We stood alone on an empty street. Slowly dragging dry wall to an already filled curb. We would talk but the strange silence of standing in a neighborhood with no people creepily grabbed our attention. It was as if we were meant to be solemn, meant to look in wonder, stare in bewilderment, empathize with the loss of a post-apocalyptic city.
When the comic books, movies, stories all share their Armageddon views I will always remember the pure emptiness of New Orleans during the Thanksgiving of 2005. We served food to the elderly, the ones who couldn't leave and stood talking with the sheriff about how they were going to rebuild a downtown that had no hotels, windows broken and no people. We walked the neighborhoods, seeing messages in paint that warned of shoot on sight policies for stealing food. We gutted a house, dragging everything to the curb. We were the only people. Empty. Hopeless.
The lady we helped said they will return. She said she will not leave. She said it didn't matter if she were the only one to come back, she was coming back. We went through her belongings, she didn't want to be there as we gently bagged the physical memories of an entire family, carrying them to a curb where after city streets were cleared and power would return they would be moved to the dumping site, never to be seen again. Pictures, memories, even the dry wall, carpet, refrigerator had to be moved. Everything.
My brother Joe and I, along with my friend Jon went with a local church to help rebuild houses. We went to the French Quarter and Canal street on a Saturday night. The streets were empty with only a few natives and business owners who had returned with their families to tend to their livelihoods. I wondered then, if New Orleans would ever have any hope of returning.
5 years later, and one weekend ago. I returned with my other brother Jeff, his wife and close friends. The streets were covered with "Who Dat?" slogans and saints memorabilia. The city teemed with people, the riverfront was packed with ships flowing in and out. People celebrated on Bourbon Street. My memories of the hopelessness that existed years before were replaced with a profound sense of amazement. The resilience of a city, the resurgence of a cities team, the pride I felt flow from the ambiance of Canal Street, the natives who had returned to see their city renew. These people had rebuilt their lives. They did not give up, they worked, they got back up and made new memories; they remembered their past, even making light of the tragic response (one store had a shirt that read "FEMA. The New F word).
While spending time with my family was great, it was incredibly refreshing to see a city desolate and empty be filled with smiling people. It reminded me, amidst some of the horrific devastation that occurs across the world that people are ultimately resilient. It reminded me that by lending a hand in the most seemingly insignificant way we are truly helping a life rebuild. I am honored to have seen an empty city and return to a full city. Way to go New Orleans!
