Faith - Chapter One - Tennessee Steve

I am clear that the common thread of my entire adventure in Pearlington was Faith. Faith that I was drawn to the right place at the right time. Faith that all would be provided as needed and faith that, someday, many in Pearlington would come to recognize that Katrina made their lives better, not worse. Sometimes, it took a lot of faith to hold onto, and to encourage others to hold onto, the belief that resource would meet need in due course. Sometimes, it took a week. Sometimes they walked unknowingly through my door at the same time and I merely had to introduce them.

This is the story of Tennessee Steve. I think he arrived in Pearlington around the same time I did. Apparently he had come down to volunteer and had tripped on something his first day and had sprained his wrist. He was concerned he could do nothing to help us. It became clear, though, there was more to the story.

Steve did what he could, cleaning the walk in front of the Pearl*Mart each morning, emptying garbage, doing small errands and insisting on calling me “Boss Man.” He was always close at hand and willing to do whatever he could. As his arm strengthened, he sprayed the walls in the parts of the school we were recovering and worked for hours pressure washing the filthy walls. I realized that Steve was, in fact, somewhat destitute. Over the weeks the story unfolded. He had left Tennessee when his job as a tree cutter ended when the company went bankrupt. Now he couldn’t hoist a chain saw and would be unable to find work. He was alone, his children grown, with no real future back at home. All he wanted was a job and a fresh start.

But, we were in a place filled with volunteers and I spoke with him about faith. There were no jobs here, except those in his heart to do. The weather had turned very cold at night, so I fixed him up in a real tent, with electricity from a generator and a small heater. I gave him blankets and a sleeping bag, a cot and a flashlight and that seemed to make him very happy. He worked all day and asked for very little in return. Each morning, I would give him a package of cigarettes so he wouldn’t have to beg for them. He was fed and safe and seemed to relax.

He could feel, as we all could, that things were changing. Soon, he would have to move on, but where? Where would he live, if not with us? What could he do? As November wore on, he just stayed focussed on his work and letting his wrist get stronger. “Okay, Boss Man, I can do that,” he would say and move off to help Frank, or Rusty, Matt or whoever do what had to be done. I knew how scared he was. One morning, he read in the paper that anyone living in Hancock County for a month could apply for a FEMA trailer. I took him over to the Disaster Recovery Center and got him signed up. One of the locals for whom he had worked hard offered to let him place the trailer on his land - at least for now. Steve was elated. The local man reneged two days later. There was nowhere for Steve to put a trailer and he would have to withdraw his name.

Faith. We spoke of it some more, about focussing on the task, taking one day at a time and believing in miracles. He was not whiney, just disappointed and scared. I called in a favour with the FEMA guys and hooked him up with Blaine. Blaine had lost everything in the storm and also needed a place to be. I knew that they were placing trailers in parks, for those who had been in apartments and didn’t own property. The last park was filling up fast and Blaine himself was trying to get in. I called in another favour. On the day I left Pearlington, Steve came to me to say that he had been given a FEMA trailer in the last spot in the park - right beside Blaine’s. Blaine was more than willing to drive him back and forth to Waveland to look for work, of which there was an abundance in the rebuilding of the coast. Especially for a good man with a chainsaw.

Happily, I lent Rusty my car to drive Steve to his new digs. I equipped him with sheets and pillows, towels and dishes and everything else I had. Including a brand-new Husqvarna chainsaw and a set of tools. Just as I was leaving Pearlington, he made it back to say goodbye. He could barely speak. He just hugged me and mumbled and asked what he could do for me. “Thrive,” I said. “Just do well and pay it forward.” He cried then and shook his head, wondering how God had done all this for one such as him, in a single day. I reached into my pocket and gave him $50. “A man who works as hard as you shouldn’t leave the job site empty handed,” I said.

As I drove out of the compound, he came to my car window. “I’ll never forget you, brother. I’ll never forget all you did for me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Through our tears I shook his hand.

“There are trees to cut and lives to rebuild. You better get busy,” I told him.

“Okay, Boss Man, I can do that,” he replied.

In the end, I didn’t give Tennessee Steve anything more than I gave the other residents of Pearlington. He gave me a lot more. He gave me the chance to treat a man, down on his luck, with dignity and respect. He reminded me that we all get a second chance, or a third, and that I had mine and people were there for me. He gave me friendship and a memory I will hold close to me for as long as I live.

As I drove away, I looked in the mirror to see Steve waving at me and holding his hurt hand over his healing heart.

Last Day in Pearlington

I am safely back in the land of flush toilets, silverware and real eggs. It was a joyful reunion with my wife Marian and although a month doesn’t seem like a long time, it is when it feels like a year.

Paula Buhr arrived early Friday morning. Paula was the first outsider into Pearlington back in September, when she commandeered a military helicopter to deliver insulin and other aid to the people there. She is a force of nature and will do an excellent job with what comes now for Pearlington. Rusty Irving is also there; he is finished with the Red Cross - I’m sure they’re relieved - and will be adding his renegade magic to supervising the wind-down of the Pearl*Mart and “putting out fires.” Paula and I met with the men from Carbondale to plan an appropriate exit strategy and to consider what comes next. We are all invested in Pearlington’s recovery and want to find the best ways to continue to support the town and its people.

As expected, leaving was bloody. There were lots of tears and little gifts, including a big tray of Jambalaya. There was something different for me this time. I felt completed. I had done what I went there to do. There are still a lot of projects in the community to help these people back on their feet but I was clear that my task was finished. All are fed regularly and their immediate needs have been met. Almost all are in their trailers and have something to get them started. Paula will spearhead a field survey to determine who still needs things, what are their special and health needs and if there are repairs needed on their trailers. The survey will reveal what is required now and then we will relegate resources. The FEMA people at the Disaster Recovery Center continue to work hard and have been in touch with me since I returned to report their successes.

