A School Librarian's Katrina Journal
An SLJ.com Exclusive
Terrence E. Young, Jr. -- School Library Journal, 9/14/2005
Sunday, August 28, 2005. Today, I'm taking Katrina seriously. Until today, I had planned to remain in my house on Bourbon Street; after all, it has been standing for over 175 years. The mayor has called for a mandatory evacuation, the first I can recall for the Big Easy. This is serious. Flooding is a possibility. News reports show the roads are congested. I am in luck; a friend calls and has a hotel room. Throughout the night I watch as the winds pick up and a swirl of items fly across the skyline. From the 11th-floor corner room I am able to observe a large area. I watch the streets to check for flooding, but the waters never come. At 6:15 a.m. the power goes off. The city is dark.
Monday, August 29, 2005. At 4 p. m., I walk the 13 blocks home. The damage is incredible, all from wind, none from water. Majestic magnolia trees toppled, awnings torn, shingles everywhere, collapsed chimneys, a few fallen balconies. Water, gas, and telephone services are working; the electricity is off.
Day one of my hurricane diet has begun: eat all the ice cream before it melts. At night, the city is quiet and pitch black.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005. New reports from friends who have evacuated; they have called to exchange information. A levee broke, and flooding is heading toward downtown. I move my car to higher ground.
Day two of my hurricane diet: grill all fine meats and share them with the neighbors. Looting has begun downtown. As the day progresses, the situation gets worse. Now it is time to evacuate. There is no time line for the power to return; there are few neighbors in the French Quarter. What will I do when I've consumed all my food and water?
What do you take with you when you evacuate, not knowing if flood waters or looters will wreak more damage? I decide on a few clothes, medications, my passport, my AASL Pittsburgh folder, my computer's CPU and backup drive, and my laptop. Somewhere the list has to end. I try to figure out what I really need.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005. I decide to depart New Orleans at dawn since I know the looters, who do their work at night, will be sleeping. People who stayed for the hurricane now want out. Carjackings are frequent occurrences.
I arrive in Baton Rouge a few hours later. My sister's family welcomes me. I spend the day thinking about all of the unknowns: When will I be back at work? How long will I continue to be paid? Where are my friends? What is an evacuee suppose to do?
Thursday, September 1, 2005. Our school superintendent posts a press release on the Louisiana Department of Education's Web site stating that we will probably return to work for the second semester, beginning January 19, 2006. Summer vacation begins again.
I go online to complete FEMA forms.
Friday and Saturday, September 2–3, 2005. Still trying to get answers to some vital questions: How long will I get paid? What about health insurance? Where is my mail going? What do I do with myself all day?
Still worried about my friends. Why aren't cell phones working? Most of the day is spent watching news, exchanging information with friends, and posting updates to LM_NET.
Sunday, September 4, 2005. Depart Baton Rouge for a flight to Philadelphia and then a two-hour drive to Rehoboth Beach, DE. Now, I'm with friends in a large house on the beach, relaxing days and cool nights… but for how long?
Monday through Friday, September 5–9, 2005. Things are looking up. The school board has met, and 55 of our 84 schools are usable. My library suffered roof damage. Some of our schools should open Oct. 3, 2005—and mine will be one of them.
After days of reflecting on my situation, I can say from my heart that man's humanity toward his or her fellow citizen is amazing, awesome, and from the heart. After I made a couple of postings to LM_NET, I received offers of assistance from friends, colleagues, and strangers. A place to stay, plane tickets, money, anything I could ask, all were offered. I cannot complain, I have been blessed—no flooding, no damage—and I have family and friends who have offered me places to stay. My heart goes out to those who are less fortunate, separated from families, with flooded houses, lost jobs, no insurance, and no resources to start over.
See ya'll at AASL in Pittsburgh.
Terrence E. Young, Jr. is a library media specialist at West Jefferson High School in New Orleans and an adjunct instructor of library science at the University of New Orleans.
