Dream School International - Project Katrina: Pearlington, MS

An Easter Prayer for Pearlington

2006-04-14T09:19:00.000-04:00

It's the dead of night and I cannot sleep. I find myself at my keyboard, somewhat overwhelmed. There is so much to do here and it seems to take so much to get even a little something done.

If the whole world could come to a place like Pearlington, they would understand what it is we witness here; what it means to lose everything by an act of God and then to try and hold bravely onto one's Faith. Words like dignity, integrity, trust and hope take on new meanings; no longer vague abstractions, but the stuff of everyday challenge to understand their meanings and to walk them in the world. Faith really isn't Faith until it's ALL you're holding onto. Hope is the daily waiting, looking at the mess that was once your life and praying someone will come to help. Many people in this town are holding on to both, like two life preservers keeping them afloat in a sea of broken dreams.

They never expected us here, never needed us here, but they need and want us now. Some are too proud to ask for help, some ask for too much. Many are manifesting some version of post-traumatic stress and we need to be gentle with them. And with ourselves. We can't do everything, only what we can and it serves no purpose to burn out on the altar of service. I remember back in November thinking I hadn't called home in a couple of days and almost resenting the fact that I should. It was then that I realized I was at risk of "going native," of over-identifying with the good people of Pearlington, as if they were MY people, MY town. As a therapist it's a dangerous spot to be in and a sure sign of Compassion Fatique. I had come to care so much, to be so busy on their behalf, to want to help and make the monster go away.

Now I'm back once again, rested, with a healthier perspective and still I feel their pain. It shouldn't be so hard to get some paint, some plywood, some nails. Simple things that would merely occasion a short trip to the Home Depot, but magnified 1600-fold - is daunting. And that's just Pearlington. If I only share with you the karaoke, the crab boils and the fried turkey; only talk about miracles of resource meeting need; only sound up and happy and that it is all easy, I would minimize the experiences of both resident and volunteer alike. Don't get me wrong: Karaoke Nights in the fall were fun, but I actually intended it as group therapy for all of us.

Tomorrow, I will arise and put my customary smile on my face and rejoin the adventure. I am an optimist by nature and I believe in the power of the human Spirit. I believe in all the volunteers who come here to help because that very same Spirit called them to this journey. I'm proud to be a part of this volunteer community and a friend to the people of Pearlington.

God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can and the wisdom to know the difference. Grant us the resources to fairly distribute to those truly in need of the materials required to rebuild Faith and Hope. As leaders and volunteers, grant us the ability to stay focused and healthy, leading by example and staying determined, organized and co-operative with each other. Guide us to the creation of 1600 miracles, 1600 opportunities to show we care, 1600 ways to find what we need to do this job. God, place the invitation in the hearts of all good people to come and join the Dance, each in the way they can do best, by sharing the abundance of this great continent with our brothers and sisters of all faiths and ancestries and beliefs in this little bayou town.

It's Easter and Christ will rise again. As will Pearlington.

Amen.

Dancing with Katrina....April 9, 2006

2006-04-09T08:54:00.000-04:00

Little by little, on a shoestring and with Faith, we are loving the battered and once-forgotten town of Pearlington, Mississippi back to life.

It is my fourth trip here and things have changed. The noise of hammers and saws are everywhere and there is a hopeful feeling in the air. Groups from all over North America roll in and out of town, Perfect Strangers walking their talk and putting their money where their mouths are. Young people and old alike clamber through houses, cleaning and mucking out, while roofs get repaired, studs de-moulded and dry wall floated. We are a long way from being finished, but the good people of Pearlington know we will not let them down and their tears wash over us and cleanse us in a way nothing else could.

It's a simple Dream really, to want four walls and a roof you can call your own. A safe place where your children are warm and dry, with a shelf to put the very few things Katrina spared. It's not an unreasonable thing to want, yet it has proven almost impossible for the very government organizations created to achieve it. The task has fallen to this wonderful team of Dream Builders, these ordinary men and women who flock to Pearlington from the safety of their own homes and families. They labour with love and are aware they are not changing the world, but they are - most assuredly - changing THEIR world. As they give, they are given more. As they love, they are loved more. As they serve, they are served as well.

And the Circle of Life turns, as God watches and smiles.

This is what Katrina invited us to become. This is what the people of the world can do when they are called to it. This is the group of Tsunami survivors from Indonesia who arrived last week to help the people of Pearlington rebuild. This is Baptists and Presbyterians, Mennonites and Methodists, whites and blacks standing together, shouldering the responsibility of something they did not create but that needs repair. This is Dream School, alive and vibrant, faithful and hopeful and singing "I Hope You Dance" while dancing. This is the sun on the bayou and Jambalaya and Banana Pudding. This is Life and Love and it has never been more worth living.

Yesterday we held a memorial for Dr. Sidney Strickland, an old and disabled man who died last week when his FEMA trailer burned to the ground. I fought hard to get him that trailer and out of the Red Cross shelter, never knowing my efforts would end this way. The normal cycles of life continue unabated; children are born and people die, made more real and poignant by the situation. This is the cost of opening oneself up and breaking your own heart on purpose. This is Faith incarnate.

The blog I created while managing the Recovery Centre in November has proven to be a remarkable tool for organizing the relief effort from afar and communicating between groups. Look at it, if you choose, at http://www.pearlington.blogspot.com . More than a thousand people do every week and are inspired to keep helping. They do it because they can and will. They do it because, like all Dream Builders, they are sowing the seeds of their own Dreams.

Dream School International will be making an important announcement after my return to Canada on the 18th. Stay tuned. Stay awake and ready to share in all the bounty this adventure has provided me.

I hope YOU dance.

Faith Revisited

2006-01-24T07:40:00.000-05:00

My journeys to Pearlington have been journeys of Faith; Faith that my going had meaning and Faith that each and every moment I could do my part to enable resource to meet need. It’s been one of the most personally meaningful experiences of my life and has taught me much about introducing resource to need within the context of my own life and that of my family and work.

As I explore Faith and as I observe and experience its movement in my life, I would like to share with you what I have learned, so far:

1. The antithesis, the opposite, of Faith is Control. Control is an illusion and it always has been. We are not in control of anyone or anything. We are often just barely in control of ourselves. Those of us who have danced with Katrina know surely that we cannot control the weather. What we can do is adapt, by surrendering to it or getting out of its way. It is the same with everything; we adapt or resist. Resistance has always caused us pain and loss, for resistance is an attempt at control and we insist on thinking we can control things that are way beyond our capacity to alter or affect. When we accept this simple truth we can find peace and power in the adaptations we choose - the shelter, the raincoat, the umbrella. But we will not stop the shower, nor should we. Surrendering to the inevitability of actions being taken outside ourselves and adapting, by allowing the experience or by getting out of its way, is the definition of wisdom and an expression of Faith. There is a reason it rains and thunders, even if we cannot see it in the moment. If you watch closely, you will begin to see the reasons - even for Katrina - and you will grow.

2. Faith is “becoming.” It is not “Look what I did!” but rather “Look who I am becoming!” In my practice, the question “Who will I be then?” is the one most frequently asked by those facing change. It becomes a fearful question, an unknown destination that seems to rail at all our training in outcome-based learning since kindergarten - a system almost completely devoid of Faith. Faith, like life, is a journey - not a destination. We must take ourselves on, for we will “become” who we already are, just more so. If we don’t like some parts of who we are, we must challenge ourselves to out-grow our skins, so that who we become is someone of whom we can be humbly proud. Faith is “becoming” and is in the present tense. If you have already “become” - you are done. As Richard Bach says: “Here’s test to know if your work on earth is done: if you’re still alive, it isn’t.”

3. There is a razor-thin line between Faith and Denial. Faith is authentic and requires an authenticity of being. Denial is another illusion. Authenticity requires us to honour our feelings - especially as men - and to respect what it is we really think. It calls us to never settle for less than what we truly want and need. It means we must be on the path to knowing ourselves and to never let others steal our Dreams. Faith is not pretending things are fine when they are not. That’s denial, because Faith demands rigorous self-honesty. Faith requires questioning of everything about us, not in criticism or blame, rather for information and evaluation.

4. Faith is readiness. Faith is the lover yet to appear on your porch; open your heart before you open the door. Faith is the friend yet to eat at your board; prepare the table with your favourite meal. Faith is the good deed you’ve yet to do; ready yourself with a good deed to you. Faith is a future yet to unfold; unfold yourself, so it might find you.

5. Faith is “allowing.” If you knew how to allow it, you would have by now. Face yourself and ask for help. Let go of the past, it anchors you to who you are not. Choose the option that sets you free, not the one that encumbers you further, no matter whose voice you hear in your head, whose face you see in your mind’s eye, what fear you feel in your heart. Why walk when you could fly? Ask yourself this question: “What would Faith do?” What choice would I make if I truly believed, without evidence, that I was doing the right thing for me? Don’t fully trust your head; it can be deceived and its truth is only what you believe today. Don’t fully trust your eyes; the world is full of wool. Don’t even fully trust your feelings; they are often echoes of the past. Do trust your instincts, your intuition. For if prayer is how we talk to God, intuition is how God talks to us. Then just do it and feel your heart start beating. If it feels like fear, you may very well be on the right path.

I return to Pearlington, Mississippi next Tuesday for a third dance with Katrina. And nestled, not quite forgotten, in the extreme southwest of the magnolia state - like the only marble in the corner of a bag - I will continue my journey of Faith.

Janet's Gift

2005-12-12T13:23:00.000-05:00

I told the story some time ago of “Sally,” the woman whose brother was killed helping her clean out from under Hurricane Katrina.

Her real name is Susie Sharp and I ended up staying for the last three weeks of my tour in a trailer on her property. She told me then that she had a new phone line, as she rented land out for a microwave station on her spread. She told me that there was unlimited long distance calling available and that I should use the phone in the trailer anytime I wanted.

So, I did. I called Marian for coffee in the morning and a chat before bed. I e-mailed and posted and did research on the internet. After I returned home, Eileen Powers used Susie’s trailer and went to use the phone one night. It had been cut off. Apparently, that free long distance was for calls within the US only! They wanted more than $1000 for the bill....

Susie spoke with them and worked a fee per call deal that lowered the bill to $200. I called her and told her I would look after it. She told me to wait until she actually got the bill. In the meantime, a local woman caught wind of this, and on Susie’s and my behalf, paid it in full.

Here is a bit of her story:

“I know Susie. She is one of the hardest working women that you will ever meet. She has had a rough year. Lost her husband, then her brother, now her business and her home. I can't tell you how much HOPE that you give to Pearlington. Every time someone comes into town to help it shows that someone does care and that we can move ahead. It is so hard to sit in the muck and the mire day after day and try to dig ourselves out of this destruction.

I stayed for the storm with my father, husband and 14 year old son. We got on my father’s shrimp boat by jet ski and flat boat, in the eye of the storm - quite an experience. We lost my parent’s newly rebuilt home, originally destroyed in a fire in 2003, and the home that my husband and I were building. It's not a total loss. We can gut and rebuild. The frame is good, but no insurance. We have had a lot of help from individuals and private Christian groups. We could never have done what we have without their help. I don't have a lot of money and can never pay forward all of the help that has been given.

I am blessed to have a government job (I am just a peon here but I have a job). I also now have a car and because I work for the Navy, they have rented me a 32 foot travel trailer for $1.00 a day, which I get reimbursed for at the end of each month. I also have HOPE from individuals who show that they care. I will never be able to repay or pay forward all that has been given to me and my family. If you think of anything else that I can do, please contact me.

Janet Dawson
Resident of Pearlington, MS”

Thank you, Janet. Those calls saved my sanity and helped me do what I do. Thank you for caring, in the midst of your own challenges.

Dancing with Katrina

2005-12-08T12:37:00.000-05:00

I am never sure who actually reads this blog, but I have decided to continue nonetheless. In fact, I have decided to turn my experiences and observations into a book.

The working title is: Dancing with Katrina and I have begun.

It will be a chronicle of my adventures in Pearlington, as well as a personal study of how such a thing affects the people caught up in it, the volunteers who come to serve them and the wisdom of providing relief and recovery from a non-governmental perspective.

There will be stories and pictures, survivor accounts that represent the experiences of the community and an inside look at what really happened in Pearlington in the time I was there.

I write this as a tribute to the resilience of Survivors everywhere and as an encouragement to all who serve, and who help such people become Thrivers.

I'll keep you posted.

Why we do those things we do....