Leaving Pearlington, I still had three unfulfilled Dreams on my wish list. Three things I alluded to in my last posting. One of them came true just as I was leaving. The other two were still in progress. I will share the three Dreams in the next three days. They are remarkable stories and need to be shared.

As I write this, emotion comes, unbidden and cleansing. There is enormous pride and a renewal of faith in the ability of ordinary people to do extraordinary things. There is loss for the people of Pearlington and excitement in the prospect of them rebuilding their lives with a clean slate. There is anger, often felt when I complete foreign service, at the failure of “powerful” people and organizations to just do what they are charged with doing. I feel a new kinship with the American people and a hope that they do something about their lack of leadership on many levels. There is a Dream that I am given the chance to serve again, even as I rebuild my own life and deal with my aching body and fatigue. And there is joy, that Perfect Strangers all pulled together despite the odds, despite the Politics of Humanitarianism, and got an impossible job done when it needed to be done. We lived together in a foxhole, not knowing what the dawn would bring, ignoring our differences and celebrating the things we had in common: a desire to serve and to make a difference.

The Canadian relationship to America is not really about economics, mad cows or softwood lumber disputes. It is about mutual caring and respect for the basic things that we all hold dear: safety, friendship, and unconditional love. Nothing less and a lot more. If it takes Katrina to remind us all of this, she is indeed a wise Lady. Would that we remember this always, that together we are whole, not one of us will be lost, that we will all be taking the same bus together. No one will be left behind.

Not on my watch.

Live from Pearlington - 13

It’s Thanksgiving in Pearlington and I have much for which to be grateful.

I’m grateful for the chance to come here and to remember who I truly am. I am grateful that I am filled to the brim with the love of the best woman alive and memories that will sustain me for the rest of my life. I give thanks for the people of Pearlington and this chance to serve.

There are so many to thank for all they’ve done that I will have to do so personally, when I get home. There is more to do before I go, tasks I’ve assigned myself, Dreams I can yet fulfil for a few others; a little girl needs a library, a kind and gentle father needs a home for his family and a proud, hard-working man needs a chance. These things I will do before I leave, if it is God’s will.

Thank you for reading this and for supporting me in this adventure. Thanks to all who have been inconvenienced and who have put their own needs aside in my absence. I will miss this mess, this small bayou town where hope still lives and where smiles and laughter abounds when I walk into the Pearl*Mart and announce that “Canada Jon is in the house!” I will miss striding through the compound as I make my rounds at dawn, welcoming the day and all its Angels with a hearty “Good morning, Pearlington!” I will miss these people who taught me that unconditional love is the only love that’s true and that making a difference is what we were sent to this planet to do. I will miss the Americans who have become my friends and who have taught me why this country is great. I will even miss the clipboards, who helped me hone my anger management skills, taught me that great people deserve great leadership and that wonderful hearts will perform despite the lack of it.

It’s Thanksgiving in Pearlington and I have much for which to be grateful and there are miracles yet to be done.

Live from Pearlington - 12

It’s a beautiful day in Pearlington. The sun is shining and Canada Jon has his Exit Strategy well in hand.

I will leave after Thanksgiving this Thursday - Friday morning at noon. The decisions I have recently come to regarding the Distribution Centre have been fully supported by all and we have begun to restrict the hours of operation a little. The initial needs of the local folks have been met, for the most part, and it is time to move into the rebuilding phase of this recovery operation. Paula Buhr, the first person helicoptered into Pearlington shortly after the storm, is returning this week to supervise my leaving and to tend to an orderly shutdown of the Pearl Mart by Dec. 31.

There are still many projects running and lots to do to get these people back to some semblance of where they were, but my job is done and I’m proud of all my team has accomplished. Now comes the difficult task of saying goodbye - at least for now. Word is spreading and lots of co-volunteers and residents are stepping up to share their feelings with me. It is a blessed thing to do what one loves and to also be so rewarded for it. When the fire guys and the police pulled out, they all signed a basketball for me with many kind words. These are the fellows for which I sang the song “Hero” at the last Karaoke Night. The Americorps kids also signed it and I will miss their Team Leader Jackie a lot, as well as her whole crew. She reminds me a lot of my own daughter Lindsay.

I have lots to clean up and a solid paper trail to leave, to ensure a responsible transition and to honour the work of all who came before. Everyone in tents should be off the ground before I leave and I will also miss the dedicated FEMA men and women who came here and finally made it happen, despite their own system. Some of them even moved a telephone pole by hand to get a trailer in! A remarkable feat has been accomplished here, by people who were never charged with the job in the first place; people who just came to get the job done. People who will receive very little credit and never care, because doing what you say you’ll do is all that counts with them.

Stacey Pace and Sherri Buchanon also came to visit - people who were here before and made their own difference. The word is out that Canada Jon treasures Diet Pepsi; he’s diabetic and tired of plain water. 12-packs are flowing in from all over the country - more than I can drink. I’m so spoiled! Jambalaya and Gumbo show up almost daily and I share with my team. I get hugs and smiles, as I skip across the parking lot to keep spirits high. That wild Canadian! Old “Oop” Rogers is parked out front of the store, in his favourite chair, reminiscing about singing with Fats Domino a way back. Oop and I did a duet of “It’s a Wonderful World” at Karaoke Night. All is well and the shorter hours give us time to plan and catch our collective breath.

I’m happy with what I’ve done and ready to be reunited with the other half of my heart. I know she’s waiting for me at home, arms wide open and a Diet Pepsi clutched firmly in each hand.

