Chapter 25: Gettin’ Outta Dodge

02 September 2005 – Ernest N. Morial Convention Center, New Orleans, Louisiana

“So, Keisha, what you’re saying is we’re running out of food?” Ezra Washington asked.

“Technically, Ezra, we’ve been running out of food since we got here,” Jeff pointed out.

“Technically, you’re the worst comedian ever, Jeff.”

“That’s insubordination.”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Not as much as having to deal with you every day.”

The rest of the center’s command staff snickered at the exchange while they sat in the first floor restaurant where they held their staff meetings. The frequent joking between the top two acknowledged leaders helped keep tensions low among the staff. The staff met every morning to discuss issues and concerns before they became major problems. With so many people in the building minor things could rapidly become major concerns.

Joking aside everyone gathered for the meeting held mutual respect for each other. The convention center proved to be a high-pressure environment the people in charge were constantly managing. All of them showed themselves to be capable, proactive leaders.

“With our current rate of consumption, we’ll exhaust the meat from the reefer trucks within two days,” Keisha Williams said as she continued her report. Growing up in and around her family’s restaurant in Indiana made her a natural choice for kitchen manager.

“The rice will last us through the weekend, longer if we alternate it with pasta which is also still at hand, but we’ll run out of both by Monday. Boiling that much so often produces a ton of steam, and items to clean, but we’ve been handling it. As I’ve mentioned before, the rice is nutritionally different than pasta but we can add more veggies to pasta meals to offset that difference and provide more calories to the folks here. Collecting the various fats from the meats as we use them – JC Alvarez’s idea – allows us to balance meals further, too.”

“Bottom line is, however, we’ll be facing a real problem come next week if we’re still here?” Gary Smith asked Keisha.

“Oh, yeah,” she confirmed. “By Monday, we’ll start having some real problems around here. We might get away with tapering the calorie allotments down a little, but that won’t gain us more than a day. We’re running up against the low edge of minimum daily requirements as it is.”

“So, it’s time for me to become a thorn in FEMA’s side?” Jeff asked.

“Them or whoever’s running things at this point, yes.”

“Okay, I’ll get with Gary after our meeting and start rattling cages. We’ll start with our usual FEMA contact first and work our way up the ladder from there if we have to. We’ve been quiet here in comparison to what we’ve been hearing from the Superdome.” Jeff turned to Ezra.

“Make sure to give Ephraim a pat on the back for putting together those shower stations, if you haven’t already. I heard a lot less grumbling during my walk-around this morning now that people have had a chance to get clean. I know it was a ton of work to move those industrial washers and driers, keep the shower stations going and wash all those towels yesterday, but it was a big help.”

“I’ve been praising him and everyone else left and right, don’t you worry,” Ezra assured his boss. “I know Jack’s happy, too, because that’ll help keep folks from getting really sick while they’re here.”

Jack Blanchard nodded in confirmation. The last thing they needed was a disease outbreak. The various departments presented their reports in turn until the meeting reached its conclusion.

“All right, everyone, thank you very much both for your reports and your hard work all week. We’re almost done here, so let’s keep ourselves focused until the feds get us out of this place. Same time tomorrow unless something changes?” Everyone nodded. “Okay, back to the salt mines, you louts!”

Everyone laughed as they left the tables and went off to work.

“We’re headed right for a cliff aren’t we, Ezra?” Jeff asked in a quiet voice while keeping the grin on his face.

“We’ve been leaning out over the edge of it since we got here, Boss,” Ezra answered in the same manner.

“What do you mean you’re not handling things here any longer?” Jeff bellowed into the radio’s microphone.

“FEMA’s been relieved as the lead agency for the relief efforts,” came the dispassionate reply. “The Army’s in charge now. You’ll have to call them to ask about your evacuation timeline.”

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose.

’Typical narrow-minded, bureaucratic, not-my-job bullshit.’ “So what’s their contact information?”

“I don’t have that readily available at the moment,” the voice said without any apparent interest in finding the information. “You’ll have to call back later.”

