Stop the Madness

The red tape and bureaucracy doesn’t begin and end with government only. Relief operations sometimes are no better. Wednesday, I went to the Salvation Army’s main New Orleans facility over on the West Bank (down here, that means across the Mississippi River), a huge warehouse that used to be a Coca-Cola factory. It’s in a terrible neighborhood, and the building had to be 70 years old, and showed every day of its age. But no matter. The point of my trip there was not to see pretty neighborhoods or nice architecture. I got word through a good source last week that the Salvation Army was looking to get rid of a lot of the stuff they’ve been housing there for the better part of two years, including some food. When it comes to my non-profit’s (SBRC) mission, food’s actually not as high on my priority list as household goods, but I’d take it. Everything helps, and, I know some small organizations that do food handouts and they could always use it, too.

I called the warehouse supervisor, Dan Ketcham, on Tuesday, introduced myself, told him about my program and asked if I could come see what they have. He was very receptive and invited me to come meet him first thing Wednesday morning. He’d show me around, and I could see if there’s anything I could use. The facility is massive. It has four large rooms, each about a football field worth in size. As I surveyed each room, I could only imagine how many things they could have fit in there shortly after Katrina. Anyway, it was about as I expected, in terms of food and goods. There were no life-saving prizes there, but definitely things I could take and distribute in St. Bernard, from juice and snacks, to canned vegetables, to slippers and sneakers, to cleaning products and disinfectant wipes. Again, not a home run, but I’ll take it.

But then I saw what might have been a home run. Just Tuesday, I was at the house of Lori Jones, an African-American woman of about 32, 33, who is serving as legal guardian for Donnell, a fourth-grader at Andrew Jackson who suffers from bouts of schizophrenia. The guidance counselor at AJ passed her information on to me as a good candidate for SBRC’s help. Her husband works on a barge and is out at sea until Dec. 1. Meanwhile, their house, which they just bought a few months ago, is nice enough, will be nice, but it’s far from a finished product. Getting to the point, Lori has no appliances. None. No refrigerator, no stove, no microwave, no washer or dryer. They don’t even have a kitchen sink. When I asked what they do for food, storing or cooking, she said they go to the convenience store around the corner a couple of times a day, and go out for a hot meal about once a week (her husband sends money to pay the bills, but there’s little left beyond that apparently).

So there I was, the very next morning, and as we walk into the third of these four huge rooms at the Salvation Army, what do I see but 7 brand new refrigerators, still in the box, lined up in the middle of the floor. They also had a row of dishwashers. “Can I get one of those?” I barked. “No”, replied Ketcham.

The appliances, it turns out, were donated by the United Way. But, when they did so, apparently United Way stipulated that they be distributed evenly to each of the main parishes in greater New Orleans (Orleans, Jefferson, St. Bernard and Plaquemines). In other words, each parish would get a certain number of them, and when that number is met, that’s it, and no more can go there. Orleans, Jefferson and St. Bernard already received their allotment; hence, I couldn’t take one for a resident in St. Bernard. “Are you sure? Can I call someone? There’s no way I can take just one?” I asked again. “Sorry,” said Ketcham. “I just work here, and I have my orders. I don’t want to lose my job. “

So, while Lori Jones and her son live in a house with no refrigerator, about 30 minutes away, on the West Bank, across the Mississippi, in a building where Coca-Cola used to be bottled, there sit seven brand new, still in the box refrigerators, doing nothing more than collecting dust and serving as decoration. Wonderful. Glad to see that common sense prevails again.

For the record, I WILL make some calls about this!

Speaking of Common Sense, or better yet, priorities, don’t you find it funny that so many people and the media can get so wound up regarding a baseball manager and whether or not he’s being treated fairly? Joe Torre’s New York Yankees were once again bounced in the first round of the baseball playoffs, they haven’t won a championship in seven years, his job is justifiably on the line (he should have been fired a year ago, if you ask me), and all I’ve heard for four consecutive days is how poorly Joe has been treated and that he deserves better and that the Yankees are nuts for thinking they can get a better dugout leader.

Please. You want to talk about being treated poorly or with disrespect, don’t talk to me about a guy who gets paid $7.5 million a year to sit in a dugout for three hours every day and decide who should bat cleanup, and who probably hasn’t paid for a meal in a New York City restaurant in a dozen years. All the shills on TV and radio crying about this topic should get down to New Orleans and let me introduce them to some people. Then I’ll show them what being treated poorly and with disrespect is all about.

I know it’s a ‘sports’ related topic and it inevitably will be discussed on ESPN, on sports talk radio and in newspaper columns all across the country. I’m not saying it shouldn’t be. But to this level? And to this level of outrage and urgency? Give me a break. Some people in this country really ought to get some perspective.

Speaking of perspective, it’s always great when I get a good slap of it from time to time down here. One of the items Erin and I brought back from up north last week was a full size mattress and box spring. Earlier this week, through a contact at a project that rehabs houses, I found a home for it. We’re giving it to an older couple, both of whom are sick and one of whom (the wife) apparently sleeps on the floor a lot. Well I called them today to arrange the drop-off for Friday, I got the husband, who I hadn’t spoken with yet, and talked to him for a bit and about coming over with the mattress, and if he said ‘Thank You’, or ‘God Bless’ one time he must have said it 50 times. “Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this will help us”, was the refrain. The best thing about what I’m doing now is that all I need to do is hear that man’s voice and that sentence, and it makes every day spent here all the more rewarding. I can’t wait to meet him in person tomorrow and hand off that bed.

Doubts Erased

I had my doubts. Would the expense of flying up north, renting a UHaul truck, filling it, and then driving it back to New Orleans (with gas prices being what they are these days) be worth the return? I knew what we were doing was good, and would help. We'd be bringing furniture and household items back to a place where those things are sorely needed. There was no question about that. But as we get the St. Bernard Recovery Corp. off the ground, every dollar counts. For the good of everyone, including yours truly, my doubts were erased pretty quickly.

Monday of last week, I loaded up a 17-foot UHaul box truck about two-thirds full with furniture (and much more) from my aunt's house in New Hampshire. Tuesday, we filled the rest of it at Erin's (my SBRC partner) mom's house in New York, and late Tuesday night, we hit the road. Three days later, we were back in St. Bernard, unloading what had to be a few thousand dollars worth of stuff. More importantly, though, we have things that might lift a family's spirits a bit, might give them a smile, might give them a place to put some clothes that at the moment sit in a pile on a floor somewhere. In a few weeks, after I go to Florida to get another load of goods that my dad is helping to gather from donors in the Jacksonville area, I'm going to set up a distribution day where I'll invite families that I'm working with to come and pick out things they want and need.

None of the stuff will be critical to anyone's day to day survival. But it will be enough to make someone's newly rehabbed home or FEMA Trailer to be a bit more normal. And that, more than the worth of all the goods, is why last week's road trip was worth it.