Live from Pearlington - 11

As a young boy, when my father was drunk and my mother was nasty, often my eldest sister would take us upstairs and sing to us. She would smile and put on a happy face and read us poems - anything to distract our little minds from the travesty unfolding downstairs. Later in life, she paid a price for having to be the one that did that, and I have certainly paid the price for needing it done. While I am grateful she did what she could to get my mind off the fights, the bickering and the violence, none of it was lost on me and I grew to be an angry, defiant and desperately lonely young man. For my sister, she has long since dropped the role of our protector and surrogate parent, but we all still look to her for stability and strength in our times of need. I know this has been a heavy burden for her to bear sometimes. I think it can make one resentful and desperately hurt that the job of parenting had to fall to one so young and so needful of a parent of her own.

Welcome to Pearlington, Mississippi.

As a handful of volunteers from everywhere BUT Pearlington struggle to provide for, entertain and distract these traumatized people from the tragedy that continues to unfold around them, we are growing weary, resentful and desperately hurt. Off in corners, from Washington to the state capital, groups of clipboards gather to argue and fight about jurisdiction, control and whose going to take the fall in the end. The papers talk of politics and appropriations, budgets and oversight committees, elections and the future of politicians who have dropped one of the biggest balls in American history. People write in with their often ludicrous opinions, all delivered from the safety of their comfortable armchairs. Who’ll get the glory, who’ll take the heat, what will we do the next time. Yet, THIS time is still here and it is as real as it gets. As those charged with their protection jockey for position, both hands firmly covering their own asses, the people of Pearlington and elsewhere struggle to survive, hiding in the attic as Perfect Strangers feed them and sing to them, and try their best to protect them from the very people who were placed to do that job. And sometimes, like yesterday, those Strangers are criticised and chastised for their presence, because we remind them of their duty and their lack of responsibility. And in no place, on no committee are we present, despite the delivery of millions of dollars in aid and volunteerism to Hancock County.

On Day 84 there are still some people on the ground in Pearlington. This is unconscionable. Yet, at the same time, I believe we are coming to the end of the most desperate phase of this kind of mission. In the past week there have been numerous indicators - some showed up in a positive way, some in a negative way - that this is true. The basic needs of the people of Pearlington have been met. I believe it is coming to that unenviable time in any steward or parent’s life that we must begin thinking of how we will back away slowly and allow these good folks to find their own way.

We clearly will not change the politics and good-ole-boy network in the South. We will not change the face of racism in a few more weeks. But then, it was never our mission to do so. All of the out of town police and fire presences have played out their hands and resources and have returned home. We are now in the dubious hands of what-was-here-before. There is a thin line, as all good parents know, between supporting and enabling. I believe now that we have begun to cross that line. The lady in the Pearl*Mart yesterday who asked for some sheets and then turned them down because they didn’t match, has shown us this reality. She is not the only one and it is increasing. There is a point at which, if we stay in our current capacity too much longer, we will successfully create a welfare state in Pearlington, expectant and dependent on what goods we can provide. I care for these people too much to support that position.

Today, after a much-needed day off in the care of a wonderful family in Bugalosa, Sid and Darlene Kennedy, I see things from a fresh perspective. There will be no hasty bugging out or leaving the still-needy in despair. Today, in concert with the Carbondale Fire Department, whose city has invested scores of thousands of dollars clearing lots for trailers and manning the supply and distribution area in their turn, I will call a meeting with the Hancock County Emergency Operations Center. We will try to discuss a plan for a managed and orderly withdrawal from the Pearl*Mart side of things, as we have known it. All will not agree with me, not the least of which will be some of the citizens of Pearlington who make five trips to the Pearl*Mart each day and complain because we don’t have coffee-makers that day or that the comforters aren’t queen size. Some of my own original Renegaides may not agree with me either, but I was put in leadership and I must do what is in my heart to do, for the good of all. There is still much to accomplish but it must be on a different level now.

We will get those last people off the ground and give them what we have to start their trailer life. We have all done a remarkable job and now we should begin to recognize that we must love these folks enough to have faith in the power of their own recovery and rebuilding. Perhaps this will give them the strength of purpose to throw some of these clipboards out on their self-serving butts.

Maybe then they can come down from the attic and face the ones who should have been there for them all along.

Pray for us all....

Report from Pearlington

A report from "home" about calls from Pearlington.

Hello everyone, Marian here.

Jon's days and nights have been busy and exhausting and time to write and send a message has become all but non-existent. He is in the Recovery Centre by 6:30 a.m. each morning, and often doesn't return to his "home" there until after 8:30 or 9:00 p.m. Often, when he calls at night, the weariness is obvious in his voice and his stories tell of the ongoing challenge to keep organized groups focused on the needs of the residents - some of whom are still sleeping on the ground on day 82 (that's two and a half months since Katrina hit this ground zero town).

There are some amazing volunteers, though - from church groups, from fire departments, from a town/city that adopted Pearlington, from Americorps and from individuals from other states who, like Jon, just showed up to help. Volunteers are starting to emerge from Pearlington itself as some people rise back up from the trauma and want to offer help to the others in town and some relief and appreciation to those who have been assisting in recovery.

Of course, there are the happy stories of karaoke and crab boils and hallowe'en and hope chests and informal fireside gatherings. There is laughter and joking and the occasional belly laugh. There are stories of courage and hope and also those of despair. Sounds like life - yet it seems more real and on fast forward as Jon tells me the stories of those he has met. And it is upclose and personal for him to witness how individuals find something inside themselves to pick up the pieces (literally) of their lives and go on - sharing what little they have and have left with those they call family and anyone else whose need is presented.

