Editor's note: Judith Faust, Business and Economics Librarian at California State University, East Bay, submitted this remembrance of Annual in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. We'd already commissioned an article on New Orleans and its recovery, which will be running in the September issue of AL, and space limitations prevent us from publishing this article in the magazine as well. We did want to share her experiences, however, and Judith allowed us to publish her article here.

Worth Remembering—ALA in New Orleans
As we pass the 2nd anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, I’m reminded that I have never been prouder of “my” association than the day in November 2005, three months after the hurricane hit, when word came out that the American Library Association was going to meet its original commitment to hold the June 2006 Annual Conference in New Orleans, and that two days would be set aside for librarian volunteers to work on community service projects. As a librarian in the San Francisco Bay Area who had already been back to New Orleans to help my parents and sister with their homes, my eyes welled up when I heard the news, knowing how important this would be for the city’s economy. I was ecstatic for New Orleans and fiercely proud of ALA.

Katrina hit the city hard on August 29, 2005, its wind breaking branches and toppling trees, then pushing high water from Lake Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River Gulf Outlet into the canals which bisect neighborhoods in New Orleans. Thanks to the withholding of funds for levees by the Bush administration, years of neglect by the Corps of Engineers, and lack of coordination of the various levee boards, canal levees were unable to withstand the strain, and several of them gave way, flooding large areas of the city. Only then was mandatory evacuation instituted, emptying the city too late for those trapped on rooftops, in attics, or on freeway overpasses in flooded neighborhoods—or those who had already died.

After evacuation, the city administration kept people out of the city overlong, adding to building damage; there might not have been so much injury to property, had homeowners been encouraged to return in a timely fashion to throw out soaked furniture and appliances, to tear out drywall before it wicked moisture even higher than the water levels. Those who ignored the strictures to stay out of the city, or who had passes to return to the city for other reasons, were the lucky ones. They got in, gutted their homes down to the studs, and were able to begin early the slow process of drying them out, treating them for mildew, and getting all the permits necessary to rebuild. Then they pioneered the “endless wait”—waiting for the 10 foot high mounds of trash to be picked up from in front of their homes; waiting for electricity, water, and gas to be certified safe and turned on; and waiting for contractors of all sorts to show up.

I first came in October, to continue the work of my brother, his wife and son, and my brother-in-law, all of whom had gotten into the city early on and tossed out furniture, saved valuables, and ripped out the sheetrock/drywall on the bottom floors of two family duplexes where waters had flooded to 4½ feet. By that first week in October, the trash piles in front of our houses had been picked up, though the duct-taped refrigerators still stood at the curbs as rumors flew—“They’re not going to pick them up with food in them, you’ll have to clean them out first.” “No, they say just to keep them taped up, don’t open them.” Though live oaks lived on with broken branches still dangling on high, all the magnolias, the French bay tree descended from Aunt Ina’s cutting, and all grass and shrubs were dead—the lawns not just brown but white with the remnants of half-dissolved sheetrock.

My daughter from New York and I were there to help my sister, who was essentially general contractor for the four units. We waited for termite people to come and inspect, retrieved safe deposit keys, gathered up photo albums to take to air-conditioned storage units, and packed box after box with items salvaged by the “early crew”—china, family photographs, glassware from cabinets above the waterline. Those had been transported pell-mell upstairs in addition to all the lighter furniture my 85-year-old father had taken up before he evacuated to Florida on Aug. 27th. It was impossible to move around on the second floor—but we knew we were lucky to have one. I cleaned the toilet on the first floor, filthy with chemicals, oil, and chunks of sheetrock, found the original 16-mm home movies to take back to Florida, went through a file cabinet of drenched documents and financial papers to see if anything could be salvaged, sorted through/threw out the endless papers both my mother and father collect (newspaper clippings from 1978, anyone?), picked up soda cans and bottles that day-laborers had tossed in the yard as they helped clear out the house, and just tried to keep going all day, although everything needed to be done, and in the end it was completely overwhelming just choosing what to do.

