their little
heartbreaks in life, I have hugged them while they sobbed on my shoulder, and my favorite line during
times like these is “Sometimes life just stinks.” And here I was looking at a situation where life really did
just stink. I talked to this lady and learned that she was recovering from lung cancer surgery. And then
the hurricane hit. We talked about her life, about her children and grandchildren. She seemed so happy
to have someone to talk to that we just sat down and visited for a while, as her granddaughter played in
the yard. It was a beautiful afternoon for sitting in the sun and visiting. After an hour, I hugged her and
left her with my card. I asked if I could take a picture of her house and she consented. For a moment I
thought to ask if I could take a picture of her standing with her granddaughter, but I heard a small voice
say “no.” And when I do recognize that small voice I always listen to it.
I spent the rest of the afternoon driving around town taking pictures of houses that had been reduced to
shambles, and some houses that had been reduced to just slabs. I saw signal lights that had been
blown off the wires to the ground. There were demolished gas stations, and even a demolished
warehouse.
After driving closer and closer to the beach, I came upon the National Guard. They were only letting the
residents of the beach through. The rest were being turned back. When I reached the Guard on my side
of the street, he asked if I lived on the beach. I told him that I did not but that I was with an organization
that wanted to help rebuild lives and that I was also taking pictures of the devastation that was to be used
in a newsletter. All he did was stand still and stare at me. After a few seconds of quiet, I asked if he
would like to have my business card. He stood silently for a few more moments still just looking at me
and then said, “Go ahead. I just didn’t hear the part about your taking pictures.” I was totally amazed that
this young man had let me through. I was actually so surprised that I was filled with glee. I felt like I had
just sweet talked the National Guard! This living in the south was paying off! Maybe something, or
someone, had spoken to his heart? Whatever the reason, I was on my way to the beach.
When I arrived at the beach, the devastation I witnessed was incredible. I just stood in awe looking all
around me and taking it all in. It was such a strange feeling. When I looked in one direction I saw a
beautiful ocean, so calm, almost like a mirror. The sky was cloudless and the sun’s reflection glistened
in the water. As I turned my head and looked to the other side, I saw total destruction. It looked like a
giant had walked through the area trampling everything down to nothing as he passed through. There
wasn’t a tree left standing and curiously, they were all broken off at that same ten foot point. Electric
wires were yanked off poles. Somehow I had been allowed to stand in the exact place where Katrina had
unleashed her full fury. The silence in the middle of the destruction was eerie. And I wanted to take it all
in. I wanted to fully experience that moment. The sun started to set, so I sadly got back in my car and
started to make my way to the church I would be attending that evening. I waved to my friend, the National
Guardsman, as I passed by, and he smiled and waved back.
In the church, I found people that had the same face I had seen just a few hours ago, with the same pain
and determination mirrored in their eyes. I heard their stories. They told me of how their houses were
lost. One lady had decided to ride the storm through in her house and described how Katrina had just
grasped her house away while she was in it. Everything was lost. They lost their clothing. They had
absolutely nothing left. They wore clothing that had been donated. Some didn’t quite fit but it was all they
had. There were also people in that church service that had given of their own time and come down to
help these people in any way possible. And any way possible in this case, consisted of hard labor.
Rebuilding a house, clearing debris, clean-up. It seemed that my job at that point was to mend broken
hearts. It was an impossible task and all I could do was give them hope. How could I do that when I still
had my life in tact? A feeling of total inadequacy overwhelmed me. I saw families that were separated for
want of a place to live. I saw the suffering, but I also saw that same determination in their eyes, a very
serious determination. In that church I saw people that had come together for a common goal. From the
pastor to the entire congregation, they were in this together. They were helping each other and
supporting each other. There was a feeling of total oneness. As I said my goodbyes, they invited me to
visit again. As I write this, I recall every different person and every different story. They were all the same
story, really. The story of heartbreak and loss.
I continued on my way to Mobile, seeing more devastation, talking to more people, taking more pictures.
I wanted so much to make them smile and to tell them that everything would turn out to be okay, but
would it really? Would anything ever be the same for them again? Even after a new life was rebuilt, there
would be the scars, the memories. How do you replace the loss of a loved one, how do you replace a
lost child, and yes to people like me, how do you replace a beloved pet?