Jeff swore, snapping off the power switch to the ham radio set. He massaged his temples while staring at the desk.

“That asshole’s lucky I can’t reach through the radio and strangle him.”

“I’ll try raising the Navy or Coast Guard again,” Gary offered, “they should be able to get me the information.”

“Let me know when you have that, Gary. I’ll be doing my walkthrough of this place, but I’ll come right back once I hear from you. Any luck raising Fort Devens or someone who could contact my unit for me?”

“Yeah, the night staff got ahold of a ham operator at Hanscom Air Force Base outside of Boston. He called your unit’s Officer of the Day. That officer said he’d relay the message to your CO as to your status and location, but that he didn’t foresee an issue for you down the road. You have a pretty good excuse.”

“I’d rather have a pretty good ride out of here...” Jeff muttered. He shook his head. “Give me a call when you’ve got something, Gary.”

Jeff hadn’t made it past the first knot of refugees inside the exhibit space when his radio crackled. He jogged back to the security office.

“That was quick.”

“I’m good, what can I say?” Gary chuckled. “I’ve got a Specialist Isaacs from ‘Joint Task Force Katrina’ on the line and standing by.”

Jeff started to give the specialist the rundown of the impending food shortage and the need to evacuate the center. The specialist stopped Jeff, got his lieutenant on the radio, and asked Jeff to restart his message. Lieutenant Davies wrote down the full scope of the situation at the convention center. The lieutenant told Jeff that he would hear back from someone in two hours.

“Even if it’s just to keep you informed of where we are in working the problem someone will get back to you, Sergeant,” the lieutenant promised.

“I appreciate that, Sir. I’m responsible for a lot of folks here.”

“I’m lighting a fire under this one. Expect some movement on this soon.”

“Wilco, Sir.”

“Hang tough, Ranger. JTF Katrina out.”

Jeff, Keiko, and Ezra ate lunch together in the same restaurant where they held the staff meetings. Jeff guessed the food was not the normal fare served there during events. Afterward he and Ezra continued the walkthrough. As they inspected the conditions at the aid station Gary called on the radio again.

“Jeff, they’re sending another chopper out to us soon,” Gary informed them once inside the command center.

“How many people are they sending out this time?”

“Another half a dozen.”

“Do we still have enough diesel left to send some ambulances over to the LZ and pick these people up, Ezra?”

“Sure. More than enough.”

“All right,” Jeff sighed. “When are they coming?”

“Thirty minutes,” Gary answered.

“No moss growing on these folks. Let’s get things moving, XO.”

Jeff and Ezra continued working in the security office while waiting for their guests to arrive. They heard the radio call when the ambulances announced their return, but were too busy with contingency plans to really pay attention. A few minutes later one of the EMTs cleared her throat causing Jeff to look up.

“Ma’am, gentlemen, welcome to the Morial Convention Center. I’m Staff Sergeant Jeff Knox, US Army. This is Ezra Washington, retired US Navy chief master at arms.”

“I hear you’re the one holding things together here, Sergeant?” the senior army officer, an MP lieutenant colonel, asked.

“Not without everyone’s help, Ma’am. They’re doing the heavy lifting around here.”

“Folks, would you mind if we step back out into the hall?” Ezra asked when the visitors started asking questions. “It’s already crowded in here, and the folks working here won’t be able to hear if the conversation gets too loud.”

“I understand you’ve got around twenty thousand people here, Sergeant?” a FEMA official asked while the group walked toward the lobby.

“A little under twenty-three thousand at last count, Sir. We got lucky when five tractor-trailers showed up looking for a safe place to hole up until the roads reopened. For the past week we’ve been living off the food they were hauling, but by Monday it’ll be just about gone. We need an evac plan ASAP, Sir.”

The MP officer looked at one of the other officers.

“The roads between here and Louis Armstrong International Airport are still flooded, Ma’am. The buses we have staged can get here, but the only airfield capable of landing the transport planes accessible without a prolonged bus ride is the naval air station. We need clearance before bringing civilian transport onto the base.”

