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Chapter 62
October, 2005
K plus two months
The rule of three
is a principle in writing that suggests that things that come
in threes are inherently funnier, more satisfying, or more effective
than other numbers of things. But there was nothing funny or
satisfying about the 2005 hurricane season. Never before had
there been three major hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico in a
single year.
Wilma grew at an
astonishing rate as it moved northwesterly towards Mexico's Yucatan
Peninsula. It almost exploded with power, moving from tropical
storm to Category 5 horror, as the central pressure dropped in
thirty hours to 882 mb, the lowest of any Atlantic storm in recorded
history. By the 19th, sustained winds were clocked at 185 mph.
Fortunately for
the people of Cozumel and Cancun, the inner eye dissipated and
underwent an eyewall replacement cycle just before it made landfall
on the 21st. Still, the now Cat 4 monster caused great damage
with its 150 mile per hours winds. It slowed down considerably
and wracked the coast for almost two days. Amazingly, there was
only one confirmed death.
The people of the
southern United States, still reeling from the one-two punch
of Katrina and Rita, worried about their neighbors, for the Yucatan
was a favorite vacation spot. But, truth be told, they were even
more concerned about what the new monster would do once it entered
the Gulf late on the 22nd.
Thanks to an upper
level trough high in the atmosphere and shearing winds closer
to the surface, the Cat 3 storm would only grow to125 mph strength
as it dashed across the Gulf at over twenty-five knots. It slammed
into Cape Romano, Florida, twenty miles south of Naples, with
an eight-foot surge a day and a half later at 0630 EDT on October
24. Wilma crossed the state in less than five hours, dumping
as much as nine inches of rain and killing thirty-six people,
and entered the Atlantic Ocean near Jupiter, still capable of
generating winds in excess of 110 mph. It raced off to the northeast,
transitioning into an extratropical cyclone, and the remnants
of Wilma were absorbed by another extratropical storm over the
Atlantic near Canada on the 27th.
The government moved
as quickly as it could to help those affected by the latest calamity
to strike the United States. Resources already stretched to meet
the needs of Katrina and Rita were brought almost to the breaking
point.
~*~*~
Now that Will was
permanently back in New Orleans, Lizzy was assured of seeing
him every night - which was about the only time she could see
him. EDNO had continued to work hard to help New Orleans get
back on its feet, but the cash reserves of the non-profit were
eating away fast. EDNO had to cut expenses, and most of the staff,
including management, took a healthy pay cut.
Still, it wasn't
enough. Lizzy and Carl Eden talked it over, and a decision was
made. Lizzy would take unpaid leave from EDNO and sign up as
a contractor for FEMA.
It really wasn't
all work on the dark side. Contracting firms like Fluor, CDM,
and others were paying outrageous sums - $50 an hour or more,
depending on experience, all out of federal contracts they had
from FEMA. And contractors were expected to work sixty hours
a week during their contracted period, lasting from sixty to
ninety days.
The rules were strange.
Lizzy received $50 an hour for the first fifty hours, but overtime
was 80% of pay, or $40 an hour. So, an average week was $2,900.00
before taxes. And she was instructed to work exactly sixty hours,
no less and no more, unless authorized. They did not want to
pay for use of a personal car, but insisted that one be rented
- it was easier to keep track of expenses that way. FEMA offered
no benefits, but Lizzy was now covered under Will's health insurance
with DGS.
So, Lizzy soon found
herself parking her rented Hyundai Sonata in the parking lot
of the FEMA Joint Field Office in Baton Rouge. Located in the
old massive Goudchaux's Department Store, taking up most of a
city block, the JFO housed over 1,900 government employees and
contactors who labored to make sense out of the confusion.
Of course, things
would be so much easier if there wasn't so much confusion inside
the JFO, Lizzy thought
as she showed her photo ID to the Blackwater security guard.
With a government-issued laptop in one hand and a government-issued
cell phone clipped to her waist, she made her way into the building
and to her cubicle. It wasn't long before Charlotte stuck her
head in.
"Lizzy, guess
what I just heard. You know all those mobile homes FEMA has stored
in Arkansas? Well, the agency won't place them in the parks New
Orleans has offered them."
"Why not?"
"You're gonna
love this. The Stafford Act forbids any permanent government
property to be placed in a flood zone. Those mobile homes are
considered unmovable permanent government property, according
to federal regulations. So, federal law says no government paid-for
mobile homes in New Orleans, or almost anywhere in southeast
or southwest Louisiana!"
"Oh, my god.
I can't believe it…Wait! What about all those travel trailers?"
"Those are
'movable,' according to the regs. Apparently, if they're twenty-three
feet long, they're 'movable,' but if they're forty feet long,
they're 'immovable,' even though they're both on wheels!"
