A Katrina Story—A Personal Perspective from a Volunteer
By Danny Alvarez

It all started when Rick blew into my house one morning with hardly a knock and declared he was buying a shallow aluminum boat, heading to New Orleans to save anyone who needed saving and he wanted to know right away if I was going with him. Rick Harper is my hunting buddy, my realtor (owner of Harper Realty), and a good friend. At 44, he has the stamina of a man half his age and the determination and will of any three others combined. "Hey, if we help only one person, it will be worth it," he said. I thought about it for a minute, but there was not much to think about. This would be an adventure that we would remember for the rest of our lives and it was time to show the rest of the country that Florida remembers and cares.

Our plan was simple. Load up his truck and trailer with everything we could carry that we or somebody else may need and go to work. It looked like we were preparing for a military deployment. We packed enough food and supplies to sustain ourselves for a week because we didn't want to burden an already stressed population with our needs. We changed our plan from a boat to a tractor. We had 30 gallons of water, 110 gallon's of gasoline, 55 gallons of diesel, an ATV, the tractor, shovels, tools, two brand-new chain saws, gallons of oil and grease for every tool, a heavy duty air compressor, 60 military meals ready (MRE's) to eat, a tent, sleeping pads, lanterns and enough real food to keep a platoon of men happy and much more. All this was on a 32-foot gooseneck trailer being pulled by Rick's Chevy ¾ ton 4x4 truck. I felt pretty roughneck for a city boy.
 
As we were traveling, we called 411 for the numbers of local police departments in order to coordinate our arrival and get directed to where we were needed most. No one in Bayou Labtrea could use us because they were flooded with relief workers. We headed west and talked to Captain Fell of the Pascagoula MS Police Department who said we were sorely needed and he even sent in a police escort to meet us outside of town and guide us in through the rubble and police barricades just to get us to the right spot.

When we got to the Emergency Operations Center, EOC, there was mass confusion. They had no idea where to send us even though there was devastation everywhere. Instead they sent us to the Red Cross and later ended up at the Southern Baptist Convention Relief Center where we searched for anyone to point us in the right direction. The result was the same. We could not find anybody in a position to coordinate our efforts. Finally a police officer told us to head west because the calls over the radio kept coming in for urgent help needed in Biloxi. So we set out to help.

We were not prepared for Biloxi. We had seen it on the news before we left, but the scope and magnitude of the event had not been done justice. When we were in the truck, my face was usually buried in the laptop navigating us to the next stop using the computer software. In between doing that, I was trying to count streets to make our next turn because the signs had disappeared and every time we turned a corner Rick was asking me to make sure the trailer didn't destroy anything. I looked up and saw a mile-long road that had been cleared by the tractors that arrived before us. Now the roads looked like a 15-foot high canyon of debris that was once people's homes and belongings. The road used to be a major thoroughfare, but we could barely get through. It was just wide enough; except in a few places where it really was not wide enough for the truck and trailer in tow so we just bumped and drug our way through. Rick’s truck will never be the same and surprisingly he never said a word.
 
Along the beach were the hotels, or what I think were hotels, because all that was left was a shell. The Hard Rock Casino was just a few days from opening before the storm. I think it will be awhile now. This was no hurricane. This was a monster.
 
The law enforcement presence was amazing—the National Guard, sheriffs from several states, wildlife officers just to name a few. A Florida Deputy Sheriff stopped us at a roadblock he was manning. We told him we were volunteers here to help. It was like having the key to the city. We could go anywhere, anytime.
 
Our first stop in Biloxi was at the City Hall where a woman suddenly popped out running towards us through the parking lot, waving for our attention—Kay Miller. She was a proper woman who still took the time to mind her appearance even in the midst of her crumbling city. Kay sent us to the Community Center to clear out the debris so they could create a relief center and a distribution point for all of the goods and food coming in from all over the country. We were highly motivated by the task at hand knowing it would help out more people at one time than if we went door-to-door.
 
The tractor we brought was a Skid Steer. If you have ever been by a construction site you have seen a Skid Steer. It is a wheeled vehicle that is not very high off the ground and has a very short wheelbase. The bucket is on the front and the operator sits directly behind it, but it really feels like you are on top of it. When you see someone drive one of these machines, they really make it look easy. It's not!
 
Rick had just unloaded the machine and had barely started using it when he hit piece of metal and sliced the tire wide open. We had to load back up and take the tractor to a tire shop to get a new tire, which made us loose half the afternoon.
 
