Gary's Journal
Tues., November 15
NPR's Morning Edition reports New Orleans Emergency Medical Technicians
having difficulty dealing with residents' depression and high suicide
rate. Prior to hurricane, they might be called out on one suicide a
week. Now they are called two or more times a day. We are
deeply moved and concerned by the seriousness of this message and decide
to take instruments, music, stories, etc. and help with this a desperate
situation.
Our plans are to share The Man Who Planted Trees,
an inspirational story with music that has a hopeful message for recovery
of a land and its people. We will have plenty of traditional holiday
music to share as well.
A friend offers the use of his motor home, and will
coordinate a benefit fund raising concert S. of Nashville TN where we will
be picking up motor home.
Wed., November 16
Making Gulf Coast contacts to coordinate appearances.
Greenville Congregational Church offers to help with gas money.
Sun., November 20
The old gestalt quote that "the whole is equal to more than the sum of the
parts" has been making more sense than ever before, especially in the past
few days. When we originally conceived the idea of this mission, we
were thinking of doing our thing as musicians/story tellers in the Gulf
Coast area. However, the Internet research we have been doing this
week left us wondering if anyone would have time or be present to
experience all that. Would there be any need for itinerate
musicians?
The most heart wrenching piece was the web site
documenting the devastation to the churches. Time after time we read
of the water levels in the churches, roofs torn off, etc. and most
discouragingly, the historic organs that were lost.
Even more discouraging were the reports of destruction
that has not yet even begun to be rehabilitated. This morning, Anne
awoke with the awareness that if we were truly to be of value, that we
were going to have to give up our ideas of music and stories and just do
whatever needed to be done. Kitchen work, carpentry, baby sitting
and just being with and supporting the other workers and volunteers in
their respite. Perhaps there would be time in between to pick up a
flute or tune the harp for a little musical exploration.
I must admit that the thought that perhaps on Christmas
Eve, we could enter one of those churches and its people that had lost
their organ and had no instruments for music. My fantasies soar with
such a possibility.
A phone call this PM with a local resident who had just
returned from volunteer work was the real frosting on the cake. The
excitement this person had for this mission was contagious, and we knew
our decision to go was something given to us by the Spirit of God.
Yes. The whole is equal to more than the sum of the
parts, and we can feel it as we become more invested in all the people who
are involved in this work.
Even more was added this morning in the church service we
attended. The minister mentioned our mission and its validity.
Afterwards many came up wishing us best and claiming to find $50 bills in
the parking lot and being sure that we had lost them.
Please, if any of you have any connections that could
facilitate our assistance, email or call us at 888-227-8679
Yes the whole is equal to more than the sum of the parts.
And don't forget, if you wish to join us in supporting our mission, send
us an email, and we will add you to the sum of those parts as we move
forward with "A Message of Hope"..
share@collectingconsort.com
Saturday, December 17
We left Lakeview this morning with the van packed to the
roof, including two harps, sound system, generator, dulcimer and guitar.
Since we are unaware of what we will be doing for the next two weeks we
have brought clothing and gear to help out in any way that we can.
We do know that we will be setting up the motor home at
the location fronted by the Common Ground Relief (http://www.commongroundrelief.org).
This is right down in the Ninth Ward where so much damage was done.
Apparently, they still do not have power. So we have brought our
little generator for Anne's keyboard and the sound system.
They recently renovated a day care center for the
privilege of using it as their headquarters for the next three months.
They have also been given a church and are in the process of renovating
that with the hopes that it will eventually be a community center.
We will be joining them there to provide our "Man Who Planted Trees"
program Wed. evening for their Winter Solstice concert. This is to
celebrate the redeployment of electricity to much of the New Orleans area
last week. We picked up 200 candles in Michigan with the hopes that
they might be used in this celebration.
We don't know what we will do beyond this. It may be
helping out in the kitchen preparing food for the residents who have come
back, helping with cleanup or nailing drywall. We do have plans to
travel back north an hour or so to share our music with some of the
nursing homes that absorbed the dependent people from New Orleans.
We understand they are quite overcrowded and understaffed.
We arrived here in Louisville this evening. after driving
all day. We will move on to Minor Hill, TN after lunch
tomorrow to pick up the motor home. After transferring our gear to
the motor home and figuring out the operational facets, we will have
dinner with our gracious hosts and leave for New Orleans Sunday morning
with plans to arrive Tues. noon.
The response to our trip has been unbelievable. So
many have thanked us for our desire to help in this way. Many have
wished that they could be doing the same thing and are grateful though the
prayers they are sending with our efforts.
In turn we wish to thank all of you who have helped us so
far with your financial donations, purchase of Collecting Consort
recordings, and your words and prayers of support.
Monday, December 19th
After spending the night in a hotel in Louisville, KN, we left early in
the morning and entered Tennessee. We were amazed by the beauty of the
hills. A partly cloudy day added texture to the winter lack of color
with the exception of green grass visible in some of the areas along the
expressway. Also surprising were the quality of the homes located
along our route. They were nicely kept and showed good evidence of a
positive economy in Tennessee. Traffic became quite heavy on
the three lanes heading into Nashville.
South of Nashville on I-65, we turned east to Polaski and
then south to Minor Hill. Traveling down a narrow paved road, we
were guests to a idyllic country valley as we meandered back and forth on
the gentle curves following the course of a small stream. Well kept
older farms, randomly placed, greeted our eyes and many supported horses
and goats peacefully grazing in their pastures. From time to time,
the farmer's dog would chase our presence, barking to remind of us of our
intrusion into this gentle piece of the past.
Soon we noted the landmarks of our destination, the Church
of Christ Church and the spring. The next bend brought us to our host's
home with the "to be" borrowed motor home sitting beside a beautiful
brick home nestled into the side of a big wooded hill. As we
got out of our van, I remarked that there really wasn't much reason to go
any further as we had just found a sense of Eden.