2005-12-07T10:19:00.000-05:00

Reports continue to flow in from Pearlington, a situation in constant flux as the town struggles to recover after Katrina.

I find remarkable the calibre of volunteers this disaster has attracted and what they are willing to do to help. So many have put their own lives on hold and have reached deep into their personal pockets to find the resources to come and help. Very few of them are free of the burden of earning their own living, yet have been willing to put their careers and their income on hold while they lend a hand. Some have risked their personal safety; some have left their families and their children behind to deal with the loneliness of being far from home in a somewhat foreign land.

We all have our own reasons for doing so. There is a common thread however, and in my observation the majority of us do it because it’s the right thing to do and because we have faith that we can and will make a difference: a difference to those we serve and a difference to ourselves. We want to know we mattered and that our lives counted in a way that’s meaningful to us. We want to lay upon our final bed and scan our lives, looking for bright spots and moments that mattered. We want to have adventure and challenge in our lives, not because most of us are too intense for normal living, but because we know that when our minds and hearts narrow to a single beam of light focussed on a simple outcome, we can create miracles.

And we like each other. We serve together in a trench of our own making and we rise above our differences and find what’s common to us all. We love and protect each other because we have to and want to and because we recognize that same spark in each other. When we fail, we are picked up. When we win, we share the celebration. The wisest among us concentrate solely on the mission and put all other considerations aside. We try our best to subvert our egos and work well with others. We rise quickly to our proper spot in the scheme of things that is a reflection of our skills and talents and we flourish there as the days unfold.

When we go home, and as we scramble to rebuild what our adventure cost us, we are changed. We remember how fast we worked and wish we had done more. We miss the excitement and the working together and know, deep in our hearts, we may never see each other again. We are sad it’s over - and glad we’re home - and wondering what comes next. We have “seen the elephant” and it will not be unseen. We are angry that the whole world wasn’t there with us, even as we fully understand why they couldn’t and shouldn’t be. We stitch ourselves together again, squeezing back into the spot in time we left, or wisely staying expanded and creating a new spot. We mourn for what we saw and heard and for the companionship we felt for Perfect Strangers.

Then, we take a deep breath and pray for the chance to do it all again.

Faith - Chapter Three - Holly's Library

2005-12-04T11:38:00.000-05:00

When Holly entered the Pearl*Mart that morning, I could tell she was on a mission. She had a determined look on her face which surprised me; she usually tended to act shyly and would try to get her mother to ask me questions for her. Anyone who knows me knows that doesn’t work with me and that I always encourage children to speak for themselves. This day, she was accompanied by another young girl and needed to talk to me right away.

“Canada Jon,” she said, “what are you going to do with those books Frank cleaned out of the school and with those other books that have come in?” I hadn’t thought about it at all. I told her we would probably save them until the school board figured out what they would do with the Library that had been destroyed and was now our Shelter.

“Why,” I asked?

“Because the library was my life and I spent all my time there. It meant everything to me.” She looked like she was going to cry.

“How about we make a special shelf in the Pearl*Mart and put the books there?” I suggested lamely. Not good enough. She looked around at the shelves dubiously.

“And how would we lend them out?” she asked quietly.

OK, this was getting complicated. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe we could find a place to put them and create a little library?” I was stretching now.

“That might work,” she said. “But who would be the librarian?”

I looked in her eyes and she looked right back. “Why do I get the impression that you think that person should be you?” I asked.

She smiled.

I told her I would see what I could do. She’d been followed into the Pearl*Mart by John Olsakovsky, the current Shelter Manager. He’d overhead the whole exchange. “Your wings are showing,” he said, or something like that. Great, I thought. Now I’m an Angel and I just made a promise to a little girl. I had no idea how I was going to pull it off, but I had faith that something would come up for her.

I held Holly’s wish in the back of my mind for many days. As the month wore on I would think of it from time to time and wonder how I could do it. From time to time Holly would come in the Pearl*Mart and look at me with expectant eyes and I would smile, give her a little hug and remind her to have faith. But, my time in Pearlington was coming to an end. On Thanksgiving, as I was driving into the field to park my car for the day, I spied Konrad and his team, building sheds for the people of the town. I stopped and asked him if I could buy one from him for Holly. “Sounds like a worthy cause to me,” he said. “Leave it with me.” His team had already been joined by Eileen Powers, a fellow Canadian and friend who had driven down the day before to join the effort. Eileen had just given me a Tim Hortons coffee cup to use as a “homing beacon” (wry Canadian humour).

By Friday morning, the day I was leaving, the shed was well under way. They decided to build it completely from wood, instead of corrugated on the sides and roof as the other sheds had been built. They wrapped the inside carefully with Tyvek to keep the books dry. They built shelves inside and Eileen painted the whole thing white, one of the few colours of paint we had. On the door, she and Dallas and the others painted, in curving red letters: “Holly’s Library.”

As it approached completion and as I readied to leave, I called Holly at home. I got her mother’s cell phone and was disappointed to find they were in Louisiana for the day. I asked to speak with Holly.

“Holly, when you return home, please come to the school. I have a surprise for you. Ask for Miss Powers.”

“OK,” she responded in a confused voice.

“And Holly,” I said quietly, “always remember that Dreams DO come true.”

By all accounts, Holly was stunned into silence when she arrived at the school Saturday morning. When she got over her shock, she began moving the books out of storage and into her new library. She posted a sign saying that the lending library would soon be open. She would let no one help her, handling the dolly and lifting the boxes herself. Holly was now The Librarian.

In 1996, while living in the former Soviet Union lecturing and developing my Dream School program, the Soviet press labelled me, in Russian, “... nothing but a Big Dreamer.” The name stuck and those who know me very well know how much I love that handle. If a Big Dreamer can’t help make a young girl’s Dream come true, then what kind of a Dreamer is he, anyway? Holly’s Library is a symbol to the town of Pearlington:

Never give up. Have faith in the timing and rightness of all things. Hold on tight to your Dreams.

Thanks Conrad, Tim and crew. Thanks Eileen and Dallas. Cheers, Holly. I hope you light up the world with your smile and your faith.

Thanks for helping this Big Dreamer be 3 for 3.

Faith - Chapter Two - Ricki Crowe

2005-12-01T15:34:00.000-05:00

We all cope with disappointment and frustration in our own ways. Faith transcends this and calls us to believe, without evidence, that the Universe is unfolding as it should. Sometimes, that feels like cold porridge on a wet morning and we struggle to hang on. Sometimes we just give in, give up, and move inside ourselves to a very dangerous place.

This is the story of Ricki Crowe, a resident of Pearlington. Ricki is about my age, with grandchildren and no home. He came into the Pearl*Mart one day to check his standing on the trailer kit list. I looked and told him I believed there were 50 coming the following Monday and that he was number 48. When Monday came and tornadoes were sweeping the midwest, I reasoned with him that they were probably delayed. Tuesday came and went and no trailer kits. On Wednesday, he came in for the last time and I told him they were still not in but expected them the following day. He turned abruptly on his heel to leave. I tried to lighten the moment. “Ricki,” I said, “If you want to yell at someone, yell at me.” He quietly replied, “Just forget the whole thing,” and left the store. That’s when I knew Ricki was in trouble.

Later that day I saw him eating alone in the food tent. I went to his table and apologized if it seemed I had been flippant and that I was just trying to defuse the moment. He told me, “I didn’t appreciate your words. I don’t really care anymore. No one is helping and no one cares.” I asked him if he had received his FEMA trailer yet. “No one has done anything for me or my family,” he said, quietly. “I’m done. I’m fed up. I don’t want anything from anybody.”

I knelt in the sand beside his table. I found I was more emotional than I should have been. I cried a little as I told him that I knew how he felt, that once I had lost everything and how powerless that had felt. I asked him if he would come with me to the FEMA tent and talk to these new guys, that things were getting done and I would help him in any way I could. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll see.”

The next morning, Ricki showed up at my door and I took him over to the Disaster Recovery Center. I explained how difficult the situation was and I left it in their hands. I told him that the trailer packages had arrived and I had one with his name on it. He said he would finish with the FEMA folks and bring his truck on Monday to get his package. What I didn’t tell him was that only 45 kits had arrived and, in fact, he had missed the cut. I didn’t have the heart for it.

Later that day, Mark from FEMA told me that he was getting right on Ricki’s trailer. I asked him, as a personal favour to me, to work as fast as he could. I knew they were pulling strings and skirting whatever they had to, trying to get the rest of the people off the ground. It was Day 81 out from the storm. That Saturday I helped organize a big meeting of the community in the food tent. All the government players were there and there was a lot of emotion and unanswered questions. Earlier that day, I had been accused by the Emergency Operation Center of racism, favouring whites over blacks in the distribution of goods. Apparently, someone didn’t get something they thought they should get and out came the race card. It was merely my turn. Others had been similarly accused - blacks about whites AND whites about blacks. I had deflected it all and borne it with irony that in a state infamous for racism, the Canadian guy - who had never once in his life ever gone there - was being branded a racist.

The director of the EOC was present at the meeting and I asked the very last question. I turned to the people in the tent and explained that I had been accused. I told them how hurt I was and that if they believed that to be true about me, and that the EOC was right, I was prepared to get in my car and go home. If they did NOT believe it to be true, then I would just get back to work. There was an uproar, people leaping to their feet in support of me. Ricki was one of them and yelled out loudly: “Canada Jon has done more for us than any of YOU!”

As I left the tent, I was jumped by the director of the EOC and his sidekick. I had embarrassed them, which was, of course, my intention. They demanded a meeting to get it straight and I agreed, knowing that it would take them weeks to organize such a simple thing, if at all. In the end, I was right, of course. Ricki saw them badgering me, even as other residents were coming up to me as I was being screamed at and offering their loyalty and support - blacks and whites. This further infuriated the EOC guys. When they were done completing my sentences for me and huffed off self-importantly, I sat on the bench outside the Pearl*Mart to catch my breath. Ricki appeared beside me. “I’m sorry that happened to you. What can I do for you?”

I almost broke down again. “Ricki,” I said, “I am the one charged with doing for you, not the other way around.” “I know,” he said, “but I want you to know how we all feel.” I was very touched. “Ricki,” I told him, “I already knew how you all felt. That wasn’t for me, that was for them.”

On Monday, he came for his trailer kit, the one he wasn’t supposed to get. But the Americorps kids and I had looked up the list of what was supposed to be in one of them and made up the goods from stock and other sources. We even added a few things. It was a kick-ass kit and I was thrilled to give it to him. He thanked me over and over and gave me a hug; a real hug, not a man-hug. But there was still the issue of his trailer.

As my last day approached, Ricki showed up with a steak he had cooked for me, complete with a baked potato and peas - cooked over a BBQ at his camp site. I asked him for word of his trailer; I knew it was coming but had learned to say nothing until it was in my hand. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It will come when it comes. It’s alright now.”

The day before yesterday, home just a few hours, I was having a luxurious shower when Mark from FEMA called. Marian handed me the phone through the curtain and I dried my ear enough to listen. “Ricki Crowe is in his trailer,” Mark said. I thanked him for his diligence and he thanked me for mine and we promised to stay in touch. I was two-for-three and a very happy wet guy.

Ricki, if you ever read this, please know that it was the finest steak I ever ate, marinated as it was with so much affection and mutual admiration. As we say in bayou country, I hope you got the biggest-ass trailer on the coast! Journey well, friend, and I won’t forget you promised me another steak when next we meet.

Faith - Chapter One - Tennessee Steve

2005-11-30T16:42:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-29T11:06:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-24T08:26:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-22T13:04:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-21T05:51:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-19T11:36:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-13T07:23:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-11T05:56:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-08T07:17:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-07T07:18:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-04T06:55:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-02T12:30:00.000-05:00

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

2005-11-01T14:06:00.000-05:00

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.

Live from Pearlington - 2

2005-10-31T13:25:00.000-05:00

Pearlington, Mississippi
Monday, October 31, 2005

It seemed a little less cold last night, but plenty cold enough. The reception, however, has been warm and residents keep coming up to welcome Canada Jon back to town. I'm doing what good I can and Nancy spent some of the day taking an inventory of all the supplies still on skids outside the Aid Mart. It was there she discovered The Great Travesty.

I'll leave it to her to share all the details, but I need to tell you a little to explain what came after that for me. There are three skids here from a certain children's group that supposedly contain Care Kits for kids. Inside, Nancy discovered things like mustache wax, tanning dye, upper lip hair bleach....things like that. In fact, there was NOTHING in the care kit that a child could ever use, let alone a child in a hurricane situation. Everybody is incensed. Nancy is all over it and we'll keep you posted.

