Also in Simple Living & Spirituality

Through the Eye of the Storm

A Book Dedicated to Rebuilding What Katrina Washed Away

by Cholene Espinoza

Excerpt #2

Presidential Visit

“Rhetoric does not drive away the cold.”

—Mississippi Gulf Coast high school teacher

“MOVE! MOVE NOW! LADY, GET THAT CAR OUT OF HERE! NOW! I SAID NOW!!! YOU ARE BLOCKING THE MOTORCADE!” A police officer was blasting these orders at us over his bull horn.

Our timing could not have been worse. We were initially directed forward into the neighborhood of Gulfport, Mississippi, where former President Bill Clinton was going to speak, but suddenly the officer changed his mind. He must have heard over the radio that the motorcade was arriving. He said, “STOP!” but we were already committed and could not turn around because the motorcade was in the way.

Motorcades create their own special “no-drive zone,” similar to the Iraqi no-fly zones I used to monitor as a U-2 pilot. It seems no one is allowed to move when a presidential, or, in this case, former presidential motorcade is in motion nearby.

Shantrell was unflappable as the officer blasted her through his speaker against the car window so loudly that my ears hurt. She casually looked around for an escape route while the motorcade waited. We parked on the side of the road and walked the rest of the way.

People from the neighborhood had already lined up along the side of the road as if there was an invisible rope preventing them from crowding the former president. He started at the far end of one block of the neighborhood and made his way down the block. It seemed as though he was taking a casual stroll through the predominantly African American neighborhood. He took his time and physically touched nearly every resident. People waited patiently.

Many of the people knew or recognized each other from town. The conversation gravitated toward the same topics—Katrina and family.

“How did you make out?”

“How’s your mom?”

“How are your babies?” In the South, there are “babies” and there are “gran’babies.” From what I informally observed, these terms are used to describe children until they reach the first grade. Then they become “kids,” as in, “How are your kids?” or “How are your gran’kids?”

As we waited in line, I felt as though I was part of a large family reunion. Everyone was hugging each other, laughing, and swooning over each other’s babies, gran’babies, and kids. They spoke about the damage to their homes only briefly.

The conversation usually went something like this:

“How you doin’?”

“Oh, we’re doin’ fine. We had four feet of water and a tree in the roof, but we’re doin’ fine. How are you doin’?”

“Doin’ fine” is almost an expression of faith. It seemed as though to say otherwise would be to admit defeat. I had visited the uninhabitable homes of people who said they were doin’ fine. I could see that they were doin’ anything but fine. They were patiently waiting on their insurance and/or FEMA to come through with enough money to start rebuilding. They had applied for a loan through the Small Business Administration, but again, they were waiting to hear back.

Some felt guilty that they had fared better than others had. One person told an elderly couple who had lost their home, “I’m so sorry. I feel so guilty.” The husband and wife said in unison, “Don’t!” They thanked the man for his concern and said, “Bless you for saying that, but it’s really not necessary. We’re just happy that some people made out okay.”

Shantrell and I were standing next to Mr. Purvis McBride, the director of the Gulfport Boys and Girls Club. He and his volunteers were holding up pictures for Bill Clinton to sign. The photos were of youths who had benefited from the Boys and Girls Club and now were accomplished adults.

Parents and grandparents asked the director, “When’s the center going to reopen?” “We’re sure tryin’. I hope real soon.”

“Here’s my number. You call me when it’s ready to paint,” one older woman said. She laughed. “My boy is driving me crazy. He needs that center opened as soon as possible.”

Many were holding copies of My Life, Bill Clinton’s autobiography, for him to sign. Old and young were holding the books in the air proudly. Some of the copies were worn and well read.

Shantrell and I were at the end of the line. President Clinton shook Shantrell’s hand and then made his way over to a small open picnic tent where some of the elderly and disabled were waiting for him.

I followed along to position myself with the rest of the press, but was soon stopped by a member of the Secret Service. One of the local community hosts interceded and said, “She’s allowed,” and gestured for me to join the press corps.

Governor Haley Barbour, his wife Marsha, and Gulfport Mayor Brent Warr sat next to the former president. The neighborhood’s residents were sitting in a circle flanked by another row of local people who were standing.