We approached the front door and were greeted by our
hosts, Jay and Joan. The next three hours were spent transferring
instruments, sound systems, clothing and the rest of our possessions to
the 43' Winnie. Then we started the motor home and checked out the
various systems, flushed the antifreeze from the water plumbing, and
pulled it into the front yard ready for departure the next morning.
With some time before the dinner being prepared by Joan,
we took Anne's small harp and my flute in to provide a prelude of music.
The dinner of chicken, fresh broccoli, salad and potato casserole was the
perfect conclusion to a long day. After dinner, Jay called his
sister who lived across the road, and we shared more music.
We eventually retired to the motor home. I became
preoccupied with the 2" thick motor home manual, and Anne continued to
stow our possessions. Sleep arrived easily as we prepared for
the demands of the next day.
After awaking to frost on the grass and ice in the
puddles, we checked the refrigerator to discover that the few items we had
placed in it the night before were also frozen. Our hosts provided
us with an oatmeal breakfast and we left for the Wal-Mart in Polaski.
We were a little tentative as we headed our rather large vehicle down the
narrow road. Taking a wrong turn into Polaski, we ended up downtown,
and pulled into a party store for directions. Anne returned with
specifics and I attempted to make my first U turn in the parking lot only
to encounter a curb blocking its completion. Finding considerable
anxiety about my predicament, I found reverse, and a little old lady in
her car, waited for me to resolve my clumsiness and swing back to the
appropriate side of the street.
The Wal-Mart parking lot greeted us with a very cold
breeze as the sun disappeared during our chilly walk across the parking
lot. Per my usual Wal-Mart experience, I was able to find just about
everything except what I wanted. An hour and a half later, we were
at the check out and departing for the parking lot.
Ice cream in the freezer, we stowed the other items of
purchase and pulled from the parking lot. Since the cab heater
didn't work, we fired up the furnace and covered the back registers to
force the propane heated warmth to the front cab.
Soon we were freed by the openness of I 65 and heading
into Alabama. Our only problem was the rear air bags that cushion
the ride in the rear end of the Winnie. They supported a leak in
their system and we had been unable to keep them inflated. It wasn't
too bad as long as we were on asphalt, but as soon as we encountered
concrete pavement, the expansion joints seemed to combine in a growing
rhythm of bounces in the rear end of the vehicle. Later that evening
we were to discover that the guitar on the shelf over the harp in the
closet in the back had fallen down between the harp and the door,
preventing its opening. Also one of the drawers containing my socks
and underwear was in pieces in the dresser
We had chosen a KOA for the night because of its propane
accessibility. We had consumed considerable fuel keeping warm during
the day and needed a refill for the night's heat and hot water showers the
next morning. Unfortunately, their system was not working, so we
pulled into our site and plugged in electric heaters and began fixing our
dinner. Problems lighting the oven eventually led to unfinished pot
pies, and Anne celebrated the conclusion of dinner with a nap.
Tomorrow, we will look for propane, an oil change, and
replace the head light that we discovered was burned out. Hopefully
we will make contact with Common Ground Relief to confirm our arrival and
join them sometime in the afternoon.
Tuesday, December 20th
I awoke before 7 this morning, my body still registering Eastern Standard
Time. I fired the hot water heater hoping there was enough propane
to warm showers for two and still run the furnace as the outside
temperatures were below freezing. Still chilled from a luke warm
shower and
breakfast in the uncomfortable motor home, I went outside to to the
freezing temperatures todrain the
holding tanks and fill the water tanks. Not wanting to get my gloves
wet, I attached and maneuvered the water hose with bare hands. I laid
the hose down and went to turn it off only to have it snake with its
strong pressure. I saw it coming my way, but was unable to avoid it
projection as it sprayed one whole side of my pants. I finished
washing the discharge tube, putting it and the wet hose in the outside
compartments of the motor home. Thoroughly chilled by the morning's
requirements, I unhooked the AC and readied the Winnie for travel.
We stopped at the campground office and the Budweiser man
who was stocking the shelves suggested we journey further west to a truck
stop to obtain our oil change and to replace the burned out head light we
had discovered the night before as we pulled in. We were able to
obtain the propane, but no oil change. Sent back the way we had
come, we went to an RV service center only to be turned down again.
All this in a 43' motor home going on and off the expressway.
Finally, after being directed downtown with instructions to turn at the
McDonald's, we found help. They were quick with the task of the oil
change and replaced the headlight but would do no more than attempt to fix
the front turn indicator with a new bulb which was an unsuccessful
solution. So we departed, leaving Meridian about three hours later
than our scheduled departure.
Traveling across Mississippi, we were disappointed with
the scenery that greeted our gaze. Mile after mile of yellow pine
encompassed the sides of the expressway. A few yards beyond this
visual barrier was often clear cut land, the yellow pine having been
removed. From time to time, we would see the results of this
deforestation stacked in huge piles, one at least a hundred feet high
making us question its safety. Near by lay more piles for some
reason blackened. Sprayers rotated above the piles spewing liquid
onto the blackened timbers. We noticed a drainage ditch nearby with
water in it and were left concerned by the whole process.
Often the clear cut areas had been replanted to more pine
in a rather random manner, not like the measured manner of our Michigan
pine plantations. Some clear cut areas had grown up to a very
scrubby stubble of hard wood. All in all, the scenery lacked any
sign of attractiveness.
Rest stops on the expressway were non-existent.
Instead parking areas were available with nothing more than parking places
and a few trash cans. We sought respite at one and saw our first
signs of the hurricane. Yellow pine had been broken off at about 6
to 12 feet from the ground, not uprooted as one would expect.