I met a woman standing quietly outside the Aid Mart, waiting for it to open. Her name is Theresa. Theresa lost everything in the storm - her home and her business. She has nothing. I discovered she has a beauty salon, a business she started to feed her family after her husband left. It will take some time for all the cleanup to get her up and running again to make a living. In the meantime, she took some work with a company contracted to do repairs and does secretarial work for them. She is a strong woman who has never had to ask for help and we chatted over breakfast and we cried together.

Her faith in God touched me. She recently was selected by a travelling team of carpenters to be the recipient of their services and 21 of them worked to strip out her salon and home for a full day. It would have taken her alone more than a month to do the same job. She believes God sent them. She believes He'll provide. Over biscuits, grits and ham we talked quietly; about faith, Canada, children, deadbeat Dads and hope. Then I had a thought....

I took her over to where The Travesty had unfolded and filled her truck with beauty products from the so-called children's care kits. They might as well do some good for somebody. She'll use the material to re-stock her business and will send over other colleagues who could do the same. She's offered to come on Karaoke Night (Friday) and cut hair, do makeup and nails and generally offer some of the local women a chance to feel pretty again. She got some groceries at Aid Mart and left smiling, for the first time in weeks. Theresa is good people and God DOES provide. Just ask her. There is a young boy here named Buster. He was befriended by Frisco Jen, when we
were here in September. Buster is a member of some kind of Junior Fire Club thing and has attached himself to one of the units here fighting fires from out of town. He spends the day in his junior firefighter boots and jacket, running errands and "being in charge of the unit." Just ask him.

The men are kind and generous to him and he sits like them, works like them and eats with them. Yesterday, he was climbing on the back of a four wheeler to head out somewhere. He lost his balance and reached out for the man's shoulder sitting in front of him. Steadying himself he sat down and patted the man on the back in thanks. It was a small, intimate moment for a small young man and it had me instantly in tears. Buster's doing well, Jen. He sends his love. He wants to know when you're coming back.

Speaking of Frisco Jen, her Dad and his wife are here. In fact, they've been here a month and do a tremendous job. Joe Clark runs the Aid Mart now and his wife Sharon is a nurse. Joe is the go-to man here and has his finger on the pulse of everything that could benefit these people. He has facilitated water pumps and trailers and now trailer kits to fill those FEMA trailers up with useful appliances and tools. He's a great guy and has befriended me, giving me a solid base from which to work. The Red Cross workers are likewise caring and hard-working, regardless of what politics and fumbles that agency commits. We are all here doing what we can and trying to love Pearlington back to life. Joe even has locals working in the Aid Mart to help their neighbours. If there is something you need....just ask him.

Today, Nancy is out in the community with Lynn, a woman she met, delivering food and supplies where needed and making sure those who can't get into town get what they need. I have some home visits to make and I'll be working on the Pearlington blog. Of course, things will come up and I also believe God will provide.

Just ask me.

First Day Posting - Live from Pearlington

2005-10-30T23:04:00.000-05:00

Pearlington, Mississippi
Sunday, October 30, 2005

After an uneventful (and exhausting) drive - and easy border crossing - we arrived in Pearlington yesterday morning at 8:00 a.m. Wow, have some things changed! The Aid Mart is fully shelved and stocked, there are lots of good projects going on and lots of volunteers and workers. What hasn’t changed is the politics and the blah, blah, blah.

I won’t go into to it too much here, but it constantly amazes me how so many need to be in charge, to have control, to have their authority recognized. There have been some very stupid incidences here and some great heroism, including Miss Paula, on a return trip from Houston, throwing herself in front of an ambulance to stop the County from removing it. It doesn’t even belong to them. Doctors in the area want the Clinic closed because it’s cutting into their business, even though the residents using it can’t actually get anywhere else, for the most part. You get the picture.

Trailers are coming in more quickly, but there are still lots of people sleeping on the ground. We made contact with some of the residents I met the first time and they helped tune us in to what is going on, from the residents’ perspective. Insurance companies are pulling their usual scams and leaving families in the lurch, FEMA still does not have their act together in many respects and, of course, this all shows up on the ground, measured in degrees of misery for the folks of Pearlington. We will focus on them alone and again I am proud to be Canadian and to not have to recognize ANY authority but that of my Creator and the people I came to serve.

In the end, it was only me and Nancy Semple, from Collingwood, who set out on this mission. Together, we have 35 sponsorships of Hope Chests and we raised sufficient money to meet the needs of our Team. Eventually I decided to purchase the contents of the Hope Chests locally, as people are being turned back at the US border if they think you are coming here to help. They claim we are taking jobs from Americans. There was no evidence of our destination in our vehicle at the border and we had no problems whatsoever.

It was such an odd experience for me at first. Last time when I got here I was put to work immediately. This time, things were covered and we had nothing to do at first. It was probably just as well - we were exhausted. I asked God to direct me where we should be and we soon found out about the planned Hallowe’en party for the kids, coming up last night at 6:00 p.m. I brought a large Public Address system with me and a whole pile of karaoke music, thinking we would lift some spirits with a karaoke evening. They asked me to set it up with some “scary” music for the kids at the party. We got some Hallowe’en-type music and got ready for the kids.

In they came. There was face painting and workers in homemade costumes, lots of candy and handouts and the kids were so cute. Many didn’t have the usual things they would have had for the event, and that was a bit sad, but we made the best of it. The music thing turned into an impromptu karaoke event and an amazing transformation took place. People all over town could hear us and showed up with their families to try and have some fun. Kids sang, as did some of the parents, and we had an old-fashioned smackdown in front of the Shelter and the parking lot. People laughed and danced and workers kept telling me it was a wonderful break from all the politics in the last few days. People’s faces lit up and we had a great time. It was the first time since Katrina there was music and ready laughter and dancing in the streets. What a great event!

Just as I said to Nancy that we needed a bus to go into the community to get the kids, a pick-up entered the secure area pulling a big flatbed loaded with kids and their parents. It was driven by a woman dressed as a clown - smoking a cigarette. The kids got painted and loaded down with goodies and laughed their way through the night. One of the Red Cross volunteers had painted a mural on the side of the school and all the kids - and all of us - were invited to sign it. It was just plain fun.

We finally got to bed around 11:00 p.m. Bed is in a tent someone left behind - a big Coleman tent that fit both of us and our supplies very nicely. It was cold here last night, maybe 4 or 5 degrees Celsius - quite a change to the 31 degree nights here 5 weeks ago! The days are sunny and warm, but the nights are cold. I slept for 8 solid hours; giving me a total of 14 hours of sleep or so, in the last 72 hours. This morning, a new food service place served the residents breakfast for the first time in 10 days. We had sausage and waffles, with syrup and grits and it was fine. I didn’t get supper last night - too busy singing - so breakfast went down well.

Today, I have a few folks to visit who need to talk and I am going to set up a blog for Pearlington itself. We will post stories and updates regularly and help the world keep in touch with the folks here. The workers from the Red Cross (at the moment) are all very dedicated and loving and struggling with the bureaucracy under which they toil. We let nothing stand in the way of service to the locals and “clipboards” don’t last long. But they have had their day, here and there, and we will help the community recover from their damage.

It’s great to be back and I look forward to breaking my own heart all over again. These people - all people who struggle - deserve nothing less and we are here for them. We have a huge Karaoke Evening planned for Friday and there were enough folks here last night to spread the word and make it a seriously fun event. Everyone’s talking about what a great time was had by all last night. Enough of the hardship already - LET’S SING!

I miss my wife and my morning hug, but at breakfast little Hailey found me again and that was almost as good. On Monday we will build our Hope Chests and get to handing them out. The sun is shining, my heart is already full and I have energy to spare. Everyone loves it that Canada is here and residents are stepping up to renew our friendships. “Canada Jon” is back in town and there’s lots to be done. Rest well this Sunday and send the good people of Pearlington all the love you can spare. They so richly deserve it.

Making a Difference

2005-10-23T17:24:00.000-04:00

Many times I’ve returned from somewhere like Bosnia, or Chernobyl or Pearlington, Mississippi and I’ve been asked if I really thought bringing friendship, song and small treasures to children really made a difference in their lives.

I’ve thought about the question over many years. It’s the nature of this kind of caring that you really NEVER know if you made a difference in another person’s life. You go and do what you can, as well as you can. You find the courage to take a chance and, as I’ve said, you break your own heart on purpose. You do it because you care and because you hope something you do will help, will make that difference. But usually, you’ll never know or ever find out.

You’ll never know if the Hope Chest you sponsored is cherished or used to its fullest. You’ll also never know if that little stuffie became a treasured toy that saw a frightened child through many a darkened night. You’ll never know if it ends up in the garbage, or in a child’s heart forever. You’ll never know if the smile you gave, or the hug or the kind word was now forgotten, or changed a perspective for a lifetime. You’ll never know.

Yet, when I think about my own life, some of the most lasting gifts came from those who will never know. The teacher who taught me to sing and saved my life, whose gift to me has been passed along to tens of thousands now, and still counting. The child who sat on my knee in a Kiev orphanage and told me her Dream was to be my daughter. Or little Ajša in the refugee camp who, on my second trip to see her in 1995, told me she knew I was coming, “because I dreamed of you last night.” She was taken away a few weeks later and I haven’t seen her since.

These people changed my life, some while they were serving me and some while I was serving them. And when we serve others we always win ourselves, not in a loud showy way, but deep in our hearts and souls where such things truly matter.

No, I cannot guarantee that when we open our hearts and hands to others we make a difference in their lives. But, I know with perfect certainty that when we do not, we don’t. I’ll never know if I made a difference by going to Pearlington, but I’m positive if I’d stayed home - I didn’t.

There are many more children in Pearlington than we have Hope Chests to give. It’s not too late to sponsor one, never too late to make a difference, for sure, in at least one person’s life:

YOURS.

Thank you,
Jon

hopechest@dreamschoolinternational.com

705-445-8713

Hurricane Wilma

2005-10-20T09:24:00.000-04:00

As Hurricane Wilma, the strongest hurricane in recorded history, churns in the Caribbean, Pearlington and the rest of the Gulf Coast braces for the possibility of another tremendous hit. Packing winds of almost 300 kms. per hour, this Category Five storm is wreaking destruction everywhere it turns. Regardless, Team Pearlington is committed to our journey to the people of southwestern Mississippi and is readying to leave Canada next Friday.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) currently has funds to purchase 300,000 trailers and mobile homes for people displaced by Katrina. To date, 45 days after Katrina struck, only 7308 (2.4%) of them have been deployed. Meanwhile, FEMA is paying $11 million PER DAY to house refugees in 192,424 hotel rooms across the south. Additionally, they have paid Carnival Cruise Lines hundreds of millions of dollars to park three cruise ships off the coast in the Gulf to serve as floating shelters. To date, they remain virtually unoccupied. In Pearlington, only two trailers have appeared. They are completely empty - with not so much as a fork or a plate inside - while the entire town sleeps on the ground in tents or under tarps.

The need for support, counselling, friendship and play therapy for the traumatized children of this devastated community has never been greater. Dream School International is deeply concerned about the long-term effects of this trauma on the residents affected by this natural disaster and intends to do what we can to alleviate their suffering and to let them know that Canada cares.

Join us in supporting this journey of hope. Make a donation or sponsor a Hope Chest. Send your prayers to the resilient people of Pearlington and pray that Wilma passes them by.

Dream School will be there and we hope you will join us in spirit as we extend a hand up to our neighbours and friends to the south.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Aid Mart....

2005-10-18T20:39:00.000-04:00

One day, a very large man I’ll call Samuel came into Aid Mart wanting an air mattress. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, but they were at a premium at that point and I told him so. I explained that I was saving the few I had for the old and infirm.

He looked around. “Come here,” he said. He took me into the enclosed room where the meds were stored. Glancing around to ensure his privacy (which really wasn’t very possible), he said with some passion: “Infirm, huh? I’ll show you infirm.” With that, he unbuckled his pants and dropped both them and his underwear to show me an enormous scar on his rather abundant hip. “Artificial hip,” he said, with some passion. “Doesn’t that quality?” I guess I was too stunned to respond quickly enough. I was, after all, looking at a very large, very fleshy butt - another man’s butt.

