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Lottie Romain now resides in Pass Christian's 'Tent City,' which Navy Seabees built for those who lost their homes. A Gulf Coast resident for 49 years, Romain said the heated tents are better than the shelter where she lived in North Gulfport, Miss.
Manuel Dedeaux Jr. helps clean up a property on the Gulf Coast in Pass Christian. Homes along the waterfront were destroyed down
Miss Sally James looks out of her library, now in a trailer in a community park. Donated books and Internet access give the people of Pass Christian a place to get away from the devastation outside.
RIGHT: Holley Holmes, 4,
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A battered boat sits on a parcel in Pass Christian, Miss. Homes along 40 miles of Gulf Coast were destroyed by wind and waves. |
PASS CHRISTIAN, Miss.--B.K., or "Before Katrina," this sleepy former fishing port west of Biloxi was known as the Birthplace of Yachting in the South.
Some of the shrimp boats that ply the waters offshore are back, but there's hardly a yacht to be seen anywhere.
Gone are the stately and expensive old houses along the wrecked beach front; so are many of Pass Christian's municipal buildings.
The whitewash gazebo in the city's War Memorial Park that used to mark the spot for Christmas celebrations, jazz concerts and gatherings is no more. All that remains is a flat concrete slab.
But as the legendary phoenix rising from the ashes, Pass Christian--like so many small towns along the Gulf Coast and away from the media spotlight--is making a slow but steady comeback.
The main drag a few blocks up from the beach is a jagged landscape of toppled houses, and endless piles of debris and castoff personal belongings.
But the ball field across from the park, now known as "The Village," is another story. It's a tent city of hope and determination.
The police department tent sits next to one labeled "Municipal Court." Across the street is the library, which serves as both a meeting place, retreat and a place to catch up on the latest news about friends and neighbors.
The tent next door is Happy Ice, a former snow cone shop that has grown by necessity into a small grocery store. It's the only open business in sight and sells hot dogs, soft drinks, snacks, ice and beer.
Nearby is a hut housing the AmeriCorps relief agency. Behind that are row after row of mammoth green tents built by Navy Seabees to house displaced residents.
Two tents in the back are home to a makeshift day-care center.
Before Katrina, about 6,500 people called Pass Christian home. Now many of them are staying with friends and relatives out of the area--while they plan their next step.
Some who evacuated were passing through the library and Happy Ice on a recent afternoon.
Ron Daley, a longtime resident, amateur photographer and unofficial tour guide, was passing out CDs with images of Pass Christian before the storm, to any takers. The town was named after the deep-water marine pass between the barrier islands and the coast.
"We lost everything," said Jan Delaune, librarian assistant. "But, thank God, we're still being paid." She and her husband, Charles, are living in a Federal Emergency Management Agency trailer.
The old library up the street and its books were ruined in the storm. The 17,000 volumes now on the shelves were donated from Texas.
"We still can't drink the water and it's been three months," she said.
Because of the destruction, "You just can't do anything," Delaune said. "You have to think like a military commander just to get to Long Beach," a community a few miles to the east.
There have been some breaks to the numbing monotony of recovery. On Dec. 2, donated Christmas presents were passed out to children around a decorated tree in the park.
Tears filled her eyes. "It's hard, because you just can't go home. And you've got to deal with FEMA, insurance agents " Charles teaches at a local Catholic school, "so we couldn't just pick up and leave," she said.
Besides Happy Ice, dining options are limited to a food-distribution center known as "FEMA Cafe" and God's Katrina Kitchen, a church-run meals center up the street.
Steve Holmes operates Happy Ice and his wife, Ginger, runs the day care.
"We were in disaster mode: We had to move two businesses at once" to keep them going, and to go where the customers were, Ginger Holmes said. If and when they move back to the former snow cone store, they plan to open a restaurant.
She smiled, "We're gonna call it Cafe Katrina."
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About the series Only the Civil War displaced as many Americans as Hurricane Katrina. In a sense, the war and the hurricane’s aftermath are the same. The nation’s biggest natural disaster exposed the best and worst of humanity, and will define a generation. Though the storm played out mainly in Louisiana and Mississippi, it’s also a story about Fredericksburg—about how people here have been doing their part in the recovery and relief effort, supporting relatives in the stricken areas, and hosting strangers who have come seeking refuge. There are the victims—people of every race, creed and social class. There are heroes who rescued and comforted evacuees in their hour of need; helpers from volunteer agencies and churches taking time off from jobs, lives and families; those who dug deep into their pockets, and many who could only watch in horrified fascination from the sidelines. The storm left a monumental montage of sadness and human loss, looting, incredible inspiration, good intentions gone bad on the part of leaders of all political stripes, and above all, a guide for the future as Americans ponder nature’s power and how to blunt its destructive force. Free Lance–Star photographer Rebecca Sell and reporter Rusty Dennen spent a week in September covering the aftermath of the hurricane. They returned this month.
After Katrina Day 1: Lives in limbo Day 2: Volunteers answer the call Day 3: Rebuilding lives Day 4: Gone, not forgotten Day 5: A city divided
A look back |
About 40 children, babies to preschoolers, are split between two tents at the day-care center, which is free. AmeriCorps volunteers decorated the play tent with a jungle theme. Donated toys, mats and books were scattered on the plywood floor.
It's about the only place in town where children's voices are heard en masse. Two of Pass Christian's three schools were knocked out by the storm.
Joey McClure stopped by to pick up her two children, Hailey, 4, and Colin, 2.
"Parents are either working on houses, or working" day jobs, said McClure, a clerk at a Shell convenience store several miles away off Interstate 10. She's been bringing her children here a couple days a week for a month and a half, and grateful for the break.
Since the storm, "My kids are real clingy now," she said.
Her house is livable, though it needs a roof. She's waiting for a FEMA trailer.
Lottie Romain, 70, was among those staying in one of the heated tents adjacent to the community center, also in a tent.
"I been here for five days," said Romain, who decorated the steps leading into her canvas abode with two giant Chinese vases salvaged from her home.
"This is a whole lot better than the shelter" she had been staying at in North Gulfport, she said. "I got the whole place to myself." She's lived in Pass Christian for 49 years and had worked at the Grand casino in Biloxi.
Her home and her job were taken in the storm. Her son, Walter, a casino dealer, faced the same issues.
She was bringing in some belongings retrieved from the shelter as her radio played "Oh, Jesus, I Surrender "
Romain, whose husband passed away eight years ago, said: "I've never lived like this before."
Around the corner, three men sat talking outside their tent. A family had kids' bikes parked in the mud.
In one sign of hope, strings of red, white and green Christmas lights twinkled around a doorway of a tent someone calls home.
To reach RUSTY DENNEN:
Email: rdennen@freelancestar.com