When we returned it was my turn on the tractor. I had never driven a Skid Steer. My instructions were short and simple. Rick said, "Instead of a steering wheel, you have two sticks to control it. Whichever direction you point the stick is where it goes. To make the bucket go up and down you use your left foot and to make the bucket swivel up and down you use your right. Got it? Here is the key now, Get'r done!"

The only other time I have driven a tractor was on Rick's ranch and I had never touched a Skid Steer. In a matter of minutes I was moving debris and clearing the parking lot and porch for the Community Center/Relief Center. This vehicle is a bear to drive and get use to. It is powerful, fast, and can get away from you very quickly. I should know, I flipped it over twice and almost got thrown out of it. Rick laughed as I changed my shorts.
 
As I worked with the Skid Steer, Rick headed off on the ATV to find us a nice piece of beach to call home for the night. It was hard to concentrate on my task, because there was so much to see. The parade of law enforcement vehicles from all over the place was incredible. EVERY piece of military transportation equipment was there. At one point, I thought something was wrong with the Skid Steer because the engine was revving so loudly, but it was not the skid at all. A huge and very loud Navy hovercraft was landing on the beach right next to me delivering supplies. Then there was the media. I almost hit a convoy of TV trucks that didn't seem to see me lifting huge piles of wood and debris but thought they should go right through were I was working.
 
While Rick looked for our home for the night, he ran into a hunting buddy of his from Alabama who had been called in to work the relief as a police officer. The man couldn't believe we would risk being down in the area with out being medically cleared. According to him, no one was allowed to be there unless they had their tetanus shot and an entire assortment of vaccinations. He told us dysentery was spreading, the sewage was backing into the streets, gunshots could be heard every night, and no one was allowed out after dark. By the time Rick got back to me it was already dark and we were unsure about staying there so we decided to look for a hotel.
 
Amazingly, we never did break out the tent and sleeping pads. Every night we were on the coast we found a hotel to stay in. It seemed like God was looking after us, because it was always the last room available for 100+ miles in every direction. It was an unexpected surprise to sleep on a real bed and take a hot shower. A hot shower may not seem too important but remember the filth, disease, and smell we were working in and now wearing. As we enjoyed the small creature comforts there was always a reminder of the task at hand.

The hotels were reminiscent of an Army vehicle depot with barracks lining the outside. Anywhere you could find a piece of flat ground outside, there were heavy-duty trucks, tractors, huge trailers, and even a couple of helicopters. People had moved in and made the hotels their homes. There were grills outside, clothes hanging on the balconies, and coolers augmenting their small refrigerators inside the rooms. One hotel was overrun with refugees as FEMA had rented it out for survivors and workers for at least six months; I doubt that will be long enough.
 
After the frustrating time we had the previous days finding people in charge to point us in the right direction we came up with a new plan. Don't ask, just do it! We knew we could get a lot more done without going through the bureaucracy. We heard on the news that the smaller towns were complaining about being overlooked by volunteers and relief workers.

So, we headed to Ocean Springs, Mississippi to get away from the bureaucracy and get to work. We should have been there the entire week. Amidst what must have been a beautiful town draped in picturesque oak trees and Spanish moss was the largest scene of destruction and mayhem we had ever come across. With every block we traveled south towards the beach, the amazement grew. We had to navigate past 30-foot sailboats in the road and under drooping power lines that threatened to snag our vehicle. Quickly we realized that we should have been here the entire time because the damage was heavy. When we made it to the beach we thought it did not look too bad, there was nothing there. That was before we realized that there used to be homes and families there. Now, all that remains are cement slabs where houses stood, many for more than 100 years—block after block, no houses, no nothing, bare land cleared by the hurricane wind.
 
A police officer from Fort Walton Beach, Florida, who was in the middle of a two-week tour, stopped us because we were in a restricted area. They weren't even supposed to let the residents back in, but they were anyway because the officers felt sorry for the people because they had just been through hurricane Ivan themselves. He told us to check in with the city's EOC and promised it was pretty organized. We were not disappointed.
 
Inside the Ocean Springs City Hall the citizens and small town officials were working together to rebuild their small town. There was a board volunteers could put their name and number on and the people who needed help could call and get help. We identified ourselves as volunteers and within moments a small group huddled around us as if we were "angels to the rescue." From that moment on, the work did not stop from sun up to sun down. In fact, we were so busy we could not even get our name on the board.
 