“Need more,” he said? Before I could squeak out an answer, he dropped the collected garments to his knees to show me an equally large scar on his thigh. “Knee replacement,” he announced pointedly. “If anyone needs an air mattress, I do!”

I was now looking at another man’s butt AND....well, you get the picture. “Okay, okay, okay,” I yelled. “That’s enough! You win.” In the end I gave him two air mattresses, because I knew one wasn’t going to be sufficient to support all the flesh I had just seen. He hitched up his underwear and pants and, smiling, strode from the back room with his prizes under his arm. “I’m just going to grab a bit of food for the kids,” he said over his shoulder. “Is that OK, or do you need to see more?”

Samuel became a new friend and before I left Pearlington, I took him to my vehicle and gave him the beautiful, new pair of rubber, steel-toed boots I’d purchased in a WalMart on the way down. I hadn’t seen that much man-flesh since high school gym class and I hope I never do again.

Hurricanes make strange bedfellows.

"Hey, hey, hey Paula...."

2005-10-17T06:20:00.000-04:00

I heard from Paula Buhr this morning. She is the First Response Nurse from Texas that was helicoptered into Pearlington only days after Katrina struck.

The people there are still sleeping on the ground. Only one or two of the hundreds of thousands of trailers FEMA has parked, has actually been delivered. Paula is returning this week. She is concerned about a number of her patients with health issues who are now developing respiratory problems from sleeping outside.

Paula is very much a "can do" woman. A small slip of a woman, you had to see her ordering around reluctant Army personnel and FEMA guys to get what she wanted for the people of Pearlingon. Someone had to take charge and Paula was the one. She set the pace for all that followed and lives were saved because Miss Paula was on the job. Thank God for people like her.

I also heard from Frisco Jen, the nurse with whom I worked and, like Paula, one of the original P'Town Renegaides. Her father and his wife are currently in Pearlington and I will make contact with him this week to lay some track for Team: Pearlington's visit. We are set to go and very excited about our mission there. Here's an irony only Canadians would appreciate: his name is Joe Clark - like our former Prime Minister.

If you have not yet made a donation or sponsored a Hope Chest, please consider it. We have some great plans for the kids and their families and will be flexible enough to do what needs to be done. I have already been invited to "join" or "affiliate" with other organizations, but am very careful about that. Dream School International, when responding to such situations as Pearlington, is free to "turn on a dime" precisely because we are so independent. Even though there may be funding available through other organizations, I will not jeapordize that freedom and independence if it compromises, in any way, our ability to deliver our mission.

Have a great week and pray for all the folks affected by such events.

What a Team!

2005-10-13T09:28:00.002-04:00

We are...."now waking up

to the humbling fact that the world
has only one superpower:
the climate."
- Time Magazine, Oct. 17

The members of Team: Pearlington are coming together and I will be making an announcement soon of its final composition. We still need more Hope Chest sponsorships and on the weekend I will be posting the final list of contents each will hold. One of my local Dream Schools is excited about the possibility of being linked with the school in Pearlington - the one which housed the Shelter, Clinic and Aid Mart. It is by no means up and running yet, but the kids there still consider themselves its students. Both communities are of a similar size, on the water and have other things in common. I will announce the name of the school as I work out the details with the Principal. One of the first things we will do is to have the kids, in the appropriate age cohorts, write some Hope Cards for inclusion in the Hope Chests. These will be small postcards depicting their town, or handmade, bearing messages of hope - child to child.

Tomorrow I will appear on Rogers Cable Television here in Collingwood, an opportunity prompted by Team member Nancy Semple. Those of you local enough to view or tape it will find it on at 11:00 a.m. on the Daytime Show. Other great things are in the works and I will share as they become manifest.

I spoke with Frisco Jen last night, the nurse I worked with in Pearlington and one of the original Renegaides. Her father and mother are in Pearlington and their tasks have captured their hearts. They may be there as long as until Christmas and I look forward to connecting with them when I return on the 28th. He sounds like a wonderful guy and I am anxious for the chance to brag to him about his wonderful daughter.

Any who know me, or have ever been to one of my lectures or a Dream School presentation, know that I will maximize the chance to perform in Pearlington for the folks and kids. To this end, I have designated "Love Can Build a Bridge" as the official Team Tune. Its lyrics are spookily appropriate and it's a wonderful song. I am investigating the timing of getting into the studio to record it before I leave, to hand out in Pearlington to all who have the means to play it. Another of the Renegaides - Skylar Hamilton - had the idea of holding an old-fashioned Cajun Hoedown in the soccer field of the school. It's a great idea as a bonding event for the locals and a much-needed break from the intensity of survival. We will see what we can do.

Take care and please stretch yourselves as much as possible for this worthy project. I leave you now with a few lines from "Love Can Build a Bridge:"

"I would swim out to save you
in your Sea of Broken Dreams,
When all your hopes are sinking,
Let me show you what love means.
Love can build a bridge...."

A Question....

2005-10-11T16:15:00.000-04:00

Plans for Project: Pearlington are coming together. We are working on a complete re-vamping of Dream School International's web site - thanks to my step-son Paul Keetch in Vancouver. We also have set up a new blog with full instructions for sponsoring a Hope Chest. Check it out at:

www.dsi-hopechest.blogspot.com

This is a good link to send friends who may be interested in the project.

This blog and the new one are linked (see the links section to the right) and please notice the photos to the right that you can view courtesy of www.flickr.com.

Today, we hear the grim news coming out of Pakistan. I know, if the resources were present, I may already have left to go there and offer my help. In times like these, with so many in need all around the world, it is hard to know what to support and where to send money that will make a real difference. So, I have a question for you that may help:

What would LOVE do?

For me, the answer is "everything I can." In a country like Canada, "broke" is such a relative term, don't you think? Self-respect and self-esteem are the wages of generosity and I know from long experience that when you reach out in service to another, you are changed - blessed, somehow - by the experience and everybody wins. But, just sending money can feel hollow when there is no feedback or evidence that you made a difference.

I make this promise to you: Dream School, as it always has, will ensure that the aid we gather will reach its target EVERY time. I have commited my life to ensuring it.

Give Dream School a chance to prove it to you.

Sponsor a HOPE CHEST.

"There's a hole in the world tonight,
There's a cloud of fear and sorrow,
There's a hole in the world tonight,
Don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow...."

Bless us all,
Jon

Project: Pearlington - Hope Chests

2005-10-05T09:24:00.000-04:00

In the spirit of unconditional giving and to ensure that the families in Pearlington understand that we are not soliciting gratitude for a simple act of kindness, Dream School has created the following protocol for sponsoring a HOPE CHEST.

Here's how to sponsor a Hope Chest for the children and their families of hurricane-ravished Pearlington, Mississippi:

1) Send a cheque, to the address below, for $60.00 Cdn. for each Chest you and your family wishes to sponsor or, call 705-445-8713 to leave a credit card number; if we are unavailable, leave your number and we will return your call. Please make the cheque payable to: Dream School International.

2) Include in the envelope with your cheque, or mail separately, one photo of you, your children or your family. On the back, write your family's names (and ages of the children, if you wish). For the protection of your children and the children of Pearlington, DO NOT include your address or city/town.

3) Upon distribution in Pearlington, we will do our best to record the name and age of the child receiving your Hope Chest and provide this to you upon our return.

4) Inside each Hope Chest will be a card inviting the Pearlington family to contact Dream School by email, or by phone, when either is available, and provide the family's name. We will then cross-reference that to our list and provide your email address, if they wish to make contact with you and if you wish to be contacted.

WHAT TO DO NOW:

1) Include your cheque, photo (if desired), with your children's names and ages on the back of the photo (if desired) - please write nothing else on the photo.

2) OR call the number above to give your credit card number and mail the photo to the address below.

3) Indicate clearly if you wish to sponsor a Hope Chest for a child in the following age groups:

Up to age 6
7 - 11 years
12-14 years
Doesn't matter

4) Indicate if you are open to possible correspondence from the sponsored family sometime in the future.

Thank you for your kindness and generosity. It is almost impossible to comprehend, in the comfort of our own homes, what it must be like to lose everything in a single day.

Thousands of children here in southern Ontario and other countries continue to regularly receive our signature Dream School program. It has been our long experience in Canada, in Bosnia during the war there, with the Children of Chernobyl in Ukraine and the former Soviet Union and elsewhere, that we truly live in a global village. In the age of Internet and world-wide communications, we have a responsibility - that is, an "ability to respond" - to the pain of children everywhere. We cannot change their reality as yet, but we can offer hope and build their resilience so that they will find a way out of their maze.

Nothing does this as effectively as those children knowing that somewhere, someone cares. After all, we are all in this together.

Thank you.
Jon White, Founder

Mailing address: 262 Batteaux Rd., R.R. 2, Collingwood, ON Canada L9Y 3Z1
705-445-8713 Fax: 705-445-8231

Time to Rock 'n Roll!

2005-10-04T15:07:00.000-04:00

Some of you, I know, are my age so you must remember this:

"We're gonna go make it happen,
Take the world in a love embrace;
Fire all of our guns at once and
Explode into space."

PROJECT: PEARLINGTON....

Wanna play?

Calling All You Angels....

2005-10-03T15:52:00.000-04:00

For me, a Hero is an ordinary person doing an extraordinary thing. It's a person scared senseless, but doing it anyway. A person who reaches deep inside and does what they have to do because, well, it just had to be done. No time to engage their brain and talk themselves out of it, just rightful action and successful consequence.

There were many Heroes in Pearlington the day Katrina took their breath away.

There is young Amanda, who says: "The storm washed away my home. The steps that lead to my front door were down the road. My grandma, my sister and her boyfriend were at my Aunt's house and made it out alive. For three hours we stayed in the back of a pick-up truck. The water was up to the bed of the pick-up truck."

James Narvaez tells of the immediate aftermath of Katrina, part of a group brought together by the storm when they met up at the local fire station looking for shelter the day after they lost their homes. They stayed for four nights, scavenging for food and water, in the second floor of the fire house, which was later deemed too contaminated to serve as a supply distribution site. They found water at a store around the corner and some meat "that didn't smell too bad" in a freezer that had landed nearby.

Narvaez rode out much of the storm on a boat with Claude and Cookie Bello and their family. Whe the flooding began to overwhelm the neighbourhood, the Bellos rushed to a nearby two-story hous to find higher ground. As the water rose, they were forced to the attic, where they were able to board a small boat. Claude Bello's brother, Frankie Bello, found a Tupperware container large enough to hold his 8-month-old baby and floated the baby to the waiting arms of his family on the boat. The family waited six hours in heavy winds and driving rain, before Claude Bello got out of the boat and was able to touch bottom. He tied a rope to his waist and dragged the boat back to the house, where the family rode out the rest of the storm.

There is the young mother and father who were forced to climb a pecan tree, pushing their children ahead of them, as the waters engulfed their home. Many hours later, a small skiff drifted by and the young man swam for and together they "paddled out of town."

There is the quiet man from Stennis, putting his own recovery on hold as he scavenges and provides for 40 others. There is the old man, terminal with emphysema, unable to use his respirator for the lack of a generator. He has one now - thanks to the intrepid insistence of his younger girlfriend.

There is the young girl, who had to send her sister into the Aid Mart to ask an older man, a total stranger, if I thought I could find her a brassiere. There is another 13-year-old Amanda, daughter of the man from Stennis, who badly pinched her finger in a cot, setting them up for the old people. There is little Lucy, who told me "my house broke." And there is Hailey, "proud as Punch," because she finally found a pair of sunglasses that would fit her little face. She grandly took off the adult ones she'd found and asked that Renegade Shawn put them back, in case "someone else needed them."

These are the Heroes of Pearlington and now it is time to support them in a different way.

Dream School International proudly announces the inception of PROJECT: PEARLINGTON. A small team will travel to Mississippi in late October/early November to provide friendship, emotional support and ready hearts and hands to ALL the Heroes of Pearlington.

HERE'S WHAT YOU CAN DO:

1) Make application to DSI to be a Volunteer Friendship Ambassador from Canada, travelling during the above dates to Mississippi. I am looking for another man and two or three women.
2) Create a fund raiser to help us build the $4000-$5000 we need to make this Dream a reality.
3) Sponsor one of our newly-created HOPE CHESTS, a small plastic tote with all the things different age groups of children would treasure and hang on to in the challenging months ahead....perhaps a Dream Stone....a fluffy....a pocket radio....a letter and picture from you and your family....a pen pal invitation....a Dream of Hope. Each Hope Chest will include the names, addresses and photo of the sponsoring family and perhaps a long-lasting connection can be made.
4) Send us your prayers and best wishes for a successful Dream in boosting the spirits of the good folk of Pearlington.