My trip ended at my destination in Mobile, Alabama where I thought the “business” part of the trip would
be over and maybe I could forget and enjoy the weekend with my old friends, reminiscing about the good
old days. But no, I couldn’t, for there were still more faces. More faces with the same eyes that mirrored
the same hurt and determination. More stories, each different, yet the same.
I did enjoy my visit with my old friends, and as I left for home after the evening service I waved goodbye to
both old friends and new friends, friends that would now make Mobile, Alabama their home, friends now
starting a new chapter in lives.
I came back home enriched by each person I met. Probably the best trip I have ever taken, for I came
face-to-face with life. I came face-to-face with how your entire life can change forever in a matter of
minutes, and how we still have the drive to move on. Many times I just sit still and reflect on each
individual face, each individual story. I never want to lose the realness that this trip gave me. I always
want to remember the faces of Katrina.
seemed that almost everyone helped in one way or another. I don’t remember ever seeing this reaction
from people before. Oh yes, people have always come to the rescue in a disaster, but not to this
degree.
Yes, I helped too. I got old clothes that I would never wear again and boxed them up You know those
clothes, the ones you’ve kept in your closet for years telling yourself that one day you will fit in them again.
Dream on, I told myself and started packing. Sent a donation through my church and prayed for these
people, those who lost everything unexpectedly, especially cherished mementos. Even those who
evacuated for the duration of the storm were not prepared for what they would find upon their return
home.
They returned to nothing. They returned to hopelessness, loss. Material possessions can be replaced,
but there are personal little treasures that we keep through the years that when lost, creates a scar in
your soul that can last through a lifetime.
I was one of the busy ones packing and donating for those unfortunate ones. I did care, really, but I cared
for someone I did not know. There wasn’t a face involved. It was just not personal. I cared while yet in
my own little world.
Then, I got an invitation to visit a friend in Mobile, Alabama. A preacher that had been an assistant pastor
in the church I attended in California. As I had not taken a vacation in four years, I thought it would be
about time to get away, a little R & R so to speak. In the meantime, a company with which I am affiliated
asked if I wouldn’t mind taking pictures of the devastation and talking to people while down there. So it
became a combination business and pleasure trip.
As I set out on my adventure that Wednesday morning, I wasn’t prepared for the reality that I would
encounter. I wasn’t prepared for the faces I would meet, the real people and the real devastation. Mind
you now, I took this trip about a month after the actual hurricane, so there had already been some clean-
up in the area. But just not enough clean-up. You could still get a clear picture of the effects of the
hurricane. I saw how it leveled houses. I found it astonishing how one house made it through the storm
with not a single shingle moved, while the house next door was completely demolished. It was an
awesome sight. I saw houses crushed by trees that had fallen on top of them. However, there was one
curious thing that I still can’t figure out. All the trees seemed to have been snapped off approximately 10
feet up. All of them.
I arrived in Gulfport on Wednesday afternoon and thought I would just drive through town taking pictures
and maybe, if was lucky, I would run into someone I could talk to. As I rode looking at the sights and
taking pictures, I came across the first face. This would change the tone for my entire trip. I met with
suffering, face-to-face. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. I had never seen eyes like this
before. I am not sure there is a word to describe them. The best I can do is “determined pain.” This
woman’s eyes mirrored the pain she felt, but they also mirrored her determination to go on. I saw a
mobile home which had been virtually destroyed. And she and her granddaughter were still living in it.
As I drove up, I saw her working outside, cleaning up all the debris in her yard. I walked up and
introduced myself and told her of my mission. My heart broke as I looked into her eyes, as she called her
granddaughter to come join us. Whenever, my children or grandchildren have gone through their little
heartbreaks in life, I have hugged them while they sobbed on my shoulder, and my favorite line during
times like these is “Sometimes life just stinks.” And here I was looking at a situation where life really did
just stink. I talked to this lady and learned that she was recovering from lung cancer surgery. And then
the hurricane hit. We talked about her life, about her children and grandchildren. She seemed so happy
to have someone to talk to that we just sat down and visited for a while, as her granddaughter played in
the yard. It was a beautiful afternoon for sitting in the sun and visiting. After an hour, I hugged her and
left her with my card. I asked if I could take a picture of her house and she consented. For a moment I
thought to ask if I could take a picture of her standing with her granddaughter, but I heard a small voice
say “no.” And when I do recognize that small voice I always listen to it.
