What Recovery Looks Like Two Years Later

“I had no idea you were such a morning person,” my friend Beth commented during my visit to Louisiana. “Beth, that’s because when I stayed with you after Katrina, I was so worn out every day – now I’m here for fun!”
I did feel guilty gadding about , while there is still so much work to be done. One afternoon Beth and I drove up to Renaissance Village, at one time the largest of the FEMA trailer parks. There still appear to be about 400 trailers (down from 1,500), and they’re closing entirely as of June 1. When I was working at Renaissance in late November of 2005, the residents hung Christmas lights and put decorations on the front stoops of their trailers. Two years down the road, they don't appear to have the heart any more for decorations. And where these folks will go, I don't know. As you're entering the French Quarter, some of the gloomy, boarded-up old public housing buildings sit ominously along the edges of Rampart Street. The city has finally cleared the channels to demolish these projects, but support appears to be mixed at best for the alternative plan for its neediest citizens, like the people in Renaissance Village who will have to find a new place to live come May.

And Beth, Daddy, and their friends fretted about me going to New Orleans by myself when six people were shot, with two dead, in the Central City area on Christmas night. And while crime is a big problem, I couldn’t NOT go. Before leaving Beth’s I did a little research on Brad Pitt’s “Make it Right” initiative, and drove straight out to the Lower Ninth Ward to check out the pink tent city.

My friends in New Orleans seem to feel Brad Pit and Angelina Jolie are sincere in their commitment to the city. And if you judge only by the “Make it Right” website, it’s hard not to be impressed. But when you drive out to the huge, open field that used to be a large chunk of the Lower Ninth, it’s daunting– despite the giant pink monopoly pieces. I’m mean, for instance, as far as I could tell there still aren’t any electrical poles and wires out there. It’s cheering to imagine the award-winning designed little houses popping up like crocus after a long winter, but anybody who’s had any experience in post-K recovery knows that NOTHING is going to happen until the utilities get straightened out.

I also stopped by Habitat for Humanity’s Musician’s Village. (right) Unlike the more controversial “Brad Pitt”houses, these somewhat emulate the familiar “shotgun” style of the area. But, I could not figure out why they weren’t built higher? I understand it costs about an extra $15k to build up one storey on stilts, but I just don’t get it. And it’s not like Katrina was a once in a lifetime event – a friend told me the Lower Ninth flooded during Betsy, and of course most expect it to flood again. Sarah, a blogger in New Orleans, offers a little insight – it sounds like it is related to whether or not a house is in a historic district, and whether or not it qualifies for the extra funds to pay for the added height. But still doesn’t make much sense to me…

And finally, while previous posts waxed rhapsodic about my favorite eateries and businesses that all appear to be up and running, not all have survived. La Madeleine on Jackson Square never reopened (though rumor has it that Chef Boswell of Stella! will reopen Stanley, his breakfast and lunch place, in that prime location). Some of the best redfish smothered in crawfish sauce that I’ve ever eaten was served at Mike Anderson’s on Bourbon (photo above) . But, like many New Orleans residents themselves, the restaurant has permanently decamped to Baton Rouge. And then there’s Hillery’s. Our defacto lobby bar across the street from Olivier House, over the years we got to know owners Ed and Hillery Moise, and bartenders Gregory and Jerry. After managing to limp along for months after the storm, they closed up shop two months ago.

But, here’s the thing. Owning a business is always a tricky proposition – Ed and Hillery might have closed regardless, storm or no storm. And in this economy we’re all being forced to hunker down, look after our own, and hope that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Circumstances and an infuriating bureaucracy have thrown a seemingly infinite number of obstacles in the path of these folks. But for the first time in two years I sensed optimism, and I saw a physical manifestation of the resiliency of our fellow citizens in New Orleans. It may not be the light at the end of the tunnel, but at least they’re not about to drive off a cliff in the dark.