Jon needs a miracle this week. It is his plan to leave for home a week from today. Before then, he needs another person like him to take the torch. Someone who puts the needs of the residents first; someone who can advocate on behalf of the residents for the material goods that they require; someone who can be trusted to deliver all donated goods directly to the people of Pearlington; someone who can get what needs to be done, done and quickly so; someone who can see the big picture and deploy the human and material resources appropriately. So, we are asking all of you to put your energy into the collective so that this person can arrive in a timely fashion in Pearlington. Join an imaginary circle of those who are offering their prayerful assistance and strengthen it with your intention that a replacement show up. It is the energy of making Dreams come true - as most of you already know.

Jon is taking tomorrow off (first day in three weeks) and will be visiting New Orleans. We may or may not hear more about that as time goes by.

Thank you for your calls, your comments, your money, your concern and your affirmations.

Marian in Canada,
wife of "Canada" Jon

Live from Pearlington - 9

Karaoke Night was a huge success! Scores of people showed up for the crab and shrimp boil, cooked in a spicy broth and then dumped on tables covered with newspaper. At the end, piquant sausage, wieners, potatoes, whole onions and mushrooms are cooked in the broth and eaten almost whole. One of the local women, who had run karaoke nights for the local bar before the storm, brought her 7000 songs and used my equipment to run the show. I got to relax and have fun, singing when it was my turn and hanging out with some very happy folks. It was group therapy at its finest and a good time was had by all.

Things are running very smoothly. Pearl*Mart is getting just what it needs, thanks in part to the Needs List posted on the blog, We have just finishing recovering two more rooms of the school - uncleaned since Katrina - to use as indoor storage and a volunteer dormitory. Actually it’s part of our plan to “encourage” Hancock County to save the buildings. Word’s out that they’d like to tear it down. It has become the undisputed focus of this community and we will do what we can to support the residents in their quest to get it fixed and back in use. It will take a lot of money and we’re working on that, too. That’s Frank Nadell’s project and Dream. Frank is a firefighter from Carbondale, Co. whose county - which includes wealthy Aspen - has “adopted” Pearlington.

Every person I send to the Disaster Recovery Centre next door returns with solid answers and expedited results. On Friday, a woman was in Pearl*Mart looking sad and I spoke with her. I held her as she sobbed, frustrated and overwhelmed. I asked er to have faith - in fact, I named Nov. 11 “Faith Day.” I sent her next door to my new best friend Royce at FEMA. She returned in an hour, smiling and opening her hand to show me a piece a paper that held a sum she would get in a few days: $17, 051. One of our great Red Cross men at the Shelter, Rusty Irving, was to be sent away prematurely, some “mental health” clipboard claiming he was burned out. In fact, it was to disperse the last group because something happened at the Shelter last week that I will share with you some day - but not today. We called Paula Buhr, who in turn called everyone from her dogcatcher to the White House and the clipboard was forced to reverse his bad decision and Rusty stayed. Rusty is a fixer and a finder, someone who is invaluable at helping us create what we need to get these folks their trailers and their new lives. Thanks Paula - you ROCK!

The clinic is running well and I have assigned a permanent member of Americorps to them. Lydia wants to be a nurse and she is in her glory. I tease her and call her Nurse Lydia every chance I get and she beams with joy. Jackie, the Americorps Team Leader guides them all well and is a very bright, hard-working and always pleasant young woman. Seems most of the male firefighters think so too.... I scored us another washer and dryer, so the locals can come and do their laundry, get a meal, shop at Pearl*Mart, get a hug and sign up to get help in having their house gutted, or their trees cut and land cleared for a trailer, a new water pump or sound advice and resources. Yesterday, a man arrived who is the inspector who decides if their homes are more than 50% damaged. This guy can get them serious rebuilding money if he decides it is so. He seems a very nice man, deeply moved by this disaster, and as we talked his eyes filled with tears at their plight. He’s another perfect fit for Camp Renegade and I immediately set him up in his own “office” in Pearl*Mart and a bucket of ice with cold drinks. He did more work in a few hours than has been done in this regard in the last two months. He joined us for Karaoke Night and I made sure he got all the crab and shrimp he could eat. I’m a shameless suck-up if I need to be!

Joe Williams from the Emergency Command Centre also joined us with his wife. He represents the body that overseas the whole recovery effort on the coast and he gave me the latest newsletter, featuring Pearl*Mart on its cover. He was deeply impressed by the community we have built and he’s a good man to have in our corner. Everybody is working as a Team, in a well-oiled effort of which I am hugely proud. Last night, a Red Cross Public Relations officer interviewed me and I shared with her our credo:

We believe:

....that it is our duty to be focussed on the needs of the people
of Pearlington and that all other considerations are secondary;

....that we have a responsibility to ensure that the goods and services entrusted to us
by our donors and providers reach ONLY their intended destination;

....as Hurricane Katrina herself did,
that all the people of Pearlington are to be treated equally;

....that each and every person we serve deserves to be accorded
the respect, dignity and kindness that God mandates for ALL His children;

That’s what we hold dear as we toil for Pearlington. That’s why we are here and that’s why we are winning. I will brook no interference and we will get this job done at last.

Live from Pearlington - 8

I heard laughter in Pearlington yesterday. Lots of it. It was good to hear because it signals a big step towards recovery and healing for these wonderful people.