We tried to wear ventilator masks, but people who had been there for weeks said the air was so much better they didn’t bother – and the masks were so uncomfortable and hot that we stopped, too. It was beastly hot, as it is in October in New Orleans, and after the hurricane and flood, the drought that the city had been enduring for months took up where it had left off, so there was no rain to dissipate or dilute the chemicals and oil that had been in the water and now lingered on the ground. We wore sturdy shoes and rubber gloves everywhere, not knowing what we were touching. We had brought food and water from Florida for lunches and washing hands at the site, since there were few stores with food, and none in the immediate area. We stayed with wonderful, generous cousins who had homes close to the river—ironically, the highest part of the city —who had electricity and water to shower in, though not to drink. At night we drove miles and miles to find restaurants that were open for business, and worried about whether to eat the seafood.

After a week or so of work, I flew back to the Bay Area to my "real" work as a business librarian at Cal State East Bay. In December my husband and I came back to New Orleans, to work for a few days before heading to the panhandle of Florida to share Christmas with my 85-year-old parents. Renovations were going slowly in fits and starts, according to which contractor decided to show up, if any. We were still packing things to go to storage units, staying out of the way of work crews—and, of course, sorting through papers(!). We stayed with cousins, enjoyed seeing those who had not yet returned to town in October, and ate in restaurants that had opened nearby since then—a great joy, even if the waits for food took hours. Patience was held to be the great virtue in attaining food in New Orleans restaurants.

In May we made another trip to the city, just before my parents would see their home for the first time since the August hurricane. The wonderful cousins who had let my sister and brother-in-law stay in their New Orleans home for months, came by early one morning bringing azaleas and impatiens, and planted them in the front bed of my parents’ duplex. It was almost shocking how lovely they looked, especially against the still-brown front “lawn” of dead grass, weeds, and bare earth.

June, and the ALA Conference, finally arrived! I flew into the city and was stunned to see a brass band in the baggage area. In honor of the conference, city fathers had brass bands greet arriving librarians at the airport for days. People who in the past might have been unresponsive to tourists or surly at our invasion of their city were effusively appreciative of our presence in New Orleans. In cabs, at restaurants, in stores, at the conference exhibit hall, on the streets—everyone thanked us for coming to the city.

Or, as Times-Picayune columnist Chris Rose noted in his June 27, 2006 article, “And the Librarians Shall Lead Them:” “It was so good to see all those name-tag-wearing-wanderers from across the heartland here in our city, whether they were shooting blue goo down their throats at Coyote Ugly or buying hot sauce in the French Market or browsing the aisles at Beckham’s Book Shop in the Quarter.” Rose, author of the poignant 1 Dead in Attic, the “Katrina book” owned by more New Orleanians than any other, commented on the generosity of conference attendees, “A friend of mine worked the New Orleans Public Library booth at the Convention Center for 90 minutes Sunday afternoon, and reported that passersby put about $1,500 in the donation jar just in that small window of time.”

Volunteers carry supplies into New Orleans' Benjamin Franklin High School.

Over a thousand librarians whose yellow volunteer T-shirts read “Libraries Build Communities” performed community service in New Orleans. My friend Patrick Sullivan from San Diego State told me of the Habitat for Humanity home he helped build in the Musicians’ Village. His crew had worked all morning on the house, roofing, painting, putting up sheetrock, and more. Then just before noon, cars began to roll up, a shade structure was erected, then a bandstand, and finally 4 or 5 musicians drove up and began playing music while Patrick and other volunteers lunched on food provided by the musicians. The volunteers were touched to see quite literally the reason why they were working: so that the musicians who are the soul of the city can come back and have a place to live. Other librarian volunteers worked in libraries and private homes that had been flooded, and librarians didn’t come alone; one librarian brought her teenage son with her to work on gutting a house in the Ninth Ward. Even those who didn’t volunteer spent money on hotels, ate in restaurants, bought things to take home, and donated cash at the convention hall. All told, we brought at least $20 million to New Orleans—that’s a lot of azaleas and impatiens.

As I flew back to the Bay Area, I thought about the changes in New Orleans, the wonderful conference, and the difference ALA had made to the city—now and for the future. The enthusiastic volunteering of over a thousand librarians that had contributed so much to New Orleans neighborhoods and libraries made a difference to ALA, as well. Michael Dowling, Director of ALA’s Chapter Relations Office, said ALA members were so pleased with the volunteering in New Orleans that it was decided to continue volunteering efforts at a variety of locations in Washington, D. C. for the 2007 Annual Conference. As for me, I’ll never forget that our American Library Association was the first of the large organizations to honor its commitment to bring its conference to New Orleans, leading the way for others. For that, I’ll be a member forever.

—Judith Faust, Business and Economics Librarian, California State University, East Bay.