Each HOPE CHEST may be sponsored for $60.00 CDN., half of which will create the chest itself and the other half will be donated to the expenses of PROJECT: PEARLINGTON.

Fund raisers may include bake sales, car washes, etc. - anything appropriate that will do the job. DSI can provide information and leaflets for your guests. Dream School cannot, however, support any fund raiser that includes gambling and/or the consumption of alcohol. It's the wrong energy considering with whom we work. So far, DSI has had a total of $335.00 received, with gratitude, towards a follow-up project to my initial trip. That's a good start.

Let's show the Heroes of Pearlington that CANADA CARES!

If you are interested - and available - to travel, please contact me at:

www.heroes@dreamschoolinternational.com

If you have an idea for a fund raiser:

www.support@dreamschoolinternational.com

If you wish to sponsor a Hope Chest:

www.hope@dreamschoolinternational.com

Thank you all for your wonderful support of me as I travelled to the Gulf last month. There is much more to do and, as Canadians, we have a responsibility - that is, an "ability to respond" - that calls us to this outreach of friendship and goodwill.

Jon

"This Canadian is nothing but a big Dreamer"
- Soviet press, 1996

2005-10-01T08:54:00.000-04:00

Be Careful What You Ask For....
Photo by Jon

2005-09-30T11:28:00.000-04:00

Resilient Kids of Pearlington
Photo by Jon

2005-09-30T11:27:00.000-04:00

Keep Hope Alive
Photo by Jon

In Harm's Way

2005-09-30T11:16:00.000-04:00

We all have our own reasons for intentionally putting ourselves in harm's way. Some come because it is their job to do so and, like it or not, it has to be done. Some come from a sense of service and a willingness to do what they can, where they can. Some believe they were sent by God and some, like me, respond to a strong inner voice that invites them to the Dance. Perhaps it is the same thing. But all these kind come on faith - belief without evidence - that this is the right place at the right time, regardless of the danger and privation.

Harm's way also attracts the pirates and profiteers and the lowly thief. They, too, have their place - and their opportunity for profit and unfair gain bears an unfortunate price. The fruit of robbing the weak and defenceless is a bitter, and often hideous, reward. Without repentance and reparation, the consequences can be frightening - and brutal to one's soul.

We come to serve and in the end we break our own hearts on purpose. We come from all over, with only a common intention to bind us together: a need to contribute and a desire to help make a difference. We don't expect gratitude or credit and keep none for ourselves. In fact, we give it to each other. We do what we have to do to get what we need for the people we serve, and in this way we are Renegades. Many of us don't get ID badges, or shirts with our names on them. We also don't get spools of red tape, chains of command that bind our helping hands....or clipboards.

We come to know and love each other in a very short time, because we are sharing a common peril. We carry each other's hearts in our back pockets, along with our work gloves, our duct tape and our stethoscopes. We discover that to find ourselves we must first give ourselves away and that all our fears are manifest hour by hour and we are constantly in a state of choice. Do it or don't. Some of us compensate by smoking too many cigarettes or drinking too many beers. Some of us hide from time to time and some of us grow numb. But all of us cry - inside, where those we came to serve aren't put in the position of having to comfort us. And if we are wise, we comfort each other, then and afterward.

When we return home, we struggle to be present, to be in this moment. Some of us endured the funny looks and the confusion of those we thought we knew, who questioned why we would do such a thing. Some of these lived in our own homes. We return to those same people and feel lonely and disconnected, sometimes enduring seemingly dumb questions and trivial matters that spun along in our absence. Sometimes we feel angry at a careless comment, such as "That's what they get for building a city below sea level." How can they understand? They weren't there, they never saw the elephant. We lived a dream and those who would be dream stealers may erode our memories, trivialize them and dismiss them wholesale - but only if we let them. The world is so much bigger than where we live and we know that now. We hang on to it, lonely perhaps, but satisfied in our hearts that we did what we went there to do.

I remember my fellow Renegades; their faces, their spirit, their commitment and their humour. I cried with them and held them as they cried. I will not forget Steven and Anastasia, Anita and the boys; Jen the nurse, Angels Stacy and Sherri - and Walter the pirate; Shawn and Skylar, Mike and Jack, Portland Tom and Florida William. I especially remember West Coast Tom and hold him in my heart. I will continue to believe in them all, especially on the days they struggle to believe in themselves. We kicked some ass and took some names and I am proud of us all. I remember scorching days and mosquito nights. I remember kneeling humbly beneath the solar shower, the metaphor not lost on me, and praying for strength and the good folk of Pearlington. I remember missing my wife and once again finding gratitude for the beauty and joy of my home and my family, perfectly safe back in Canada. I remember Hailey and the other kids, resilient beyond belief in the face of the most horrific destruction.

And I remember me and what I learned and how clear things get when you are focussed on a single task.

Delayed Posting - Monday, Sept. 19

2005-09-28T14:06:00.000-04:00

It was a sweet sleep, at last. The morning of my last day dawned clear and humid, the sound of the Porta-Pottie People bringing a new phalanx of units (finally) jarring me from my slumber. The day brought the promise of 100 generators....or none. It was always wait-and-see.

Material was now pouring in from all over the southern States. The firefighters, the FEMA guys, the Walton County guys - all chipped in to unload it quickly so we could distribute it in a timely manner. It was a moving sight, at one point, to see a dozen or so of them in a congo line handing off tents, tarps and boxes of clothing and food to each other as they snaked their way inside. Quite a contrast to a week earlier, when they were barely enough of us to keep up to the trickle. The minister from Minneapolis was back, this time with ten young Divinity students. In short order, the place came alive with sorting and stacking. One young man appraoched me and remarked that we needed shelves. I looked at him as if to say, "Yeah, we need a lot of things." Two hours later, he and a colleague had travelled to the Home Depot in Slidell, La. and had purchased 2x4's, plywood and a portable circular saw. Two hours after that, eight of the most beautiful shelves where sitting in the canned goods area and the others were sorting the food, just like in a regular store. It was awesome. But still, no generators....

A number of groups of “clipboards” had shown up in the past few days. The Air Force Colonel demanded a meeting of all the players, to coordinate that which was already perfectly coordinated. The meeting was set for noon on Saturday. He never showed up and I never saw him again. We all just went back to work. Then there was the man from the Hancock County Health Department. I ignored him. As I rushed past him, I overheard an innocent young Guardsman say: “And who are YOU, now?” I stopped dead and spun on my heel. I walked up and said to the young man: “Son, that’s the operative phrase of the week, isn’t it?” The Health guy was embarrassed. “If we had known how desperate it was down here, we would have done something about it.” Well, the part of Mississippi that borders the Gulf is narrow, perhaps a third the width of the state. What did he think was going on “down here?” “I’m going to get you guys proper showers, and make things more comfortable for y’all.” I almost lost it. “It’s not ME who needs a shower,” I told him, pointing toward the field full of residents. “IT’S THEM!!!!” Time to go home....I was getting cranky. Another “official clipboard” freaked when he saw a few of the big Rotary tents in the side room of Aid Mart, demanding they be distributed right away and suggesting we were hoarding them. When informed that they had only appeared five minutes earlier and would be gone five minutes hence, and that in fact we had already distributed or erected scores of them for the residents, he left and we never saw him again. Then, an older nurse came in and told me she had been 36 years with the Red Cross and had quit the day before. “What can I actually do to help,” she asked?

I was inside the Aid Mart, helping an old woman “shop” when Stacy approached me from behind. “They’re here,” she said. “I think you’d better come and look.” I could have kissed her, but still needed to see them with my own eyes before I committed my lips to the cause. She took me outside and there was an enormous tractor trailer packed to the gunwales. I couldn’t see the boxes of generators at first, because stacked in front were skids of desperately needed tents, huge tarps for covering the open roofs of houses and a skid of heavy duty extension cords for the generators. These were crucial, as three of the first 36 generators I handed out had burned - one to the ground - from folks using cheap cords to take power from them. The firefighters were alarmed and so these cords - hundreds of them with four-way-splitters and all - were just what the doctor ordered. I got more and more excited as Darren moved the stuff with the forklift off the tail end of the truck. There they were. Stacy and her crew had loaded the truck until they had exceeded its gross vehicle weight and, in the end, there were not 100 generators.

There were 111! One hundred and eleven brand new, life saving, perfect generators.

Kisses, hoots and pictures later, we were stacking them in the secure area of the compound and I was back on the laptop I’d borrowed transcribing the handmade waiting list onto a storage stick I’d also borrowed, from Minnesota Jack. Soon we were ready to go. But I needed the list printed. There were too many names to copy by hand as I had done with the first batch of generators that arrived. People had caught wind and they were lining up, silently pressuring me to find a solution. No one had a printer, at least one that worked.

On a hunch I approached the man that ran the Communications Mobile. He was a particularly distasteful man to me, one that sat in his air-conditioned coach, with the white plastic picket fence he’d erected around it with the KEEP OUT sign prominently posted - I suppose to keep we plebeians at bay. One of those who imagined himself running a small European country, rather than an RV with radios and phones in the parking lot of a little school in a little town on the bayou of Mississippi. Yet, they had provided satellite phone access for us and now had finally set up a table at the school so the locals could also make calls.

He was NOT amenable. Too busy. I appealed to his sense of destiny (as only I dramatically can!). No go. In the end, I had to bribe him with the use of one of our precious generators (probably to run his cappuccino maker, or something) and then I got some action.

Here was the drill. The main gate was manned by the National Guard. As I issued the generator and marked their name off the list, I would take their address and some form of official ID, if they had it. I would give them a handwritten chit to get them through that gate and over to the secure area where the generators were stacked. Once there, two men would unbox the machine, issue two 50-foot cords, gas, oil and instructions, then load the machine in their vehicle. If they had no vehicle, we would arrange delivery. The Guardsmen were concerned about someone forging my chit. Silly, but I thought that they deserved a little intrigue in return for standing, fully packed, locked and (almost) loaded in the broiling sun all day. So we designed a little code that satisfied them and was easy for me to do. The men issuing the generators would record the serial number on a copy of the list and only two cars at a time would be allowed into the secure area at a time. This, the Guardsmen jockeyed with incoming trucks to be unloaded and other traffic such as the two fire engines needing to go on calls. Mayhem, but orderly mayhem.

We began and it worked smoothly. My replacement Mike was handling daily business as I and a woman named Amy did our generator thing on the laptop. It was a great few hours and the relief on the faces of the people of Pearlington was palpable. I could leave now and know that I had contributed to the common good. But leaving was harder than I expected....

There has been a man, in his mid-thirties, coming to the Aid Mart every day and loading up. I thought at first he was hoarding, so I approched him carefully. He told me that he was a former employee of Stennis Aerospace, a NASA installation nearby that owned all the land around Pearlington as a security exclusion zone. It was at their installation that the FEMA people and others were billeted. He said his employer had allowed him and others from Pearlington who worked for them to stay there, but wanted $13.00 per person per day to feed them. None of them had the money, nor any access to their banks or credit cards. There were 40 or so of them, he explained, some with families that were old, sick and infirm. From then on I facilitated anything he needed to take care of them - cots, air mattresses, blankets and sleeping bags, food, juice, water and clothes. When one of the food service people pulled out and left a huge BBQ behind, I hid it and gave it to him, along with briquets and starter fluid. Things like that.

As I was getting ready to leave, he entered Aid Mart. He spoke to me, as he always did, in a low, quiet, intense voice, focussed solely on helping his neighbours and co-workers in a way only he could. He asked politely for some things. He thanked me politely and went about gathering things for his flock. That’s when I kind of lost it, at last. I was sobbing quietly at the generator table when I heard his low, concerned voice. “Are you OK, Jon? I stood up and told him what I thought of him, his dedication and grace under extreme conditions. He hugged me and I sucked it back up and helped him get the last of what he needed. I never caught his name, but I will find him again some day, I know.

The time came. There were many tears and hugs and the exchange of email addresses. I made a few heartfelt little speeches, as I am prone to do, then tore myself away and got in my rented Durango. Before I left, I posted a handwritten sign on the backboard of the basketball net in the gym that was the Aid Mart - just beside the former high water mark.

“CANADA LOVES CAMP RENEGADE.”