I heard it outside the Pearl*Mart, as people gathered in front on the chairs to visit and take in the sun. They joshed each other and laughed as the kids played on the new swing Nurse Kim had erected on the old tree in front of the store. Covered in Spanish Moss and struggling to thrive, it is a symbol for the whole town. I heard it several times at the very back of the store, where we had placed a generous donation of plus size women’s clothes, donated by a retailer in New York selling Lane Bryant garments. In addition to the sweaters, skirts and jeans - all brand new - are large bras, panties and....thongs. The women giggle as they search through them, making naughty comments to each other and laughing uproariously. One old man was seen searching through them for his wife and praying “PLEASE be a size 28, PLEASE be a size 28...” Had I known they would have caused such healing, I would have put them on our Needs List. Speaking of which, I have created a blog at www.pearlington.blogspot.com and we upload our current Needs List daily. Anyone in the country can see exactly what we need.

I miss Marian desperately and I know she misses me. It is the major challenge in doing this work. She is so much a part of who I am and what I value, that I lay my head down every night and cry a little for our separation. Her own sizeable contribution to the people of Pearlington is just this, supporting me, paying the bills, holding the fort back home and covering all the ground until I return. Thank you, Rosie. I miss and love you more than you can know.

It was a very busy day and I had been awake since 2:30 in the morning, the list of tasks I had to do yesterday playing across the screen of my mind’s eye as I tried to sleep. I got up and worked at the computer and was at the Centre by 6:00 a.m. - like every day. I attended a meeting at the Hancock Medical Centre to save our Clinic and it looks like we were successful. The group of kids from Americorps is rotating out today and the new group has already arrived. They are fresh-faced and eager and a real joy to work with. There is a young local man here named Hezakiah who comes to the Centre and works 12 hours every day volunteering to help us. He informed me the other day that he and his family were planning a goodbye party for the departing Americorps group and I got on board, contributing $50. worth of chicken to fry.

Last night, we all gathered under a huge tarp that a group from Virginia had erected as they build sheds in the community. On a large BBQ they brought, his mother and Aunties created a huge pot of red beans and rice and a ton of fried chicken. Suzie Sharp, the lady I spoke of whose brother died here under an excavator while helping her clear her land, showed up with potato salad, devilled eggs, a fruit salad (God knows where she got the fruit), fresh-baked bread and a creamy banana pudding. It was a fine feast under the Mississippi moon, as the trees dripped with the humidity and we all got a chance to relax a little and become better friends. The most touching moment came when Aunt Shirley sang an old Negro spiritual about their struggles and a prayer that God would lead them safely home. The fog swirled around us, the half moon shone brightly in the night sky and we were all connected in a single moment - black, white, Hispanic, American and Canadian - friends forever, pulled together by a common peril and holding hands against the terrible storm that has altered all our lives.

I cried then and I cry now as I write this, missing my home and so deeply grateful in my heart for all I have and all I have to give. Please God, help us help these people, so I may return to my wife and know I gave my best. Help us get the rest of them off the ground as Day 73 dawns bright and clear. Each moment that passes makes it harder to leave, but leave I must. My life is elsewhere and that is the nature of things. My heart will only heal when I know they are safe at last.

Live from Pearlington - 7

Yesterday was one of my busiest days here yet. FEMA has finally responded and decided to erect a DRC - Disaster Recovery Centre - right on our premises beside the Pearl*Mart. This will enable residents to get their answers directly and the cluster will include staff from the Internal Revenue Service, Welfare, Unemployment, Crisis Counselling etc. There will be satellite phones and wireless internet etc.

It meant clearing a space for this huge tent quickly and providing them with some things they needed to get things set up. It was a Scrounge Fest finding them what they needed, to the point I wondered why they had come so unprepared, but.... I spent the afternoon with the new Director of this DRC and turns out he lives just outside the Zuni Pueblo in New Mexico, an area I have spent a great deal of time in, including last summer with team mate Nancy and others during Dream Quest in the Southwest. We have a lot in common and he is a firefighter by trade and this usually means the kind of guy who gets things done. I did some checking and he has a reputation within FEMA of being a “cowboy” who flies under the radar and whose motto is “whatever it takes.” A renegade, in other words, and a perfect match - if this is true - for a Recovery Centre that first drew breath as “Camp Renegaide.”

So, I tested him, because MY motto is: “Action talks and B.S. walks.” I told him we have a good percentage of families still in tents. He told me that “if you have people still on the ground, they’ll be in trailers in 48 hours.” I leaned back to Kelly, a young Americorps worker who manages the database that Joe Clark so labouriously set up and maintained. I winked at her. She pushed some keys and shortly thereafter handed me the current list of tent dwellers. “There you go,” I said. “I’m going to hold you to that!” He just blinked. I also told him that we needed two computer terminals set up for the public to be able to go online and look for jobs, do official business, type resumes etc. By the end of the day he had approval from FEMA and he was on his way to pick them up.

He wasn’t sent here; he asked to come. Is mother is from Gulfport, similarly destroyed, and he has selected civilian staff from the affected area who are sensitive to our needs. He’s from a small town no one (but me) ever heard of. Liike Pearlington. We are hopeful..... The DRC should be up and running on Wednesday, that is if all the parts that were not shipped for the tent that cost $16,500 finally arrive.

Then there is Mr. Rogers. He is an old black man who once played and sang with Fats Domino. At Karaoke Night, he sang a duet with me - Louis Armstrong’s “It’s a Wonderful World.” He has been in the Shelter for weeks and is getting more and more depressed. He just wants a slab of his own he can call home, with a TV and a bed. Bechtel placed his sister’s trailer on the same property where his trailer is to be placed and blocked their own way to being able to deliver Mr. Roger’s trailer. Duh!! Of course, with a $2000.00 delivery charge per trailer, they are more than happy to come again, and again.... So we decided to pull it in from the other end of the lot, but needed a culvert installed over the ditch so the Bechtel truck could do that. The County said they would only install it if he paid. He can’t.