Traveling further south, we saw more and more of the same, the worst
damage occurring with the pine unprotected because of the clear cutting
behind.
Later we began to see more of the hard wood still with
leaves, many beginning to show reds and yellows we had left behind a
couple of months ago in the north. Many of these trees looked like
the victims of a northern ice storm. All limbs of less than one inch
in diameter had been broken off, and we could see evidence of recovery in
new germination since the storm.
Stopping at the Louisiana welcome station, we quickly made
friends with the attendant as she helped us formulate our entrance into
the city. She talked about how she was the only one in her family to
still have her home and mentioned how God had placed his hands above her
house to protect it as neighbors on all sides had been flooded.
We left and began the trip across the US 10 causeway.
The north and the south bound spans were separated and the southern
expanse was missing several sections. So all traffic was routed over
the two lanes of the north bound span. There was no delay for us as
we ventured across the south bound lane, but the northbound traffic was
three lanes wide coming out of New Orleans and backed up bumper to bumper
for at least three miles. We traveled several miles after we entered
New Orleans witnessing the devastation on both sides of us. Row
after row of apartment complexes seemed without residents. Cars were
left on sidewalks and from time to time, we would see a pile of mattresses
or other debris.
We finally found our exit
and began traveling toward the
9th ward. Soon, we were encountering streets without traffic
lights due to the lack of power. Cars and trucks were observing 4
way stop patterns, and were gracious at waving us on with our 43' motor
home. We took some wrong turns and found ourselves blocked on a side
street and began backing up before someone waved us on after moving a car.
We drove another block only to discover we were going in totally the wrong
direction. We eventually found a place to turn around and began
heading back to what we thought was the church that was supposedly our
destination. I ran up on a curb and Anne went to investigate but was
unable to find an entrance. I eventually walked to the next corner
and found another church displaying the Common Ground sign.
Finding those in charge, we were directed to park in the lot next to the
church requiring a ladder and a carpenter's saw to cut the over hanging
limbs. Parked, we went inside to find what looked like a group of
hippies from the 50's, the only difference being the variety of body piercings. The interior of the church had been gutted to the studs.
Tie dyed sheets and other coverings hung from the studs. They were
excited as they had just arranged showers. Two bathtubs were
surrounded by curtains and we could hear singers enjoying their cleansing
process. Others were in a darkened area used for sleeping,
apparently receiving massages. Outside, the smell of barbequed
chicken cut the air. The kitchen for this community consisted of
tarped tents, and they were in the process of fixing the group's dinner.
We went and retrieved our instruments from the motor home
and began playing a prelude for the dinner. Many sat meditating or
quietly talking as we played. Eventually, we joined in the communal
dinner of chicken (some quite charred), salad and seasonally hot beans.
It has been amazing to watch this communal organization at
work. Everyone is always very gracious and always offering to share
a hand. They seem mostly to be college students. About 50 came
in today from Oregon. We stood in line for dinner with a young
fellow from Michigan State. These people go out during the day in
work crews gutting the houses of this devastated area. All are white
with the exception of an older woman who just sat by herself. We
later found out that the Common Ground people had found her still living
in her mold filled house. They had attempted to facilitate a FEMA
trailer for her, but she still had no adequate living arrangements.
There
seems to be a high percentage of Jewish within the volunteers with a few
Afro-Americans. They seem very giving an
positive with each other. It is a real joy to witness such
dedication.
Tomorrow, several will join us in the Winnie for morning
mediation. Then there is talk of taking us to one of the community
clinics to share with the residents. We met some of the nurses this
evening who are working there, and they talked about the extreme effects of trauma
they are seeing in the residents. We suspect our music will be
needed.
Thursday, December 22nd
Yesterday, we were questioning whether this was where we needed to be.
We tried to find our place, but could find no one that would facilitate
our involvement in spite of our continual mentioning of our capacities.
We soon figured out that the only organizational effort going on was the
morning coordination of the work crews gutting the houses. Several groups
of a half dozen each would don Tevlar suits and respirators to strip the houses
to their studs. They referred to this as mucking out the houses.
After all the plaster and sheet rock was removed, they would attack
the wood framework with disinfectant. They have gutted 50 houses so far
and have requests to do 150 more. This is being done with the hope
that it will encourage the residents to return to re-establish their lives
within their community.
This is the aim of Common Ground Relief. All the
residents of the lower 9th ward have had to leave. Water lines on
the sides of the houses show that most were flooded by at least a foot of
water. Anne talked to a man the other day who had spent seven days
in a boat waiting to be rescued after the hurricane. I am aware that
all these houses are built on cement block pilings that are placed every
six feet along their foundations. Many of these homes would be
habitable today had they been 2 or 3 cement blocks higher. This is
especially true when you realize that there is very little wind damage
within this community when compared to the devastation and ruination of
the flood water.
CGR hopes to enable the people to
return. They told us a scary story at our orientation the other
night. Apparently the powers that be and the hotel industry are
preventing the return to this area. There is very sporadic electric
service and piles of trash line the streets indicating that the local government
has done little to rehabilitate this community. The word is that
it's close proximity to the river, a major shipping canal, and the French
Quarter make it prime for resort development. The plan is to bring
large tour ships up the river and the canal. Apparently this is the
reason why the rehabilitation of the community has not been facilitated.
It is CGR's belief that they can rebuild this community
and bring its residents back. Thus they are there for the purpose of
facilitating those that wish to return. They have started a free
health clinic, and a distribution center. In addition to free labor,
they have also developed a tool lending system.
We left the meeting questioning the idealism of CGR and
also whether there was going to be opportunity for our presence as
musicians.
