Written by Charlotte Schamadan, Past International President, QI of Monrovia-Duarte, California, U.S.A.
Written for the Pasadena Star-News, September 7, 2005
Reprinted with permission of Charlotte Schamadan

Three weeks ago I was enjoying a ham and cheese omelette at Waffle House. On Highway 90, in Biloxi, Mississippi.

My husband Lee and I were driving the length of 90, the beautiful coastal road on the Gulf of Mexico stretching from Biloxi to Bay St. Louis. In fact, we laughed about profitability and popularity as we passed nine Waffle Houses in 25 miles along the coast.

That stretch of highway, traveling east to west, was filled with exciting casinos, restaurants and an historic old town in Biloxi. Sports venues, the Coliseum, and art galleries in Gulfport. Spectacular antebellum mansions in Long Beach, Pass Christian and Bay St. Louis were all on our right-hand side. The lovely beaches of the Gulf were on our left.

It's been hard to fathom that most of the places we visited were swallowed up by the wrath of Hurricane Katrina. Even the drawbridge we crossed over Mobile Bay to get into Biloxi is now broken and underwater. So is the bridge across the Gulf that we traveled heading back into New Orleans for our flight home.

Like many of you, we've been watching the images on television newscasts.We had enjoyed the George Ohr Museum, and looked over a newer museum under construction, designed by Frank Gehry (and looking like a mini-Disney Hall). They have not been shown on TV. They are not there.The old town section of Biloxi with its Civil War-era buildings and narrow, cobbled streets now looks to be a thing of the past, quite literally.

In 1997 I was the Queen of the Shenanigans St. Patrick's Day Parade through downtown Gulfport, sponsored by the Mississippi Gulfcoast Quota Club. It was a splendid time in a city full of spontaneity, gaiety and laughter and it has remained one of my treasured memories. I couldn't see any of the old familiar buildings on TV, and I fear those neighborhoods are also gone.

The Isle of Capri casino and hotel where I've often stayed, moved off its foundation.The President's Casino, which used to be on a barge on the beach, is now in the parking lot of the Gulfcoast Coliseum, across Highway 90 and down the street a ways.

I've been to the area on my speaking gigs, and I've grown fond of the people and the places in the region. I can only imagine their horror at finding their homes damaged or destroyed.

Since I have the use of my computer, I've been an out-of-state contact person for friends who are members of the Quota clubs in the southern parts of Louisiana and Mississippi. They've had some difficulty contacting each other without e-mail services and spotty cell phone usage. Just this morning, we learned that all of our Quota friends are accounted for, and that's great news. Some of their families have lost everything; others found that their homes "survived."

"Survived" in Gulfport and Biloxi now carries a new definition. It simply means the home is still standing. And very likely heavily damaged.

My friend Tamara evacuated her family (parents, grandchildren) from Gulfport on Sunday, the day before Katrina struck. They had to drive as far as Valdosta, Georgia to find lodging. Once her family was settled in, she loaded up the SUV with food and supplies and planned to drive back to join her husband who remained in Gulfport, caring for his mother.

Tamara learned today that she would not be allowed into Gulfport. FEMA officials will turn her away at the city limits, telling to go back and not return until further notice. And, they will confiscate her food and supplies because they are not government sanctioned. As Tamara said, "we are so lost, and don't know what else to do."

Sometimes, as my friend Vicki, a Biloxi native, said, "Sometimes, the only thing I feel like doing is crying." In every instance, I am hearing of families taking care of each other. That is certainly the first priority, especially for those in my generation whose parents are aging or infirm.

Lee and I had visited New Orleans, too, enjoying the ambiance and culture of the French Quarter and a ride on the St. Charles Ave. trolley, admiring the Garden District and Tulane University. Tulane has cancelled the coming semester of classes. Students will get help from other colleges and universities for the interim. But what about the little ones? Who shall educate them?And where? Schools had already started in New Orleans. What happens now? Where do they go?

Some of what stood along St. Charles and the trolley line is damaged, including the tracks.The venerable old restaurant, Commander's Palace, had it's facade blown away. Last night as we watched on TV, a local "emporium" which is basically a small food and beverages store, was being looted and torched. This emporium is/was right around the corner from our favorite hotel in the Quarter.

I don't pretend to understand the desperation that motivates looting and destruction. I cannot even imagine doing something like that myself no matter how desperate my circumstances might become. Watching it happen on TV angers me more than saddens me. I guess I am saddened by the natural horrors; angered by horrors man-made.

My friend Bobbie, safe and working for the recovery shelters in Baton Rouge, reminded me of our visit to Deanie's, a great po'boy restaurant by the 17th St. Canal near where the levee was breached allowing water to pour into New Orleans and bury much of the city. I remembered enjoying the view of Lake Pontchartrain from the levee, and the hospitable attitude of the genial Southerners at Deanie's. I also began wondering why my country, with all of our resources and experience, could not plug-up the dang levee more quickly.

My family and some of our local Quota clubs are planning to send monetary donations to the Gulfport and Biloxi Quotarians to aid the people in the Deaf Center. Food, water and shelter are the first concern, of course, but so are hearing aids and batteries for people who cannot hear and fear the enormous isolation and rejection that comes with this kind of disaster. We've been told to hold off sending the money until there is someplace to send it to, and we shall. We forget that in the loss of loved ones, homes and belongings there are also lost services such as banking.

Part of my recent visit to Biloxi included some time spent in the casino at the Isle of Capri, where I pocketed $50 from the roulette table. I'm sending back my winnings and more, for use as needed, when I'm told to do so.

What happens next is even more of a guessing game than it was just before Katrina hit. People are asking, "Where will we live? How will we survive?" There are no jobs to return to, no shelters to house them locally, few food stores, hospitals, post offices, gas stations, schools, transportation. Just a lot of ...nothing.

The work to be done is mind-boggling at best. Truly, have you ever felt more helpless in a natural and national tragedy? Best thing we can do here in the San Gabriel Valley is kiss our loved ones, pet our pets, hug our friends, give thanks, and pray. That's the single thing my Southern friends are asking for right now. "Just keep praying. Keep those rosaries coming," they request.

"Come back and celebrate with us in two years," friends are telling me. The South has survived plagues, floods, malaria outbreaks, hurricanes, and the Civil War. Southerners are proud and resilient people. And experienced survivors.

Recovered, rebuilt, revived and rejuvenated, The South, as they always promise, shall rise again.

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