Many times I just stumble across or meet people I had no plans to meet. Like those nights out that always seem to end up being the best -- you know, the ones you didn't plan for so much or set your expectations too high for (this is why New Year's Eve is so often a letdown) -- sometimes these chance meetings are the best contacts one can ever make.
Last week, thanks to the caring and hard work of Martha Diederich, I received about 20 boxes of Social Studies books from a school system in California. Martha sent them as part of my School Supply Drive for Andrew Jackson Elementary in the hopes that the school could use the textbooks. Unfortunately, all their texts are ordered for the year and they cannot use additional submissions like this.
Not wanting them to go to waste, I started to look for a new home for them. I went by the Recovery School District, only to find out that the person I need to speak with is on vacation (how anyone for the RSD, which is responsible for several dozen public and charter schools in New Orleans and is scrambling to get many of the facilities ready for the new school year, could be on vacation with what they have going on this month is beyond my comprehension). So then I decided to go over to the Lynn Oaks School, a private school founded and funded by St. Bernard Parish council member and successful business man Lynn Dean in the early 1980s. While there, I met the school's new principal, Lawrence DeHarde.
Almost six months here and I'm still not used to hearing some of the stories. At the core, many are the same: lost home, families broken apart, drained resources and finances. But in a personal way, they're also very different. In asking Mr. DeHarde if he and his school could use some or all of the books, we began a conversation that lasted the better part of an hour about what happened to him. His story is is no less sad, frustrating and eye opening.
I'm not writing this to re-tell his story, although there are some basics I would share. Mr. DeHarde has been working for schools for 23 years, either as a teacher or principal. His home in Chalmette was not only a victim of Katrina and water damage, but an oil spill as well (from nearby Murphy's Oil). His school at the time of the storm was destroyed, and so he was out of a job. For over a year DeHarde was unemployed, unable to find work (he did get two offers from schools out of state, but decided against leaving the New Orleans area, where his parents and brothers lived). So he struggled, struggled like so many others, exhausting all of his savings and retirement money just to afford the basics needed to live. He turned down a payoff of $25,000 from Murphy's, knowing that if he took it he'd be responsible for cleaning up his damaged house, a chore that probably would have cost more than the $25k anyway.
DeHarde's father passed away three weeks ago, a victim, DeHarde says, of Katrina. Too much mental anguish and stress. His health steadily declined over the past year, and as DeHarde put it, he eventually just lost the will to struggle through this anymore (two weeks ago I posted a link to a newspaper column regarding the number of deaths in the New Orleans area that can be attributed to just such factors). So now DeHarde has lost a home, lost a job, lost his savings, and lost his father. Just another story in another life in the catastrophe known as Hurricane Katrina.
There is plenty of good here, though. DeHarde is bruised but not beaten. As he looked through boxes of books in the back of my car, seeing if he could use any, his forehead beaded up in sweat, a result of the ridiculously high humidity typical of Louisiana this time of year. I watched him and sat there wondering if I should offer to go back inside, and out of the heat. Then I remembered who I'm dealing with. I thought to myself, "you think this guy gives two craps about a little sweat on his brow and his shirt after what he's been through?" So, we just stayed out in the heat, talking, mostly him talking and me listening, shaking my head. Katrina didn't discriminate. Poor, wealthy, young, old, unemployed or successful, it hit everyone. I looked at him as a guy who has given 20+ years to such an admirable career -- education -- wondering what he did to deserve this. But again, Katrina didn't discriminate.
In the distance, DeHarde pointed out the trailer he's currently living in during the week. He and his wife found a home late last year, only it's two and a half hours away from St. Bernard Parish. So, with the new job and school underway, he makes the FEMA trailer parked near the entrance of the school, one of three over there, his home during the week. It's much better, he says, than commuting all that way. Meanwhile, he's been turned down for a loan from the bank to buy a new house in the Parish. They told him his credit was bad. He told me, with sarcastic laughter, how he replied back, saying "of course it's bad, I have no job and I have no money left from the storm". Fairness, or common sense, don't really play a role in the lives of many people down here.
He hopes that within the year, now that he has a job and steady income again, he'll have his home. Meanwhile, it's trailers and long commutes on the weekend to go home to his wife and it's wearing the same clothes and outfit two or three times a week, as that's all he can afford.
We finally went back inside, and into his office. It's pretty bare, save a desk, a Dell computer and a bunch of paper. Nothing on the walls, and he doesn't plan on doing much more to it anytime soon. Appropriate, I guess, as 'extras' and the unnecessary are not in the cards for folks like DeHarde. He's looking forward to the new school year, though. He's excited. Lynn Oaks had over 400 students pre-Katrina, and now, in its 2nd year back following the storm, they have 193 enrollees. Not bad, he says, better than the 130 or so they had last year.
I'll pay DeHarde a visit again, to say hello, hopefully bring him some clothes, and in the process I'll be reminded that school principals are really no different than the construction workers or mechanics or restaurant workers or employees at the oil refinery. He has struggles, and now has lost a loved one. But he also has hope, just like the rest of them.
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