Dec. 23:
Originally, when we made contact with this group, they
wanted us to come in and do their Winter Solstice program. We were
to share the opportunity with a brass ensemble. However, when we
made contact on the way down with the woman that was to coordinate our
performance, her cell phone connected us with her somewhere out in the
Arizona desert. She gave us the name of another woman who had taken
her place. This woman, in turn gave the responsibility to a rather
"artsy" lady who was a bit off the wall. She decided to have an open
mic talent show, and we were to be the concluding act. We
facilitated the gathering with our sound system. Some of our
precedents were quite talented, and others with their immaturity took the mic only thinking of their opportunity rather than the needs and desires
of the audience. Things grew quite rowdy and well lubricated with
beer and pot. Before we finally took the stage, two of performers
decided to stage a wrestling match in front of us.
The whole assembly had been going on for at least an hour
before we began our offering. I think I had a dream about how we would
capture this audience and hold them with our offering. Many of the "together" people had already departed unable to accept the foul language
and the subject matter of the "rappers" who had dominated the stage for
much of the night.
We quickly moved our efforts forward in an attempt to
capture what remained of the evening and our audience. I felt pushed
to present as quickly as possible our presentation of the "Man Who
Planted Trees" which would last at least a half hour. Still I knew that I
could not push what we were attempting. I stayed as present as I
could, making eye contact and putting as much presence into my delivery as
possible, working each change of pace with depth and meaning.
Inappropriate response were frequent from some of the
inebriated audience, and I really
wondered about my offering and its appropriateness. When we were
close to end, a woman came up and interrupted stating her desire to do her
piece. I immediately stopped and told her to go ahead with a
little resentment in my voice. Others told us to go on, she pulled
back. I went on and finished, questioning the appropriateness of what we
had delivered. Many stayed to help us strike and move our sound
system and instruments. I am once again amazed by the willingness of
these people to share their help.
Later, I met with the young woman who had interrupted us
apologizing for my controlled anger. She replied that it hadn't been
that important. One of her friends had asked her to assist him with
a magic trick that he wanted to do. She, in turn, had not wanted to
wait until we finished to play her role. After hearing her story, I
found myself amazed that this community within such a limited environment
and such diverse conditions was able to remain in such a positive and
meaningful relationship with each other. It truly exemplified the
dedication of these people to the task of rehabilitating the 9th ward.
Breakfast today, brought many positive comments about what
we had shared the night before. One young man talked about how
relaxing it had been (it hadn't been a relaxing experience for me) and how
he had slept better that night than any before. The woman in charge
of the kitchen remarked about the beauty of the imagery presented in the
writing. Still others thanked us and expressed their enjoyment of
the story.
Dec. 23rd
A few words here about this community and how it is run.
There are a half a dozen "together" individuals who assume responsibility
for the organization. Each has their area of responsibility.
The rest of us are volunteers many who have been around since the
hurricane and others who arrive and leave daily. My guess is there
are close to 200. They sleep on the floor in the church sanctuary
and the community building. Every morning after breakfast, there is
a community meeting, and all who wish are allowed to speak. The
facilitators allow the group to resolve the issues. After this
process is completed, work assignments are filled, and the day begins.
Food is prepared by two or three people under tarp tents
in the court yard. Breakfast is usually oatmeal or some other hot
cereal. Lunch is apparently boxed and taken to the work sites (we
have not been here at noon). Dinner is usually some sort of sauce
spread over rice or pasta and highly seasoned and either a lettuce or
fruit salad.
People find their way into whatever their interest is.
One lady has done a lot of work with mushrooms that break down hydrocarbon
pollution. She has a bale of straw and a 50 gallon drum set up with
a propane heater brewing fungi for the community garden that is being
started. Another is an arborist and spends the day teaching the art
of running a chain saw and cleaning up downed trees. One lady
wearing cowboy shoes and at least 6' tall runs around looking at the
electrical system and re-wiring the service. A wonderful
man by with the nickname "Gradidude" sets up the distribution center.
Today, they were setting up tents and unloading at least 50 huge boxes of
used clothing. Tomorrow the center will be open to the community,
and the clothing will quickly disappear.
A free health clinic has been established across the river
in Algers. They have been serving over 100 residents a day from a
church that used to be a store front. The building is way too small
for the amount of staff and patients they are treating. They have to
leave this weekend so the church can have a Christmas Eve service.
So tomorrow, they will move across the street to an even smaller store
front.
We have made friends with the the older women (most the
people here are 20 to 30 years) who help man this clinic and do physical
therapy and massage. They come back to the center here in the
9th ward and do massage for the volunteers on Tuesday and Thursday nights.
Tonight, we took our instruments in and worked with them as they
administered to the volunteers. They all
remarked about how much our music and energy affected their work with the
volunteers.
One man had apparently had some paralysis earlier in his
life. The massage opened some of the residual tension and he was he
seemed to be experiencing some emotional stress afterwards. The
masseuse had done about as much with him as she could as she had others
waiting. Feeling his discomfort, I went to his side, made physical
contact and drew his attention to his breathing. Then I began
improvising a story to help him let down further. In a matter of a
few minutes, a noticeable relaxation response occurred for him.
December 23rd.
Today, we returned to the clinic in Algers sitting outside the door
playing as the staff packed for their move. We had made friends with
a young black male the previous day, and we renewed our sharing. He
had walked here from California to help with the recovery. He had
everything packed onto his back pack and usually slept outside. The
night before, he had been approached by two individuals who tried to
take his pack. He said he wrapped his arms around his pack holding
on for dear life as they beat him up. He had come to the clinic for
treatment of a head wound. He told us that he had been helping with
roofing of some of the homes and had spent the previous night in a church,
but the minister had told him he had to leave and now he had no place that
was safe to sleep. I thought about suggesting he come to our
community, but I recognized his vulnerability and knew that he could never
fit into the intensity of this social relationship. So Anne told the
people in the clinic about his predicament before we left.