There is an old African myth about a magical beast, so unusual that if you were to ever behold it, the sight would explode your notion of what was possible to a point you would never be the same again. Of course it was the elephant and, once seen, can never be unseen. When we return home, if we try to live our lives the same way, if we try to suck it up and be who we were before, we will surely pay a price.

I sometimes use the metaphor of Seeing the Elephant when I lecture. I never told that story in Pearlington. Therefore I was stunned, as I was leaving town that last day, to encounter a man whose name I do not know. He is an eccentric character, something of a hillbilly scholar, who liked Canada and would sing the opening line to our anthem whenever he entered the Aid Mart. I stopped to say goodbye. His parting words, and the last thing I heard in Pearlington, Mississippi, was:

"You surely saw the elephant down here, din'ja, son?"

Indeed I did.

2005-09-27T16:40:00.000-04:00

Pearlington, Miss.
Photo by Jon

2005-09-27T16:38:00.000-04:00

The Road to Pearlington
Photo by Jon

Delayed Posting from Sunday, Sept. 18

2005-09-27T09:20:00.000-04:00

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!”

Delayed Posting for Saturday, Sept. 17

2005-09-26T12:24:00.000-04:00

Saturday, Sept. 17 - Pearlington, Mississippi

Another scorching hot and muggy day and things are hopping at Aid Mart. The Okies have gone home, but Anita has agreed to stay until Wednesday and Anastasia, Steven and their kids have agreed to drive all the way back from near Tulsa to retrieve her. Thank God, we really need her here to run the back while I organize and issue at the front. Trucks are coming more frequently now, from churches and groups all over the southern states. We are getting more tents - and good ones - flashlights, batteries, sorted clothes and food. There still is no fresh food; no meat, cheese, milk, eggs etc., but we are getting some fresh bread and a bit of fruit - apples, bananas and a few oranges. Dog and cat food arrives, as well, and we divert it to whatever group is on hand to deal with wandering pets and livestock that are starting to be found in town.

We have a good system now. Young Ben, from Walton County, takes up position in the small room at the front that originally contained the Clinic, which has been moved to a clean room in the other building, beside the Shelter. His job is to hand out the restricted materials at my request, restricted only in that we want to make sure they get in the appropriate hands. Tents of differing sizes must go to residents depending on the size of the group needing shelter. We don’t have enough, for instance, to put two people in a five-person tent. We got in some larger ones from China, that house about 10 people, some from Rotary International that are good for a family of five and some smaller ones for couples or individuals. We now have some air mattresses (which we keep for the elderly, children or infirm) and some pads that we give out more freely. Anita runs the back, organizing the sorting of food and clothes and helping people find what they need. More volunteers are showing up now and the unloading of trucks is easier. The guys from FEMA chip in, as do the firefighters who have come from all over.

The young doctor originally from Canada is leaving today. Three times he tells me how tough it is to leave this place. The last time, I embrace him and tell him I know exactly how he feels. He’s stood his watch with care and vigour and now it’s someone else’s turn. He’s crying as he leaves.

It’s a very busy day and each arriving truck is like Santa coming - we never know what we’re going to get, but need it all, whatever it is. I carry a roll of paper towel everywhere, as the sweat rolls freely and abundantly the entire day. I call many of the residents by name now, and they do the same with me. Calls for “Canada Jon” abound. In the evening, I take a much needed shower and join my nurse friend Jen, from the west coast, and Shawn, Skylar and Tom - renegades from the Red Cross - and a few others to regroup and support each other. It's an emotional evening and the release is healing. I can see how each of us is changing and impacting our deepest stuff on a very real and personal level. We draw close to each other as we share this common peril....and we become someone different; more real and naked.

Portland Tom has offered me the Perfect Sleep. He has a room in the back of his trailer that, if he leaves the inner door ajar, should provide some cool air from inside the mobile home. It's private and has its own entrance and I set up my air mattress on the metal floor, my pillows and light blanket. FINALLY, I will get a real night’s sleep. I retire from the get together and head for bed, knowing that dawn will come soon enough.

Exhausted, I sink down onto the air mattress, only to discover the air has all gone out of it. I spend the night on the hard metal sheeting and am thankful for the cool air that envelops me.

Delayed Posting for Friday, September 16

2005-09-25T23:04:00.000-04:00

Pearlington, Mississippi
4:45 a.m.

I’m dying for coffee on the deck with Marian. But there’s no Marian and no deck – that’s for certain – so I settle for warm bottled water as I type by dome light. The sky is blessing Mississippi with a stunning display of stars and a blood-red moon is setting in the west, over the Gulf of Mexico.

It has to be my last day here and I’m wondering how it will go. These people are my friends now and I will miss them and their brave struggle to survive. But, survive they will. That is their nature. I’m tired, but excited about the day. My plan is to leave around 4 p.m. so I have strength left to drive far enough north to find a hotel room. I need to rest for the long journey home. Where’s a Tim Hortons when you need one?

8:45 p.m.

It’s been an eventful day, to say the least. It became apparent pretty quickly that almost all who knew our operation here at Aid Mart were scheduled to rotate out today. People began to fall apart at the prospect. We have taken a school that was still 6 ft. under mud and in a few short days turned it into an Aid Centre and a Shelter, clean enough to be approved by the Mississippi Dept. of Health and the E.P.A. this morning. We now house 80 homeless souls and I can provide you almost anything you need to camp and survive – except those damned generators. I don’t let anything out the door that’s a flammable heat or cooking source. There is so much deadfall in town that a careless fire would burn this burg to the ground. My new neighbours don’t need that on top of everything else.

When Paula left there were tears all around. She almost stayed, terrified it would all fall apart when everyone who had been here so long, finally pulled out. There were pictures all around and the exchange of email addresses. She’ll be back, but her husband’s insisted on a two-week break. I called Marian on the new satellite phone that got hooked up by some volunteer engineers from Seattle and cried like a child the minute I heard her voice. She already knew what I was going to say. She would take care of it all and I will stay the weekend so I can keep it all going until we get some more bodies I can train. Besides, there are 100 generators threatening to show up Monday morning and I am the only one left that the locals trust and know well enough to hand them out judiciously. There may be a riot otherwise. A man from Minnesota dropped in this afternoon and promises me five employees to begin training on Sunday. Another renegade here is bringing me five more new people tomorrow. One of them will replace me eventually.

We have an operation here now. I got in some solar showers and we got them hooked up with tarp curtains and everything. It’s kind of like Bag ‘o Shower, but it gets the job done – for the workers and the locals in the Shelter. We have a big enough generator for compound lights and the National Guard and cops from all over are here to keep the peace. We have a mobile communications centre and even a movie theatre, projected against the wall of a trailer. We’re a community now and we take care of each other.

The Red Cross finally showed up today and tried to take over. A contract doctor, who had waited at the state line until his fees were confirmed, showed up and began issuing orders. There’s a retired New York fire fighter here, several in fact, but this particular man is a survivor of 9/11 who bought and restored a fire truck. He calls it Fire Co. 343, to commemorate the 343 brave men and women who died that day in the line of duty for FDNY. Their pictures adorn the side of the engine. He had to be restrained when the doctor started his pompous thing, because we all know that what got done here was accomplished by men and women who hopped in their cars and trucks and just showed up. No bureaucracy, no three-day requisition procedure, just good ole grass roots get-it-done.

Doctor Big Stuff lasted ten minutes. As he stormed off, he ordered the medical staff here to close down their operation, or he would make sure their licenses got pulled. Three of them, volunteers for the Red Cross who had left their practices and lives behind to help, promptly resigned from the Red Cross and agreed to stay on. He’ll have to make some money somewhere else. The Red Cross pulled out then. It took them 14 or 15 days to get here and they lasted 14 or 15 minutes. The shelter is now being operated by a church group who operates shelters for a living and things started getting done right away. People are sleeping in there tonight. God bless ‘em all.

Patty (Patrick), the crazy retired fireman from New York, dashes everywhere. He was putting out structure fires by himself for a time, because we all thought the small local fleet had been destroyed. Turns out the local fire Chief and his son had it all figured out. Knowing Katrina was coming, they stashed their newest vehicle in another town farther north and after the flood, put in a claim to FEMA for $185,000.00 for it. They would get the money, pass off the hidden engine as the new one and in the confusion, pocket the cash. They didn’t count on Patty. Known in his trade as a free-lancer, and enraged that the Chief and his staff just stood and watched while he risked his life, did some checking and put Florida William, the state trooper, on the case. Like many here, they are the kind authority hates, because they wait for no one. They just jump in and get the job done, while everyone else is still standing around getting “organized.” Patty is a true hero of 9/11 and that truck, with his brother’s and sister’s pictures on it, protects him from those who would try to slow him down. Then, of course, there’s his mouth….and his temper….

The Chief was exposed, the engine located and brought here to help Patty, staffed by other firefighters and paramedics from FDNY. The Chief was carted off yesterday by the FBI, under federal indictment. You don’t wanna mess with the FDNY, nor with Florida William. Many lined up yesterday, amid some very colourful prose from Patty, to wave the Chief off with a certain finger.

I’m sitting on a huge ball of emotion. I let some go when no one’s looking – no one who lives here, at least. I find myself tearing up when telling someone of the heroism of Renegade Tom, or Portland Tim and his father Tim Sr. I know I’m getting fried, but there’s job left to do and I have to do it. I will fall apart in my family’s arms when I return. Dream School must be here when things are in better shape. The children are so cute and confused, but I got a shipment of Mickey Mouse dolls in today and we’re making them smile.

I have a great set-up tonight. I pitched a tent right in the back of the “Aid Mart.” My irreverence helps keep things from getting too intense and the local women giggle and call me Sugar and go get baby food and diapers. I’m definitely talking like a local now and it will probably annoy everyone for a few days after I return. Oh well. I have my tent and my air mattress, a cooler with ice and water (and a six-pack of Diet Pepsi) and even found a small fan I can hook into the generator to keep the heat and the mosquitoes at bay. I’m a happy guy, sleeping in my Aid Mart, waiting for the dawn of another day.

“Welcome to Aid Mart. May I take your order, please?”

Sleep well and pray for Pearlington. We need all the help we can get.

Delayed posting from September 15

2005-09-23T14:47:00.000-04:00

It was incredibly hot last night. I awoke to scores of mosquito bites on my feet and back, just from cracking a window in the truck for air, from time to time. The “two-man” tent I liberated turned out to be maybe 4 feet square, so it was the truck once again for me. Damn! I handed out three of those stupid things yesterday. I’ll have to try and fix that today. Day four without a shower and the Okies and I smell nasty. We head out early and find hot Sally Ann coffee. We rejoice. We enter the Centre and discover a late shipment blocking the access area. An hour later the sweat is pouring off us all and the day has just begun. We drink maybe 5 or 6 litres of water each day and pee maybe twice. I have a Moon Pie for breakfast and take my diabetes meds. It’s all I have time for.

Florida Amy and her sisters are back from Talahassee with my wish list in tow. It’s gone in an hour. More people are starting to return and we are busier than ever before. Some tools come in and I have to ration them. There are 200 names on a list for generators. We have none as yet. People are friendly and lots of new faces appear. Many are children with trembling lower lips. I park a big tub of bubble gum on my table and chat ‘em up. Most leave grinnin’ and a-chewin’. We finally get to open some boxes that came in earlier and hug each other when we find laundry detergent - a hot item, even though everything must be washed in bottled water. We also find some shoe-shine kits. Uh-huh.

The day moves quickly for the six of us. A man enters and asks if I can use 10 good men. In minutes they are sorting clothes and arranging cleaning supplies. Three Army guys are deployed for our service. Let me tell you: if you ever need your baby food, formula and nipples organized, there’s nobody better at it than the American Army! Everyone works hard and sweats profusely and not a single soul complains.

I’m beginning to see signs of Secondary Trauma in some of those who have been here for a more than a week. Paula, a first response nurse from Houston, was helicoptered in about 10 days ago. She’s been tireless in turning a school and gymnasium filled with mud into our Aid Centre and an 80-bed shelter. Yesterday the Health Board approved the main school as suitable for human habitation - all accomplished within four days. We’ve whipped the Aid Centre into more of a store than a big room with piles of aid dumped in it. Paula’s been the driving force; sometimes begging, sometimes yelling, always indignant at what these people have to endure. She’s bullied FEMA, dismissed the Red Cross when they showed up finally on Tuesday to “take over” and we did the same when they tried to horn in on our Aid Centre. Apparently Paula’s husband is coming to get her tomorrow whether she wants to go or not.