Lizzy put her head
into her hands. "Great. The government spends millions to
buy housing for people who need it, and then says you can't use
it. What a country!"
"Every time
we try to do something, that damn Stafford Act gets thrown in
our face! Why doesn't anybody do something about it? You know,
suspend it or something!"
"That's a good
question. I have no idea." Lizzy sat back, wishing Carrie
was there and not on maternity leave. She might have a clue as
to why the government wouldn't act.
~*~*~
There were a few
in Congress who saw the insanity of the Stafford Act and tried
to have the government suspend all or part of it, but they got
nowhere with their colleagues. However, the unions got much better
service. Congress forced President Bush to rescind his suspension
of the Davis-Bacon Act, assuring that the rebuilding of public
property would be done at "prevailing wages," which
was government gobbledygook for union wages. The rebuilding would
cost far more, but at least the politicians' war chests would
receive donations from the building trades, and with an election
year coming up, it was most important to keep one's priorities
straight.
~*~*~
Every year, the
hurricane forecasters have a roster of twenty-one names ready
for the season. They almost never use the last few, so there
are no names past W. But 2005 was not like any other year. Vince
and Wilma were the first named "V" and "W"
storms ever in the Atlantic basin. When a twenty-second tropical
storm developed on October 22, it was named Alpha. Four days
later Hurricane Beta formed near Nicaragua.
~*~*~
November, 2005
K plus three months
Chuck replaced the
phone gently onto its cradle, careful not to dash it into a hundred
pieces. Damn that mortgage company!
The Bingleys were
fortunate not only to have their insurance company send out an
adjuster to survey the damage to their property, but they had
actually processed the claim and delivered a check into their
hands. The Bingleys' knew they were lucky, for many of their
friends and neighbors were fighting with their insurers, and
the stories they had heard on TV about insurance companies denying
claims wholesale in Mississippi and New Orleans were beyond shocking.
The Bingleys' problem
was with their mortgage company, Acme National. The $25,000 insurance
settlement check was made out to both the homeowner and the mortgage
holder, and all parties needed to sign it. Chuck and Jane had
signed the check, as instructed, and overnighted it to Acme National.
They were told that Acme would endorse and return it, but they
had not.
Instead, the money
had been placed in an escrow account, and there was paperwork
that had to be completed before the money would be released.
In effect, Acme had turned the Bingleys' money into a reimbursement
account - once Chuck could prove he made repairs on the house
and submitted the invoices and forms, a draw on the account would
be done.
Chuck was furious.
He had been misled, if not out-right lied to. The company maintained
hat the $25,000 belonged to the Bingleys, not Acme National,
and that this system was for their benefit. The problem was,
how was Chuck supposed to get a contractor to fix his daughter's
window if he had nothing to pay him?
Acme National claimed
that he should have received a packet of information, as well
as an initial reimbursement check for $5,000 already. After repeated
telephone calls, Acme admitted that nothing had been mailed,
due to an overwhelmed mail room at Acme headquarters. Chuck suggested
they direct deposit the funds into his bank account, but Acme
could not until the proper forms were filed. They promised to
fax those forms to Chuck, but that was three days ago, and Chuck
had just gotten off the phone with yet another supervisor, who
apologized for the inconvenience and promised to make things
right.
They had made it
clear that Acme needed receipts for all work. But, T.B. and his
people from B&B had removed the tree and cleared the timber
in Chuck's yard for only fuel costs. To get the fair portion
of the settlement for the house and tree damage, Chuck needed
a receipt from T.B. He knew his father-in-law would draw one
up at his request, but it was just one more pain-in-the-ass thing
that needed to be done.
Chuck sat with his
head resting in one hand. At least Acme National had suspended
payments on the mortgage until February. It was a help, but not
enough. Money was tight, the job search had little to show for
it, the mortgage company was being difficult, and Jane was on
maternity leave, and she was due at any time.
"CHUCK!"
Chuck jumped to
his feet, as he had heard that cry from Jane twice before. Any
time was NOW.
~*~*~
"Hi, Janie,
it's Carrie."
"Oh, hi, Carrie.
How're you feeling?"
"Fine, just
settling in. They released us from the hospital yesterday."
"Chuck told
me. So…how's the baby?"
"Beautiful.
John's right here, holding our little Mackenzie. She already
has her daddy wrapped around her finger."
"Aww…I'll
bet."
"So, how're
you doing?"
"Tired."
"And the
baby? Does she have a name yet?"
"She does.
Miss Joanne Caroline Bingley."
"Caroline?
Oh, Jane, you didn't have to do that!"
"Yes, I did.
Remember Mackenzie Jane?"
There was a laugh
on the other end. "Tell me what she looks like."
"Well, she's
7 pounds, 8 ounces, and 19 ½ inches long. She has a full
head of hair, and she's very pretty."
"How long
were you in labor?"