The governor thanked the community and said, “I ‘preciate all the hugs,” and then he turned it over to Bill Clinton.

“I just want to say two things and then open up the conversation. When I was a boy growing up in Arkansas, we took one out-of-state vacation my whole life and it was to New Orleans, Gulfport, and Biloxi. So I saw a lot of what’s been taken down. Former President Bush and I have raised $90 to $100 million to distribute across these three states.”

He explained that they did not want to duplicate the efforts of others and wanted the money to help the largest number of “all of you.” He said that he would take information back to Washington and that Congress was due to pass an aid package in the next four to six weeks. He said the president wanted to know what, if anything, the federal government could do differently or better. He said that it wasn’t about politics or Democrats or Republicans—everyone just wanted to do the right thing to help our fellow human beings pull their lives back together. He thanked everyone for the hugs he had received and said he was in a “better humor than I was when I got out of that airplane.” He then opened the meeting for questions.

“How was the last doctor’s report?” was the first question. It struck me that here was an opportunity for these people to vent for the first time, and they were more concerned with his health than with their own welfare. He said that his doctor told him he was in the top five percentile of health for men his age.

One woman who had flood insurance spoke. Six weeks after calling her insurance company, she still had not seen or heard from them. She had bought flood insurance even though no one thought she needed it—she had been there for forty years and there had never been a flood. “This is where we are,” she said. “We are stuck.”

Governor Barbour agreed. “We’re gonna need federal help. It’s hard to believe we’re a couple of miles from the flood zone,” he said, gesturing toward the neighborhood that Katrina had soaked under four feet of water.

As people continued to tell similar stories, Clinton listened. He said he felt partially responsible for the fact that they did not have flood insurance, because the federal government decides who is in a flood zone and who isn’t. He said an expert decided this and that “we underestimated the power of the storm.”

“Did you get any money from the federal government? Two thousand dollars or something like that?”

Some people nodded and one woman said, “No. No. I need to speak. I have lived here all my life. The people you see raised us. I am a teacher. I may be able to rebuild, but they will never get back to a basic living without some type of assistance. People are hurting.”

Clinton asked, “Can you tell me what reasons were given (for not getting the FEMA money)?”

“If you were not displaced at the time you made the call to FEMA, they played a word game,” she said. “I’m telling you what I know. They asked, ‘Are you living comfortably in your home?’ Well, I have a ceiling falling in, but relative to others I’m comfortable.”

President Clinton asked if there was someone who had federal authority to say yes or no concerning the money. No one had an answer.

Brent Warr, the mayor of Gulfport, brainstormed out loud that perhaps he could try to get a cruise ship pulled into the area for temporary shelter. He was told previously that the ship had already been contracted by FEMA and only one hundred people were living on it, less than 10 percent of its capacity.

A woman who appeared to be about 55 years old spoke out. “I don’t need a ship. I need some sheetrock.” She raised her arms and pantomimed rebuilding her own home. “I just need the materials. I can paint. I can work. I’ll get the work done.” The crowd cheered wildly in agreement. President Clinton smiled as if he was proud of their self-reliance and resilience.

A young minister spoke of the immediate health hazards from mold. He said he had gone house to house in the neighborhood of two hundred homes to tell people about the Clinton visit and only counted fourteen FEMA trailers. He then said he was sick by the end of the day from the mold. “This is inhumane.”

President Clinton said, “I want you to know that I don’t mind that you are angry and upset. I’m not in office but if I were, you would still be having some of these problems. There’s so much damage over so much square footage in such a short period of time.”

He began to brainstorm with the group to see if they could come up with some solutions. The consensus was that people wanted the materials to rebuild their own homes and they would get the work done. “We don’t need to wait for trailers,” one woman said.

President Clinton speculated that they might be able to get companies to advance materials with a guarantee that they would be reimbursed.

Governor Barbour jumped in and said, “The fact is that there are seventy thousand homes destroyed in Mississippi. We are going to be building back homes for years. It’s gonna take time. There’s gonna have to be temporary homes.” (Some estimate that that number has grown to over 103,000 due to the mold problem.)

