Delayed Posting from Sunday, Sept. 18

Each day gets harder and harder. Each morning brings fresh challenges on very little sleep and each night I am more filled with emotion than the night before. It is time to go home and I know it. It’s the nature of Hurricane relief that burns people out quickly; an enormous effort has to be expended in a very short period of time, if any relief is to be achieved. I can only imagine how the people of Pearlington feel....

The truth of the matter is that the poor of Pearlington are the ones we are serving. These are the folks who had less options and resources for both evacuation prior to Katrina and recovery after. They seem to take their lot somewhat stoically, but it is inescapable that the majority of them are black Americans. Sometimes, a man will answer a question I’ve posed and I get that “yes, suh” response and a subservient smile and bowed head. But the eyes say something else and I try to communicate with my own that we are equal in my heart. Others are defiant and openly challenging....two ends of the black/white continuum. It is rooted in decades of history in the deep South and as a Canadian, while I understand it historically, is culturally foreign to me and somewhat disquieting. But there are also many who are self-possessed and confident and ride the middle rail, treating me with - and fully expecting - equality.

I had a run in with a black woman this morning. She is well-known in the community as a crack addict and the first time she came in the Aid Mart for a generator, she worked herself into a lather, but I was able to calm her down and communicate with her. Today, she was flying high and got into an argument with a young man, in front of whom she had butted in line. When I addressed her, she flew off the handle. Finally I had to tell her to leave or I would call in a Deputy or National Guardsman. As she stormed out, she fired over her shoulder: “It’s because you all just see us as NIGGERS!” It was interesting for me, because there is not a SINGLE place within me such a remark resonates. Her neighbours began to apologize for her behaviour and I got a chance to tell them that, as a Canadian - and as “Canada” Jon - I don’t care if you are black, white or flourescent orange, you’ll be treated the same at Aid Mart. I think all assembled were aware that it wasn’t the first time she had played THAT particular card.

Today I got in, blessedly, 38 brand new generators. As far as I knew, we had met all the critical needs, but I tucked two aside just in case. Then I took the first 36 names on a generator list approaching 180 and published them on the door of the Aid Mart, inviting those on the list to come and get it. We recorded the serial numbers as they picked them up, unpacked, oiled, gassed and started them, instructing the residents on their use. Gas is at a premium, but some resourceful soul managed to convince a small tanker truck to come and fill our cans for this purpose. I had to be flexible and allow myself to be convinced twice that the list must be in error and that a particular name should be closer to the top. It worked out, as a few people on the list had been able to get one with their own resources. There was some confusion for a while, but I had set up an iron-clad system to ensure an orderly transfer of the materiel and it worked well.

I met a man from Atlanta today, through my nurse friend Jen, who seems perfect to take over for me when I go. He “job-shadowed” me today and things look good for my departure. I am determined, however, to stay put for now because Stacy, from a Presbyterian church in Vicksburg, has promised the delivery of 100 generators in the morning. I’m not going anywhere until I see the “whites of their eyes.”

Tonight I am counting on the Perfect Sleep. I have double-checked my air mattress in Portland Tom’s RV and all seems well. My bed is made up and I spent the latter part of the evening re-grouping in the soccer field with my new friends and fellow Renegades. As I lie there, awaiting unconsciousness, I find myself in tears about leaving and about all that is still left to do. I understand fully how the young doctor felt when he left. It’s an odd sensation, regretting having to remove oneself from harm’s way. I chuckle to myself as I remember that great line from The Beverly Hillbillies:

Aunt Pearl: “Jed....you live in a one-room shack. Your bathroom is fifty feet from the house. You shoot or grow everything you eat. And you want to know if you should move to Beverly Hills!!?”

“Yea....you’re right Pearl,” says Jed, brightening slowly. “A man would be a danged fool to give up all that!”