“And how long will that take, Captain?”

“A day or two at most, Ma’am. That’s to get the transport plan in place and start moving people. Clearance onto the base won’t take more than an hour to get.”

“Get on it, Neal. Make it happen.” The captain nodded and left the group while raising a satellite phone to his ear. “It’s as good as organized, gentlemen,” the colonel commented. “He’s sharp.”

“Why don’t we have a seat in here, Ma’am?” Ezra asked when they approached the lobby restaurant where staff held their morning briefings. “It’s not totally private, but we won’t be bothered during our discussions.”

The group wasn’t even fully settled in their seats before the kitchen doors opened. Servers brought out sandwiches and drinks for them. One of the servers winked at Jeff and gave him a big kiss. Jeff watched part of her anatomy sway as she returned to the kitchen. He sighed.

“Your wife is gonna be some kinda pissed at you if she ever finds out about that,” Colonel Rancic chuckled. She’d noticed the wedding band on Jeff’s left hand.

“That was my wife, Ma’am. We were on vacation in the city when the hurricane came through. Now, excuse me for asking this Ma’am, but why did you and the group come to visit? I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to, in and around New Orleans.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sergeant,” the colonel said. “You and your team have done an amazing job here. After the way all levels of government screwed up the relief efforts so far we can use a win. I wasn’t about to leave this to chance.”

“Colonel, the men and women of the Coast Guard have proven their valor and dedication once again by all accounts. The ham operators we’ve been in touch with told us about the stellar job the helicopter crews are doing. That’s not to sell others with the task force short, Ma’am, if I may borrow the phrase. We just haven’t heard as much about other troops as Admiral Allen’s.”

Keiko emerged from the kitchen again, carrying another meal, and sat down next to Jeff.

“Ma’am, this is my wife, Keiko. Keiko, Lieutenant Colonel Joyce Rancic and her team. They’ve come out to help us start planning our departure.”

“We have met some amazing people here, Jeffrey, but I will be glad to get home and see our children again.”

During lunch the convention center staff briefed the colonel’s team on the updates since the Navy’s visit. They also led the visitors on a tour of the mammoth facility, more to walk off the meal than anything else. The tour barely began before a familiar nemesis reappeared.

“You need to arrest that man!” the man bellowed while pointing at Jeff.

Jeff and Keiko’s eyes narrowed at the man accosting them. The rest of the center’s staff didn’t look happy either.

“And why is that, Sir?” Colonel Rancic asked.

“He and his thugs assaulted and seriously injured nearly a dozen men! Then they did nothing to treat them!”

“You mean the eleven ‘men’ who were going to rape Mizz Keiko?” Ephraim Gallatin cut in before anyone else could. “The eleven who held Mister Gary at gunpoint? I heard you cowered in the corner before Mister Jeff and his friends acted that night. You were just gonna sit around on your ass and wait for an opportunity to take credit for everyone else’s hard work again, weren’t you George?”

“That’s Mister Thibodeaux to the likes of you!”

“Kiss my ass, old man!” Ephraim shot back. “As far as I’m concerned you’re a fat piece of shit! Momma worked her ass off helping to plan the church’s summer picnic three years ago and you waltzed in and told everyone about all the work you did! Is it any wonder no one volunteers for anything church-related anymore if you’re around? You’re just pissed that Mister Jeff built an effective team here in seconds! He makes sure everyone else gets the credit around here, even for stuff he could rightfully claim. Mizz Keiko’s the same way. She’s the one who made sure all the kids here had things to occupy them during the day instead of sitting around, but hasn’t said a word about the work she’s done.

“They both understand that the rest of us are the local community, the ones with roots, and that we’re the ones who will be left to pick up the pieces here after they leave. They’ve helped us step up and take charge over the past few days. You certainly didn’t. Get outta my face, you old fraud! You make me sick!”

