Wednesday, November 14, 2007
I left something behind in New Orleans (an excerpt)
(As written on Monday for another blog...)
I'm back from New Orleans, but I think that I left something there. I only actually realized it when I got to my office this morning, and sat down at my desk for the first time in 9 days. There was something important missing-- my hammer.
Well, not my hammer per se, but a hammer. For 4 days, I walked around with that faithful companion hanging my side, rapping against my knee with each step.
The first day was spent gutting an old clinic. For two years the majority had been untouched. Two of the three buildings saw the light of day for the first time in 2 years. The third was partially gutted, and flooding from a broken water main inside. The environment was on the toxic side, so everyone working on the site was suited in white plastic overalls, gas masks, goggles, hardhats, and plastic shoe covers. Shoveling and dumping wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of refuse seemed fruitless for hours-- you make a dent in the garbage collecting in the hallway from the hard work everyone is doing, and it gets filled right back up. But at some point, there was a break in the tide, and suddenly, the building was empty. Quite possibly, I had never physically worked so hard in my life, but frankly, that was easy work; just manual labor. Nature in all her fungal and rotting glory, cockroaches and spiders, had taken that place back: it became a human artifact from a time past.
Nothing like the next four days.
The second through fifth days were spent in a devastated neighborhood still full of life. Every hour that I was on the job, radios were blaring hip-hop and classic rock, hammers were wailing, brushes slapping on paint, saws cutting, people dancing, singing, walking, and driving by greeting each other. This from early morning to after the sun had gone down.
What's so hard about that? Knowing that the Grandma whose house we were working on had to wait two years to come home to a neighborhood where her community might not be when she gets there, or ever be again. Estimates say that it may be another three or five years for the rebuild projects to finish. Knowing that thousands of imperial fuckloads of people will never get their lives back. Knowing that there was no good reason for this to have happened to begin with.
Despite leaving NOLA at bloody-early-o-clock in the morning Saturday, I didn't get home until Sunday night. My first shower at home was anti-climactic: there was no challenge. The water ran hot right away and stayed hot. I didn't have to turn the water off while soaping up to conserve for other people. I could leave the shampoo bottle in the shower. Life here is easy.
That's kind of what I felt when I got to the office. This programming gig I have isn't real work. It's a job that I love, yes, sure, and I'm lucky to have it. I know how to write software, how to debug, but if I quit, there would be someone else hired in a little while. Down there in St. Bernard parish, there isn't someone else. I don't say that to be egotistical, it's just that while there are more people coming in and working, there aren't enough. There's a vast dearth of willing and able bodies. And especially of skilled bodies.
It felt right to have that hammer knock against my knee, because it was symbolic of the right thing happening. So I'm going back. I don't know exactly when, or with who, but those are just details. In the meanwhile, I'm going to sit at my desk and put a few dollars in my pocket, and enjoy my community. When I can, I will get a airplane ticket, and swing that hammer again. I'm proud of what I did, and I know I can do more.
I'm back from New Orleans, but I think that I left something there. I only actually realized it when I got to my office this morning, and sat down at my desk for the first time in 9 days. There was something important missing-- my hammer.
Well, not my hammer per se, but a hammer. For 4 days, I walked around with that faithful companion hanging my side, rapping against my knee with each step.
The first day was spent gutting an old clinic. For two years the majority had been untouched. Two of the three buildings saw the light of day for the first time in 2 years. The third was partially gutted, and flooding from a broken water main inside. The environment was on the toxic side, so everyone working on the site was suited in white plastic overalls, gas masks, goggles, hardhats, and plastic shoe covers. Shoveling and dumping wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of refuse seemed fruitless for hours-- you make a dent in the garbage collecting in the hallway from the hard work everyone is doing, and it gets filled right back up. But at some point, there was a break in the tide, and suddenly, the building was empty. Quite possibly, I had never physically worked so hard in my life, but frankly, that was easy work; just manual labor. Nature in all her fungal and rotting glory, cockroaches and spiders, had taken that place back: it became a human artifact from a time past.
Nothing like the next four days.
