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Chapter 64
April, 2006
K plus seven months
On April 5, 2006,
months after independent investigators had demonstrated that
levee failures were not due to natural forces beyond intended
design strength, Lt. Gen. Carl Strock testified before the US
Senate subcommittee on Energy and Water that, "We have now
concluded we had problems with the design of the structure."
He also testified that the US Army Corps of Engineers did not
know of this mechanism of failure prior to August 29, 2005.
Except for the New
Orleans Times-Picayune, this story got virtually no play
in the national media. They were still busy talking about Chocolate
City, if they were talking about New Orleans at all.
~*~*~
EDNO held a small
summit of the local business leaders at the Hilton Riverside,
reporting on progress to date - very little - and collecting
plans and ideas to help evolve the program of work. Many of the
players were in evidence, including William Darcy of DGS.
But his wife was
not in the room. Elizabeth's job was hob-nobing with the press
gathered outside. Lizzy spent most of her time with the local
media, as they understood the importance of the event. The out-of-towners
were just interested in the photo opportunity. The crowd of national
types had dropped dramatically from the fall before, but a few
were known to fly in periodically to grab some footage, interview
a few people and get out of town.
Lizzy was doing
deep background with a friend from WDSU-TV 6 when the conference
doors opened. The TV people were the most aggressive, shooting
the participants as they left as if they were in a perp walk.
Katrina had made
Bryan Thorpe, as he had hoped. His agent was talking to several
cable outfits. Meanwhile, his bosses had given him a raise and
had approved a monthly report from New Orleans. It was just good
timing that this shin-dig happened during this trip back. He
shoved his microphone into the face of a tall, young executive.
"Hello! Bryan
Thorpe of Action NOW News! Can you tell us, what are the plans
for relieving the crippling unemployment in the city?"
Will Darcy looked
at the reporter as if he was a cockroach that needed to be squished.
"The press conference will be handled by Mr. Eden of EDNO.
They're setting it up in the ballroom. Now, if you'll excuse
me." With that he stalked off with a little wave at Lizzy,
knowing he would see her at home later.
Thorpe's producer
edged up to his talent. "Oh, no loss with that tight-ass.
I remember him from…" Justin Middleton's voice trailed
off. "Lizzy? Is that you?"
Lizzy frowned.
"Justin Middleton
- Loyola VOICE - remember?"
Her eyes grew wide,
but she held her temper and greeted him with a patented smile.
"Justin, it's been so long. How long have you been in town?"
Justin grinned as
he shook hands. "Just a day or so, this trip. We were here
during the storm. Damn, you're looking great!" He glanced
at her logo pin. "You're with this business group?"
"VP of Communications
with EDNO. And you?"
"TV producer
with Action NOW News out of Delaware…"
"A-hem,"
interrupted Thorpe.
"Ah, yeah.
This is Bryan Thorpe, our investigative reporter. And Sam Watson,
cameraman."
Thorpe poured on
the charm. "Pleased to meet you, Lizzy. We've got some footage
to shoot around here, but maybe we can all grab a drink later?"
The smile he gave her had been more successful than not in his
career.
Somehow, Lizzy was
successful in not laughing full into his face. "Sorry, but
I have a previous engagement." Like, for the rest of
my life! "But, here's my card, if you need anymore background
information. You too, Justin."
Thorpe glanced at
it. "Elizabeth Darcy."
Justin made a strange
sound and switched his attention between his old college colleague
and her business card.
"Darcy?"
he finally managed. "Darcy? You mean…"
His mouth was flapping like a fish.
"That's right
- Mrs. William Darcy," she smiled, enunciating each
word as if they were the most precious on earth.
"But…but…how
did that happen?" Justin cried. After the story in the long
shuttered VOICE, this was the last thing he had ever thought
would ever occur.
Lizzy's eyes glowed
with secret knowledge. "Let's just say I saw the light,
Justin. Maybe one day you will, too. Now, if you would just follow
me to the press conference?"
~*~*~
It is a facet of
human nature that not everyone can maintain a sense of sympathy
for an indefinite period of time. Eventually, the hearts of some
turned away from the Crescent City. Whether from jealousy, ignorance,
selfishness, emotional exhaustion, or Schadenfreude(1),
people starting saying out loud what had been whispered before
- New Orleans had it coming.
The eyes of the
nation fell upon the mayoral election in New Orleans, and it
seemed to justify this thinking. To say it was a circus was to
insult show business. Twenty-one men and women eventually registered
to run to oppose the reelection of C. Ray Nagin, Jr., including
former close supporters, some who broke with him over Chocolate
City.
