Tinfoil + Raccoon

Waiting for Gustav

Three years ago this weekend, I sat at the reference desk before the library opened and read this apocalyptic weather alert from the National Weather Service.

HURRICANE KATRINA...A MOST POWERFUL HURRICANE WITH UNPRECEDENTED STRENGTH...RIVALING THE INTENSITY OF HURRICANE CAMILLE OF 1969.MOST OF THE AREA WILL BE UNINHABITABLE FOR WEEKS...PERHAPS LONGER. AT LEAST ONE HALF OF WELL CONSTRUCTED HOMES WILL HAVE ROOF AND WALL FAILURE. ALL GABLED ROOFS WILL FAIL...LEAVING THOSE HOMES SEVERELY DAMAGED OR DESTROYED....THE MAJORITY OF INDUSTRIAL BUILDINGS WILL BECOME NON FUNCTIONAL. PARTIAL TO COMPLETE WALL AND ROOF FAILURE IS EXPECTED. ALL WOOD FRAMED LOW RISING APARTMENT BUILDINGS WILL BE DESTROYED....THE VAST MAJORITY OF NATIVE TREES WILL BE SNAPPED OR UPROOTED. ONLY THE HEARTIEST WILL REMAIN STANDING...BUT BE TOTALLY DEFOLIATED. FEW CROPS WILL REMAIN.

Aside from having been to New Orleans twice, and having a friend in the area, I had no particular claim to the city. But having been there a couple of times was claim enough for me. Like many people who go to New Orleans for the first time, I fell in love with America's one pagan city. It wasn't beads, beer or boobs that grabbed hold of me. I can't even explain it, aside to say that I felt bewitched.  It doesn't even embarrass me to say such a corny thing. That's how strong the magic was.

So, when I read the above weather statement, I went numb and tried to process the message. Through the rest of my shift, I obsessively refreshed NOLA.com and Weather.gov. I furtively listened to the Neville Brothers and was close to tears and feeling helpless. When I got home for the remainder of the holiday weekend, I was glued to CNN and The Weather Channel, and reading the message boards on NOLA.com.

Everyone was relieved a bit when Katrina was downgraded to a Category 2 before it made landfall. It was still grim, but the weather report above seemed a bit sky-is-falling. Then, as folks started back to work after the weekend, the storm surge came, the levees started to fail and the real horror-show began.

For several days, with the rest of the world, I just watched in paralyzed shock as the apocalypse unfolded.

Eventually, I stopped crying and mourning and found a way to help by doing online outreach to the Gulf Coast library community, along with Jason the ZenFoPro and a few others.  We had a Yahoo! forum and a website, we were emailing like mad, and I created an ongoing blogpost with links. I can't even remember all what we did, but it was librarianship at its best. (If you worked on this with me, please give a holler!)

Yesterday, as unidentified victims of Katrina were finally laid to rest, Gustav began to gain strength and spin towards New Orleans and the Gulf Coast.  As of this writing, even though a Category 4 is predicted, the warnings are not as dire. As with Katrina, it appears that the worst damage may come from the storm surge to follow.  I've been reading the news and forums on NOLA.com and it's been a relief to see that lessons were learned from Katrina. Massive evacuations have begun and everyone, bureaucrats and residents alike, are taking the threat seriously. My friend from the area is tucked away in a far-away cabin and will be hosting Gustav refugees, all, I'm guessing, relatively well prepared for this exile.

Meanwhile, I'm going to work some homeopathic magic at home by cooking jambalaya this weekend. If you've ever been bewitched by New Orleans, head to your kitchen and let's whip up a decadent love offering for the city we love best and its residents. We need po' boys, gumbo, craw fish etouffee, pralines and bread pudding. If you can't cook, light some candles for those in Gustav's path, say a prayer that there's no criminal negligence on the part of the government, work on a hangover, or make a Gustav voodoo doll and poke him into impotence. If you'd like, share your offering here.

Librarians: Do Not Forget

It’s been a humbling experience to walk around New Orleans and hear the name of my chosen profession murmured over and over, to be asked, are you a librarian?, and to receive unprecedented expressions of thanks.  This time, we weren't being thanked for the usual things you thank librarians for—teaching you to read, looking up a word, helping with a resume. Some of us offered volunteer time for clean-up and other service projects, but all of us are being lauded as heroes for demonstrating our fearlessness against mold and crime and for dropping big bucks.  Not just eight bucks for the gin & tonic, but two bucks for the tip.  As I wrote earlier, I felt as if this were the only way I could help.  I’m in no position to do relief work, with my multiple chemical sensitivities, mold allergies and tendency to wilt in the heat.  But, I wasn’t feeling particularly great about the level of help I could offer.