President Clinton redirected the conversation to solutions. “Your number one priority is getting back into your homes as quickly as possible. If and when Congress passes this (aid package), one thing you’ve convinced me to do is to call Hillary when I get home tonight and tell her to do whatever she can to not take six weeks to pass this bill. They could pass it in six days if they took a notion and released the money.” He then discussed the possibility of getting with former President Bush to use the Bush-Clinton Katrina Fund to provide matching money to the state.

The neighborhood was buzzing after the visit. One woman said to Shantrell, “President Clinton touched this arm. Be careful now, I’m not going to take a shower today.”

President Clinton is considered, even by his most hardened critics, to be a masterful politician. I witnessed a masterful human being. He did not blame anyone or take advantage of the situation—he went the opposite direction by assuring that their troubles were not the result of intentional neglect. He did not make promises. Instead, he sat back in his chair, as though there was no other place he would rather be or needed to be, and listened.

When the complaints became more intense, he interjected a question in order to better understand the concerns and reassure them that indeed he was listening. He did not piggyback on their anger with derogatory comments toward the effort or lack of effort of others. He assured the members that he understood their needs and was going to do what he could to voice those needs to officials who had the authority to address them.

As Bill Clinton spoke and listened, I began to understand what others call his “gift.” He has the ability to inject calmness into a painful and volatile situation. President Clinton had been what my brother Chip would characterize as a “non-anxious presence” in an anxiety-laden situation.

As we walked back to the car with several others, there was a sense of hope that had not existed before the visit. Bill Clinton no longer held the most powerful office in the nation, but that did not matter to this neighborhood. The fact that he had come all the way to Gulfport, Mississippi, to spend over an hour in a neighborhood of flooded homes with people who had no place else to go, made them forget about their pain—if only for a few hours.

A few days after Clinton’s visit, Ellen forwarded an e-mail that said another president was coming to Mississippi. George W. Bush was scheduled to come to the DeLisle Elementary School. Ellen’s news organization, Talk Radio News Service, is part of the White House Press Pool. I am not a designated White House reporter, so Ellen had to ask for specific approval for me to be part of the press corps pool covering the visit. Her request was denied, but that didn’t stop me from trying another angle.

DeLisle Elementary is within walking distance of Rev. Rosemary’s church. The night before the president’s visit, I had been at Mt. Zion Church helping community members fill out SBA loan applications. Rev. Rosemary and Ms. Bowser said they would meet me at the school the next morning to see if by chance we might get to see the president.

“I called the school and they said to be lined up by 7 AM for security and road closures,” Rev. Rosemary told us. The president was due to arrive sometime after 9 AM.

It was the second day of school for the children of DeLisle and Pass Christian. The Pass Christian schools had been destroyed. The middle schools and high schools from both communities would be using temporary classrooms set up in trailers on the DeLisle Elementary property, but were not scheduled to begin school until the following week. I was told that before Katrina there were two thousand students in kindergarten through twelfth grade among the combined schools. No one was sure how many kids would be back for the year, but it was assumed there would be at least one thousand.

There was a buzz in the air as I walked to the school after parking alongside many of the parents about a quarter mile away. The children had been told on the previous day that they might not get to meet the president, but there would be other visitors including Governor Barbour, senators, and congressmen.

The students, parents, teachers, school staff, and hopeful presidential greeters were made up of blacks, whites, Latinos, Asians, Republicans, and Democrats. One tall, attractive white minister wearing a “Texas” baseball cap said, “I sure didn’t vote for him, but he is our president.” Ms. Bowser and Rev. Rosemary were already there when I arrived. They knew everyone. Ms. Bowser had taught the fifth grade for over thirty years. Her old students hugged her. Some were mothers of the children now in school.

Ms. Bowser talked and joked with her former students. Angela Rice was one of them. She was there with one of her daughters, Lacy, who had also been one of Ms. Bowser’s students. The three of them laughed and eagerly awaited the president’s arrival. Angela’s other daughter, Kaylee, a third grader, was waiting for the president inside the school gym.