The diaspora had
thrown the political make-up of the Crescent City into turmoil.
Only about half of the pre-storm residents had returned. The
state, therefore, set up a massive absentee voting operation
to mail and process the ballots expected to be demanded from
people scattered all over the nation.
The mayor had won
election in 2002 by appealing to working class people and the
white business community. Some of the more progressive blacks
doubted the mayor's "black credentials," and Nagin
received only twenty percent of the black vote. Since he had
almost all the white vote, he had won, but the taunts of Oreo
- black on the outside, white on the inside - were still fresh
in his head from four years before.
Now that he had
alienated his bi-racial base, the mayor played the race card.
He brought in ACORN and Jessie Jackson's PUSH-Rainbow Coalition
to demand satellite voting precincts be set up outside Louisiana.
It didn't manner that it was strictly against Louisiana law.
The people must be heard!
Unfortunately for
them, this wasn't New Jersey. The courts stuck to the state election
statues. The Secretary of State did set up special voting precincts
in border cities like Lake Charles and Shreveport, and the civil
rights groups organized bus trips for refugees to the polls.
Late on April 22,
it was apparent that Nagin had survived the first round, receiving
thirty-eight percent of the vote in the open primary, while Lt.
Governor Mitch Landrieu, brother of the US Senator and fellow
Democrat, got twenty-nine percent. The pundits fell all over
themselves predicting Nagin's doom. Landrieu, while white, was
firmly in the progressive wing of the party and, therefore, would
get far and away more than his share of the black vote. The Landrieu
name was well-respected. All the polls seemed to back up the
belief that the election was over.
Except it wasn't.
After the run-off polls closed on May 20, the city was stunned
to learn that it wasn't even close. Nagin got eighty percent
of the black vote, and enough of the business community, uneasy
with the liberal Landrieu, decided to stick with the devil they
knew, and the mayor was reelected by 4,000 votes.
As surprised as
the residents were, the rest of the country was apoplectic. How
stupid were those inbreeds? They reelected the Chocolate City
Man? What's wrong with them?
All the New Orleans
haters finally found their voice. It didn't matter that the flooding
was the fault of the Corps of Engineers. It didn't matter that
much of the billions that Congress had earmarked for hurricane
relief was tied up in red tape - manufactured by the same Congress
- or wasted by FEMA. It didn't matter that people were being
cheated by their insurance companies.
All that mattered
was - New Orleans had it coming!
~*~*~
June, 2006
K plus nine months
The large crowd,
jammed into the rather funky, intimate Chicago nightclub, was
very quiet as the haunting voice of Billie Joe Armstrong filled
the darkness, lit only by the images flashing across a projection
screen.
"Summer
has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends."
The event was a
fundraiser for Tipitina's Foundation, which was working to relocate
evacuated musicians back to New Orleans, and the music was part
of a presentation by New Orleans Times-Picayune writer
Chris Rose. Photos taken by the newspaper during and after Katina
rolled on and on, forever changing the music of Green Day's big
hit.
"Here comes
the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are.
"As my memory
rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends."(2)
Marianne Breaux
fought to keep her composure. It was like looking into a scrapbook
of all the pain in her heart. She had seen it all before, all
the photographs, all the sights. Not just Downtown and the Ninth
Ward, but all over the city. St. Bernard. Plaquemines. The North
Shore. Gulfport and Biloxi. Evacuation centers in Texas and other
places. But in this setting, in a darkened club surrounded by
strangers nine months and a thousand miles away from the disaster,
the effect was more poignant than she could have believed. Again,
a traitorous tear slipped down her cheek.
She felt a touch
on her arm, and a soft voice whispered, "Honey, are you
okay?"
Christopher, bless
him, always knew what she needed and when she needed it. She
could not lose control of her emotions. Not tonight. At least,
not yet.
"I'm fine,
babe."
He squeezed her
hand in reassurance. To distract herself, Mari allowed her eyes
to move to the audience to gage their reactions. It was with
satisfaction she observed the incredulous looks of horror and
disbelief on the assembled faces. They thought that had seen
the devastation, and the realization that they truly had no idea
as to the extent of the calamity was written all over their faces.
Rose and his team had done a marvelous job.
A light came up
on Rose, sitting on the small stage next to a guitarist. Like
a poetry reading from a bygone era he read passages from his
book, 1 Dead in Attic, interspaced with accompaniment.
Mari had received the book as a gift from Lizzy Darcy some months
before, but she was spellbound by hearing Rose recount his observations,
both hilarious and heartbreaking, in his own voice.