Patricia Pynes had a huge tree crash onto her house and the roof was leaking water. We removed the tree and patched the roof. The next stop was Jimmy & Wanda Smithy's condo. This condo complex was the only building on the beach still standing, so it was easy to find. Jimmy and his wife, Wanda, lived in a modest $165,000 two bedroom unit 150 feet off the beach which was flooded to the ceiling by a 35 foot wave.

Jimmy wanted us to help him get his furniture out and rip out his carpet to prevent mold growth. It was gross! The sewers had backed up. We knew, at first sight, his home was a total-loss. He insisted that we try and save the inside. We felt so badly that we couldn't say no.

As I discarded the Smithy's life onto a big pile of trash in the back yard, I saw Wanda looking at us with a very sad and solemn look on her face. Here I was trying to hurry up and throw all this "stuff" out of the house so I could get to the next job. To me, it was junk that needed removing. To her, I was throwing her entire life away. I walked up and apologized for having to do this and she tried to make me feel better. Here I was trying to make her feel better and she was doing that for me. Wanda represented the strength and fortitude of this town and that of the people we met throughout our trip. It was truly inspiring.
 
By the time we finished at the Smithy's there was a long line of people waiting patiently to request our help. It was heartbreaking. Every condo we walked into was a total loss. At best, we could help the elderly recover some family heirlooms and move on to the next job.
 
On our way to Jimmy and Wanda's condo, Paul O'Neill and his wife waved us down looking to hire our skid loader. Paul, a former insurance claims adjuster, couldn't believe we would work for free and tried to pay us with what he had—sandwiches and water. He said he would meet us outside of his house to guide us in, but there wasn't much to guide us to. We found them sitting in some chairs they scavenged on the side of the road in front of a cement slab that was their home. They would rebuild they said. They needed us to clear debris so they could get started right away. No sooner than I started to work the tractor sunk in the mud. It took 3 hours to dig it out and pull it out with 2 trucks chained together. But the O'Neill's were gracious. Like so many people they were just happy to see us there. I don't think I have heard, "Thanks", "God Bless You," and "We Love You" so many times in my life.
 
When I returned home to Tampa, I turned on the television for the first time in a week. I was surprised to see the reporting having just come from the area. All the TV anchors were talking about was how slow the response was. Having heard hints of that before I left, I asked Katrina victims I ran into about the speed of help getting to them. Hardly a person had a negative thing to say, even those that were living in the most ignored areas. The government organization lacked some organization but that was because they were so big and moving so fast. The government can't stop Mother Nature they can only do their best to ease the pain.
 
I saw highly organized and efficient groups at distribution points that were well stocked and fast at delivering supplies. There was so much help; we were deferred west over four times. My hats off to the faith based groups that seemed to have shouldered the burden of the aid work. At first, I bristled a little bit every time someone suggested that I was a contractor. I didn't want anyone to think that I was there to make money off misery. Rick said, "We are not Carpet Baggers, we are Volunteers here to help." At the same time he also pointed out, if it weren’t for the entrepreneurs on site, the cities would not be rebuilt.
 
What I saw was more manpower and machinery then the towns could handle. In fact, the towns are bursting at the seams. The entrepreneurs were from every walk of life from a Red Neck with a chain saw and a beat up truck to huge international corporations who sent millions of dollars of equipment and payroll. The shopkeepers were rebuilding with their bare hands to open as quickly as possible to capitalize on the population growth and their needs. The lines to get into a restaurant were amazing. The tire shop was packed. Anybody who could do business was doing a tremendous business.

The entrepreneurs are an ignored success story. They are the ones swinging the hammers and driving the trucks. So respectfully, I admire the men and women there to work for a living who will not see their families for a long-time either. I respect the businesses willing to invest millions of dollars to rebuild the towns. Even the insurance companies who are entrepreneurs out for a profit may very well pay out more money than all other organizations combined. If it were not for the entrepreneurs these devastated people would not have a chance.

We left Tampa with no expectations but coming home tired. We accomplished that and much more. Yet, we came back a little different. Sometimes, when you watch the news you can get a little discouraged about our country, government, and society.

Well, we can tell you personally, that there is nothing to worry about. Those that lost the most and those that were giving their all to help are proof that when it matters, we are there for each other. Katrina may have destroyed our coastline, but what she really did was remind us of the strength and character of our nation and its people. We are in good hands when we've got each other. God Bless America!

Danny Alvarez
Katrina Volunteer