From Gertrude Kelly

We arrive in Lake Charles, Louisiana, site of the state's largest evacuee shelter, around half past 1 Sunday morning. I gaze down from the balcony of the area the Red Cross has given us for our sleeping cots. The Lake Charles Civic Arena floor is a grid of mattresses, evacuees sleeping, spotted with an occasional television or radio. Spaces on the floor are arranged in countless rows that are home to hundreds - - people have no address to describe where they sleep.

There's a rhythm to the evacuees' routine, a daily schedule of meals, showers, recreation and rest. Over the loudspeaker evacuees are roused at 6 a.m. sharp. At 8:00 I hear, "Parents, please have your children outside as the school bus will depart in fifteen minutes.”

After a couple days, we move north to Slidell, which is closer to Katrina's Ground Zero, the City of New Orleans. What seemed a steady trickle of food stamp card clients in Lake Charles becomes a surge in Slidell. For the most part, food and daily necessities are plentiful, but countless express frustration with FEMA and the Red Cross asking, “Why doesn't the Red Cross answer its phone?” or, are you all from FEMA?”

Still, the Slidell clients' response to our presence is overwhelmingly one of generosity and friendliness. "I got to meet a lot of good people just waiting here talking," one Slidell client tells me as I tap the key pad on the calculator computing her dollar award. ‘How long have you waited in line today?' I ask. Not long at all; just 3 hours.”

While I miss sleeping in my own bed, showering, and long for hot a meal other than an MRE, I am grateful for the knowledge imparted to me from each and every client. Quiet resolution to rebuild presented with southern graciousness and gratitude. Over and over clients politely ask, “Where are you folks from? Thank you so much for coming to help us.” Still others tell us of relatives who have decided to move north away from the risk of another disaster of the Katrina kind.

Now I am back in Chicago reading about Katrina and Rita in the Tribune and the Times. There are stories of Red Cross volunteers, out-of-state police officers, and countless others serving food or sending money to help evacuees begin to rebuild their lives. Reading them makes me think of real life while in Louisiana. Reflecting back I think of my last client, a young man with a warm, gentle face, a long braid, his beautiful blond four year old daughter in tow. What stays with me is his heroic stoicism about the loss of his livelihood as a shrimper. Shrugging his shoulders he said, “We will come back.” Having been there, I believe him.