One young man and his colleague here work for the Red Cross. “West Coast Tom” shows up a couple of times a day with the most amazing stuff. He tells me that he just goes to the Mobile, Alabama warehouse of the American Red Cross, without a requisition, and the fellows there just turn their backs while he loots the place for what we need. He has to. Requisitions take three days to be approved. He’s an angel of mercy in the truest tradition of that organization.

The doctor here was born in Canada and has invited me to his RV for tea and talk. I’d like to go, I just haven’t found the time. Occasionally I bump into others with some tie to Canada, or folks from Buffalo or Detroit that have a fondness for our country. Americans are wonderful people and they shine the brightest when they’re helping others. Tomorrow is my last day here and we are all going to exchange email addresses and stay in touch. Ophelia is battering the Carolina coast and my thoughts go to my sister- and brother-in-law Maggie and Dennis, who live in the western part of North Carolina. I pray for their safety and many of the “nickels” I came here to resolve finally “drop.”

Part of me was worried I had gotten too old, too tired to serve like this anymore. I was afraid. Diabetes has taken about a third of my energy from me and I was frightened I was not up to the task. But, there are places in the world that need a man like me, and women and men like you, because compassion makes the limbs stand taller and hard work for a good cause brings sweetness back to my life. Some would say it’s a hopeless cause to a certain degree, but there’s nothing more satisfying than giving your all to even a hopeless cause. I may not be as good as I once was, but that’s OK. I was too hyper when I was young, anyway.

The Okies and I are determined to find a shower tonight. We hear that the State of Florida is hosting some out at the NASA Aerospace installation down the road toward New Orleans. After work, we head out. It takes a bit to find it, but we do and they let us in. My shower comes in a large toilet stall with a hole in the floor and a garden hose with a sprayer head hung over the door. It’s rustic, but I have one of the finest showers of my life. After, we follow the FEMA crowd to the mess hall. After waiting in line (and chancing we’ll miss the curfew) we are rewarded with Prime Rib and baked taters, Caesar Salad and real Diet Coke. It was just fine. We look around as we leave. There are air-conditioned tents and huge transports with bathrooms and showers in them. I think it’s necessary. If these men and women are going to be able to endure this for any length of time, they will need this to root them in some semblance of homey comfort. The Okies also understand; they have served as a family in several disasters like this and they are one of the few I’ve met who truly understand the unconditional nature of this work. We’re not attached to any official group, just people wanting to serve. We have no status here save for that which is given us by the victims of
Katrina. That’s more than enough for us.

I was finally able to borrow a real tent and I am looking forward to sleeping under the Mississippi moon tonight. I am clean and fed and safe for the moment. What could be better than that?

Sleep well.

CNN

2005-09-22T14:20:00.000-04:00

Greetings,

I just received an email from one of the nurses I worked with in Pearlington. She found a CNN article on the Internet which may interest you. It's at:

www.cnn.com/2005/US/09/20/forgotten.town.ap/index.html

Thanks,
Jon

Delayed posting from September 14

2005-09-22T12:35:00.000-04:00

Things are shaping up at the Aid Centre. By noon I was put fully in charge
and it was an extremely hectic day. Stuff was arriving as word of the
plight of Pearlington spread and trucks had to be unloaded, things sorted
and some items even protected. My job is to coordinate all this, as well
as all of the people coming in every day to have their basic needs met. It
is generally "slightly-organized-chaos" and at one point I had to put a
Sheriff's Deputy in charge of holding back the residents whenever a truck
arrived, to give us time to see what we had and where we were going to put
it.

Some aid was extra precious - tents, lanterns, gloves, boots, as well as
underwear and socks. These I cordoned off behind Police tape, to ensure
that they were distributed evenly and to the families most in need -
which, of course, I had to adjudicate on the spot. The residents are
mostly pleasant, even though most of them have just the clothes on their
backs. Children are starting to return to their families and one little
girl made a point of telling me that "my house broke."

The stories are coming too now. The cars on the highways were parked
there, to keep them safe. Pearlington is three miles from the Gulf, but a
15-foot surge came inland an unprecedented 4.5 miles. Everything was
submerged in a toxic stew of sea water, sewage and mud. Nothing is
salvageable. I was told stories of folks climbing higher and higher in
their homes, until they were forced to climb pecan and oak trees to escape
the flood. Many were there for five or six hours, until the water receded.
Many are being treated now for serious chafe wounds on the insides of
their thighs, where they had to shimmer quickly to safety, sometimes
pushing their children ahead of them.

Some cry as they tell me. One man teared up behind his sunglasses, as he
explained over and over to me that he'd been quite self-sufficient before
Katrina. He HAD a generator and a chain saw - brand new - now he had
nothing. It's a hard thing for a Mississippi man to be unable to provide
for his wife and babies. I filled his arms with the things I had, rubbed
his shoulder and watched him leave. I went and cried myself then, alone in
the portable toilet. They have to be so strong for a while yet and now is
not the time for them to fall apart. That will come later and I hope I can
come back and help..

A few are clearly despondent, moving already into that phase of the grief
cycle. Anger is coming and already I have had to carry some of it on my
own broad shoulders because I had no generator to give them, no word of
their future, no mops or shovels to muck out the mud. Most are being stoic
and I tell them that Canada is sending them love. They cry with me, then
move along to fill their boxes with canned stew or rice.

Wonderful people from all over the country show up at our doors. Most
bring worthwhile things and take my list to go back for more. One small
Florida church collected $300,000.00 after they were mentioned on national
TV. Suddenly three housewives were in the relief business and doing a
remarkable job. They promise to return tomorrow with what we need. I
believe them. Occasionally we get a box of junk from someone's basement. We shake our heads and throw the dirty clothes or useless trinkets in the
trash pile. What were they thinking? Occasionally, we get one of those
kind that demand to know when and who will send them a letter of
gratitude. I take their names, smile and thank them. After they leave with
their chests puffed out, that piece of paper goes in the trash pile as
well. This is unconditional or nuthin'. Young "Nibletts" from Talahassee
chats me up for as long as I'll let her, which isn't long, with judgements
about "those people" and how much they smell. I hand her a box and tell
her to put it in the back. We never see her again.

Men are going door to door in their trucks, bringing aid to those who
can't get out to the Centre. We find the old and infirm, young Moms with
babies and hurt people. Nothing is too hard for this team. We even build a
man a bed for his crippled legs, out of wood that used to be his
neighbour's house. I hide tents for the old and for groups of families
huddling together to survive. The Sally Ann and others feed everyone
wonderful hot meals and we call each other by where we're from. William
the state trooper is called Florida; my colleagues at the Centre: Steven
(Chain Saw Man), Anastasia, their two teenage sons and family friend Anita are the Okies from
Oklahoma, while I am "Canada Jon." Residents now know our names and we
know theirs. Smelly hugs abound and I'm afraid I'm starting to drawl and
call people "Hon", "Sugar" and "Baby". It must be the incredible heat;
over 98 degrees outside today. Fifteen degrees hotter inside.

I feel like I live here, helping my neighbours; my life, my bed, my shower
all but forgotten. But not my Marian Rose. She is my life and I stand in a
rare quiet moment to consider how WE would fare, if our beautiful home
were suddenly drowned and destroyed. As long as we had each other, we
would survive, I think. In the end that's all we ever really have: each
other. When they thank me for helping them, I only say that I'm sure they
would do the same for us. And they would. If you want to know if North
Americans are hard working and generous, just have a crisis and you'll
find out soon enough.

Tonight I have been invited to camp with the Okies at a mobile RV park
they found. Steven and the boys cleared the fallen trees enough to pitch
our tents and the company will be a welcome thing for me. It's the third
day without a shower and it's so hot at night I get maybe three hours real
sleep. The mosquito problem is growing in the wake of all this muck and
carnage, but we liberate some bug spray and off we go.

More tomorrow..sleep safely and well. Hug your loved ones closely. Don't
waste food and do something nice for a neighbour. We're all in this
together.

Good morning, Friends

2005-09-22T12:11:00.000-04:00

This morning I arose, clear as a bell. I will begin new postings of what I recorded daily in Mississippi. I just need to retrieve them from the portable. Expect one shortly and another this afternoon. I have a slate full of clients, but I'll get it in there somewhere.

Thank you, Anonymous. Your comments have highlighted several important issues. The reason I went alone this time was because I didn't need to be responsible or even solicitous of the needs or safety of others. I've done this before. I know how to not be a burden on an already over-taxed system. I was there to contribute, not to draw on. I also know how to take care of my own needs and I am very resourceful. Secondly, my prediction is that the Red Cross will have a GREAT deal to account for, and all of you will see this in the upcoming postings. I have seen this everywhere. I call it the Politics of Humanitarianism. Every large group or corporation gets itself to a place where it takes much more of its money (donations) and resources to support its structure than to deliver its mission. 85% of all the goods we received in Pearlington didn't come from "official" sources. It came from people hopping in their cars and trucks (or renting trailers, U-Hauls and tractor trailers) to just show up and do some good. They had to. Many had tried to hook up with the Red Cross and others and it would have taken WEEKS. People of good conscience cannot tolerate this. Review the track record of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees during the Bosnian war and you will see what I mean.

The thing we needed most in the Gulf was HANDS. People willing to unload and sort, comfort and fetch, deliver generators and tents and blankets to those who could not get out, movers, shakers, ass-kickers and name-takers. People who weren't afraid of taking risks and just getting the damn job done. Renegades. Only at the end of my tour there did we get enough of these. It was a sight to behold. People I came to love, admire and respect in the few days that would have taken a lifetime in the "real" world. This IS the real world. As real as it gets. They are my brothers and sisters now and we have each other's back. Always.

It's not for everyone. It's lonely and we all know that when we return home, no one who wasn't there will truly understand what we saw and did and how we felt. How could they? Young Tom from LA was getting daily text messages on his cell phone from his wife about how the dog was pooping on the carpet back home. I watched Tom put all he had on the line, face every fear he ever had, and cry in my arms as I tried to help him understand that it's not her fault. She wasn't there, didn't know.

That's why we will stay in touch with each other. We saw the elephant and now it can't be unseen. Your comments hurt - not because they were true or balanced - but because you weren't there.

I invite you, Anonymous, to step out of the shadows and join me the next time I go. It will be soon. If I were wealthy enough to not have to come back to earn the bill money, I would be gone again this morning. 9/11 affected 12 city blocks. Katrina devastated 90,000 square miles and now Rita, the third largest hurricane in history, is about to slam them again.

I'll watch your back and entrust mine to you. Avoid groups like the American Red Cross - you will leave more hollow than when you arrived. Step up to the plate and let Rita throw you a curve ball. I know you can do it. You obviously care. That's all I need to convert you from a clipboard to a renegade.

As they say on the bayou: "God bless ya, son."

Hi Honey....I'm HOME!

2005-09-22T02:31:00.000-04:00

Greetings, Friends:

I am finally home, after a brutal 17 hours on the road. I am glad to be back in the arms of my wonderful wife, but much of me is still in Pearlington, as they brace for Rita. Had I known she would be heading their way for sure, I would have stayed.

My, my, my. I am too tired to deal with Dream stealers tonight, so I will do it in the morning. Let me just say this: I sincerely doubt that there is anyone, anywhere in the world - including the homeless of Ontario - who are in challenging situations tonight that:

a) KNOWS this energy-sucking business is going on
b) CARES
c) is being BENEFITTED by it.

So, in the morning it will stop. Please give no further energy to it. He or she is free to create their own blog, stand on their clean little soapbox and fill their boots. I, for one, believe we reap what we sow. I wouldn't want to be this particular clipboard when the karmic bill comes due.

Thanks for all your love, prayers and support. It was a long drive and I have more postings to make.

And a new Dream. A big one....

P.S. P.J.: Thanks, my son.

Sleep well.

Jon

Delayed posting from September 13

2005-09-21T08:42:00.000-04:00

Pearlington, Mississippi
September 13, 2005

The road off the freeway leading to Pearlington is littered with the shattered vehicles and broken dreams of the people of this bayou town. Hundreds of cars and trucks lie akimbo in the ditches; some nose down in the water, some on their roofs, all broken and abandoned. One can only wonder about the fate of their passengers. When Katrina hit this Gulf coast town, only some of its citizens had already been evacuated. When they returned a week later, there was nothing to return to. Everything had been destroyed. Not one building had been left undamaged, not one tree still stood tall.