A lot of us visiting New Orleans had crises of conscience, uncomfortable with all the emphasis placed on our roles as first responders and rescuers of a different sort.  I’m a financially comfortable white person coming to a town which, even in the best of times, is largely characterized by poverty.  The people I handed money to were, more often than not, people of color who rely on the generosity of strangers to make up for their mean hourly wage (a local bartender told me that it’s pretty common for wait staff to make less than $2.50/hr).  I guess it’s the nature of a service economy, as it always has been. I’m just more mindful of it than usual.  It also felt odd being some place that I associate with being very happy, with having a good time, with being able to relax and forget everyday annoyances.  The fact that I was obsessing about it so much somehow made it worse.

But, on Monday, Anderson Cooper, the CNN correspondent who publicly shamed those who most needed shaming during and after Katrina told a roomful of librarians why it was important that we were in New Orleans. Cooper was the keynote speaker for the Public Library Association’s President’s Program.   It takes a pretty good keynoter for me to sit through one of those programs.  You can only hear so many obligatory “gosh libraries are wonderful” stories.  But, I developed a great deal of respect for Cooper during the Katrina coverage and looked forward to hearing what he had to say. 

The program got a late start and featured the usual lengthy award presentations, but I’m glad I stayed.  Cooper took the stage and was charming and funny. And, of course, he immediately thanked us, the librarians, but not for the usual reasons.  I often take detailed notes during programs, but this time I just wanted to listen.  Even though I don’t have any direct quotes it’s not hard to remember his message.

He told us that New Orleans is a place that does not hide its history--not the good, the bad or the ugly, and he gave examples of historic buildings where all the incarnations are carved in stone, even when their utility conflicts with a previous incarnation. Nothing is chiseled off or sandblasted.  History is alive and visible here, like the exposed cross-section of a pit at an archeological site.  When you dig a pit, you see it all. Food and tools, bones, fancies and turds. New Orleans has all of that.

Cooper’s appearance at ALA marked his first return to the Morial Convention Center since shortly after Katrina.  Understandably, it was difficult for him.  No. I’m sure “difficult” doesn’t begin to cover it.  He talked about the last time he’d been there, in the company of a doctor who had been unable to offer medical assistance during the occupation. He had the skills and the will and assumed that there were first responders with medicine and equipment on-site. There were none. Cooper and the doctor went back after the last evacuee had boarded a bus, and all they found was two abandoned dogs, left to forage in the mountains of stench and rot.  Cooper had other stories about what he saw, none of which illustrated relief or grace. Then he asked if anyone recognized the name Ethel Freeman.  One person shouted in the affirmative, but the rest of us came up empty. Ethel Freeman was a chronically ill woman who had been evacuated to the convention center by her son.  She survived the hurricane and flooding, but because there was no medical care, died within a day of her arrival.  She was the woman whose son could do nothing but cover his mother’s body with a plaid blanket and leave a note.  She was the woman whose picture we all saw over and over again, a symbol of multiple, criminal failures.

It was impossible to reconcile that horrific image with what we’d all seen the past few days—cheerful vendors, perky PowerPoints, dry erase boards with game plans, toilets that flushed automatically, $5 lattes.  I confess to having forgotten exactly where I was until I talked to my husband at the end of my first day.  “What’s it like?” he asked. Before I could blurt out, “Well, jeeze, it’s New Orleans. You know…hot, muggy.  I’m working hard, seeing friends, having a good time,” I realized that’s not what he was looking for. He meant the convention center.   Oh.  I admitted that I hadn’t thought about it.  It hadn’t even occurred to me.  Because you can’t tell.  It’s one bit of New Orleans history that has been disappeared.  Sandblasted. Painted over. Recarpeted replanted renewed renaissanced.  Cooper thought there should be at least a plaque, a memorial, something….   

But, since there isn’t the first reminder of what happened there nine months ago, it’s up to us, the librarians, to remember. Our money is good. Our presence is a morale booster.  Our sweat and labor in the parish libraries is cherished and invaluable.  Several of us stayed in outlying areas still landscaped with mountains of trash—piles of root balls and roofs, curtains and My Little Ponies.  Some of us shared a hotel with dormless college students and displaced residents. Some saw Slidell, the 9th Ward. Witnessing, however, was just the start of our marching orders.  Our real help will start when we return turn home. In our libraries and archives and amongst our friends, we will do what librarians always do.  Record, preserve and share.  Cooper knew why it was good for librarians to be in New Orleans.  We do not forget.

