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 News from Around the Americas | August 2006 
Gulf Coast Mourns One Year After Katrina
 Rukmini Callimachi - Associated Press
| | Mourners gather on top of a levee in New Orleans, Louisiana, for a candlelight vigil honoring those lost in Hurricane Katrina. Bells tolled in this shattered city Tuesday morning, marking the moment one year earlier when New Orleans' levees buckled and unleashed a torrent of water that ripped homes from their foundations and sent half the city into an uncertain exile. (Mario Tama/Getty Images) |
In the dark of dawn 65 miles south of this shattered city, several hundred people bowed their heads in silence, marking the moment a year ago when the eye of Hurricane Katrina passed overhead at 6:10 a.m.
The tiny town of Buras was swept into the Gulf of Mexico by Katrina, and hours later, New Orleans' crucial levees were breached, unleashing one of the worst natural disasters in U.S. history, killing over 1,800 people, most in Louisiana.
One year later, the Gulf Coast commemorated the storm that brought the region to its breaking point.
"We're not well. We're not finished. But I will say this: We've made it. Let's move on. Let's move forward," Gulfport, Miss., Mayor Brent Warr told his residents.
The day began with eyes closed and heads bowed, and the knowledge that another large storm was swirling toward Florida.
In St. Bernard Parish, where virtually every building was flooded when levees buckled, about 400 people assembled for mass at Our Lady of Prompt Succor, a church named for the saint to whom Catholics in Louisiana traditionally pray for protection from hurricanes.
In a park overlooking the Mississippi Sound in Gulfport, Ware and his community remembered 14 residents lost to the storm. Firefighters, police officers and paramedics carried 14 red roses to the front of the stage, placing them in a ceremonial vase.
The daughter of an 83-year-old man who drowned in his home last year clutched one of the roses after the service.
"I'm hoping this is a step forward. I've been crying for a year and I'm tired of crying," said Carolyn Bozzetti, 60.
In pockmarked neighborhoods choked with weeds, in church pews and in gutted community centers, residents throughout the Gulf Coast prepared to vigils. In New Orleans, they will remember the dead by ringing a bell at City Hall to mark the moment one of the city's largest flood walls breached and water engulfed the northern edges of the city.
Later, in one of the Crescent City's age-old traditions, a jazz funeral will wind through downtown streets, beginning with a somber dirge and ending with a song of joy.
At the city's convention center, where for days haggard refugees waited in vain for food, medical assistance and buses, President Bush was expected to join an ecumenical prayer service. Others planned to mark the occasion privately at home with their own prayers - including personal calls for protection.
"I'm going to pray to the good Lord that he put his arms around the levees. I'm praying that he hug the levees tight so they don't break again, that he keep us safe," said 58-year-old Doretha Kitchens, whose home in the Lower Ninth Ward was submerged under a 10-foot wave.
Katrina grazed Florida before making landfall on Aug. 29, 2005, in Buras, a fishing village south of New Orleans on one of the fingers of land jutting out into the Gulf of Mexico. Entire blocks of houses, bars and shops vanished, whipped into the Gulf by a wall of water 21 feet high.
In New Orleans, the sun came out after the violent winds subsided, but the worst was yet to come: The industrial canal began to leak, and when two sections of the wall fell, a muddy torrent was released that yanked homes off their foundations.
Throughout the city, other parts of the levee system began to fail. With each breach came a cascade of water, until 80 percent of the city was submerged.
Nearly 1,600 people died just in Louisiana and another 200 were killed in Mississippi, while the rest of the nation watched in horror as survivors begged to be rescued from rooftops or freeway overpasses. To date, 49 bodies remain unidentified in Louisiana.
The reminders of the destruction - and how far the city still has to go - are everywhere. White trailers still line driveways in neighborhoods where debris is stacked up in piles and unchecked weeds have overtaken abandoned houses. Only half the population has returned. Emergency medical care is doled out in an abandoned department store, while six of New Orleans' nine hospitals remain closed. Only 54 of 128 public schools are expected to open this fall.
The road to Buras, a sleepy fishing town, is still strewn with boats tossed asunder. With no mail service, residents drive 100 miles roundtrip to deposit their checks and pay their bills. One small grocery store offers toilet paper, milk and a few other necessities.
"Lots of people used to say there was nothing down here. Now, there really is nothing down here," said Patricia Bairnsfather, 45, who observed the moment of silence.
The one-year mark is a reminder of also a reminder of how far each survivor has come. In Gulfport, Mayor Brent Warr spoke at sight overlooking the calm waters of the Mississippi sound which a year ago flooded the shoreline.
"We're not well. We're not finished, but I will say this: We've made it," Warr said. "Let's move on, let's move forward, and let's do that together."
Associated Press writer Mary Foster in Buras, La., Michelle Roberts in Chalmette, La. and Michael Kunzelman in Gulfport, Miss. contributed to this report. |
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