The second through fifth days were spent in a devastated neighborhood still full of life. Every hour that I was on the job, radios were blaring hip-hop and classic rock, hammers were wailing, brushes slapping on paint, saws cutting, people dancing, singing, walking, and driving by greeting each other. This from early morning to after the sun had gone down.
What's so hard about that? Knowing that the Grandma whose house we were working on had to wait two years to come home to a neighborhood where her community might not be when she gets there, or ever be again. Estimates say that it may be another three or five years for the rebuild projects to finish. Knowing that thousands of imperial fuckloads of people will never get their lives back. Knowing that there was no good reason for this to have happened to begin with.
Despite leaving NOLA at bloody-early-o-clock in the morning Saturday, I didn't get home until Sunday night. My first shower at home was anti-climactic: there was no challenge. The water ran hot right away and stayed hot. I didn't have to turn the water off while soaping up to conserve for other people. I could leave the shampoo bottle in the shower. Life here is easy.
That's kind of what I felt when I got to the office. This programming gig I have isn't real work. It's a job that I love, yes, sure, and I'm lucky to have it. I know how to write software, how to debug, but if I quit, there would be someone else hired in a little while. Down there in St. Bernard parish, there isn't someone else. I don't say that to be egotistical, it's just that while there are more people coming in and working, there aren't enough. There's a vast dearth of willing and able bodies. And especially of skilled bodies.
It felt right to have that hammer knock against my knee, because it was symbolic of the right thing happening. So I'm going back. I don't know exactly when, or with who, but those are just details. In the meanwhile, I'm going to sit at my desk and put a few dollars in my pocket, and enjoy my community. When I can, I will get a airplane ticket, and swing that hammer again. I'm proud of what I did, and I know I can do more.
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thanks paul.
it's been hard to capture the experience in writing or conversation. you managed to capture and relay it wit h your words and emotions. lots of good memories, more work to be done. looking fwd to the next opportunity.
best,
mick
it's been hard to capture the experience in writing or conversation. you managed to capture and relay it wit h your words and emotions. lots of good memories, more work to be done. looking fwd to the next opportunity.
best,
mick
hi Paul,
yep. that's exactly how i felt the first time i was there. took my soul a few days to "return home". and, like you, i vowed to return. which i did, and, which i will do again.
yep. that's exactly how i felt the first time i was there. took my soul a few days to "return home". and, like you, i vowed to return. which i did, and, which i will do again.
That's kind of what I felt when I got to the office. This programming gig I have isn't real work. It's a job that I love, yes, sure, and I'm lucky to have it. I know how to write software, how to debug, but if I quit, there would be someone else hired in a little while. Down there in St. Bernard parish, there isn't someone else.
I know exactly what you mean... if i sounded harsh about my job when we first met, this is why. knowing that anyone could do it for a cause that wasn't as gratifying makes me somewhat... bitter?
anyways, glad you're going back. maybe i'll see you when i go back.
I know exactly what you mean... if i sounded harsh about my job when we first met, this is why. knowing that anyone could do it for a cause that wasn't as gratifying makes me somewhat... bitter?
anyways, glad you're going back. maybe i'll see you when i go back.
Hey Paul....
I too went down over a year ago. To this day when I talk about my experience i get choked up and cry... Ive beenbeen involved in fundraising efforts here in chicago to which we raised over 10,000 dollars to help out :)
Im going back in October for a week to help rebuild and then going to the Voodoo Music Festival which is in City Park - after talking to more people from new orleans i think that area is still being rebuilt as well....
anywho, if you or anyone else is interested in meeting around the week of October 20th, shoot me an email at pbwoodstock@gmail.com
Kelly
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I too went down over a year ago. To this day when I talk about my experience i get choked up and cry... Ive beenbeen involved in fundraising efforts here in chicago to which we raised over 10,000 dollars to help out :)
Im going back in October for a week to help rebuild and then going to the Voodoo Music Festival which is in City Park - after talking to more people from new orleans i think that area is still being rebuilt as well....
anywho, if you or anyone else is interested in meeting around the week of October 20th, shoot me an email at pbwoodstock@gmail.com
Kelly
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