The scenes moved
from disaster and despair to reunion and rebuilding. The music
changed as well to that unofficial anthem of the Crescent City,
"When the Saints Go Marching In." Mari could not stop
herself from lightly clapping, keeping time, while a grin spread
over her face.
The lights came
up and the manager stepped forward, encouraging everyone who
wanted a copy of 1 Dead in Attic signed by Chris Rose
to buy them at a table set up against one wall. It was a fundraiser,
and the entertainment would continue in a few minutes, but in
the meantime, they were collecting donations.
That was Mari's
cue. A few minutes later, she was on stage to light applause.
She began by thanking Rose and his guitarist for their inspiring
performance. She then got into the theme of her contribution
to the evening.
"As you might
be aware, I, too, am a Katrina victim. My husband and I have
relocated to the Chicagoland area, and I have just resumed my
jazz singing locally." There were a few loud cheers and
whistles from her fans in attendance. "Thank you! Glad y'all
could make it!
"But, tonight,
we want to do something different, and the band has agreed to
give it a go. My hubby, you see, is from Lafayette, and we thought
we needed something a little more up-tempo to encourage you to
give generously to the Tipitina's Foundation. So…here we
go!"
Mari's reconstructed
combo included only her old keyboardist; everyone else was new.
They were supplemented by two guest performers that night. One,
a decent fiddler, stuck up the familiar melody with the drummer.
"Saturday night
and the moon is out
I wanna head on over to the Twist and Shout
Find a two-step partner and a Cajun beat
When it lifts me up I'm gonna find my feet.
Out in the middle of a big dance floor
When I hear that fiddle wanna beg for more
Gonna dance to a band from a-Lou'sian' tonight.
"Well I never
have wandered down to New Orleans
Never have drifted down a bayou stream
But I heard that music on the radio
And I swore some day I was gonna go.
Down Highway 10 past Lafayette
To Baton Rouge and I won't forget
To send you a card with my regrets
'Cause I'm never gonna come back home."
Mari had her hair
loose and flowing, her flirty red-and-white halter dress danced
above her knees as she rocked with the beat. Her eyes were closed,
and her face beamed with joy. She held the microphone in one
hand, raising the other above her head as she spun around and
around on her four-inch heels. It was infectious, and the dance
floor was filled.
"Bring your
mama, bring your papa, bring your sister too
They got lots of music and lots of room
When they play you a waltz from 1910
You gonna feel a little bit young again.
Well you learned to dance with your rock'n'roll
You learned to swing with a do-si-do
But you learn to love at the fais-do-do
When you hear a little 'Jolie Blon.'"(3)
After the song was
done and the applause died down, Mari introduced her musicians,
saving the guest accordionist for last. "The idea for tonight's
music selection is rooted way back while packing to move here.
I discovered a very interesting object among my husband's possessions.
I asked him, 'Honey, what's this?' He looked at me like he had
never seen it before. 'Don't you know what that is?' he shot
back.
"Rolling my
eyes, I told him, 'Yes, honey, I know what it is. Can you play
this thing?' He then said something really stupid. He said, 'Of
course, I can!'
"Boy, was that
the wrong thing to say! I drafted him right then and there! Ladies
and gentlemen, on Cajun accordion, my sweetie - Dr. Christopher
Breaux!"
Chris made a big
deal out of his bow to the audience. Mari blew him a kiss and
spoke into the mike.
"Our next song
is very special to me for two reasons. First, it's almost the
story of my relationship with my dear husband. And second, since
it's a duet, I get to sing it with him! Usually, it's performed
'Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man,' but we've flipped it around,
'cause that's what we are."
Looking each other
in the eye, they sang together.
"Mississippi
woman, Louisiana man,
We get together every time we can.
The Mississippi River can't keep us apart
There's too much love in this Louisiana heart
Too much love in this Mississippi heart."
Mari lowered her
microphone and Chris sang.
"See the alligators
all a waitin' nearby
Soon or later they know I'm gonna try.
When she waves from the bank don't you know I know
It's goodbye fishin' line, see you while I go.
With a Mississippi woman waitin' on the other side
The Mississippi River don't look so wide."
After a round of
the chorus, it was Mari's turn.
"Well I thought
I'd been loved but I never had
Till I was wrapped in the arms of a Louisiana man.
When he holds me close it feels almost
Like another hurricane just ripped the coast.
If he can't come to me I'm gonna go to him
That Mississippi River, Lord, I'm gonna swim."
They moved together
staring one-another in the eye, forgetting everyone in the place,
as they took turns, Chris first.
"Well Mississippi
River, Lord, it's one mile wide
And I gotta get me to the other side."