New Orleans: Mutual Grateful

I'm at Mena's, a neighborhood cafe in the French Quarter, enoying crab cakes, a dish I probably wouldn't order anywhere else in the world.  But, it's New Orleans and I'm so happy to be here that I'm crying in my remoulade.

I got into my hotel about midnight last night--the Hotel Monteleone, home-away-from-home, watering hole and muse-with-walls for Hemingway, Faulkner and Williams. The Monteleone is in the French Quarter, an old school hotel with tightly furnished rooms, tiny closets, baby-sized blow dryers, shit coffee and no wifi. But, there are thick white terrycloth robes hanging in the closet and a weathered, timeless elegance you'll never get at the Marriott. I had read that the Monteleone housed its employees and others during the hurricane. I examine the walls, the floor, the bedding, for signs of....I don't know what. I note that the windows don't open and wonder what it was like without electricity, without light, without fresh air.  I wonder how long the provisions in the mini bar lasted?  The mini cans of Pringles, the candy bars, the nips of Tanqueray. The room is holding whatever stories it has. It's none of my business. 

Cops are coming in for lunch at Mena's and I wonder if they are good cops or bad cops.  Part of me wants to go over and gush and tell them thanks for sticking it out through hell, for staying on the job.  But, that'd be dorky and I have enough doubt about the good cop/bad cop thing.  They could be both, and that seems human enough to me. 

You know why this is a great city? Why I'm getting all teary from just being here and why it's one of the few places I've been where I've not been homesick:  I slept until 9:30.  I did wake up for a short time at 6:30, but shut the curtains, hoping for another 30 minutes.  Any other place in the world, my brain and body would have conspired to have me wake with the chickens, regardless of how tired I was.  6:30, 7 at the latest.  But here, I'm able to let go and slow down.  I am a sponge for the heathen, slo-mo vibe of this city. 

The crab cakes are good.  A little salty, but they taste like you expect crab cakes to taste. If all crab cakes tasted like this, I'd order them all the time. They came with vegetables--big hunks of sauteed onions, celery, carrots and peas, generously pepperered.  A side dish I've never seen anywhere else. Good, homemade potato salad on the side. A not-so-great seeded roll with "spread" instead of butter. And iced tea. I asked for sweet tea, but got an exasperated "we don't have sweet tea but there's sugar on the table."  Still, it was fresh brewed and just the thing for a day headed to 95 degrees.

Mena's is rife with librarians, busted by their identical free-with-each-registration tote bags (some science publishing vendor this year, touting their ebooks) and poorly concealed conference badges.  I haven't been to registration yet, so feel smug and undercover.  My serial checking for messages on my pocket PC and too-new messenger bag probably shout "librarian" every bit as much as the ubiquitous badge and clone bag.

But it's okay. This city is hungry for librarians.  I shared a cab with another late arriver last night--a young adult librarian from Indiana.  The driver, after we got in, asked "Are you the librarians?"  The Librarians.  The highly-anticipated librarians who are the first ones to schedule a major conference post-Katrina.  He made us feel like visiting dignitaries, especially after we said "Yep. We're librarians," and he murmured reverently, "20,000."  Word on the street is that 20K of us will be converging.  It's not likely we'll get to 20,000--18k if we're lucky, but we assured him that the librarians who came would tip well and not throw up in his cab.  He was cheerful and chatty, wanting to know where we were from and if we'd been to the city before. Despite the late hour, nearly midnight, he asked hopefully, "Do you like music?"  After my 15-hour travel day, I would have welcomed a quiet ride, but the man was so happy to have fares and more on the way that we said sure.   He cranked the radio to some generic upbeat pop station, and we sped off in the dark, unable to witness the scars and still-raw wounds left by Katrina. I was squinting, trying to see something...how bad it was, how good it was.  All I noticed was how quiet it was, which told me enough. As he dropped me at the front door of the Monteleone, saving me from getting sideswiped by a passing car,  I started his party with the promised generous tip, wanting to help save the city one gratuity at a time.  I know it's not enough, and probably even a bit paternalistic, but it's all I've got.   

New Orleans Report from ALA Delegation

ALA President-elect Leslie Burger has a lengthy post about New Orleans.  She and other American Library Association delegates just returned from a scouting trip to check things out before the 2006 conference, and to witness the state of the library community in the area.

I was struck by the resilience of the people who remain in the city. Their "can-do" attitude against all odds is nothing short of heroic. The library workers I met, many of whom had lost their homes, were cheerful and passionate about the important role they are playing in helping others get back on the road to recovery.  Libraries have become recovery centers where people can go to get help with FEMA applications, insurance forms, and other life issues.

Katrina: No More Books, Please!