There’s a fellow here with a backhoe, a County employee taking care of some things. He had a dump truck coming with gravel for an area he needed to shore up. I asked him to refill the dump truck with dirt from behind the school and take it to Mr. Roger’s house and just fill the damn ditch in. He did. Now we will pressure FEMA to deliver his trailer, at last. Mr. Rogers thinks I’m a great singer and should “go professional.” I thought I would wait for another life to do that job; I’m kinda busy right now.

I told you Charles’ story yesterday. I left out one part, a funny story he told me that shows how, even in the midst of all this tragedy, the folks here can still find a good laugh. Seems while he was hanging onto life in that tent, after the storm, he had propped himself up one day to look out through the open flap. Some huge hogs had gotten loose and were wandering. A pack of now-wild dogs spotted them and gave chase. They barked furiously and he watched as the dogs chased the pigs out of sight. All grew quiet. In short order he heard the dogs again and, as they rounded the bend back into his sight, this time THEY were running for their lives with the pack of pigs in full chase. He said that if he’d had his video camera, he surely would have taken first prize in America’s Funniest Home Videos!

Have a great day and pray that FEMA comes through for us.

Live from Pearlington - 6

When Katrina came, Charles was caught flat-footed. He’d been so tired from loading the van and getting his motorcycle ready to move, he’d lain down for a bit of a nap. When he awoke it was too late, the Perfect Storm was upon him. The wind and the rain were so intense, he found he couldn’t get the van to turn around in the driveway. Katrina wouldn’t let him. Abandoning the vehicles, he returned to his house to seek shelter. That was his first mistake.

When the water came, it came quickly, too quickly in fact to know just what to do. By the time Charles formed his plan, it was up to his chest. Kicking out a back window, he had to swim under the water to get out. When he surfaced, he was in the middle of hell. Filling the two green garbage bags he’d grabbed with air from his lungs, like balloons, he tucked them under his arms and swam for it. The eastern eyewall was passing over Pearlington and the winds were almost 200 miles per hour. The rain was horizontal and driving everything before it. He swam to an old pump house, where there was six inches of air between the surface of the water and the roof. Swimming in through a window, he caught his breath until the walls disappeared around him. He looked up and saw the entire roof of his house lift off the building and smash into the trees behind him.

He saw his neighbours’ boat, on a trailer behind their house. It had floated loose from its moorings and Charles headed for. As he swam for his life, he swears he saw his brother flailing in the water, drowning. He called to him in disbelief. His brother had been killed five years ago when a tugboat ran over his trawler in the Gulf. That’s when Charles began to pray, asking God to spare him the same fate. He knew if he didn’t make that boat, it was going to be the end of his own life. After what seemed like hours he finally made it and, exhausted, it took him some time to haul his abundant self inside. It was in this boat that Charles rode out the rest of the storm, lying in the bottom quivering, shivering and praying to God Almighty.

At last the wind and rain began to subside and he headed for his parent’s house, worried for their welfare. It took forever, using his hands as paddles. When he finally got there, he found them safe in the attic, breathing in the 8 inch space between the surface of the water and the top of their roof. His Dad had forced a piece of hose up through the roof vent through which they could get fresh air. They stayed there for almost 14 hours until the surge returned to the Gulf, leaving complete devastation behind it. It was then that Charles finally collapsed, in a hastily erected tent he found and erected on a foot of mud and filth. There he stayed, sick and shaking, for four days until a rescue team from Florida found him and his elderly parents.

I share this story this morning so you might understand why I have decided to stay. Every man, woman and child in Pearlington, Gulfport, Waveland, Biloxi, New Orleans and all points in between have a Katrina story. Too many of them are like Charles’. They soldier on, trying to rebuild their lives in a sea of uncertainty. The good folks of Pearlington are getting few answers. Will the town be bulldozed? Can they rebuild and it they do, does their land meet the new federal elevation standards? Will the building inspector ever come? Will their FEMA trailer ever arrive and when it does, has it been so hastily built to meet the demand that, like so many, it doesn’t work very well? You can’t get a trailer until the fallen trees and debris are cleared and the lot levelled. Most can’t afford to hire someone to do that and there aren’t enough chainsaws anyway. Will Coast Electric erect a new pole and provide electricity, a condition of getting a trailer? Why is Pearlington not even on the official Mississippi state map? Will FEMA ever return a call? Will someone help my daughter with her nightmares? It’s endless. The insurance companies are bailing out at a record pace, claiming most of the damage is from “floods” and they don’t cover that. FEMA is overwhelmed and Mississippi politics abounds.

Yet, we are here and we are helping. In addition to the Pearl Mart, the Red Cross Shelter, the independent clinic created by Paula Buhr - the first response nurse from Houston - our own ambulance and the Red Cross food tent and the Salvation Army food truck, we are gathering some impressive resources. A team here from Water Missions International will install a new water pump for free, as soon as your trailer arrives and you have power. The great guys from the Carbondale, Colorado Fire Department are cutting trees and clearing lots for trailers - 160 so far. They are joined by groups from all over, like the Mormons, and under the direction of Keith Nelson. We have a group from Charlottesville, Virginia building 16x20 foot sheds. We have crews helping to muck out houses and carpenters building disabled ramps and special needs items. We provide the community with satellite phones, showers and three squares a day. Pearl Mart is booming and is now the Pearlington Recovery and Resource Centre. I am making daily contact with groups all over the country and inspiring them to send us help, not money. Goods flow in and out all day. We have had two Karaoke nights to enormous success, as kids cavort and sing and the folks lighten up and have some fun. This Saturday, some local fishermen are bringing 200 lbs of crab and 200 pounds of shrimp to Karaoke Night, for a good ole-fashioned Mississippi crab boil. Pearl Mart is lined with wooden shelves built by the men from Zuni and Pima. Americorps, a national group of young people like Katimavik, stock shelves, move material and keep the place as clean as we can. We got it goin’ on!

