In this issue:

· Letter from Woody

Letter from Woody

Editor's note: I'm turning over the newsletter this month to Woody, friend of one of our subscribers. His letter is a report of his experience in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. I'll step out of the way now and come back at the end with a comment.

--Tim

Dear Cherished Friends,

I returned Tuesday PM to the safe haven of my Parents' home in upstate New York after two full weeks at my Real Home in New Orleans. Not my first choice of places to be but for now at least a loving and relatively comfortable environment. Where do I begin? How can I possibly describe to all of you my experience of these past two weeks?

Hell on Earth

To begin I suppose I can now say that I know what Hell on Earth looks, feels, sounds, tastes, and smells like – New Orleans, Louisiana. I arrived into New Orleans International Airport on the second commercial flight in after Katrina, on Tuesday Sept 13th, the day prior to my 41st birthday. The plane had around 25 people on it and we all got to know each other fairly well and share our individual stories with one another. I caught a ride towards my home with one of the passengers, a youngish woman with two small kids, fleeing from her ex-husband who had been beating her up, on her way to meet up with her Father just back from Iraq. Officially the city was still closed to all but "essential" personnel (whoever the Hell they are?) so I got out of the pickup truck I was riding in ahead of the roadblock, grabbed my backpack, and hiked the mile along the levee to my neighborhood. Upon entering the "Black Pearl" [neighborhood] the first people I encountered were a National Guard unit patrolling the streets. They checked my ID and took down my information so they could keep tabs on me and allowed me on my way.

As I rounded the corner to my house I looked up at what once had been a cluster of three large Sweet Gum trees surrounding my house and noticed that 75% of the branches had been severed from these beautiful, majestic, shade giving creatures like some mythical monster had come in with massive hedge clippers and lopped the tops right off. Much to my relief both of my automobiles were still where I left them although they were buried in tree branches. I had a large limb down on the roof of my house, two good size trees down in the back yard and my tent/carport had blown into the neighbor's driveway yet miraculously my roof was probably the only one in the entire neighborhood and one of only a handful in the city that had not lost even one shingle that I could tell. It was obvious that the most damaging winds had come out of the Northeast and that my house had been protected from these winds by the Plymouth Rock Baptist Church which stands directly across the street from me. I did however have half the church's roof and stained glass in my front yard but I was more than happy with the trade off. I also ran into a neighbor who had come in for the day and left me with his chainsaw to use so I spent my entire birthday digging out my Jeep so I could get out and check on some friends' homes.

For the entire two weeks I had no potable running water to use for drinking, washing dishes, or bathing, no electricity except for battery powered devices, no landline phone service, mosquitoes galore and the temperature never fell below 80 degrees, even at night. The stench in my house from rotting food from the refrigerator was unbearable, and the cleaning out of this appliance proved to be the single most unpleasant job I have ever undertaken in my life. Ten lbs. of fish, various meats for dog food, dairy products, and anything else left sitting in 100 degree temperatures for two weeks makes for a very unpleasant odor. After the first few days I realized the entire city smelled this way, like one big stinking, fly infested, wretched mess. It was like living in the middle of an abandoned city turned garbage dump.

Rescuing Dogs

I was able to make it out of the city limits in the first few days and find some fuel for my Jeep, some ice and various basic groceries at a store out near the airport and managed to cook myself a few decent meals but as time wore on I wore down and it became increasingly difficult to get in and out of the city for supplies. Eventually I had to resort to a place I found where I could sneak in and out when it was absolutely necessary. Early on I also hooked up with the Humane Society in an attempt to help rescue and care for dogs and cats that had been left behind in the city by their owners. This was a whole other surreal aspect of this whole situation that exists down there. Animals locked in homes barking for help, hiding under houses, running the streets in packs, scouring the streets for food. My first encounter with dog rescue came when some volunteers with the SPCA came looking in the neighborhood for animals that needed to be fed. At this point there were so many stray animals in the city that SPCA volunteers were going through neighborhoods finding animals, in some cases breaking down doors of locked homes, spray painting houses with information and symbols for future groups to follow, and leaving food and water for the animals because they had nowhere to bring them. This solved one problem yet created another in that they would just leave these huge bags of food out which would eventually become breeding grounds for rats and flies and which I'm sure would eventually be creating more problems with disease than they were solving by providing limited nourishment.

One day I sent an SPCA crew into a yard down the street from my house where I thought there to be two Pit Bulls trained as fighting dogs, one hiding under the house the other chained to a tree in the back yard. One of the volunteers unchained the dog in the back yard and it immediately went after the one under the house and a major Pit Bull fight was underway. I came running over upon hearing the commotion and three volunteers in freaky white space suits were surrounding the fighting dogs trying to break them up, one with a large 2x6 in his hands. Like a fool I reached into the middle of the battle and grabbed the aggressor and somehow separated the two dogs. By some miracle the attacking dog didn't turn on me although the look in its eyes definitely told me it had the notion to at one point. I got the dog onto a leash with the help of a volunteer and now had my first dog rescue having no idea what to do with it. The SPCA group wanted nothing to do with it, I couldn't just let it go or bring it to my home, and there was no way I could have or would have chained it back up so I put it into the Jeep and brought it to a search and rescue location set up by an organization out of Arizona who in turn told me about Camp Lucky.

