New Orleans, August 28, 2005, Before. K'ville, a few preparatory notes. Episode IV.
New Orleans, August 28, 2005, Before. K'ville, a few preparatory notes. Episode IV.
Sunday morning, coffee as usual. Some were leaving, but not all. I'd been through hurricanes my entire life and had never evacuated, nor had my parents. I had vivid memories of a storm while I was a boy, feeling the water rise inside our house past my knees. I stood in our Florida room, which was unshuttered, undraped, and watched a neighbor's roof as it was lifted into the air and carried hundreds of yards. My mother lit candles, set up her easel and calmly painted a plantation scene. Her only comment, "What else can I do?"
My Marigny apartment building was 19th century, with thick brick walls, and had stood through 150 years of storms. My apartment on the second floor was at least 18 feet above the street. It also had no television and I relied on a rather archaic means for information - a radio. Those of us who made the decision to ride it out actually believed we'd be meeting for coffee, usual spot, within 36 hours. And as the New York Times reported, we weren't alone:
Quote:
"We call it a vertical evacuation," said Joseph Fein, owner of the Court of Two Sisters, a French Quarter restaurant. He said the city, its residents and visitors, were responding much as they had to many previous hurricane threats, but that Katrina "is the most threatening we have seen."
Mr. Fein's said his restaurant, one of the largest in the French Quarter, served 250 diners on Saturday night, and he had planned to remain open today. But by 9 a.m., he said, it became clear that not enough of his employees would report to work. So, instead of preparing brunch, he said the employees who did show up set to the task of nailing plywood over the restaurant's windows, and bringing its outdoor furniture inside.
Several other restaurants were simply boarded up and vacant by midafternoon. "Due to Hurricane Katrina, we will be closed all day Sunday, Aug. 28, and for lunch on Monday, Aug 29." said the message on the answering machine at Emeril's, a restaurant in the Warehouse District. It said Emeril's would reopen for dinner on Monday night if conditions permitted, but it was "uncertain when the reservations department will reopen."
End Quote.
None of us, as well, had seen the 10:11 a.m. bulletin quoted in Episode III. Rather casually, during the afternoon, we wired our shutters closed, taped a few window panes that had cracked or seemed precarious and stocked up on canned foods. We gathered liquids, not forgetting wine of course, and filled bathtubs. Scrounged for extra candles, unboxed flashlights, did laundry. After all, the storm would be gone by Monday night, sweeping and tree trimming would be underway, all was in hand.
To be continued . . .
Sunday morning, coffee as usual. Some were leaving, but not all. I'd been through hurricanes my entire life and had never evacuated, nor had my parents. I had vivid memories of a storm while I was a boy, feeling the water rise inside our house past my knees. I stood in our Florida room, which was unshuttered, undraped, and watched a neighbor's roof as it was lifted into the air and carried hundreds of yards. My mother lit candles, set up her easel and calmly painted a plantation scene. Her only comment, "What else can I do?"
My Marigny apartment building was 19th century, with thick brick walls, and had stood through 150 years of storms. My apartment on the second floor was at least 18 feet above the street. It also had no television and I relied on a rather archaic means for information - a radio. Those of us who made the decision to ride it out actually believed we'd be meeting for coffee, usual spot, within 36 hours. And as the New York Times reported, we weren't alone:
Quote:
"We call it a vertical evacuation," said Joseph Fein, owner of the Court of Two Sisters, a French Quarter restaurant. He said the city, its residents and visitors, were responding much as they had to many previous hurricane threats, but that Katrina "is the most threatening we have seen."
Mr. Fein's said his restaurant, one of the largest in the French Quarter, served 250 diners on Saturday night, and he had planned to remain open today. But by 9 a.m., he said, it became clear that not enough of his employees would report to work. So, instead of preparing brunch, he said the employees who did show up set to the task of nailing plywood over the restaurant's windows, and bringing its outdoor furniture inside.
Several other restaurants were simply boarded up and vacant by midafternoon. "Due to Hurricane Katrina, we will be closed all day Sunday, Aug. 28, and for lunch on Monday, Aug 29." said the message on the answering machine at Emeril's, a restaurant in the Warehouse District. It said Emeril's would reopen for dinner on Monday night if conditions permitted, but it was "uncertain when the reservations department will reopen."
End Quote.
None of us, as well, had seen the 10:11 a.m. bulletin quoted in Episode III. Rather casually, during the afternoon, we wired our shutters closed, taped a few window panes that had cracked or seemed precarious and stocked up on canned foods. We gathered liquids, not forgetting wine of course, and filled bathtubs. Scrounged for extra candles, unboxed flashlights, did laundry. After all, the storm would be gone by Monday night, sweeping and tree trimming would be underway, all was in hand.
To be continued . . .
posted by Piety Research at 1:10 PM
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