Pastor Fields, the nominal director of the Centre, is hardly here, so the task of management of all this falls to me. Frankly, I’m in my glory. Every skill I ever learned is focussed on this task. I have locked down this place as tightly as I can, to prevent any perceived gaps or weaknesses that could be exploited in a “hostile takeover” by clipboards looking for glory or control. There is nothing broken now that needs fixing. I am on the job well before sunup until well after sundown. I am a complete opportunist - never missing a chance to get these people something they need. I listen and counsel quietly, as the natural tragedies of life unfold, made more intense by Katrina and its aftermath. I pray every morning that we are just left alone to work this miracle without interference from those who want to exploit our obvious success for their own glorification. We are helping to put Pearlington on the map and people from Hancock County to the governor’s mansion are now hearing about this little bayou town.

My wonderful friend and colleague Nancy left in a rented car on Saturday at dawn. She will be home by now, God willing. My wife Marian picked her up at the airport last night. There’s another miracle - my wife. In her quiet, competent way she covers me, re-arranging my busy practice to allow me this chance to do what I was born to do. She continually amazes me and every night before I bunk down I hold her in my heart, loving her as I have never loved another. I could not ask for more.

Those of you who know her, please offer her support. Those who do not, please send her love and light. If you can, send a bit more money to cover the rental of the karaoke equipment I am keeping an extra three weeks. Please pray that I have a practice to go home to. Mostly, pray for Pearlington and for all God’s children who are hurting today. We have so much and I wish you all could come here for just a few hours. It would change your life forever. In a good way. In a permanent way.

I’ve never been a religious man, just a spiritual one. God walks with me each day and guides my hand. He draws those to me who I can help and protects me from those who would hurt me or derail me. I have complete faith and trust in Him/Her and I am making friendships that will last a lifetime. When Joe and Sharon Clarke finally pulled out yesterday, I held them both in my arms and we cried. Like their daughter Frisco Jen, they are the best - selfless and generous. And as the sun begins to rise above the bayous of the deep South, I thank God I can be here, where I break my heart each day and give thanks for the chance each night.

Live from Pearlington - 5

Things are moving along here and coming to a head, all at the same time. The power company has finally restored power to the Pearl Mart (Aid Mart) and we all celebrated this morning. We still need to do some re-wiring until we disconnect the generators, but it looks good. Despite being under seawater and sludge, the internal wiring in the school remarkably survived. Goods are moving in and out and I am helping to coordinate a group building sheds for needy families and those who have not yet received their FEMA trailer. They are great folks and are here for all the right reasons.

Nancy has done a remarkable job on the Hope Chests. Each is stuffed with great stuff for kids of the different age groups and she made sure she did enough research to ensure that they are all things the kids want; in short, she has done the work to be culturally appropriate. Families are streaming in to get them and most are deeply moved that a family in Canada would care enough about them to go to all this trouble. One woman, as I started to tell her what it was all about, said: "Y'all gonna make me cry." Suddenly....oh, man! - I was crying right along with her.... Nancy has really out-shone the sun with her work here and those Chests. It is having exactly the effect I hoped it would have. Folks are moved.

I mentioned that things are coming to a head. I have a serious decision to make. Joe "California" Clark is leaving on Sunday. This man has been a Godsend and has been on sight for over a month. He has gone way beyond the call of duty and now he knows it's time to go. Will, the Carbonale firefighter who has been managing the floor of Pearl Mart, is finished today. He also has performed admirably and I will ensure his department back home knows what a selfless contribution he has made. A local minister, Pastor Fred Fields has been put now in overall charge and we all had a meeting this morning. He's a good man with no intention to fix something that isn't broken and, unlike plenty of "clipboards" who have come through this place, he has no delusion that he's running the world.

However, an enormous void will be created by the departure of Joe and Will. No one else is so well known by the locals and many here want me to stay and carry on, at least until some others step up to the plate. Unfortunately, the Pearlington Recovery Centre - as we now call it - has had its share of “clippies” and this has placed an extra burden on these good people. You all know my legendary lack of tolerance for bull___t and I believe that when we do this work as volunteers, we must - like doctors - first do no harm. The very last thing these folks deserve is to be the recipients of our negative dynamics. But, it is the nature of volunteerism that people with no prior leadership or management experience can suddenly find themselves in charge. This has been the case here and I cannot bear to see the whole thing fall apart, once again, because my comfortable life in Canada beckons.

Don’t misunderstand. The world does not revolve around me any more than it does anyone else. Pastor Fields seems a competent man. But it is too large a task now for any one person and Pastor Fields knows this. That’s why he’s asked me, should I be able to stay, to be his co-Manage of this facility. He has two churches he pastors and his own life to rebuild and there needs to be someone here who knows the ropes and can be trusted to keep the needs of Pearlington first in mind. Staying, of course, will have a serious impact on my own livelihood, not to mention how Nancy would get home. I have discussed it all with her, with the folks here and with my wife. A final decision is pending. The people of Pearlington have suffered incredibly and continue to do so. There are still families living in tents 67 days after Katrina. A few men are still living in their cars. The shelters in Louisiana have all been closed by the Red Cross and so people there are coming here. Our shelter is one of the few still open and active. Yet, we are not supposed to accept the homeless from out-of-state and so these people are put in a terrible catch-22. We do what we can We bend the rules and sometimes we break them.

Please send your prayers for a speedy solution. I need to create some miracles today and I need your help.