I spent the rest of the afternoon driving around town taking pictures of houses that had been reduced to
shambles, and some houses that had been reduced to just slabs. I saw signal lights that had been
blown off the wires to the ground. There were demolished gas stations, and even a demolished
warehouse.
After driving closer and closer to the beach, I came upon the National Guard. They were only letting the
residents of the beach through. The rest were being turned back. When I reached the Guard on my side
of the street, he asked if I lived on the beach. I told him that I did not but that I was with an organization
that wanted to help rebuild lives and that I was also taking pictures of the devastation that was to be used
in a newsletter. All he did was stand still and stare at me. After a few seconds of quiet, I asked if he
would like to have my business card. He stood silently for a few more moments still just looking at me
and then said, “Go ahead. I just didn’t hear the part about your taking pictures.” I was totally amazed that
this young man had let me through. I was actually so surprised that I was filled with glee. I felt like I had
just sweet talked the National Guard! This living in the south was paying off! Maybe something, or
someone, had spoken to his heart? Whatever the reason, I was on my way to the beach.
When I arrived at the beach, the devastation I witnessed was incredible. I just stood in awe looking all
around me and taking it all in. It was such a strange feeling. When I looked in one direction I saw a
beautiful ocean, so calm, almost like a mirror. The sky was cloudless and the sun’s reflection glistened
in the water. As I turned my head and looked to the other side, I saw total destruction. It looked like a
giant had walked through the area trampling everything down to nothing as he passed through. There
wasn’t a tree left standing and curiously, they were all broken off at that same ten foot point. Electric
wires were yanked off poles. Somehow I had been allowed to stand in the exact place where Katrina had
unleashed her full fury. The silence in the middle of the destruction was eerie. And I wanted to take it all
in. I wanted to fully experience that moment. The sun started to set, so I sadly got back in my car and
started to make my way to the church I would be attending that evening. I waved to my friend, the National
Guardsman, as I passed by, and he smiled and waved back.
In the church, I found people that had the same face I had seen just a few hours ago, with the same pain
and determination mirrored in their eyes. I heard their stories. They told me of how their houses were
lost. One lady had decided to ride the storm through in her house and described how Katrina had just
grasped her house away while she was in it. Everything was lost. They lost their clothing. They had
absolutely nothing left. They wore clothing that had been donated. Some didn’t quite fit but it was all they
had. There were also people in that church service that had given of their own time and come down to
help these people in any way possible. And any way possible in this case, consisted of hard labor.
Rebuilding a house, clearing debris, clean-up. It seemed that my job at that point was to mend broken
hearts. It was an impossible task and all I could do was give them hope. How could I do that when I still
had my life in tact? A feeling of total inadequacy overwhelmed me. I saw families that were separated for
want of a place to live. I saw the suffering, but I also saw that same determination in their eyes, a very
serious determination. In that church I saw people that had come together for a common goal. From the
pastor to the entire congregation, they were in this together. They were helping each other and
supporting each other. There was a feeling of total oneness. As I said my goodbyes, they invited me to
visit again. As I write this, I recall every different person and every different story. They were all the same
story, really. The story of heartbreak and loss.
I continued on my way to Mobile, seeing more devastation, talking to more people, taking more pictures.
I wanted so much to make them smile and to tell them that everything would turn out to be okay, but
would it really? Would anything ever be the same for them again? Even after a new life was rebuilt, there
would be the scars, the memories. How do you replace the loss of a loved one, how do you replace a
lost child, and yes to people like me, how do you replace a beloved pet?
My trip ended at my destination in Mobile, Alabama where I thought the “business” part of the trip would
be over and maybe I could forget and enjoy the weekend with my old friends, reminiscing about the good
old days. But no, I couldn’t, for there were still more faces. More faces with the same eyes that mirrored
the same hurt and determination. More stories, each different, yet the same.
I did enjoy my visit with my old friends, and as I left for home after the evening service I waved goodbye to
both old friends and new friends, friends that would now make Mobile, Alabama their home, friends now
starting a new chapter in lives.
I came back home enriched by each person I met. Probably the best trip I have ever taken, for I came
face-to-face with life. I came face-to-face with how your entire life can change forever in a matter of
minutes, and how we still have the drive to move on. Many times I just sit still and reflect on each
individual face, each individual story. I never want to lose the realness that this trip gave me. I always
want to remember the faces of Katrina.
| By Luella May |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
