Laughter through Tears: 20th Anniversary of Katrina Artistically Remembered

Hy and Christopher look back to the seminal moment of 21st Century New Orleans history. We remember Armand St. Martin’s subsequent yearly efforts to “artistically remember” the storm, often with humor. We play his song “Contraflow”, which lampooned many of the bureaucratic screw ups of the time. In particular, in the ballad, Armand asks the question which every New Orleanian asks about this time of year, “Where’s Nash when we need him?"Continuing this theme of laughter through tears, we welcome Chris Champagne and Philip Melancon on to the show, who are performing their own comedy retrospective “ Katrina does New Orleans” on August 28, 29, & 30 at 8 pm at the Monkey Hill Bar on 6100 Magazine—with a matinee on the Sunday Aug 31st at 2 PM. We hear a few of Chris’s jokes and listen to Phillip’s famous ‘lament by accordion’ of the Sewerage & Water Board. Tickets available by calling 504-202-0986 or emailing [e-mail].122,000 Lost After KatrinaBy Christopher TidmoreAugust 28, 2005, just two weeks from The Louisiana Weekly’s 80th birthday, a looming hurricane just seemed like another false alarm. Dutifully, hundreds of thousands of New Orleanians—who possessed the economic means—packed their children, loved ones, and/or the pets into cars for the twelve hour crawling contra-flowing commute to Baton Rouge.Thousands more stayed put at home. Some were broke from two previous evacuations over previous two years, where those who remain behind only experienced clear skies and a day off from work. Others saw a Category 1 hurricane, which had turned towards the Gulf Coast. ‘No threat’, they thought.The desperate images over next week emblazoned themselves upon the memories of the nation. Katrina’s botched aftermath became one of those singular turning points in American history. Our people displaced. The press would call us refugees, until we demanded the dignity of being Americans… and therefore “evacuees”.We became a culture scattered to the winds. The comedianne Becky Allen later quipped, “Next time we all have to agree to evacuate to the same place.”Many never returned. It should not have been surprising, but this reporter did have an inkling after an odd experience in Des Moines, Iowa three weeks after the storm. Staying with friends, I learned of a small street festival a few blocks from their house. As I walked up, I heard a band playing, “ I went on down to the Audubon Zoo, and they all ask for you…”Iowa’s only zydeco band performed in a public tribute to the people of New Orleans. That was interesting, considering Iowa had expected 1500 evacuees and got about 150. (Most people had gone eastwood towards Atlanta or westward towards Dallas, not northward.)Nevertheless, for an exile, it warmed my heart. Perhaps not as much as the next sign which read, “Real Louisiana Gumbo”. Cocky, I went over to the lady at the front, and asked, “How long have you been cooking the roux on that gumbo?”Without missing a beat, she replied proudly, “24 Hours!”Then she added, “Our chef is from New Orleans.”Immediately, I figured he was one of the evacuees, and so walked up to meet the giant hulking man stirring a massive cauldron of gumbo, which was probably 3‘ x 3‘ in diameter. I looked him in the eyes and said, as only a New Orleanian could, “ I hear you’re from New Orleans; where’d you go to school?”He smiled, “McDonough 35!”We both laughed. I said, “You came here because of the storm?”“Yeah, the last one, Betsy,” he said.“I was never going back after that.”He had built a life elsewhere when the floodwaters overcame the Ninth Ward in September 1965 and never truly returned. The major difference is that most of his peers were able to come home rather quickly. How 2005 differed was emphasized on a radio program which hosted Oliver Thomas and myself a couple of months later.The topic was toxic mold, and the dangers of returning. I spoke about the health dangers and precautions which must be made as a result —like the good reporter that I sought to be. (I also came on the air to make the point that, unlike some other media sources, The Louisiana Weekly had only missed one week of publication after Katrina, thanks to the valiant efforts of our Publisher Renette Dejois-Hall.)My exegesis on the need to carefully remediate mold from the receding floodwaters before reoccupying homes drew an uncharacteristically fiery response from the normally genial Councilman Thomas. “That’s ridiculous. After Hurricane Betsy, we just took a little bleach and some water and wiped down the walls.”Oliver Thomas and I sparred over the issues, like the radio talkshow hosts that we essentially were (even though we were both without radio stations at the time). The Councilman’s fundamental point, that there could be no more delays in letting people get back to rebuilding their homes, proved prophetic, however. Thomas ...