TELECOM Digest OnLine - Sorted: No Thanks, No Rescuing Needed Here

No Thanks, No Rescuing Needed Here

Patrik Jonsson (
Tue, 6 Sep 2005 14:00:45 -0500

from the September 06, 2005 edition -

By Patrik Jonsson, reporter for Christian Science Monitor

In New Orleans, not everyone wants to be rescued

Some residents stick with flooded homes -- despite officials'
concerns in hope things will get better soon.

NEW ORLEANS - Gregory Scott steers a commandeered pleasure boat
through the flotsam of New Orleans's flooded 17th Ward, occasionally
scraping bottom -- actually, the roofs of submerged cars.

The area of modest two-story and shotgun-style homes seems empty of
life -- and officials believe that hundreds who tried to ride out
hurricane Katrina here may have perished in their attics. But
Mr. Scott, who makes his presence known by blasting a hand-held horn
as he maneuvers the boat forward, knows there's life -- even laundry
-- in some quarters.

"There's people all through here," says mate Timothy Waters.

A mucky brown soup flows through what used to be the 17th Ward's
neighborhood of Holly Grove, the only spot Scott has ever called home.
Under almost 10 feet of water, the Beautiful People club is gone.
Scott's own house, with a broken window where he climbed out just
ahead of rising waters, is part of a scene so macabre that even New
Orleansian vampire-novelist Anne Rice might struggle to imagine it.

Yet while thousands finally got out over the Labor Day weekend, Scott
and Waters are holding on -- just two of many who are fierce in their
determination to stay, keeping their feet planted in the muck of this
Cajun Atlantis.

Such decisions perturb emergency-response officials, who warn that
public-health risks posed by the fetid floodwater may worsen, and that
two months of flood conditions may await residents who insist upon
staying put. A stubborn resistance to leaving, they add, will only
waste time and resources of an already-overtaxed search-and-rescue
operation. The mission remains dangerous, as a nonfatal crash of a
civilian rescue helicopter late Sunday illustrated.

Dennis Nunez, a Louisiana wildlife officer, has seen hundreds of
people living deep in the neighborhoods. Some told rescue workers to
move on, to save others first. In one mostly Vietnamese neighborhood,
people were feeling comfortable enough to have gone fishing, and were
drying fresh fish on their porches. "They won't come out," says Mr.

Less panic, more patience.

As response to Katrina enters its second week, 17,000 National
Guardsmen patrolled the Big Easy by foot, helicopter, and boat, and
the atmosphere shifted from one of panic and scattered violence to one
of a soggy siege. Here on the Jefferson Parish line, a few miles from
where the 17th Street Canal was breached last Tuesday, the water line
has fallen hardly at all as of Sunday afternoon.

On Sunday, many hangers-on gave up. Rescuers pulled one woman, barely
conscious, from her home, mattress and all. The job of the day:
Extricating a frightened, 400-pound man. Another woman came ashore
with three cat carriers, each one containing three cats.

But the conflict between the stranded and the rescuers is playing
itself out in ways that, at times, seem bizarre. Rescue helicopters
have even come under sniper fire, police say, as some resist

"It's hard on the rescuers, to risk their lives and have somebody say,
'I don't want to be saved.' It boggles your mind," says Lt. Col. Pete
Schneider, a spokesman for the Homeland Security Department, in Baton
Rouge, La.

Rescue volunteer Jef Talbert, who has arrived from Texas in a friend's
flat-bottom boat (which he's promised to return without bullet holes),
says it's an odd feeling to be loading every gun he owns before he
heads out to rescue people.

Scott, Waters, and six other men are locals who are aiding with the
rescue, camping on a plot of high ground. They've rescued hundreds
since last Tuesday, asking only food and water in return. They're
using whatever equipment is at hand -- whether an 18-wheel truck
(which they stalled out in deep water) or a waterski boat with a 130
horsepower Yamaha four-stroke on the back.

As they shove aside downed wires and look for submerged cars and
street signs that can damage the propeller on "their" boat, Scott and
Waters shout at one house and toot the horn. Two men emerge onto the

"Day 7," yells Anthony Belt, refusing his rescuers, indicating he's
got food. He also has a flat-bottom sloop in case he really has to get

As the number of those in need, or want, of being rescued diminishes,
rescuers are shifting priorities: If they see someone has stockpiled
supplies, they've stopped handing out more food.

"If they're not coming out, we're not going to force them," says
Lieutenant Colonel Schneider. "But we can't keep coming back to

Fish dinner.

If some survivors are struggling, increasingly aware that they are
surrounded by a huge septic tank, others seem to be doing fine. Rescuers
report seeing large Vietnamese families cooking fish and "looking very
comfortable," some even keeping fish in makeshift pools, then hanging
them out to dry.

Indeed, the stayers-on may be clinging to a belief that, beyond the
muck, is hope. For some, a desire to protect their property is the
driving factor in their decisions to stay, and others simply have
nowhere else to go and are clinging to their patch of the globe. After
surviving for a week in hellish conditions, many say perhaps things
will only get better, suggests Mike Lindell, a psychologist at
Louisiana State University. "We're in uncharted territory for human

Two women who had walked through chest-high water from the Superdome
to their homes to get fresh clothes were glad to jump in Scott's boat,
but then started to bicker with each other. Scott wanted none of
it. Voice rising, he sounded off, saying the women should lay aside
petty differences as they pass through waters of death. As the boat
neared a staging area where rescue workers bring their human cargo,
one woman, Tina Collins, turned around and said, quietly, "thank you."

Back on the levee, Scott, a tailor and French Quarter doorman, says
he's found a new calling that lets him stay close to home, bringing
his neighbors to safety when they're ready. Despite the rough
conditions, he has no wish to leave.

"They say a rat has many holes, but I've got only one," he says. "And
I plan on going down in it." | Copyright 2005 The Christian Science Monitor.

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