I'm still involved with the Geaux Library Recovery project on Yahoo Groups, and we're still getting questions about how to help.  A lot of people are still holding book drives and wanting to know where to send the books.   The main message from ALA's Adopt a Library, the Texas Library Association and the Louisiana Library Association is, "Thank you for your generous spirit, but please, No More Books!"

If you are in the midst of a drive, or have one in motion that you can't cancel:

• Have very clear guidelines about what you'll accept. Tell people that unsuitable items will be thrown away.
• Sort through what you have. Chances are, only a small percentage of what you have collected is desireable or useable.  Sometimes, it's really okay to throw away books. Don't make more work for those on the receiving end.
  
• Call/email/ask first, if you are not already working with a recipient. TLA has actually closed down their book drive.
• Have a book sale with your donations and send the money--it's what is needed more than anything.

The library where I work is a drop-off site for a well-intentioned university service project that is collecting books for Katrina. There's a half refrigerator-sized box filled with cheesy 1970s-era paperbacks, old Time magazines and Reader's Digests, ancient, useless textbooks, and legal pads, half-filled with the donor's class notes and bored scribbles.  Libraries are still trying to shovel out knee-deep mud and debris from their wrecked buildings. Let's not send them more garbage. 

Wilma Visits Skully

Skully has posted some post-Wilma pix on her blog. In an email she wrote about how she and Mr. Skully met many neighbors for the first time and how everyone came together to clear debris, cook on gas grills and keep the kids entertained (Skully did her part by giving impromptu knitting classes).   Very impressive.

Good Thoughts to Skully and the Florida Betties

Knitting librarian friend Skully had weathered her first few years in Florida with only a minor buffetting during hurricane seasons, but it sounds like she got her first serious, rattling experience this weekend with Wilma. Skully lives in Plantation, which got quite a hammering. I just got a message that she left on voice mail last night. She sounded a bit shell-shocked, but okay.  I hate to call, since it looks like power may be out for days, and I don't want to waste her battery on non-essential chit chat. Even though I pitched in online to help for Katrina, I had some distance from it.  Now I know, just a little, what it's like to feel helpless. It's good to know that Skully is okay, but I find myself wanting to make sure she's got water and batteries and toilet paper and cat food and whatever else she and her hubby, Newt, might need.  But...I can't call and she's without Internet access.  Best wishes are about all I can offer at this point. (The Betties are Skully's knitting posse, the Sweet Stitchin Betties, of which I am a distance member.

Katrina/Rita Follow-up

I'll be trying to post some updates about the library community in the aftermath of Katrina and Rita. I've been thinking about it all along, but thought I'd wait a bit.  It'll be an ongoing story, and I'm hoping that there will be something happening at ALA's Midwinter meeting to give folks a chance to help. Let me know of any updates you've heard.

The New Orleans PL website is back online at a temporary home, with photos and damage assessments, info for employees and donation links for two New Orleans-specific funds.

Blog/Information Community and Katrina

Here's an article from Information Today about how blogs and other forms of e-communication helped to transmit information and keep people connected before, during and after Hurricane Katrina.

With so many people stranded and out of touch in the aftermath of such a storm, local bloggers act not only to report on what is happening in the rest of the world but as an information resource for their community, sharing the latest developments and reports with those who may not have any other way to know what is happening outside of their neighborhood. These bloggers’ reports also help to keep their readership informed and to rally support as real people’s experiences are shared in an unmediated, raw, and powerful form.

More About Geaux Library Recovery

When Katrina hit, Jason Jackson, King Library, Miami University (OH), decided to do something, unlike those of us who stayed glued to CNN for too many days. With the support of his institution, he created what is hoped to be an ongoing online presence for supporting libraries, archives and affiliates that have been damaged by disaster.  There are two components to the project at this time:

• Geaux Library Recovery: Information Community Disaster Assistance Network.
  
  • This is the blog maintained by the Geaux Team, and provides a summary of work being done, in addition to posting general information relating to the Katrina crisis.  The blog is a public supplement to the Yahoo! group:
• http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/geauxlibrary/,
  • This is a working group of volunteers, most in the LIS community, who are willing to help out in some way, from publicity, to making phone calls, to rolling up sleeves and going where help is needed.   

It's been amazing to me to see the work that can be done from remote locations, through the back channel of blogging, email, IM and phone.  Even more amazing is the generosity of spirit I've witnessed in the past week.  It's been a bright spot in an otherwise dreadful week. 

One of my concerns with the project is that we not duplicate actions or services, and we're working to connect with library associations, vendors, and individuals to make this a coordinated effort.  I like to think we're doing a better job that FEMA.  So, have a look at the site and the list, and let us know what we're missing, or what we're duplicating.