Angela told us that Kaylee had agonized the night before because she was afraid her dress was not pretty enough for the president. Most of these children had lost all of their clothes in the storm. Many of them no longer had homes—they lived in campers and tents.

Angela and her husband had registered with FEMA three times because they kept getting dropped from the system. Her husband had lost his job due to the storm but found a new one, though it paid less and had no medical benefits. Angela normally worked also, but she had not been able to recently. She is expecting a baby in January and was bedridden due to bleeding behind the placenta. She insists that she is fine now. That day she and her teenage daughter stood outside waiting for the president for three and a half hours. She worried that Kaylee was not going to get to see the president. Someone told her later that he never made it into the gym where many of the children waited.

Ms. Bowser’s neighbors, Billie and Jessica Hillier, walked over to give her a hug, and then one of them said to her with a chuckle, “I found some of your things in my yard. I’m saving them for you.” Her expression then changed to sadness. “Do you remember our fluffy black and white cat? I can’t find her.” Another woman jumped on the opportunity and said, “Do you want another one?”

The excited children filed into the school. One boy wandered toward us and away from the metal detectors and began to throw up. “Poor thing,” Ms. Bowser said. “He’s just so excited to meet the president.”

The president’s motorcade arrived some time after 9 AM. We could not get anywhere near where he entered the school so we waited outside for him. The crowd of about seventy people tried to ask the Secret Service if they thought the president would come out and say hello. The officers repeatedly snapped, “He does what he wants.” Some people asked if someone would make sure that he knew they were waiting. The answer they received was a short, “Can’t do that.”

One woman, Ms. Ruby Wallace, had a letter to give to the president that proved she was related to his mother, Barbara Bush. She asked, “Sir, will you give a letter to the president?”

“Absolutely not,” the Secret Service officer told her.

“But I’m related to his mother,” she implored, “and that means I’m related to him. I have documented proof. I’m trying to get it to him so he’ll know it.” I got the impression that she just wanted the president to know that he had family in the region. It seemed to be her way of telling the president, “If you ever need a place to stay down here, come on by.” She even looked like Barbara Bush.

The crowd speculated that the president had to pass by us because the rest of the students were waiting for him in the gymnasium, and the only way to get there was by the pathway where we were standing. The Secret Service had directed us away from the other possible passage point, which made the crowd suspect that we had been duped.

The conversations were a variation of the same theme I had heard while waiting for President Clinton. “How you doin’?” “How’d you come out?” “Oh, I’m doin’ fine.”

Ms. Wallace, Barbara Bush’s cousin, told me that her homehad been totally washed away and had not been found. “I had eighteen to twenty-three feet of water over my home. I built it like a boat and no one knows where the boat floated.” She was living in a camper. She told the story of her Chihuahuas surviving the storm. “The mama Chihuahua swam her two babies away when the storm washed away the house, and then she led them back to where the house had been. My neighbor found her and fed her water with an eye dropper and saved her, and then she saved her babies.”

As time went on, the small crowd began to question the level of security and the fact that the president’s motorcade whizzed by “doin’ ninety to nothing.”

Rev. Rosemary said, as though she felt sorry for the president for being so isolated, “That’s no way to live. If I were the president, they’d just have to shoot me because I would have to be with the people.”

Another woman had traveled more than an hour to see the president. Her elderly mother was in the car waiting. “They have to be like that, y’all. Everything’s got to be secret,” she said. “My momma’s in the car cussing me out because she couldn’t walk up here to see him.”

“I was right over there in my second grade classroom when they told us JFK had been shot,” a woman named Shirley Gates spoke out. “We put our heads on our desks and prayed.”

“That was the saddest day ever in America. The whole world mourned, not just Americans,” Ms. Wallace said.

“Why do you suppose JFK had so much of an impact?” I asked.

“He was charismatic. He really cared. And the whole world knew it.”

Finally, after the governor and local politicians filed out and the Secret Service began to relax and take off their jackets, the crowd moved out to the road as a last-ditch effort to see if perhaps they could get a glimpse of the president in the motorcade. Again, he was sped away. One woman said excitedly, “I think I might have seen him.”