Today, there was quite the older "dude" marching up and
down the street. He carried a baton, the type with the large silver
ball on the end, up and down the street. He was well over 6' and
thinly built, but with considerable energy. He wore a fancy shirt
open at the chest and sported a smile demonstrating his lack of teeth.
If I could be half as happy with my life with everything I have as he is
with his baton, I would feel I had truly arrived.
Afro-American
injustice stories
We had heard the charges of police corruption here but
felt they were probably just stories. Some of our people went to the
prison (or perhaps jail) here in New Orleans. There job was to
interview and document the stories of the prisoners who had just been
discharged. Apparently, this facility holds 700 inmates, and the
city receives income from the number of inmates. It also is
receiving FEMA funds dependent upon the amount of prisoners since the
hurricane. Those interviewing heard repeated stories from young
blacks who told them of being arrested many times and placed in jail with
the complaint of drunkenness apparently with the goal of meeting that
quota. However no charges are ever filed, and they are held for
anywhere from a day to several months. One mother told of how her 16
year old son had been arrested before the hurricane and was still in jail
with no charge. Other discharged inmates described their
treatment while incarcerated. Apparently when they ask the guards
for something, the guards resort to ''crazy talk" to avoid their requests.
Another story was shared about how 150 Cadillacs had been
stolen from a dealership after the hurricane. Several police were
apparently caught in this act of this theft and removed from their duty.
Later, a man and
his wife were returning from Huston in a rented car to obtain their
possessions from their home. He was apparently selected as a
scapegoat, arrested and placed in jail for stealing 114 of the cars.
Other stories abounded about people coming back to their homes hoping to
find their possessions only to be arrested for looting their own homes.
Interestingly, the blacks don't seem angry about this and
recognize that this is just a way of life for them. With such an
acceptance of their fate, I question if the activation being initiated by
CGR can ever be successful.
We have also heard that the literacy rate in the 9th ward
is only 15%. Again, we see an example of how these Afro-Americans
just accept their lot and don't advocate for their betterment. I am
left with the feeling that there is a very subtle segregation that goes on
in this community. The whites and those in control apply just enough
force and limitations to keep the blacks from developing any power.
In turn, the blacks, accepting the limitations of their slavery, continue
to exist in their passive way without causing any problems.
If I learn nothing else from my experience here it is to
admire, respect, and perhaps emulate their happiness and pleasure with
life which has so little other than daily existence.
This evening, a volunteer demonstration was planned.
A black individual and a community leader had been approached by his
landlord when he came back after the hurricane stating he was going to
double his rent. The tenant refused to pay it, and the landlord
changed the locks and took all the man's possessions and tools of his
trade. The landlord owned two bars and the volunteers were going to
demonstrate on the black man's behalf in front of the two bars. The
media had been alerted to the event and were suppose to be present.
It will be interesting to hear of the results tomorrow at breakfast.
We decided today that we will leave Christmas Day and go
to Lafayette. We have some contacts that will plug us into some
nursing homes in the area. Apparently many of the physically
marginal people from New Orleans who had managed to exist in their own
homes required nursing care after the evacuation. The Lafayette
homes picked up this overflow and are now over crowded and under staffed.
Perhaps our personal attention with our music will touch their existence
in a positive way. We still hope to find some opportunity to share
our music here Christmas Eve. We have put out several feelers, but
have had no response. It is hard to believe that so much of the
population of this city has still not returned and may never return.
Sunday, December 25th.
On Saturday, we did outreach for Common Ground. We
took bikes and toured the northern half of the 9th ward talking about the
services and help available from CGR and that a Christmas dinner and toys
would be shared at the distribution center in the afternoon.
Bikes with more than a few problems required us to return
to the volunteer site to make adjustments to seats, tires etc. We
left again, this time with wrenches in our pack.
Our encounters with people were minimal. We road up
and down the streets listening for sounds of house gutting. A few
crews of Hispanic males were replacing roofs. The few residents we
did find were gutting their homes. Two ladies sat on swing on their
front porch as the interior of their house lay in shambles. They asked if we could help get the huge tree stump from their
lawn removed. It seemed like an inappropriate and idealistic request
given the state of their home.
All of our encounters brought us face to face with a very
warm and friendly collection of Afro-Americans. They often asked us
how we were and wished us a Merry Christmas before we had a chance to do
the same. One street brought me in contact with a couple of very
angry dogs who had decided that it was their responsibility to guard their
home. In escaping their wrath at my heels, my hat blew off in the
wind. Eventually they retreated and I carefully reversed my
direction to obtain my hat.
The afternoon was proceeded by a heavy thunder storm.
I and several other men grabbed our rain coats and went to the
distribution area to tie down tarps covering the hundreds of boxes of
donated clothes.
Then after a quick nap, we found a lady to transport us to
the old distribution center where the Christmas turkey dinner was being served.
We took Anne's keyboard, my whistles and flutes, a couple of speakers, and
a
mic to reinforce my sound. With plenty of volume, we occupied the
street corner advertising to all driving by that there was a celebration
taking place. Again, as with most of our encounters with local
residents, few took advantage of the service as this is truly a ghost
community.
After consuming the wonderful deep fried turkey dinner
prepared for us and the few ninth ward residents. We
returned to the volunteer center, and I helped the distribution people
with the final steps of a tent erection to finish covering the donated
clothing.
Apparently, Christmas Eve is not celebrated with services
in N. O as we do it in the north. There are no church services.
Instead bonfires of elaborate design are set ablaze along the levy.
These serve the purpose of guiding Santa's sleigh into the community.
Due to the distance required and the lack of transportation, we retired to
our motor home instead of viewing this spectacle.