"Seven hours,
about the same as you."
"Was Chuck
there?"
"The whole
time, just like the first two."
"I'm so
happy John was here for Mackenzie. It meant so much to both of
us. When are they sending you home?"
"Tomorrow."
"Not wasting
any time, are they?"
"No, they're
not." Jane looked up as the door to the room opened. "Carrie,
they're bringing in Joanne now for a feeding."
"I'll let
you go. Call me as soon as you get home, okay?"
"I will. Bye."
~*~*~
Chuck Bingley punched
the button on the coffee vending machine, thinking about his
new daughter, hoping Brett wouldn't be too disappointed that
the new baby wasn't a boy.
"Chuck? That
you?"
Chuck recognized
an acquaintance from the banking industry. "Tom? How're
you doing?" The two men shook hands.
"Nice beard,"
Tom Lefoy teased. "I hardly recognized you."
"Thanks a lot,
buddy. What are you doing here?"
"My dad's in
for some tests. I just finished visiting. And you? Jane have
that baby?"
"Yeah, a little
girl."
"Congratulations."
The two talked for a minute about their maternity experiences
until Lefoy changed the subject.
"Look, Chuck,
it's good I ran into you. You know my dad retired from Bayou
State, and I got kicked upstairs."
"Yeah, I heard
about that." Bayou State Bank was a fast-growing local bank
on the North Shore.
"Well, I can't
run the bank and the lending department, as fast as we're
growing. Especially since we're trying to do more corporate lending."
"Yeah?"
Chuck tried not to get his hopes up.
"Tom Bennett
told me you were available. Is that true?"
"Yeah, I am."
Thank you, Tom Bennett!
"Great!"
He handed Chuck one of his business cards. "I know you've
got stuff to do. Give me a call in a couple of days, and we'll
get together to talk about it."
Chuck could hardly
talk. "Thanks, Tom. I…I…Thanks, buddy."
"Don't mention
it. I gotta run. See you."
"Right. I'll
call you." He pocketed the card.
"Good. Maybe
we can do Friday?" Lefoy said as he backed out of the waiting
room.
"Sure."
Chuck waved as Lefoy turned the corner, and then he collapsed
into a chair. He pulled the card out again and stared at it.
We came in the
hospital to have a baby, and we might be leaving it with a job
offer.
The receptionist
at the front desk could hear his "YESS!!"
~*~*~
The Port of New
Orleans and St. Bernard Parish finally agreed to a plan to close
the MRGO to deep-draft ships, expediting the design and construction
of a vessel floodgate and storm surge protection, and completing
the Congressionally-authorized Inner Harbor Navigational Canal
Lock. It had been a long, hard battle, but after Katrina, there
really wasn't any argument that could have kept MRGO open.
Now, the plan needed
to be approved and funded by the US Army Corps of Engineers.
When that would happen, nobody knew.
~*~*~
"Do you want
to pack this, dear?" asked Mrs. Dashwood.
Mari looked over
from the cabinet. Her mother was holding up some strange kitchen
implement. "I don't know, Mom. What is it?"
"Don't you
know? It was in your drawer."
"I think that
came with the house. The previous owners didn't really clean
out everything. Just throw it out."
The unusual-looking
device was tossed into the trash can with a clunk, and Mrs. Dashwood
went back to work. Margaret and she had come down to New Orleans
during the Thanksgiving holiday to help Mari pack for her move
to Chicago. Chris was up there now, working in the psychiatric
department of Northwestern Memorial Hospital, a job secured through
the efforts of Dr. Segura. He was planning to return to New Orleans
the day after tomorrow to help complete the packing. The moving
truck was due on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.
Mari was busy trying
to put her life in the Crescent City into as few boxes as possible.
The apartment they were paying an arm and a leg for in Chicago
was a lot smaller than the shotgun house Mari was leaving behind.
At least it had
sold to an institutional broker looking for a place close to
Downtown. The real estate market in the city was generally non-existent,
except for very particular properties. That Mari's little six-room
house had survived the flood and the looting without a scratch
made the place worth its weight in gold. Mari was embarrassed
that she was making a small profit on the deal, with the hospital
covering all of their moving expenses.
Mari focused on
the job at hand, trying not to think too much. It was exciting,
in a way, to move to a new place, especially somewhere as different
as Chicago. America's Second City was a thriving center of music
and arts, and a public transportation network that placed the
whole city within their reach. She was pleased that one of her
band mates agreed to move to the Windy City, too, as he had friends
there. Together with Chris, they would rebuild the combo.
But she was leaving
behind an entire way of life. Mari dearly loved her little house,
so close to the French Quarter. It was the place she and Chris
had decided to live before the storm, and the living room still
had stacked all the boxes from Chris' apartment they had spent
the month before their wedding packing. Now, it was all set to
be shipped up north.