All along the Gulf, Katrina hit with a force unimaginable. The damage is so extensive that it has forever changed the face of this part of the world. Hundreds of thousands of trees, maybe millions, are destroyed. The Army Corps of Engineers has pushed the deadfall off the roads, but many still teeter threateningly over the traffic below. Highway and street signs are either gone, or twisted and bent beyond repair. Entire buildings are missing from their footings. There are boats on the shoulders of the roads and cars in the bayou. I even saw a sailboat wrapped almost intact around a tree, like a living mast.

The winds and rains were bad enough. When the surge came, it filled Pearlington with twelve feet of water. Anything still salvageable was now lost. The high water mark can easily be seen on the backboard behind the basketball net and around the edges of the block gymnasium in which an Aid Centre has been set up. It’s the only building still standing, that and the attached elementary school, The windows were broken and all the desks and lockers washed back out to sea with the retreating tide.

When I arrived early this morning, everything was complete pandemonium. FEMA and the Walton County Works Department (from Florida) had only made it to this little town on Sunday and aid was starting to arrive by the truckload from all over the south. All 600 residents desperately needed food, clothing, baby supplies and water. Nothing is working in the town; no water, toilets, power, phones nor gas. Nothing except a few volunteer aid workers, Sheriffs Deputies, Police officers and fire fighters from four states, Red Cross people who have defected from an organization clearly not working as it should….and one crazy Canadian.

By noon we were getting organized. I had already been promoted several times and now ran the check-in desk to ensure everyone got what they needed. I made lists of people wanting generators and chain saws – should they ever arrive. But there are plenty of Coleman cots, a few tents (which go quickly), some tarps and plastic and skids of canned goods and sundries that will have to see these people through for a while yet. There is no word of their future, just rumours….a tent town….a trailer town….relocation. No one knows. FEMA and others are busy mucking a foot of residual mud and mould out of the main school into a shelter for 100 or so of the luckier ones. There simply is nowhere else at the moment to put the rest.

Angel Monroe is filling a box with the things her family needs. She sees her neighbour and they hug each other. She had invited her neighbour over the week before the storm hit. Gussie “came over” all right – her house currently rests atop Angel’s. The neighbour’s house across the street is in their back yard. Angel’s 10-year-old daughter Amber tells me their deck is about a mile away, in the bayou. Four-year-old Haley is letting me take her around, a Barbie baby in a carrier firmly attached to her back. She sees a small My Little Pony plastic tricycle and her face lights up. We finish filling her pockets with gum and donated suckers, me pushing her Pony. I give her my Eagle Wishing Stone from the Kokopelli Trail Quest last summer. I tell her to hold it close and it will make her feel better. She makes a wish, but doesn’t share it. A good thing for me, I’m sure. When she leaves with her Grandma, she shoots me a radiant smile, her little fist wrapped around the wishing stone in the pocket of her donated jean shorts.

The Salvation Army is here with a big trailer and are feeding all, including me. It’s 101 degrees outside, hotter by far in the Aid Centre. Finally, a team of men from the Walton County Public Works Dept. in Florida rigs our only generator and gets a big fan moving some air. Angel is back, looking for a tent big enough for her family. There aren’t any. A lady who shattered her leg escaping is waiting for the only doctor and crying softly. She refuses my offer to help. So I go about the business of doing what I can, until I am so tired I can barely stand.

There are no hotel rooms for a radius of 200 miles. They are all booked by aid workers and their organizations and most for the next six months. I make the mistake of leaving the grounds to get gas and to look for a non-existent room. When I return, it is after 8:00 p.m. and I am stopped at a checkpoint by State troopers, who refuse me entry to the area. There is a curfew I didn’t know about. My plan to camp beside the school crashes. I drive up the road apiece and find a National Guard bivouac. They invite me to pitch my tent in the field beside their motor pool. As I am doing so, two Sergeants come over to tell me there are copperhead rattlers in the area, but only a few hundred yards down the field, not here.

I make my bed up in the back of the truck. It’s past midnight and its still 82 degrees outside, hotter in the truck. If I roll down the windows, I am devoured by mosquitos. So here I am, the portable on my lap in the front seat, recording my day. The computer is plugged into the inverter I brought and the engine is running with the air conditioning on. I hope I sleep somehow. Tomorrow is another day….

If my heart had wings, I would fly out over the Gulf of Mexico and stir up a storm of hope and compassion for the resilient people of Pearlington, Mississippi. Especially for Haley.

Good night.

I'm back in the world....

2005-09-21T08:25:00.000-04:00

Good Morning,

As Rita builds in the Gulf of Mexico, I am over-nighting in Kentucky as I head home. I am tired and beginning to feel very sad. I did what I could, but my heart is still there, as my new friends in Pearlington brace for what may come....again.

I will begin now to post the daily logs I was unable to send. Thank you for all the comments, especially the ones from the individual criticising my work. Down here, we call such people "clipboards." I've met them all over the world; people who criticise from the safety of their armchairs, but who would never stand a watch or drop their clipboards long enough to fill their hands with a hammer, or some food or a stethoscope and actually DO something. Oh well. Talk's cheap when you're safe at home.

Please pray for the people of the Gulf. Their resilience is remarkable and they deserve a break. Especially Pearlington, forgotten in the shadow of New Orleans, 15 miles across the Bay. Thanks for the prayers you HAVE made - "Camp Renegade" is a going concern and now they may stand a chance, as you will see....

God bless,
Jon

Another hurried call....

2005-09-16T21:15:00.000-04:00

Jon called this afternoon - in the few minutes that I was home for a washroom break. How perfect is that?!

The call was rushed and Jon was breathless - though more emotionally than physically so. He spoke so fast, I couldn't take notes that made any sense. They just got a mobile line hooked up to a generator, so he had to talk over that.

He was extremely clear that the situation is still in "emergency" state. He commented that supplies arrive, however they don't go far enough. They finally have chlorine, though not sufficient quantities. They can't find enough tents. Mops arrived, though they were dispersed in a minute and hardly made a difference. Clothes have to be sorted, because a lot of it is garbage (other people's rags, so to speak). Some people even sent nice things to hang on the wall - THERE ARE NO WALLS!!

Jon is staying in Mississippi until at least Sunday. All the other volunteers who have worked together with him this week and created some semblance of order in the relief efforts had also planned to leave today. Jon couldn't bear the thought of leaving the residents stranded (again!), so he will be the one to hand off when a new group of volunteers arrives.

"Ask them to pray for these people. They have nothing left. Tell them to ask God to send more hands! We need more help," he said.

Jon was emotional on the phone, and admitted to needing a good cry. However, he said there was no time for that, there was still so much work to do. He promised he would cry tonight - he needs the release.

While he works night and day in a destroyed town that has been mostly ignored by larger agencies; while he tries to support people whose lives will never be the same again; while he hides his own anguish at their losses, so that he can put their needs first; he apologized for spending two more days away and asking me to make some phone calls to cancel half of his work week.

I am so proud of Jon that I can hardly contain it. He certainly knows how to walk his talk.

Pearlington, Mississippi ... a war zone

2005-09-13T23:31:00.000-04:00

a phone message from Jon.....

Jon spent the day at a Relief Centre in Pearlington, Mississippi. He says the town is like a war zone - and he has seen a war zone, so I trust his description. A ten foot surge hit the town and took out every home. Only the school, made of bricks, was still standing, though it was gutted. I think he said that 600 people are homeless.

Jon assisted in the collection of generators, tarps and supplies for those who need them. They have given him a small tent so that he can stay close. They are delighted that a Canadian would come to help them.

It is possible that we won't hear too much more from him for a few days, as he lives and works in the most affected area where there is no telephone service. He asks you to direct your prayers and light for those who live there - and all of those affected adversely by this trauma. They need so much support and, from our comfortable homes, we can work miracles through our connectedness of Spirit.

Let us pray.......

Just outside Mobile, Alabama ... by phone

2005-09-12T23:42:00.000-04:00

I am on the coast and gathering my strength for the morning. The motel is swollen with refugees. This, in a community still recovering from Hurricane Ivan last year. Tomorrow, I head into the thick of things, to Pearlington and Waveland, both right on the Gulf, across Lake Borgne from New Orleans. At this point, I will be in the farthest south west corner of Mississippi. Both communities are pleading for help and feeling forgotten, that close to New Orleans. I think I am ready, but not knowing what I am actually walking into.

Gas is scant this close to the Gulf, although I have managed to fill up. Ironically, gas is 25 cents a gallon cheaper than it was in upstate New York. I have heard that the long distance phone lines are down on the coast, however, I have my portable and I will write the stories, but may have to post them later. For now, I am falling into bed to be ready for the morning.

An idea is brewing in my head. One for the children, that could do something to restore some hope and to prepare their parents for the effects of post traumatic stress in their children that will come later.

Good night for now,
Jon

In the arms of the angels - 9/11

2005-09-12T09:34:00.000-04:00

Good morning, Dreamers:

I have over-nighted in Sheppardsville, Kentucky, south of Louisville, after an uneventful 11 hour drive toward the Gulf coast. The border crossing at Fort Erie took under 20 seconds and the agent didn’t even take my proffered passport. This is in contrast to the 90 minutes we endured at Detroit last summer, being grilled like cheese sandwiches.

The day was bright and warm, hitting 33 degrees at one point – comfortable, though, without our patented humidity. Gas prices, so far, are just under $3.00 a gallon. People are friendly and many cars are festooned with ribbons, commemorating either the men and women serving overseas or 9/11.

The Ford Explorer I rented was unavailable (big surprise) so I ended up with a Dodge Durango – fully loaded. It’s so bright a red, I feel like I’m driving a fire truck. Mmmm….maybe I can use that to my advantage…. It reminds me of my first trip to Croatia and Bosnia. I was able to rent a white Volkswagen Golf in Zagreb and I headed into the war zone. I didn’t understand why I was waved through so easily at all the checkpoints until I realized that the UN vehicles were all white Volkswagen Golfs, just with big UN sticker on the doors! Worked for me….

Upon further quiet reflection, and inspired by a conversation Saturday with my way-too-bright daughter Lindsay, I have decided that ALL donations received for Project: Katrina will be set aside in a special account. We will use these funds to facilitate whatever action is chosen as a result of what I find down south. All of the expenses for the trip itself will be borne by Marian and myself.

Speaking of Marian….what a wonderful woman and partner. I miss her already. As we were dancing at the wedding Saturday night in Burlington - to Elton John’s “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” - I realized how challenging it might be for my wife to love such a “wild-eyed wanderer” as me, but she does, with all her heart. It took me half a lifetime, but I thank God every day we found each other.

Shower time. It may be my last for a while. I don’t know. Stay tuned and please know that I feel your prayers. Everything has gone so smoothly. I am, most certainly “in the arms of the Angels.”

Stay tuned….

Mostly all set....

2005-09-09T18:27:00.000-04:00

Well, things are shaping up for the start of Project: Katrina. A hundred details have mostly been addressed and I am very close to being ready. I am excited and frankly, a bit nervous, but Faith isn't Faith until it's ALL you're holding onto.

I would like to thank:

Larry Radko, Executive Director of the North Simcoe Catholic Family Life Centre for the generous use of an internet-ready laptop that I can take with me. My hope is to update this blog daily, but who knows if that will even be possible? Keep checking though, because you never know....Thanks, Larry. Larry and the Centre have been underwriting children's Dream School here in North Simcoe for years and have always supported me and my work.
catholicfamilylifecentre.com

Also, Saeed Rouhani for the suggestion of, and assistance with, setting up this blog. Saeed is a talented web designer and his work may be viewed at::
rouhaniwebdesign.com

I would also like to thank the well-wishers, supporters and Dreamers who have been in touch with me so far. I carry all of the caring in your hearts with me and I promise to share it with others as best I can. Some have even made donations and I am grateful. I will make sure that the funds are well and responsibly spent. Each dollar makes a big difference in the life of a child who has lost everything. Donations may still be made by mail or by phone, even after I'm gone. Call Marian at 705-445-8713 or mail a cheque to 262 Batteaux Rd., R.R.2, Collingwood, ON L9Y 3Z1.

More importantly, I take your prayers and intentions with me. Thank you to all who have rallied in this way.

"Big Dreamer"

This is a test....

2005-09-08T08:03:00.000-04:00

Good morning!

It's 5:00 a.m. I've been up since 4:00 - things swirling through my head about my upcoming trip. I need to sleep - it will be a long drive and I still have two very full days to finish and a wedding out of town.

If this works as well as it promises to, hopefully I can keep everyone posted as I travel.

Stay well.

Jon