Dec. 25th
Sunday morning was presented with a wonderfully and
appropriately warm sun against the clear cool air. We were to be
guests at Our Lady of the Sea church. This was to be the first
service for this church since the hurricane. It was also to be
its100th birthday as this church's first service was on this date in 1905. Some of
the CGR people had been working to renovate this church. Water had
only achieved a two inch depth on its floor, and our crews had given it
several washings to obtain a state of health. As I looked at its 2"
widths, I found it a wonder that the many joints had been cleaned and the
whole floor remained viable. Someone later told me that it was
probably cypress wood and the reason that it had survived.
This was a brick structure that must have been at least 3
stories high, in the shape of a cross and with a high domed ceiling.
Beautiful stained glass windows had been untouched by the storm's wrath.
Behind the alter and reaching to the ceiling was a beautiful mural done on
a sky blue back drop. It was adorned with paintings of contemporary
female angels, all with beautifully flowing hair and each at least ten
feet tall. There were three on each side and one in the center above
all the rest. Spot lights fueled by electricity that had been
restored that week illuminated these beautiful pieces of art.
When we arrived, the choir was rehearsing in a rather
frigid climate as the boiler had been destroyed and a new one was 6 weeks
in coming. But the sounds of the dozen or so members warmed our
hearts. The choir director's son, about 9 years old, sat at a trap
set randomly playing seemingly unaware of of the music's tempo and rhythm.
I wondered why this was being allowed. However, once the service
started, I was totally amazed at the child's unbelievable abilities.
He was a truly gifted natural and added a very special energy to the whole
service.
There were probably a couple hundred people in attendance
and at least 50 were from CGR. NBC TV was there documenting the
event.
Father Tony, the priest began his homily by walking down
from the alter and saying, This wasn't supposed to be". He
talked of all the things that had been lost including his own personal
possessions, and those of his extended family, each punctuated by "This wasn't supposed to be". As he
walked toward the center of the congregation with his statements, he
removed pieces of his vestments until he stood in the center in his black
color, shirt and pants.
He then told of returning to the rectory after the
hurricane, seeking the most important possession in his life, his chalice.
After searching the mess, his boy companion discovered its box in the
bathroom next to the toilet. Covered with mold, the box which
contained the vessel was opened to discover that its contents lay inside
untouched by the ravages of the storm and its destructive water.
Father Tony went on to talk about how the things he had
lost had been "just stuff". He remarked about how he had stuff that
he didn't know he even had. In other words, the storm had given him
a new opportunity to discover what he really had, himself in his life and
all of the rest of us who surrounded him. His dynamic person gave
real meaning to his message. I was surprised by the lack of
mention of Christmas, and it only came with the message of the new birth
that this church had been given.
This when added to the offering of the choir touched me
deeply. I was so moved at the beginning of the service that tears
streamed from my eyes for the first half an hour. Emotion was in my
throat on many occasions during the rest of the service, and an extreme
smile warmed me, and I was rarely aware of the physical cold within this
sanctuary.
The anthem featured a black tenor who soloed for the first
half of the piece with Clavinola accompaniment. Then the choir joined
as this piece came to a wonderful climax punctuated by the young and
talented drummer. During the rest of the service, musical responses were given by the rest of us,
and I must admit that I had great difficulty in obtaining any volume with
my voice as I was touched so deeply by emotion.
I had only planned for an hour mass, and this celebration
lasted for 2 and 1/2 hours. Afterwards, I spoke with the choir
director and told him of my appreciation for his offering. I took
more pictures and we went to outside sun on the front steps to greet
Father Tony thanking him for his gift.
We returned to the volunteer center and packed the motor
home for our departure. We had decided that we wanted to view the
worst of the devastation in the lower 9th ward before we left. So we
grabbed bikes and began the trek down the deserted streets and across the
drawbridge spanning the canal to Lake Ponchitrain. What we found was
unbelievable. We saw a few cars driving the area and a Humvee with
two National Guardsmen. The rest was piles of what had been homes.
Many were tilted or thrown askew into their neighbor's living room.
These homes are not set on foundations that we have in the north.
Instead, they are set on concrete block pillars about every six feet and
about 2' high. Apparently, when the water broke the levy from Lake Ponchitrain and flooded the community, the force of the water had floated
the homes off their cement block piers and into this helter skelter mess.
It seem as if the interior of everything was black and dark. Often
we notice a black residue several inches thick on the ground. As it
had dried, it had cracked, giving it an appearance of a desert floor with
the fatality of its blackness.
We said goodbye to our friends and pulled the motor home
out to head west for Laffayette. We had made connections with this
community about two hours west of New Orleans and found people that would
facilitate our involvement with the
refugees, many within nursing homes, that might benefit from our music.
We arrived as the sun was setting and were invited into
the home of a fellow harper. Betty and her husband Ameil provided us
with their traditional Christmas dinner of sea food gumbo complete with
cracklins and another hot dish of Cajun orientation. Afterwards, we
brought in the instruments and shared in music making.
Later, Jill, the woman coordinating our music ministry
in Lafayette, came and escorted us to her home where we set up the RV in their side
yard. A time of sharing introduced us to this wonderful family and
we finally retired to the comfort of our bed.
December 26th
Monday, Our morning was spent sharing with our hosts and
facilitators, Jill and Bob, and planning our week's events. In the
afternoon, we took the small harp and flute to a Catholic nursing home for
the resident sisters and others of the Catholic faith. It was a very quiet and
healthy setting, and we were easily able to be present with the residents.
We started playing for individuals in their rooms, and by the time we
reached the day room, we were in the presence of several residents.
One husband of a patient took it upon himself to facilitate us, getting me
a chair and bringing several of the other residents into the area. I
found it easy to reach these people, and we must have played for at least
45 minutes. A sister who was in charge, had been a teacher at the
New Orleans church school where we went to church on Sunday. She
seemed pleased to receive Anne's comments about the church and the
service. Anne also spent considerable time afterwards with a couple
of the husbands who had been there caring for their wives.
