As I walked thru a crowded grocery store aisle on August 30th, 2005, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.  On the front of the New York Times sat pictures of a destroyed US city, still being tortured as if they were a dead body be desecrated. There was nothing left to injure, yet the destruction pressed on.  That image haunted my mind all day. I could do nothing – eat, work, drive – everything was overlaid with the image of that city – New Orleans.

That night I made a few phone calls, got some friends together, and started driving. 38 hours later we pulled in Hattiesburg, Mississippi – our launching point for what would be a small civilian recovery and repair team in then Gulf Coast. And when I say small, I mean small. We had 5 guys, 3 chainsaws, 2 axes, some rubber boots, a couple tarps, and a little canned food, duct tape and a few bungee cords. Not much, but what we lacked in supplies we made up in drive.

The drive into New Orleans was long. Roads were washed out or flooded, and the weather was just barely clearing up. It was 90 degrees with 95 % humidity and we were all packed into my 4-wheel drive truck. We made our own roads to avoid military blockades. As we bounced down once-paved streets we were overwhelmed by destruction. What was left of house walls were spray painted with the body count – dead and alive – of who was inside. Bodies were wrapped in sheets and sat on the side of yards, and people wandered around aimlessly, looking for something, anything, that wasn’t destroyed. That was day one.

As the week went on we involved ourselves in recovery and repair. We cleared out homes, helped people find shelter, and removed trees that were blocking road access. We partnered with the Red Cross, who were so overwhelmed that they filled up the back of our truck with supplies and said, “go find a survivor camp and give out what you can.” We did just that.

Businessmen and homeless people alike camped out in survivor camps. There were homemakers, storeowners, musicians, preachers and tons of children. They sought shelter under tarps, collapsed roofs, and broken down vehicles. When we delivered food, survival instincts kicked in, and they nearly rioted, each person wanting enough for their own family. But there wasn’t enough, and they would have to wait for the next relief truck to pull by.

The storm was the Great Equalizer, as it put everyone, rich, poor, old, and young in the same category. We saw them all, and we heard their stories – the stories the news media can’t tell due to censorship agreements.  We documented the journey with photos, video and memory and swore we would be back again, to allow these people to tell their stories.

Looking back on the last three years, one has to ask themself, is NOLA ready for another hurricane? Frankly, no. Another storm would be like that giant wave that wipes out your sandcastle just as you build the first tower. But will they survive it? You bet. The people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast have a desire to live and rebuild like no one you’ve ever met, and they will survive. Destruction may happen again, and it may lower morale, but it won’t destroy their pride. Other people in the country may move from an area when they don’t like the weather, but the pride in Big Easy is more than just a love of the location. It’s the people, the culture, the history and the energy that keeps them rebuilding, and that pride can’t be washed away by a storm. Not Katrina, and certainly not Gustav.