I received this touching story from a friend just back from a Red Cross trip to help out with Katrina victims. I thought it worth sharing as a first test of this system.

From: marikay shellman
Date: October 9, 2005
Subject: One Story From my Red Cross Volunteer experience

I have a nice fire going, went swimming again this morning. Not cooking
yet, but I have pulled out several cookbooks and a few recipes. I am
taking great care of myself. But it's the nightmares. For some unknown
reason, this experience kicked up a bunch of emotions. I find myself
rocking again and getting that too-much-stress dizziness, so I'm going
to type away to see if getting one of these stories out won't help.

I met two sixty-something year old black sisters at my motel in
Shreveport. One sister, Sylvia, who with broken foot, was finally
evacuated by helicopter after three days in her attic with no food or
water ("You just can't believe how thirsty you can get and all that
water you're looking at everywhere around you"), along with her pregnant
daughter-in-law who gave birth to a baby girl minutes after arriving at
the hospital.

Sylvia's son, father of the newborn, who had been frantically waving a
make-shift white flag for days at the helicopters as they flew overhead,
passing them over time and time again, was left behind to find his own
means out of the flood waters. For five days of desperate searching, he
couldn't locate his injured mother, wife or his newborn.

This family chose not to evacuate; they'd survived Camille and this was
not as intense of a storm. They all lived next door to each other.
Sylvia, fortunately, lived in a two story condominium. And indeed, they
did survive the hurricane, with little damage to their homes.

After Katrina passed, Sylvia was surveying the damage, a window out,
some pictures knocked over, she noticed water coming in the front door,
first inches, then feet. Bless her heart, she grabbed her Bible, a
plastic bag, and "a few things" and ran upstairs as the water kept
rising. In her panic, she broke her foot. Her son came running in the
condominium with his pregnant wife, tore upstairs to check up on his
mom, trying to get away from the rising waters. Meanwhile Sylvia's
sister grabbed her nephew's two other children, boys ages 8 and 11.

Her husband flagged down a rescue boat which took them to dry ground.
Here they waited for several hours with no food or water until a
National Guard humvee came by and picked them up. By now there was a
group of about 20 people. The National Guardsmen, heavily armed, drove
them for a while, unloaded them on to a huge WalMart type parking lot
and instructed them not to move. It was scorching hot, around 102
degrees. There was no where to sit, the concrete was not only roasting
hot, but covered in debris. They still had no water or food. After a
couple of hours, the humvee came by again and dropped more people off,
instructing them once again not to move. Still no food or water. This
happened several times until there were about 80 people standing in the
scorching heat for hours like tin soldiers, afraid to move.

First one woman collapsed. People tried to revive her, did CPR,
anything. Sylvia's sister tried to calm her great-nephews who knew this
woman had died, telling them that the woman was just lying down to take
a nap, resting. Then another man collapsed. And another. A total of
eight people died, one on this side, one in front of them, here, there,
all around them while they waited and waited. Nine hours. Sylvia's
grandkids thought they were all going to die.

I met Sylvia and her sister standing outside, leaning on the balcony
("At least here, we have something we can lean on." said Sylvia's
sister) at 6 AM one morning while I was pacing, thinking about my job
for the day. They asked for directions to Red Cross. Sylvia needed a
doctor's appointment, her foot was so swollen in its cast.

Sylvia's sister told me their story. Sylvia couldn't talk, she just kept
tearing up. I gave them directions, did my usual Red Cross talk, did you
register with FEMA, apply for food stamps, call the Red Cross 1-800
number (for hours and hours to only get a busy signal). They were so
grateful, thanked me, couldn't believe I'd come all the way from
Colorado to help them.

I saw them later that morning at Red Cross headquarters. You would have
thought I'd given them the moon, they were so grateful. The only thing I
did was give them directions. Sylvia had received a voucher for a
doctor's appointment. Early next morning I saw them again, leaning on
that balcony. The little boys were having terrible nightmares. Ten of
them holed up in two rooms, trying to make the money stretch. They were
all professionals in New Orleans, "had good jobs". Sylvia's sister was a
computer specialist. Sylvia showed me a quote she had looked up for me
in her Bible. And they thanked me again. I only saw them briefly the
next morning; I was always begging for rides to headquarters. Never saw
them again. That's just one of the stories.

MK