Chris had promised
that they would move back to New Orleans as soon as they practically
could, and Mari knew he had every intention of keeping his word.
The painful part was when they did come home, it wouldn't be
to this one.
"Hey Mari,"
called out Margaret from the bedroom, "are you taking these
shoes?"
Mari set down the
drinking glass she was wrapping in newspaper. "What do you
mean, am I taking my shoes? Of course I'm taking my shoes."
"Oh! Well,
I thought with all the snow up there, you wouldn't need these
open-toe heels."
"Open-toe heels?
Are you taking about my four-inch red stilettos? Of course I'm
taking those!" She gave her mother a look as she began to
make her way around the boxes to the bedroom. "You just
get your cotton-picking hands off my Stuart Weitzmans!"
~*~*~
Usually when two
families merge due to a wedding, one side of the family is at
war with the other as to where the holidays would take place.
There wasn't a mother in South Louisiana that didn't want all
the holidays of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter at their
house, for what could be better? Such was the constant stress
that the Charles Bingley family often found themselves.
When Elizabeth Boudreaux
became Mrs. Darcy, no one realized that this would be Chuck and
Jane's salvation. Will and Lizzy simply made it clear that as
Pemberley Plantation was the largest and most centrally located
of the houses in the Darcy/Boudreaux/Bingley/Buford families,
there would be an open invitation to hold all family dinners
at the Darcy estate. After all, they weren't going anywhere.
A huge dining room, an enormous back yard, a state-of-the-art
kitchen, and the talents of Mrs. Reynolds to assist in the cooking
effectively eliminated all but the most intrinsic arguments.
Catherine Bingley didn't like the idea of being out of control,
but at least she wouldn't have to journey down to the wilds of
Chackbay and that woman's house.
The downside was
that this first Thanksgiving turned into what some thought as
the biggest pot-luck meal in St. Charles Parish history. It didn't
matter that Will and T.B. were frying a twenty-eight pound turkey,
as far as the Bufords were concerned, it wasn't the holidays
without a bird from John Buford's commercial-grade smoker. Bubba
and Mary brought a ham, and between the families, there were
four types of stuffing. There was sweet potatoes with pecans,
spinach Madeline, corn on the cob, and green bean casserole.
Crescent rolls and garlic French bread. Gumbo and rice and salad.
Gravy and cranberry and pepper jelly. Cases of wine. There was
enough food to feed the 82nd Airborne.
The people staggered
out of their chairs to find a place to collapse, not yet ready
to take on the three pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, and a red
velvet cake. Gina and Kit reestablished the friendship from the
wedding and disappeared into her bedroom to burn up the Internet
chat lines. The men sat in brotherly over-eating discomfort in
front of Will's big screen TV to catch the Denver Broncos beat
the Dallas Cowboys in overtime.
~*~*~
Tropical activity
slowed down very slowly during the record setting year that was
2005. Gamma was born on November 15 and Delta on the 23rd. Epsilon
became a hurricane on December 2nd, two days after the official
close of the season.
Everyone thought
the season was over, but mother nature had one more surprise.
Tropical Storm Zeta became the final storm of the season when
it formed on December 30, six hours short of tying the record
of Hurricane Alice of 1954 as the latest-forming named storm
in a season. Zeta dissipated on January 6, 2006, having become
the longest-lived January tropical cyclone in Atlantic basin
history.
The meteorologists
and climatologists immediately began arguing about what it all
meant. The meteorological community claimed that tropical activity
occurred in cycles and predicted that there would be more named
storms in the years to come than had been the norm over the last
few decades. The climatologists were even more alarmist. They
pointed to the record-making activity as proof that global warming
was changing the climate forever, that mankind's foolishness
was to blame for New Orleans' destruction, and that it was only
a matter of time before Miami, Houston, and New York suffered
the same fate. Meteorologists weren't prepared to go that far,
which caused the other side to accuse their brethren of being
"global warming deniers," and therefore, unworthy of
being regarded as scientists.
New Orleanians could
not have cared less about the scientific cat-fight. It was the
Christmas season and their famous black humor reasserted itself.
Many wrapped the ruined refrigerators, lining the streets awaiting
pick-up by FEMA contractors, with over-sized red ribbons and
bows. FEMA trailers were festooned with lights and decorations.
Christmas cards often featured the family, standing in front
of their flood damaged homes waving at the camera in full HAZMAT
suits. Lakeside Mall caused a stir when an artist put blue roofs,
FEMA trailers, and refrigerators in a miniature Christmas town
display. The outcry from the public wasn't over the artist's
supposed insensitivity; it was a demand that the mall owners
return the display for public viewing.
Besides, they were
too busy trying to rebuild their city and too worried about the
slow pace of the repairs to the levees. After all, it was the
US Army Corps of Engineers that was in charge of the reconstruction.
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