The forgotten
NEW ORLEANS – Crumpled houses. Overgrown weeds. Deserted neighborhoods.
Those images of the lower Ninth Ward flashed onto the TV screen during the first quarter of the Monday Night Football game between the New Orleans Saints and the Atlanta Falcons. But as the announcers called attention to the devastation that still exists a year after Hurricane Katrina slammed into the city, here's what the cameras failed to capture in that same community:
A group of 30 people gathered to watch the game next to a FEMA trailer. There were residents struggling to rebuild their homes and volunteers there to help them sharing red beans and rice. It was a congregation cheering as if it were inside the Superdome instead of inside a garage.
Later in the broadcast, with more images of the Ninth Ward on the screen, one of the TV announcers described the neighborhood as "a graveyard of a community that no longer exists."
James Lemann Jr., who organized the gathering in his garage for the much-anticipated Saints home opener, turned to a visitor and said, "I hate to tell you, but that's where you are."
Right there in that graveyard, in the heart of the lower Ninth Ward, where floodwaters drowned dozens of people and destroyed hundreds of homes. And there inside Lemann's freshly painted garage, a group young and old, black and white, locals and out-of-towners gathered Monday night for a game that marked the reopening of the Dome and return of the Saints to New Orleans.
 A crowd gathered in James Lemann's |
Sure, there was Pookie, Cooter, the Sno-Ball Lady and all the regulars better known by their nicknames. But there also were two contractors from Wisconsin and one from California helping rebuild homes; the nine college-aged volunteers from Common Ground, the non-profit relief center; and of course Lemann, a 48-year-old jack-of-all trades with a big belly and an even bigger belly laugh.
While more than 70,000 fans packed the newly renovated Dome, Lemann and his guests assembled inside the garage that doubles as home of the "Church of All Souls" and sits next to his gutted, double-shotgun house in the sparsely populated area.
"We're still here," Deborah Massey snapped at the TV announcer. "They can't get rid of us."
As the Saints were tearing into the Falcons, Lemann's guests were tearing into the food, and the crowd spilled outside the garage and into the driveway, with a few under a tent fashioned with a red, white and blue canopy that blew off the nearby Kentucky Fried Chicken during the hurricane. With the crowd now at 30, Lemann grinned and said, "And we ain't even gotten to halftime yet. And you never know what's going to happen."
Up to that point, here's exactly what happened:
When Katrina bore down on New Orleans, Lemann left his house on North Rampart Street and headed for the Superdome. He stayed there for six hellish days before boarding a bus and arriving in Texas. Then he bought a broken-down van with $2,000 of the money he got from FEMA, repaired the vehicle and in January headed home.
Among the first to return to the area swamped with up to 12 feet of water, he started cleaning up his home and the entire neighborhood. He used a weed eater to cut the grass of all of his neighbors.
He rescued speakers, amplifiers and instruments from flooded churches and moved them into his own garage, where a local minister now holds services twice a week.
He hosted parties for holidays and special occasions, including the one-year anniversary of Katrina. And on Sunday, about 24 hours before kickoff of the Saints game, he decided to host the next party.
Six people rolled in for the pregame show at 7:30 p.m. local time. Six more rolled in by kickoff. Then came the nine volunteers – a little late because three had been at the stadium for a march to protest the $184 million dedicated to rebuilding the Dome.
At one point, a TV camera showed a fan holding up a sign that read, "Home Sweet Dome." Lance Edwards, who operates a BBQ shack on St. Claude Street, shook his head.
"A hundred and eighty million dollars," he said, referring to the approximate amount spent to renovate the 30-year-old building, "and my first customer of the day is begging me for a pork chop."
 Deborah Massey made |
And so the group found itself in a strange position. They were swept up in the euphoria of the game, but also mired in the despair of the slow recovery in the lower Ninth Ward and overriding feeling of being neglected by public officials. Like the red beans and rice, the bitter was mixed with sweet.
There was homegrown Irma Thomas singing the national anthem, and Massey stood and motioned for the others to join her. "See, whether you're in the Dome, or wherever you are, you stand."
They were on their feet again 2½ minutes into the game when Steve Gleason blocked a punt and Curtis Deloatch recovered the ball in the end zone for the touchdown as the Saints jumped out to a 7-0 lead.
They were cackling when Spike Lee was asked during an interview if he realized how much the game meant to the city. His reply: "This is all they have really. It's four hours and back to your FEMA trailers."
No one laughed harder than Lemann.
But the cackles gave way to cheers when the Saints scored on a double reverse and went up 14-3. And the cheers grew louder when John Carney booted a 51-yard field goal on the final play of the first half to give New Orleans a 20-3 lead.
At halftime, Keith Calhoun, a photojournalist who grew up in New Orleans, pulled aside one of the young volunteers.
"See, look at Jimmy," Calhoun said. "That's what we need in this neighborhood."
Look at Jimmy, indeed. He sat among the group, uncharacteristically quiet, while the others whooped and hollered and cheered. "My work is done," he explained with a grin. "I brought the people together. We got the food together. Now they're here and having a good time."
After the game clock expired, after those gathered let out final cheers in celebration of the Saints' 23-3 victory, Lemann tracked down two of the young volunteers. They thanked him and said the group planned to return Wednesday for bible study and hoped to join him for one of the regular jam sessions in his garage.
"We do all kinds of stuff," Lemann said. "You never know what to expect."