During Ephraim’s speech the others on the center’s staff formed a semi-circle behind him and glared at George Thibodeaux. It was clear, even to George, that he’d find no support among the center’s leadership. He hadn’t had much luck drumming it up among the other refugees, either. There were too many people spreading the story of that first night to the others who arrived after the incident in question. As with that first night, George Thibodeaux oozed away.

“That was a pretty impressive display of loyalty, Sergeant,” Colonel Rancic muttered to Jeff.

“I’ve just given credit where credit is due, Ma’am. Everyone – well, almost everyone – here has chipped in from that first night on. We’ve had remarkably few problems even though most here have lost everything. I’m like a baseball team’s manager: I’ve let people do the jobs I’ve asked them to do without micro-managing them.”

“Then it’s up to us at JTF Katrina to make sure your story here has a happy ending.”

Thirty buses pulled into the loading docks on the morning of September 4th. Hours of prep work by the center staff helped reassure the refugees they’d be safely evacuated and that they would cooperate with the planned departure. The FEMA rep who came to help with the evac was honest when she told them most wouldn’t be able to return to their homes right away, or ever. She was honest about what she didn’t know and everyone seemed to appreciate that. The last groups to leave would be the center’s staff and their families. They would make sure they left the center in better shape than when the refugees started to arrive. Jeff and Keiko made sure to start thanking everyone on staff as the final group of non-staff buses pulled away.

“I can’t believe we pulled it off, Ezra,” Jeff admitted as the sound of the final bus’ exhaust faded away.

“Thanks to you, Jeff. This place could have been a disaster inside a disaster otherwise.”

“I didn’t do it alone, Ezra.” It was a point they agreed to disagree on. “You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. They’re gonna make sure we get over to the Navy base after we lock up the place.”

Jeff turned and looked into the empty gloom of the now-dark convention hall.

“I guess Keiko and I are ready to go, Chief,” he said to the Coast Guard port security detachment commander next to him.

“There’s a Humvee waiting outside for you and your wife, Sergeant.”

“You all have our address?” he asked Ezra. The older man nodded. The others of the clean-up and shut-down group stopped what they were doing to say goodbye. Jeff grinned at the friends they made and took the time to shake every hand. Turning back to Ezra, Jeff asked him, “Permission to leave the ship, Chief?”

“Permission granted, Sir. Fair winds and following seas to the both of you.”

With a kiss on the cheek to Ezra from Keiko they left the building they had called home for nearly a week.

“My guys’ll get you over to the LZ safely, Sarge,” the Coast Guard CPO said while they exited the lobby. “The rest of us will make sure these folks get outta here okay.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“My pleasure, Sarge. Take care, folks.”

“Where are we going again, Jeffrey?” Keiko asked once the Coast Guard Humvee pulled away from the convention center.

“Camp Shelby in Mississippi where the feds have their relief efforts headquartered. I guess they want to debrief us before we head home.”

“Why did they not interview us somewhere closer to New Orleans? Or in New Orleans itself? Flying us over one hundred miles to do so does not make sense, Jeffrey.”

“It’s the government, Keiko. You honestly thought anything having to do with the government would make sense?”

“Yes, I suppose that would be an unreasonable expectation.” Keiko answered with a sheepish look. Jeff laughed and gave his wife a hug.

The crew chief of the Mississippi Army National Guard Black Hawk settled Jeff and Keiko in the passenger compartment of the aircraft before securing their bags for flight. As the helicopter swung north and arced over the convention center, Jeff saw the remaining staff of the center lined up on the street waving up at them. He pointed them out to Keiko and they waved back. Once more he wondered how many he’d ever see again.

There was little conversation during the forty minute flight. The chopper’s crew chief saw fatigue claim his passengers within minutes of leaving New Orleans. He chuckled to himself while switching off Jeff and Keiko’s headsets, allowing them to sleep. Neither stirred until the crew chief woke them in preparation for landing at Hagler Army Airfield. The still-groggy couple followed the specialist assigned to bring them to their quarters. A short Humvee ride later they collapsed into their temporary bed.