Begin forwarded message:
-----Original Message----- From: claudia copeland
<[EMAIL PROTECTED]> To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Sent: Sat, 3 Sep 2005
01:00:29 -0500 (CDT) Subject: Re: are you okay?
Hi Monica,
I'm OK. I escaped on Wednesday and am in Baton Rouge. Yes, the cell
phone towers were all knocked out by the hurricane. The hurricane
itself, though, caused only about 20% of the horror. The government is
not letting people in to bring supplies. They are not bringing
supplies. The hospitals and even the convention center where people
are gathering are full of corpses- people who have died of dehydration
when there are people with truckloads of water in Baton Rouge, ready
and willing to deliver them, but the National Guard won't let them in
to New Orleans.
It's so good to hear from you. I'm pasting the story of how I got out
below. Please do forward this around and tell everyone what is really
going on in New Orleans so they can urge the government to LET PEOPLE
IN so they can help their friends and families. That is the only thing
we can do right now.
-Claudia
Wednesday:
They have shut off the tap water. They want to stem disease from
drinking contaminated water, but at least if they gave us contaminated
water, we could boil it. I feel panic welling up- why didn't I fill up
more jugs when we had tap water? Since the water has been on a few
days, we have grown complacent. We have been taking showers, so the
bathtub is empty. I feel so stupid.
Also, we sense that the situation in the streets has deteriorated.
Fewer and fewer of our bohemian friends, and people in general, are
left. Sinister young men walk down these mostly deserted streets.
There is an ominous sense of abandonment.
We decide we must get out, and try to contact everyone we know who owns
a car, by telephone and walking. No one with a car is left in the
city. We decide at least to relocate to Jimmy's apartment, which is
more secure. We then see our new friends/neighbors, Niko, Melissa,
and Rarig. They propose bicycling out of the city to Baton Rouge. It
seems a ludicrous idea at first, but on second thought, sounds
feasible. The distance is 80 miles, and if we bring a very large
amount of water, we could leave early in the morning and arrive in
Baton Rouge by nightfall. We plan to meet at Molly's at 7am the next
morning to depart, a bicycle tribe.
Back at Jimmy's, we tell him of our intentions, and he says he has
heard of buses departing from major hotels. Jose and Jimmy set off in
search of these chartered buses, and find that the Hotel Monteleone has
chartered a fleet of 10 buses with state trooper escort to come in and
evacuate their guests to Houston. There are 200 extra seats that they
are selling to residents at $45 a seat (at cost). Jose on his way to
pick up his forgotten green card and passport passes Niko, Melissa, and
Rarig. He tells them about the buses and to get down there. Back at
his apartment, Jimmy packs up in 15 minutes, taking mostly gold. They
get in line. I'm completely tense. Then, victory! They have gotten
tickets. Everyone is happy. I'm relieved, but still tense. I won't be
able to relax until we are physically on the bus. The buses are
scheduled to arrive at 6:30pm. Teddy, Jimmy's neighbor who decided to
stay, will securely bar the front door to their building from the
inside at 8pm. At that point, we won't be able to get back in.
Waiting. 6:30pm comes and goes. 7:30pm. 8:30pm. 9:30pm . waiting for
the fleet of 10 buses. It's getting dark, and scary. We have police
with double barrel shotguns to guard us, and protect against a rush on
the buses, but there are only four of them. The French Quarter is
ominous at night; terrifying if away from the police escort with their
double barrel shotguns. At this point, a cheer goes up, but instead of
a fleet of ten chartered buses, a single Jefferson Parish school bus
shows up. The driver gets out & talks with the hotel organizer. Jose
hovers around nearby, discreetly listening. The buses have been
commandeered by the police- the Monteleone paid for them, but they have
been stolen by the state. (The state says they need them to evacuate
the sick and elderly, but why can't the state get ahold of its own
buses??? They should have a fleet of 100 buses taking people out, and
should have had that fleet by Monday night, but instead they do nothing
until a private party takes action to help itself, and then they steal
the buses.) The hotel manager is livid & angrily but quietly decides
to try to "negotiate" with the state. He is not letting on to the
guests that the buses have been confiscated- no one knows except those
like Jose that are discreetly but actively gathering information.
Allan Toussaint and his wife coolly gather their bags and get on the
school bus.
