The backstory helps explain why so many in the Louisiana-Mississippi corridor were caught off guard by Katrina 20 years ago today.
A year earlier thousands had evacuated ahead of Ivan, being termed the strongest hurricane to ever approach the corridor, and aiming right at it.
Routes inland from Gulfport-Biloxi, where I was the Sun-Herald’s night editor, were jammed the afternoon before expected landfall.
Nearly forgotten memories of Camille and its devastation moved masses. The 70-mile drive to Hattiesburg took 4 1/2 hours.
The Coast was pretty much abandoned as thousands huddled afar and waited.
But Ivan changed course, instead ripping into Alabama and West Florida with unmerciful fury.
Many of those returning to Mississippi and Louisiana homes said no more and when Katrina rebounded toward them on August 27, 2005 they dug in, resolved to not again cower before a now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t demon.
By the time they could stare right in Katrina’s face it was too late to pack and go. The Coast went to bed on August 28 absolutely certain a blow was coming. The only question was how bad it would be.
We all know now.
Ivan’s storm surges in Mississippi of 4-7 feet a year earlier were surpassed by Katrina’s of up to 28 feet. From Bay St. Louis to Pascagoula a wall of water nearly three stories high roared several miles inland.
Its force in tandem with the screaming wind left destruction such as was hard to believe, toppling buildings and bridges, ripping up train tracks and trees, reducing housing and highways to rubble.
For the Coast, as in New Orleans, recovery came first, before rebuilding could begin.
Before either, of course, came the added insult less than a month later from Rita’s pounding.
Some of the rebuilding has yet to be done, and may never be.
(Two entries from Jim’s Katrina Notebook, published by the Biloxi Sun-Herald)
September 1, 2005: To the watering hole
They begin to gather at sundown, coming in ones, twos or larger groups on Day Two of life after Katrina.
Much like Serengeti animals drawn to the watering hole, residents of the subdivision are attracted to a fire hydrant and the pipe wrench discretely hidden nearby.
A shower, or what passes for one in this community circle, is the primary purpose after another day of no power and no water in the stifling heat.
Another objective is collecting in buckets enough water to facilitate toilet use.
And always there is an alertness for the prowling lion — in this instance represented by the patrolling law enforcement unit.
The surreptitious bathers aren’t sure their actions are legal, but there is an unspoken sense that they probably not acceptable in normal times, but these are not normal times.
September 7, 2005: Drip-drop-drip
GULFPORT — There is perhaps nothing more irritating than the sound of a leaking faucet, except when that drip-drop-drip signifies water is back in the line.
Not much pressure, not potable, but water nonetheless.
It allows toilets to function, and boiled on the Coleman stove, opens the door to lost luxury — instant coffee, instant grits, instant soup, macaroni and cheese — a gourmet’s delight.
Some are talking about showers, others aren’t sure about getting under what may be a contaminated stream.
Odds are the latter are just not dirty enough yet nine days after landfall.
(Editor’s note: Jim Butler, a Bolton High School alumnus, was an acclaimed writer and editor at the Alexandria Town Talk for 36 years, the last 23 (1977-2003) as editor-in-chief. He led Pulitzer Prize-winning coverage of Hurricane Katrina for the Gulfport (Miss.) Sun-Herald in 2005. Butler returned home to Cenla a few years ago, and shares his talents and insight with Rapides Parish Journal readers.)