Camp Lucky had been set up in Chalmette, just past the now famous Lower 9th Ward of New Orleans, by a group of Veterinarians out of Virginia. Traveling there gave me my first up-close glimpse of the true devastation brought on by the combination of the hurricane and the ensuing floods that ravaged the city. By now the city had basically been pumped dry of the toxic sludge which had occupied it for the previous 2 plus weeks leaving behind an otherworldly mess. Traveling through checkpoints I could sense the bewilderment in the eyes of the troops manning the roadblocks and realized that the scope of this disaster was more than any one person could possibly come close to grasping. Seeing just a small portion of the devastation was completely overwhelming to me. On my way to Camp Lucky I passed burned out homes, collapsed homes, homes where the water reached the peak of the roof, boats on front porches, cars smashed into houses and other cars, cars piled on top of each other, simply put scenes of surreal destruction everywhere I could see. It was like a bomb had gone off, destroyed everything, and then a tidal wave had come in and spread the destruction haphazardly throughout the city. After getting the dog to a safe place I set out to return home just as darkness was setting in. Driving back past the French Quarter, the CBD [Central Business District], and other main city locations in complete darkness was another in a series of endless surreal moments, a city known most for its vibrancy, vitality, and life, left eerily quiet and completely dark.

Isolation and Loneliness

My days continued with half the daylight hours spent working around my house on cleanup and the hot afternoon hours driving around looking for stray dogs to transport to Camp Lucky. The whole time I was doing this I felt useless and worthless, like there was something I could/should be doing that would be more useful or that I should be doing more, working harder and more efficiently. I began to at times feel a certain paralysis, often brought on by the intense heat, which kept me far from functioning at the peak efficiency I am often capable of when times are good (like at Camp for example). As soon as darkness would fall I would feel completely alone and isolated, some nights making an attempt at reading or just listening to the depressing news reports coming out of the city, some nights just curled up into a ball trying to make the loneliness go away through sleep, encompassed in my bed by the mosquito netting I was so fortunate to have with me.

Devastating Loss

To add to my isolation and loneliness on Sept _____, my wife's birthday, she informed me that she was sexually involved with the man she had evacuated the city with. I haven't spoken with her since that conversation. Our marriage was in the process of dissolution prior to the storm, but up to this point of disclosure and betrayal we had both been working hard to keep our friendship alive and well in addition to our commitment to caring for our dogs together as a team. Over the past five years ______ has been the closest, and often times only, human friend I have had and felt I could count on. In one fell swoop this was shattered. I guess having her as my only friend is what eventually strained our relationship to the breaking point. Just as unsettling to me is that for the time being I have lost the companionship of my dogs, the true, loyal, and ultimate loves of my life. At this point I have no idea how all of this will work out or if I will ever see any/all of them again. The last I heard they were all on their way to an animal sanctuary in Santa Fe, New Mexico called – are you ready for this one - Kindred Spirits!!! How crazy is that?? [Kindred Spirits is an animal welfare organization. --ed.] I know _______ loves them all very much but I worry about her decision-making capability for them when I see the irrational, dangerous and impulsive decisions she is making in her own life. If there is any one aspect of my ordeal where I need your thoughts and prayers this would be it.

What I now realize in a profound way is that unlike many others sharing this monumental tragedy I have been spared the vast majority of my material possessions, which mean very little to me in comparison to what I really have lost: my family and the love, respect and companionship I once shared with my partner and my animal companions. I'm not quite sure how to regain this or how to overcome this devastating loss.

A Journey of the Soul

When I ventured out of New Orleans Pre-Katrina I did so in many ways because I subconsciously realized a need in my life to find my tribe. I needed multiple people of the same or similar mindset who I could lean on and share with and count on in times of need, people to connect with and confide in. As fate would have it I was right on, possibly knowing deep within that this ordeal was about to manifest itself in my life. The fact that I have found all of you Kindred Spirits out there doesn't diminish the pain and anguish I am experiencing but it does make it easier to live with and accept and I am more thankful than ever to have such a loving, understanding, caring and diverse group of souls to share all of this with. I know there is a genuine level of care and concern for me based on the wishes and greetings sent my way over the past few weeks.

Is my ordeal worse than that which any of you might experience or have experienced in your lives? I think not, for aren't we all presented with no more than what we can handle at any specific time in our life? In fact at times throughout this ordeal I have reflected on the fact that maybe life is providing me with a golden opportunity disguised as this major crisis, a sheep in wolf's clothing if you will. Through two weeks of death and decay, sweltering heat, emotional strain to the greatest degree, physical exertion to the end of my limits, and periods of darkness accompanied by complete isolation I have come ever closer to a conscious and profound reality, as yet undefined. Tuesday I was thankful to be on my way North to the coolness of upstate New York and the relative comfort of my childhood home; today a part of me is yearning to get back to New Orleans and continue the journey of my soul, the rebuilding of my life, the next step on my path. For now I know it to be prudent to take some time to rest, recuperate, and rejuvenate prior to taking this next step. I have the hope, confidence, and the trust in myself that I will know in my heart and my gut when the time will be right to move South once again.

Peace to All of You,

Woody

Me again.

Woody, 41, grew up in the capital area of New York. He attended Middlebury College in Vermont, Emory University in Atlanta, and the University of New South Wales in Australia, from which he received an MBA. For the last eight years he has lived in New Orleans, most recently as an oyster shucker and carpenter. He spends his free time working on his house and fishing. You can reach Woody at groovinola@hotmail.com; it may take him as much as 3-4 weeks to respond, however.

I believe Woody's experience mirrors the kind of loneliness and isolation many men go through - in crisis or even in the slogging through our ordinary days. Woody found solace, and perhaps the beginning of healing, in being able to express his anguish, finding a tribe of kindred spirits, and realizing that he is on a journey of the soul. Although few of us would want to trade places with him, we can celebrate Woody's perseverance and wisdom.

Peace,

Tim