We took our hosts out for dinner experiencing Cajun food.
Crayfish and oysters on the half shell were the special feature. The
time for sharing was a warm experience. Afterwards, we returned to their
home to share pictures of the hurricane destruction. Jill's parents'
home had been destroyed by Hurricane Rita and Bob's family had property in
New Orleans that had been damaged as well.
We found it of value to be sharing with people of similar direction and
and orientation.
Tues. Dec. 27th
Tuesday started early as we went with Jill to the
Volunteers of America. She has been able to obtain funds for a
program to facilitate. We played in the entry room, a space with a
ceiling similar to a pyramid stretching into a second story.
We played while our sounds reached the staff working
within their offices. One woman unaware of our presence thought
someone was playing a recording and was quite moved to discover we were
"real". She decided that it might be of value for us to come to her
staff meeting later in the week to share our music and lead them in some
guided imagery.
Two individuals were receiving healing touch sessions, and
we were just outside the treatment room. I remarked to Anne
wondering what their experience had been with our music.
We moved on, taking our instruments to the homeless
shelter where many men and a few women were eating their lunch. One
of the most touching melodies we found there was "Summertime". While
the men had remained distant with their food, the Gershwin melody caused
several of the men to speak with us. I must admit that I surprised that I
was touched by the "leper" complex and a little uncomfortable with the
presence of these men from a different life. Perhaps I was the one
responsible for the distance. I would have liked to have had more
time to become more comfortable and one with their beings.
Later that afternoon, we went back the Volunteers of
America office and were recipients of
healing touch sessions. I easily disappeared into another space and
valued the cleansing experience of washing away some of the trauma, a
residual effect from the week of living in the New Orleans destruction.
I noticed a "clearness" within my head that was a welcomed result of this
receiving experience.
Dec. 28th
Wednesday was a full day as we journeyed to the Vermillion
Parrish (The parish in Louisiana is the equivalent of what most call
counties in the rest of the country). Our facilitator and transporter
was an employee of a private hospice serving two nursing homes. She
shared with us how this community and the nursing homes absorbed many of
the Katrina refuges and then found itself the victim of Rita.
We worked these nursing homes that had absorbed patients
from New Orleans. These unfortunate individuals were again evacuated
as Rita came in and flooded this community with a 30' storm surge.
Having been returned to their nursing homes, we were amazed at the
presence of these residents in spite of the demands placed upon them
during the past few months. For the most part, we were able to
easily share with these people. We worked them in large groups to
begin with, moving from patient to patient seeking contact with their
beings. Both staff and patients stated their appreciation.
In one of the homes, they were sitting at tables, and I
decided to turn them to face us. Asking each resident if I could
move them first, I managed to quickly reorganize the environment. I
approached one man in a wheel chair. Being in a little too much of a
hurry, I failed to receive a response and reached for the wheel locks on
the chair. I was apparently the only person in the room who did not
notice my vulnerability. His sudden outburst against my efforts
placed a cold chill over all the residents. I continued to approach
him with the music from time to time (from a distance) but was never able
to break his apparent isolation.
We went into the Alzheimer's unit and again, were amazed by
the contact capacities of the residents. Initial response to the
music was very affirmative, and we were enjoying our interaction when the
attendant brought in bags of popcorn for the residents. I
immediately assumed that we were going to loose our intimate contact with
the additional stimulus of food. But my concerns were unfounded.
One thin woman with a pained expression easily sought me
out talking in the repetition associated with her disease about how her piano teacher had slapped her hands when she
made an error in her lessons as a small child. We were touched when
she began to sing with our instrumental melodies.
Then, we went from room to room sharing with those
confined to their beds (a very small number). One of the most
memorable experiences occurred with a woman who was noted to be combative.
I noted her passiveness and suggested to Anne a quite slow tempo for
"Simple Gifts". The pacing seemed good until she raised her hand and
began "conducting" our efforts. We easily allowed her to be in
charge and enjoyed the combined effort between recipient and provider as
the tempo became quite lively.
Both homes were quite plain in their physical plants, but
the acceptance and giving nature of the staffs provided a depth with great
warmth. The second home addressed everyone, residents, staff and
ourselves as "Miss" and "Mr." followed by the first name. While I
was not used to this formal greeting, I was aware of the presence of great
respect it created for all involved.
I became aware that I had pushed myself beyond my
sensitivity with the last couple of rooms we visited and was surprised to
see that Anne was truly "on" with these people. It was hard to back
off and allow myself to recognize my inability to be present with these
people.
We returned to the motor home and suffered through a long
wait for water to boil for noodles and canned spaghetti sauce to be
heated.
Sleep came early as we succumbed to the results of a long and giving day.
Thursday, December 29th
Morning took us to Our Lady of the Lourdes Hospital. We began our
work in the cardiac infusion center. Several out patients were there
receiving treatment, and we easily fell into the presence of the open room
and the receptiveness of the patients and staff. Thinking we were
suppose to be in that room for the entire morning, we were surprised after
a short half an hour when our facilitator told us to pack up and move to
the cancer unit. Thinking we would be in the same location, we had
brought the big harp and hammered dulcimer along with all the flutes and
whistles and were unprepared to move from location to location.
Using the cart provided for us, we began our migration to
the cancer unit. There was no central room. So we sat in front
of the nursing station and the patients' doors were opened, and we shared
from a distance.
Two hospice patients in the unit were actively dying, and
Anne and I split up to administer to them. My patient was
accompanied by a warm and present daughter. I easily found a rhythm
with the man, but felt quite limited by my keyed flute and longed for my
Native American flute or at least the gentleness of my 6 hole flute.
Anne's patient provided a much more difficult opportunity.
