Director Matt Ogens, whose current spotmaking roost is bicoastal Headquarters, recently returned to Los Angeles after nearly three weeks in Texas, Louisiana and Mississippi where he and three other filmmakers documented the devastation and aftermath of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita for the Red Cross. The following are some excerpts from his notes on the trip:
We had full access to every part of every town. Though there was a supposed media blackout in some areas we got past the checkpoints with our Red Cross credentials. Although we were shooting, our first priority was helping those in need. The human destruction is vast–whole towns are wiped out. It is surreal. There are a lot of resources down here, but hardly seems to make a dent. We have amazing stories of people helping each other in the face of losing everything.
We flew into Dallas–There we met our first evacuees from New Orleans. Thousands were housed in an arena and the parking lot of a convention center in downtown Dallas. Most if not all had lost everything–their homes, jobs and some lost relatives to the floodwaters. We were told countless stories about what life was like for five days in the Superdome in New Orleans–rapes, murders, lawlessness. It’s hard to know what is true and what isn’t, given so many rumors. Regardless, I know these people went through a lot.
Next we drove down to Alexandria, Louisiana, where we spent the night on army cots along with other Red Cross volunteers and evacuees. I met a volunteer named Red who walked 18 hours from New Orleans until he finally collapsed. Despite losing everything, he decided to volunteer for the Red Cross and help other evacuees from New Orleans and elsewhere.
The next day we headed down to Baton Rouge, which usually has a population of about 400,000 people. Now it has about 800,000+, so the traffic is at a standstill. The shelter in Baton Rouge is chaos. Over 4,000 evacuees in one location. Many agencies stepping on each other’s toes to try to help them. Even the Church of Scientology was there, giving out free massages and trying to convert people, including me. I was not swayed though. We met Mike who headed an organization called HOPE–Hummer Owners Prepared for Emergencies, a group of guys who drive Hummers and trick out their vehicles to do search-and-rescue missions. We ended up sleeping on the floor of a Hummer dealership that night.
Mike volunteered to take us into New Orleans. As we drove past some checkpoints, the highways were empty. Boats, abandoned cars, and trees lay across the highway. We could not cross at some points because the water was 20 feet deep. Finally we found a back way and made it inside New Orleans. The destruction was unbelievable. Houses crushed, under water. Stray dogs roaming the streets. It was not unlike the opening scene in 28 Days Later, in which London is empty. Many military vehicles and National Guardsmen holding automatic weapons and fly-bys by Black Hawk helicopters. We could tell which homes contained bodies by spray-painted markings on the houses.
We drove into the historic French Quarter where there was surprisingly little damage. Debris lay on the streets and windows were boarded up, but other than that, it looked better than the mess left behind after Mardi Gras. Johnny White’s, a local dive bar, was open for business.
That night we set up camp at a shelter in Mandeville, Louisiana, 30 minutes north of New Orleans. We used this as a base camp where we took day trips to other cities. We spent the next three days in the 9th Ward, Slidell and Chalmette (an oil refinery town in St. Bernard’s Parish). This town was already toxic being near the oil refineries. A nearby oil spill didn’t help. This is where my immune system couldn’t hack it anymore and I developed some type of bronchial virus as did most others. Who knows what we were breathing. Dogs who drank the water in the streets died that day. Others were shot for fear they would spread disease. …Two days later Chalmette was closed to everyone because of the toxicity in the air. Too bad everyone breathed it in before they tested the air. The entire town will be bulldozed.
I spent a day with a Red Cross Emergency Response Vehicle (ERV), which goes neighborhood to neighborhood and house to house handing out water and hot food. To many of these people, ERVs were the only way to eat.
On one of our days in St. Bernard’s Parish, I drove into the edge of New Orleans where we were flagged down by a local. A 60-something man named Marvin had miraculously survived the storm by spending the night on the second floor of a tire shop. His house was demolished by the water and winds so he commandeered a city bus. He turned the idle bus into his home–inside he had a bed, plenty of water and dry food, and clothing. But he needed medical attention. We drove him to a makeshift medical facility and had a nurse check him out. It turned out to be dehydration.
The following three days were spent in Mississippi. Though the news mostly talked about New Orleans, it was some of the small towns in Mississippi that were hit the hardest–towns like Bay St. Louis, Waveland, Gulfport, Pass Christian and Biloxi. Waveland and Pass Christian looked like Hiroshima. Houses landed miles away from their foundations. Slabs of concrete were all that was left of homes. Piles of wood that looked like matchsticks. Boats on rooftops or in trees. There were many lives lost here and many still missing when I was there. I met a local sheriff who opened the cell doors in the jail because it was filling up with water. Instead of trying to escape, the inmates worked with the police and guards to make a shelter.
A funny anecdote–we passed a business called Mr. Binky’s Adult Store, which had been torn open by the storm. Out front the entire parking lot was strewn with big red phallic devices, which require batteries. It was a welcome comedic intermission.
The next morning I hooked up with Rhode Island Search and Rescue. Many people were still missing and it was their job to find bodies. Since it had almost been two weeks after the hurricane hit, it was no longer search and rescue but a body recovery mission. We went down to the bayou where a couple of acres of debris from houses had settled. Mostly it was about smells. If they smelled something that they thought was a body, they would bring out the cadaver dogs to investigate. I won’t go into the details of this day.
As we continue to aid evacuees and shoot our documentary, news of a hurricane named Rita was about. We drove up to Gonzalez, Louisiana, to meet evacuees at a shelter when the rains and wind hit. Somehow we remembered Marvin living in the city bus in New Orleans and decided to get him out before the water did. We drove an hour toward New Orleans in the middle of the night and the hurricane. We drove through deep waters. Our vehicle was pushed to other lanes by the strong winds. We stopped at a checkpoint by an armed officer of the law and not allowed to go further. The water was too high to drive through. We turned around and drove the hour back to Gonzalez where the shelter manager gave a speech about what to do if the shelter was flooded, which everyone thought it would be. She told us to find something that floats.
We woke up the next morning and were safe and sound. Some cities in Louisiana and East Texas were hit hard, though…Two nights later we put down our cameras and drove into the French Quarter. It was completely dark. We went over to Johnny White’s Bar, which was powered by a generator, and had some drinks, mixing it up with the local standouts who would never leave their beloved New Orleans. This would be our last night in town. The next day we drove up to Baton Rouge airport and caught a flight home.
Matt Ogens is a director currently with bicoastal Headquarters.
