Letter
from Woody
From Menletter October 2005 By Tim Baehr 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 ©Copyright 2005 by Tim Baehr |