I took a picture of two women, Ms. Nora B. and Eleanor Jones, who had made a huge sign that was bigger than they were. THANK YOU AMERCIA, it said, and it had a smiley face on it. As I filmed them they said, “We made it for you, America! We just want the country to know we are so thankful.”

On the hike back to my car, I saw an elderly woman named Gloria Harshbarger who had also waited for over three hours. She had been holding a large American flag all morning. I asked her if she was okay. Earlier she was smiling, joking, and eagerly anticipating the president, but now she looked like she was in pain. “I’ll be fine,” she said with resignation in her voice. “I have two artificial knees. I live a mile away, but I called someone to meet me on that corner. Thank you anyway.”

I was angry and disappointed that these people who had been through so much had not gotten to see the president. I reflected on how isolated and hyper-managed the president must be not to have the awareness to take time at least to say hello to more people.

As it turned out, he only visited a few children who were located near his entry point. He never made it to the gymnasium. No other dignitaries visited the other classrooms. The teachers and children were disappointed, along with the crowd outside.

This was not a typical political photo-op rent-a-crowd. Most of these people had lost everything. All ages, races, and political affiliations had come out to see their president because they had such respect and reverence for him and the office he holds. It seemed like a waste that the taxpayers spent millions of dollars so that the president and his entourage of dignitaries could make an appearance for a couple of hand-selected classes at DeLisle Elementary. The White House Press Corps took their pictures and recorded his two-minute “speech,” but most of the children, teachers, parents, and community—the people who needed him to lift their spirits—waited in vain.

According to the White House Press Pool report and White House website, the president met with local, state, and federal officials in a private meeting and then greeted a kindergarten class from 10:54 AM to 10:56 AM. They were on the road again within twenty minutes.

Perhaps if the president had taken more time to connect with the people of this community he would have felt compelled to do more to ensure that federal aid is not wasted, and that it ends up in the hands of those who will put it to the best use.

“Listening,” my brother Chip counsels business leaders, “is responding.” In the five months since President Bush visited Mississippi, the lives of the residents of DeLisle and Pass Christian have not changed. And while former President Clinton may have called Senator Clinton the evening of his visit as he said he would, to encourage her to help pass legislation that would get desperately needed supplies to the Gulf, the relief had not arrived as of five months after the storm. The Thomas.gov legislative internet search engine, which tracks legislation under the Library of Congress, came up with 337 references to Katrina in proposed bills. Nevertheless, these intentions did not translate into relief for those in need.

Meanwhile, the Bush-Clinton Katrina Fund had not distributed any money three months after the storm. I was told by a Fund staffer a week after Clinton’s visit that they were still wrestling with the IRS to get 501(c)3 tax-exempt status. The staffer warned me that no money could be given out until the fund had the proper tax status. Two former presidents, one of them the father of the current president, could not get their nonprofit approved by the IRS in three months!

As I drove away from DeLisle the day of President Bush’s visit, I wished that the extraordinary people I had met that morning had been given the chance to meet (or at least see) their president. More important, I wished that President Bush could have met them. I believe that if he had spent time with them, things might be different. He would make them a priority as a matter of his and our nation’s conscience. He would find a way to lead them out of this crisis.

How different this visit had been compared to President Bush’s visit to Ground Zero after 9/11. He spoke with conviction, and he walked the grounds of the fallen and shared himself with the relief crews. While 9/11 and Katrina are different, both generated an enormous human crisis. Katrina’s path of destruction is not confined to one part of one city—it spans ninety thousand square miles. Katrina’s wake of suffering worsens daily as it becomes more and more apparent that no relief is coming.

I have seen the people of New York and the Gulf Coast rise above the suffering and give to one another. I have seen volunteers from all over the nation come to the rescue of both communities. I wish the government that serves these Americans had even a fraction of the commitment to them as they have to their government.

A high school teacher who lives in a tent outside her moldinfested home summed up the need for leadership: “The failure of the government in the face of this disaster borders on domestic terrorism for those of us in the face of the oncoming winter. Will the deaths from exposure be linked to Hurricane Katrina? Rhetoric does not drive away the cold.”