Live from Pearlington - 4

We 're busy, busy today and I can feel that old familiar ball of emotion building inside me. Tears of sympathy for these great folks threaten to spill out all the time and I'm missing my Rosie a lot. I'm also missing my bed and warmth; my shoulders are aching and the on-site doctor tells me I likely have a torn rotator cuff in my right shoulder. I think the original injury happened last time I was here. I am taking Advil, but it hurts all the time and now the other shoulder is also aching. Sleeping in the cold on the ground isn't helping. But, there is lots to do and if I keep real busy I don't notice.

Nancy is out in Slidell preparing the Hope Chests. We have identified the children and their families who will receive them and I know it was an extremely hard task for Nancy to read all the histories of the families here and pare the list down to only 35. We will use some other money - and some of my own, if necessary - to do our best to cover all the kids we can. Their occasionally trembling lips and their infectious laughter make it a task of love for us. We are sending out flyers about Friday's Karaoke Night and it looks like a party of epic proportions.

Joe Clark is taking a day off today. He is off getting a root canal for a tooth that has been hurting him for weeks. Imagine a root canal being your idea of a "day off!" I am in the Aid Mart covering some ground for him and working with Will, a Carbondale, Colorado firefighter who runs the show on the ground here at the "Pearl Mart." The kids from AmeriCorp do the stocking and shuffling and we have quite a going concern here. We keep a proper inventory to ensure that everything we get and have stocked and tarped on skids is rotated in as we run out off stuff and require it to re-stock the shelves. Here at the Resource Centre we can facilitate you getting a lot of things you need - water pumps, trailers, generators, food, clothes etc. Thank you for shopping Aid/Pearl Mart! Then there is the Shelter and the Medical Clinic. We even have a psychiatrist who visits once in a while.

Last night, I created a special blog for Pearlington. It will enable those of us who leave after our tour, to keep in touch with what's going on down here. It is located at:

www.pearlington.blogspot.com

Your comments on it's appearance are invited.

I must get back to work. Send us love and light. It's the best work in the world we do and perhaps the costliest. But none of us would have it any other way.

Live from Pearlington - 3

Things continue to unfold here, a tragedy of epic proportions. People struggle to deal with their emotions in an environment of complete confusion, disorientation and abject loss. Pearlington itself never did have much infrastructure ‑ no Mayor or town council, just a Supervisor reporting to the county who is busy trying to reconstruct his own life. Many residents are starting to express their dawning understanding that if it weren't for the many volunteers who have taken time out of their lives to come here and apply a wide variety of skills on their behalf, they'd be in much worse shape. None of us have done this for our own glorification, but all of us leave here knowing that we, in fact, may have received the greater gift. A young man with two children explained that, for him, the biggest benefit is in knowing that somewhere, someone cares. The fact that those people don't HAVE to care ‑ that they CHOOSE to care ‑ helps him feel safer and more valued.

Yesterday, I spent much of the day handing out trailer kits. These are sent by a church in Illinois who put together everything one would need to live inside the FEMA trailers that are showing up for housing. Each kit has almost $700.00 worth of basic goods in it and yesterday we received and distributed 80 of them. There are more coming today ‑ you do the math. This job gave me an opportunity to check the level of trauma in the locals and to offer friendship and support in an unstructured environment. Nancy is busy also out in the community and finding the children who need most to receive the Hope Chests.

It rained last night, the first time since Katrina. We awoke to a sea of mud and glad we stopped on the way and bought some rubber boots. It's been warmer at night and the day promises to dry things up pretty quickly. We went out to visit a local resident who is suffering particularly hard. Her brother came from Texas to help her on her property and was killed when an excavator backed over him. She lost her husband only a few months ago and she had a stroke herself three years ago. Sally, I'll call her, and her deceased husband Marty had built a tidy trucking business. They had nine trucks, a big repair shop, a beautiful home and extra trailers for their staff. All of it was lost to Katrina. All of it.

Sally is a hard, hard‑working Mississippi woman. But as she sobbed in my arms, she whispered in my ear: "Canada Jon, I don't think I can take any more." Her brother's two daughters came yesterday to take his ashes back to Texas for a memorial and I met with them. One is pregnant and sad her child will never see their Grand Daddy. We talked and held each other and I asked he if she had a faith that could sustain her. She stood quietly and told me, "I believe God needed an Angel in Heaven to explain how we all are suffering from Katrina and called my Daddy home." Sally and her family sustain each other and Nancy and I spent a privileged couple of hours letting them all talk and cry and show us all they'd lost. Sally won't likely rebuild the business. Marty was sick with cancer for almost three years before he died and she is not a young woman and just plain worn out. The insurance company is only offering her $1700.00 for her home, claiming it is only the soffit and facia on the house they have to cover. It's heartbreaking and it is this trauma ‑ and the trauma of dealing with FEMA ‑ that in the end will cause more Post Traumatic Stress than Katrina herself.

We hold our own tears as best we can and share from our hearts. It's all we have and all we can do. We thank God this is not our lives and wonder if we would fare as well. We smile and joke, touch and hug and do our best to let them know we love them, because we are all members of the race of humankind and we are all in this together. Many have told me they will now help others around the country when the chance comes up, because they have experienced firsthand what a helping hand from Perfect Strangers has done for them. It's a humbling act to ask for help; I know, because I've been there. I explain that their need for help matches our need to feel useful and valuable ourselves and we thank them for that chance.

Sally and her family are just one such story out of hundreds of thousands. There is much to do and so few to do it. There is no time left for judgements about where they should have chosen to live, or for averting our eyes and ears from the images and sounds of their struggle. It's real and they need our help. Someday it will be our own turn, for sooner or later we all need help. I know in my heart they would be there for us. Just ask them.