Tag Archives: meet wayne

Thinking of Katrina

10 Jan

Lucky and I at the Houston Astrodome (2005)

Up until this point, I’ve experienced two major paradigm shifts in my adult life. One being just recently with the passing of my father, and the other being the aftermath of hurricane Katrina.

Almost 3 1/2 years ago most of us watched as our neighbors to the south struggled for their lives in the midst of one of our nation’s most devastating storms.  We all know the story.  Raging winds, flooding waters, FEMA, the Superdome, Mayor Ray Nagin, and even Kanye West’s infamous pronouncement that “George Bush doesn’t care about Black people,” (and Mike Myers’ awkward reaction, thereafter).

americans who didn’t experience Katrina first-hand are experts when it comes to knowing who the major players are of this disastrous drama.  We can recite word-for-word those impassioned one-liners from Bush and Nagin.  We can probably even cite the talking points of political pundits and social experts who appeared on every major cable network at the time.

But none of that matters much anymore.  Most of us have moved on with our lives, distracted by our day-to-day trials and tribulations.  Now more than ever most of us are far too consumed with having to negotiate between what bill to overlook this month and what vice to indulge in (food, sex, alcohol, drugs, reality t.v.). Most of us are thinking about what we’re going to do in the coming months with mounting debt and a government that, at its best, is incompetent and disingenuous.

While we struggle, so too do the many who are still displaced from their roots in New Orleans.  Frontline recently told the story of The Old Man And The Storm, produced by well-renowned journalist and producer June Cross.  I cried, boy did I cry, while watching Mr. Gettridge’s story.  I’m sure many others who watched this episode were just as touched as I was, probably for similar reasons.  Hopelessness. Despair. Inequity.  All these adjectives describe Mr. Gettridge’s struggles post-Katrina.

In 2005 I was living in Houston, Texas.  Two weeks after the storm hit, NO residents were bussed to Reliant Park – my backyard.  I was teaching at a predominantly African-American charter school at the time.  There was no way I was going to just sit back and watch these folks come to H-town and not get involved.  I wanted to help, and so did my best friend Esha. Equipped with our cameras and notepads we went to Reliant Park, otherwise known as “Reliant City,” by volunteers, displaced citizens, and city officials.  We spent time with the folks, volunteering and helping out in any way we could.  We documented our experiences that would later turn into two mini documentaries Meet Wayne and A Region of Survivors.


Pictured with Katrina survivor, Maria in Houston (2006)

I spoke with others who survived the storm over the two-year period of making Survivors. I did lots of growing up during those few years.  I learned about life and sacrifice through the stories and faces of strangers.  For these reasons I always find myself thinking of Katrina.

I don’t profess to be a filmmaker or a producer, but rather a storyteller.  I had no idea what I was doing in either documentary – I just wanted to tell a story, and I did.

I saw in Mr. Gettridge’s story the tales and horrors of so many others I spoke with.  Mr. Gettridge reminded me so much of a man I met while volunteering at the Astrodome in Houston.  Esha and my dad also volunteered with me.  This eighty-something year old man reminded me of my late Papa (my great-grandfather).

Sitting in his wheelchair, the man told us stories about how he survived the storm.  “If I didn’t wake up, I’d been as good as gone.  I’m Lucky,” he told us.  Neighbors, concerned about his safety, banged on his door until he finally woke up.  By that time, the water in his house had risen to the top of his staircase.  He was carried out on his wheelchair.

In addition to telling us about escaping the storm, he also spoke candidly with my father about times growing up during the Depression.   Watching them talk with one another was like looking at two old friends who knew about things folks from my generation could only imagine.  We never got the man’s name so my dad decided we call him Lucky.  We never saw Lucky again after that night – but I’ll never forget him.

Mr. Gettridge reminds me of Lucky.  These men whose hearts never leave home.

Unlike the many americans who have moved on from hurricane Katrina, whether intentionally or not, I don’t think I can ever stop thinking about all those I’ve met and will continue to meet along the way.  Since the storm, I’ve always had this inkling that one day I’ll be drawn back to New Orleans, a city whose residents will forever hold my heart.