Jose speaks to the bus driver. For $50 cash each, he will take us to
Baton Rouge. I have $61, Jose has $14, Kip (Jimmy's neighbor, a
transplant patient who needs regular dialysis and is already overdue)
has $20, and Jimmy has $50. I ask desperately and ridiculously if they
take credit cards or checks. Of course they don't, and in fact they
say that no one in the state is taking credit cards, because of all the
possibility of theft. Jose turns to me and says "baby, if you want to
take this bus. good luck to you" and I turn back "I won't leave without
you." It's as simple as that. Then, I beg. I plead with the bus
driver to take us- that our friend needs dialysis and that this is all
the cash we have. I explain that we've already given $45 for the
Monteleone ticket. He agrees to take what we have and we scramble on
board. I love the feel of sitting on the hard metal floor of the
stripped out bus. But I'm not relaxed yet. This bus, too, could be
confiscated. (The police have tried twice to confiscate his bus, but
he managed to escape.) I hold my knees close, and pray that we make
it to Baton Rouge. The bus creeps along, silently taking back-streets
out of New Orleans, over the Crescent City Connection (slight release
of tension- we're officially out of the city) and out, through back
roads, looping towards Donaldsville then over the Sunshine Bridge and
then finally onto the I-10 just before Baton Rouge. At the city, I
can hardly believe the familiar yet strange sight of lighted signs and
streetlights. It has been pitch black in New Orleans since Sunday
night. You can see the stars in the sky.
We are dropped off at the airport. I ask the bus driver for his
address, so I can send him the difference. He declines (of course;
this is obviously a pirated bus), and I thank him profusely. He will
return to New Orleans throughout the night to rescue people wanting to
escape.
Finally believing that we have really escaped, I can sigh in exhausted
relief. The airport, full of refugees sleeping on the floor, is a
wonderful place. We plug in our cell phones, and call Andre & Laura.
They are there in minutes with their car to pick us up. Their house
is luxurious, and Andre even cooks up some eggs and toast, with sliced
tomatoes, for us. It is like heaven to be here, truly heavenly.
As the stories come spilling out of us, my happiness is marred only by
a terrible sense of sadness for the others left behind, in the terror
of a city steadily evacuated by bohemians and working class people and
taken over by criminals and soldiers. The worst are the people still
on their roofs, sitting there without food or water for days on end, or
drowning. Also, the animals. Our neighbors, in a move of supremely
cruel irresponsibility, left their dog in their apartment, locked in
there. They told us nothing when they evacuated, did not give us a
key, and we had no way of getting in. We heard the dog desperately
scratching against the wall on Tuesday night, but were afraid to go
outside to do anything about it. Wednesday, we heard no more sound
from him. I feel incredibly guilty for not breaking a barred window to
at least give him a chance to get out, in case he was still alive. I
only hope that perhaps they left a long term supply of food and water,
and that he is alive and only quiet, and will survive until they get
back. I wish that I could go back, in an official vehicle loaded with
water and supplies, to just drop off supplies and pick up people,
taking them back and forth to Baton Rouge. But they are letting no
one in to help. People outside the city want desperately to come in
and rescue their friends and family members, and I'm sure many are
willing to drive in supplies. If the government were competent to
take care of the situation, then they could indeed take over. But they
are NOT. (It is just one example that they can't get their shit
together to get their own buses, just confiscating the buses of those
who are more competent than they.) They NEED to LET PEOPLE BACK IN so
they can help the residents trapped in the city.
Postscript: The day after writing this, Jose talked with an NPR
reporter who told him what happened after we left. It is too horrific
to believe, but this is what the reporter said. After unsuccessfully
negotiating with the State, the Hotel Monteleone told the 500 people
waiting that the buses would in fact never come. Then, they closed
their doors! They left the people outside, on the streets in the dead
of night in the dead-black lawless French Quarter! Some of the people
cowered in Jackson Square in terror, while others tried to walk across
the Crescent City Connection. They were, according to this source,
then shot at by the police! They were not allowed to leave. Jose and
I just broke down into wracking sobs, so tremendously helpless are we
to help these others. I'm hoping this is untrue, I'm praying that this
is not true and that those other waiting people eventually got out
OK. How could it be true? Andre Codrescu, who we are staying with,
assures me that it is true, and not a rumor, but I am still praying
that there has been some mistake. How could it be true? How could it?
--- [EMAIL PROTECTED] escribió:
Hi Claudia!
Where are you? Please write me back, I don't know where you are, and I
am sorry i have been so out of touch lately. but please write to me and
let me know where you are and if you are okay. i've tried your ph#s and
no luck. the phone just doesn't go through. call me or write to me 917
701 3134 cel.
Thank you!
Love, Monica
Claudia Copeland 1427 Dauphine St. New Orleans, LA 70116
504) 988-6619
