Star's Recent visit to Pheonix, LA
07/01/2006 18:22
All
that Ann and Morris Thomas have left of their home is
the front
porch steps. Like thousands of others around the Gulf Coast, Hurricane
Katrina took everything the Thomas' had spent their lives working for, except
for their deep devotion to God.
When I made plans last month to teach a summer art's camp in
Louisiana, I never dreamed I would end up in a town started by Freemen
after the Civil War.
I packed my car with supplies and books donated by Manatee County
teachers and found my way through the deserted, desolate seemingly war
torn streets of the Crescent City, past the infamous Superdome, the
mountains of rubble, and flooded out cars, south to quiet Plaquemines
Parish, known for fishing, shrimping, birding, oil industry, gas
companies and historical segregationist, Judge Leander Perez.
There is very little recorded about the town of Phoenix formally
St. Sophia, one of several on the East Bank. I found the location was the
spot of the first European fort in what would become the Louisiana Territory
and was abandoned after a couple of years, in favor of Mobile. Between 1702 and 1865, the land was worked by several river plantations. Strategically located, the east bank of the Mississippi River mouth, 60 miles south of New Orleans, half mile wide, twenty miles long, has been continuously occupied since 1699. After the Civil War, four freed slaves bought enough acreage for their families. Five generations have flourished on that land, built houses, raised soldiers, and tradesmen, thriving on their self reliance. When I arrived two weeks ago, I placed my tent on ground that until the
day before held a house built by those founders, 146 years ago. Mr. Morris is a direct descendant of those Freedmen. His FEMA trailer is just yards away. Until he is able to rebuild, he and his wife run a distribution center they started that provides the basic necessities to returning residents with donations provided by churches, strangers and people like my fellow teachers. Water, tools, deodorant, food, towels, hygiene and sanitary products are available to any resident of the East or West Bank that needs them. The nearest store is a 100 mile round trip. "People need their dignity, everything else was taken.", Ms. Ann told me, as we searched for poisoned, dead rats stinking up the center, a gutted trailer that has been donated by a young couple unable to return just yet. I met most of the people who have come home during my time there. Whether they live in what is called the FEMA "prison camp" or beside the rubble of their homes, each was full of spirit to rebuild their town and help the other towns to rebuild, as well. Eighty-one year old, Ms. Gracie discussed her lost azaleas with more passion than the loss of her possessions. "I won't live to see them that big again." she sadly said. She had planted them in 1965 after Hurricane Betsy blew the roof off her home. Katrina covered the roof with water for two weeks. Yet before 7 am each day, she can be found in her flower garden, beside the house she raised seven children in and plans to return to, after it is finished. While discussing how to de-slime okra, national immigration policies, and race differences, I learned more about living and surviving than I could ever tell. I will return to Phoenix with a UHaul, my husband and my carpenter brother. I will teach a week long camp to children that have come home,
offering them a place to create and learn. We will help to get houses in order, providing what the residents need the most-volunteers with construction skills and building supplies. People ask why I am helping a town that I never knew existed before last month, why I would donate money and time to people I may never see
again. I can only answer with one response. One day, it will be our town asking for the help of strangers. These people need assistance. It will take each one of us to rebuild
the Gulf Coast. Who needs to ask why? I am doing my part. Are you?
Star
porch steps. Like thousands of others around the Gulf Coast, Hurricane
Katrina took everything the Thomas' had spent their lives working for, except
for their deep devotion to God.
When I made plans last month to teach a summer art's camp in
Louisiana, I never dreamed I would end up in a town started by Freemen
after the Civil War.
I packed my car with supplies and books donated by Manatee County
teachers and found my way through the deserted, desolate seemingly war
torn streets of the Crescent City, past the infamous Superdome, the
mountains of rubble, and flooded out cars, south to quiet Plaquemines
Parish, known for fishing, shrimping, birding, oil industry, gas
companies and historical segregationist, Judge Leander Perez.
There is very little recorded about the town of Phoenix formally
St. Sophia, one of several on the East Bank. I found the location was the
spot of the first European fort in what would become the Louisiana Territory
and was abandoned after a couple of years, in favor of Mobile. Between 1702 and 1865, the land was worked by several river plantations. Strategically located, the east bank of the Mississippi River mouth, 60 miles south of New Orleans, half mile wide, twenty miles long, has been continuously occupied since 1699. After the Civil War, four freed slaves bought enough acreage for their families. Five generations have flourished on that land, built houses, raised soldiers, and tradesmen, thriving on their self reliance. When I arrived two weeks ago, I placed my tent on ground that until the
day before held a house built by those founders, 146 years ago. Mr. Morris is a direct descendant of those Freedmen. His FEMA trailer is just yards away. Until he is able to rebuild, he and his wife run a distribution center they started that provides the basic necessities to returning residents with donations provided by churches, strangers and people like my fellow teachers. Water, tools, deodorant, food, towels, hygiene and sanitary products are available to any resident of the East or West Bank that needs them. The nearest store is a 100 mile round trip. "People need their dignity, everything else was taken.", Ms. Ann told me, as we searched for poisoned, dead rats stinking up the center, a gutted trailer that has been donated by a young couple unable to return just yet. I met most of the people who have come home during my time there. Whether they live in what is called the FEMA "prison camp" or beside the rubble of their homes, each was full of spirit to rebuild their town and help the other towns to rebuild, as well. Eighty-one year old, Ms. Gracie discussed her lost azaleas with more passion than the loss of her possessions. "I won't live to see them that big again." she sadly said. She had planted them in 1965 after Hurricane Betsy blew the roof off her home. Katrina covered the roof with water for two weeks. Yet before 7 am each day, she can be found in her flower garden, beside the house she raised seven children in and plans to return to, after it is finished. While discussing how to de-slime okra, national immigration policies, and race differences, I learned more about living and surviving than I could ever tell. I will return to Phoenix with a UHaul, my husband and my carpenter brother. I will teach a week long camp to children that have come home,
offering them a place to create and learn. We will help to get houses in order, providing what the residents need the most-volunteers with construction skills and building supplies. People ask why I am helping a town that I never knew existed before last month, why I would donate money and time to people I may never see
again. I can only answer with one response. One day, it will be our town asking for the help of strangers. These people need assistance. It will take each one of us to rebuild
the Gulf Coast. Who needs to ask why? I am doing my part. Are you?
Star