Relatives were in the room and talking loudly as she attempted to
establish repoure with the dying man. However, with a little effort,
her offering finally touched the family, and an atmosphere of quietness
and peacefulness resolved with the improvised notes of her harp.
I left to take the instruments upstairs to the rehab.
unit, and Anne requested the opportunity to stay behind and assist the man with whom I had been sharing. She
had met the daughter earlier and had been attracted to her presence with
her father. So the sharing seemed of value to all.
The rehab unit was a little unnerving as physical therapy
was in process as we played. The necessary firmness of the
therapists with their stroke patients was in extreme opposition to the gentleness
we were attempting to create with our music.
Grabbing sandwiches on the go, we went to the
Louisiana
University radio
station for an interview. The studio was a very small room not much
more than 10' by 10' with a large circular table in the center. We
set up the harp and dulcimer and placed all the mics for our voice and
instruments along with those for the host and Jill, our facilitator.
The interview went quite fast, and we were surprised to discover that our
host, a vocalist, was also a Live Music for Healing and Transition intern.
This truly opened the door as we shared ideas and concepts associated with
the role of Certified Music Practitioner providing healing music.
Dec. 30th
The following morning, we again returned to the hospital,
this time a little wiser. With the small harp and just the flutes,
we were a little more mobile and available for our transitions. We
started in the medical intensive care unit. I was immediately struck
by the acute vulnerability of the patients and the need for sensitivity
and stability in our offering. We sat up in the door way of each of
the half a dozen private rooms sensing the needs of each patient.
When it was time for us to move on, I let Anne leave for the surgical
intensive care unit and remained behind with my Native American flute.
I wanted to see if I could be of a little more value than we had been as a
duo to one of the patients. His loved one who was present expressed
her deep appreciation for our efforts.
The surgical intensive care was an entirely different
experience. The vulnerability was greatly reduced and there was much
more energy within the staff and the patients. It was a welcomed
respite after the acute heaviness and vulnerability of the medical unit.
It was good to open up with expression in music and the sharing of smiles
and warmth with the patients.
We then moved on to some of the individual patients
scattered throughout the hospital, the census being greatly reduced due to
the holidays. Patients with good presence and comfort were our
subjects.
One older black woman patient was accompanied by a younger
woman with a baby. Verbal sharing led to the knowledge that this
woman had fostered so many children that count had been lost. The
lady with her had been a foster child at the age of 6 and grew up with
this woman as her mother. The warmth and depth of these people
touched us as we shared their choices of "How Great Thou Art" and
"Amazing Grace".
Our last room led us to a gentleman with his wife
supporting him. His breathing was very strange, first filling the
lower abdominal area which collapsed followed by the filling of the chest
and then the exhale. I must admit that I was a little too far
from fresh to adequately assess the patient's state.
I suggested "Finlandia" as this often serves well for
larger men like this patient. Anne knew this was wrong but failed to
say anything. We weren't more than a few bars into this piece of
strength and beauty when I also realized unconsciously that we were in
error. I suggested she switch to some improvisation and the change
was much more appropriate as the freedom and movement of her notes offered
opportunity for the important exchange of pace between her and the
patient. Again, I stayed after with the Native American flute as she
moved on.
It wasn't until after I had left the room that it suddenly
dawned on me that the man had been in transition. Being placed
within our schedule of "getting well" patients, I had failed to
consciously comprehend his closeness to death. However, I was
pleased that I had sensed what was needed and had moved appropriately in
spite of my lack of awareness.
That evening, we set up the instruments and sound system
under the car port of our hosts in preparation for a home concert for our
hosts and their guests. Gumblia was the featured dish and each of
the guests brought additional fare, much of it being on the sweet side and
attractive to my need for stimulation. The evening was warm and
comfortable, and we and our audience survived the temporary presence of
small mosquitoes (I offered to import some real beasts from Michigan but
the offer was rejected).
Our audience was very responsive to our stories and
music, and we enjoyed the opportunity to give back in this manner to our
hosts. We gave away several of our recordings, and in return, our
hosts' guests provided us with boxes of Cajun food, seasoning and some
frozen speckled trout.
We packed the instruments and readied for our departure
the next morning.
Dec. 31st
Our hosts treated us to breakfast before our leaving, a
crawfish omelet and more meaningful sharing and we began the long trek
back across Louisiana, Mississippi and Kentucky to the border of Tennessee
to the home of our first hosts where we would leave the motor home and
provide a thank you concert for them and their guests.
We repacked everything within the motor home and placed it
in our van. Motor home plumbing and other winter care was completed.
Then we set up the instruments for our concert. I hooked the digital
camera to their large screen TV, in order to share the photos. We
improvised stories and added music to document each of our Louisiana
experiences.
The following morning after breakfast and a goodbye to our
hosts, we left for Michigan. We were doing fine with the traveling
in spite of a very light mist until we got to Indianapolis. The
traffic became extremely dense (we were later to discover we had missed
the time change and had hit this community during the rush hour).
About half way around the city's expressway, I suddenly discovered that I
had not been monitoring my gas gauge. As luck would have it, an exit
provided access to a gas station within about two miles, and we were
quickly back on our way. The evening was spent in Marian, IN.
Departure in the morning quickly brought us to 12 miles
south of Lansing, MI by 1:00 PM. We had been so engrossed in our
processing of the trip that we had missed our exit north of Marshall and
were traveling far to the east of our destination. Recovering from
our error, we were home by 2:30 pm and unpacking.
The final piece of our homecoming occurred as our friend
and dog sitter returned Bridget to our presence. Needless to say,
this reunion was the important last touch to the conclusion of our trip.
Should
parts of New Orleans be bulldozed?
What is Common Ground Relief?
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Algiers Free Medical Clinic?
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Lady Star of the Sea Church?
Healing Music for
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