"Louisiana
man I'm losin' my mind
Gotta have your loving one more time."
"I'm gonna
jump in the river and here I go
Too bad alligator you swim too slow."
Breaking apart,
but holding hands, they finished together.
"Mississippi
woman, Louisiana man,
We get together every time we can.
The Mississippi River can't keep us apart
There's too much love in this Louisiana heart
Too much love in this Mississippi heart."(4)
It might have been
corny, but Mari couldn't resist laying a big fat kiss on Chris.
The crowd loved it.
~*~*~
August 29, 2006
K plus one year
All over the country,
in ways large and small, the nation paused to remember the calamity
that occurred twelve months before. With all the speeches and
sermons and bell-ringing, the most poignant were the small acts
of remembrance of those who had been lost by those who had been
left behind.
So it was that Emma
Katz found herself again in Lake Charles, Louisiana. There were
a couple of things that were different. A year ago, the sun was
hot and unrelenting. Today, it was overcast with a threat of
showers. This time, her husband, George, stood at her side as
the cantor sang from the Psalms.
"My soul,
bless the LORD and do not forget any of His benefits.
Who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your illnesses.
Who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with kindness
and mercy.
Who sates your mouth with goodness, that your youth renews itself
like the eagle."
The Katzes and the
Parkers had gathered at the cemetery in this, the last act of
their year-long mourning period. For eleven months, they had
avoided parties or concerts or other forms of entertainment.
There was no son to recite Kaddish everyday in the synagogue,
so Emma and Irene prayed quietly each morning.
"The LORD
is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and with much kindness.
He will not quarrel to eternity, and He will not bear a grudge
forever.
He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor has He repaid
us according to our iniquities.
For, as the height of the heavens over the earth, so great is
His kindness toward those who fear Him."
The grass had grown
in dark and green over Abe Weinberg's grave. At the head was
a new addition - a large object shrouded by a white tarp.
"As a father
has mercy on sons, the LORD had mercy on those who fear Him.
For He knows our creation; He remembers that we are dust.
As for man-his days are like grass; like a flower of the field,
so does he sprout.
For a wind passes over him and he is no longer here; and his
place no longer recognizes him."
It has been a horribly
hard year, yet a strangely empowering one. George and Emma had
gone through some of the worse that life could throw at them.
Some things had gotten better - George's job and Emma's charity
work. The condo in the heart of Baltimore was comfortable and
centrally located. There were new friends and interests. Others
things had not improved - the insurance company had proven intractable,
and the outlook for a successful lawsuit was dim at best.
But in spite of
death and dislocation and discord, George and Emma had found
their rock in each other. Neither was perfect, yet together they
were perfect. Their love and respect and mutual admiration had
not dimmed, but had grown brighter and stronger. Their relationship
with Irene and Tyler was closer than ever.
There was absolutely
no doubt in either Emma's or George's minds that theirs was a
marriage for the duration. Especially now…
"But the
LORD'S kindness is from everlasting to everlasting, and His charity
to sons of sons.
To those who keep His covenant and to those who remember His
commandments to perform them.
The LORD established His throne in the heavens, and His kingdom
rules over all."(5)
George and Tyler
reached down and removed the tarp covering the stone. It was
made of dark gray marble, the words carved upon it a mixture
of Hebrew and English.
Abraham ben Isaac
7 Sivan 5699 - 24 Av 5765
Abraham I. Weinberg
25 May 1939 - 29 August 2005
Another prayer was
recited, and the ceremony was over. As the family walked back
to the car for their return to the hotel, George asked Emma,
"I wonder how often we'll ever return."
Emma started to
speak but thought better of it. She took a few more steps before
replying.
"Let's be honest,
George. We won't be back here many more times. But we will, sometime,
bring the children here, after they come and are old enough.
Papa deserves that."
Dr. George Katz
wrapped his arm around his wife as the fist drops of rain began
to fall. "Yes, he does." He kissed her temple as he
continued. "But our family is here - you and me -
and wherever we are, so will be our home. You are my home and
my life."
What could Emma
Weinberg Katz say to that? Nothing, except kiss the man that
was her world.
~*~*~
(1) - Schadenfreude
- (German) A malicious satisfaction obtained from the misfortunes
of others.
(2) - "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Billie
Joe Armstrong
(3) - "Down at the Twist and Shout" by Mary
Chapin Carpenter
(4) - "Mississippi Woman, Louisiana Man" by
Becki Bluefield and Jim Owen
(5) - From the 103rd Psalm - The Tanakh English Translation,
The Judaica Press
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