Thank you!

This is going to be an abortion of an incomplete list. The other day I did some travelling around our little disaster area, and I noted the variety of help we’ve attracted.

Missouri National Guard
Alabama National Guard
Duke Energy (North Carolina) – they’re all over here in Sulphur, Louisiana
Alabama Power
Mississippi Power
some electrical company from Minnesota(!) in 95-degree, high humidity weather in September…
Tampa Electric Company
Georgia Power
Savannah Power
Palmetto
SBC -California
Maricopa County (AZ) Sheriff’s Dept.

I am absolutely sure there are dozens of others, too. We have tree-trimmers, electric companies, firefighters, rescue squads, Guard and Reserve soldiers, the Coast Guard, active duty components of the armed forces… All Americans helping Americans.

The Farmer & The College Kid

An old Cajun rice farmer was sitting on his porch one day when a young man drives in and comes to the door. “Sir, I was driving by and noticed you had a lot of milkweed in your pasture. Would you mind if I went out and got some milk?”

“Mais, son, you don’t get milk from no milkweed!” the farmer replied.

“Oh yes,” said the young man, “I have a degree in Agriculture from LSU, I know all about it.”

“Well, help yourself,” said the farmer.

He soon saw the young man coming back to his car with two buckets full of milk. The next day the farmer was again sitting on his porch when the same young man drove up.

“Sir, yesterday when I was getting milk, I noticed you had some honeysuckle in the fence row. I wondered if you would mind if I got some honey?”

“Mais, son, you don’t get no honey from honeysuckle!” said the farmer.

Again the young man explained about his degree from A&M, so the farmer agreed to let him collect some honey. Soon the young man came back to his car with two buckets full of honey.

The next day the same young man drove up to the farmer’s house. “Sir, yesterday when I was getting the honey, I noticed you had some pussywillow down by the bayou.”

The farmer said, “Mais, son, let me get my shoes and I’ll go with you …”

The.Worst.Callout.Ever…

Last Saturday night. Nine-ish. Very dark. The last firetruck was readying to leave the soggy burnt remains of my house. I got in my company car and left, intent on returning to Ragley, Louisiana, where I’d weathered the storm. It was one abyssmally horrible period in my life. I drove onto the dark interstate highway alone. The area around me was still under evacuation order.

My cellphone rang. I didn’t recognize the number that showed in the display. I answered.

The voice was immediately and unmistakeably familiar. “Hey. Where’re you at?”

“I just left the firetrucks rolling up hoses. My house just burned down.” I wasn’t ready to deal with people just yet, and here was this PERSON. An old friend and a client, but still, I didn’t want to deal with anyone.

“No sh*t?!?!?” he said. “We’re on emergency generator. We need you out here. We can’t get the breakers to close to put the gas turbine on line.”

I know that plant like the back of my own hand. I’ve spend endless days in there setting up their control system, finding and correcting problems, training people. The “turbine” he was talking about ran a 21 megawatt generator. With it on line, the plant could pump the natural gas inventoried in its tanks out into the national distribution pipelines. Without it, they’d have to depend on shipments of liquid nitrogen to keep the system cool, or they’d have to start venting valuable natural gas.

I replied, “did you hear what I just said? My house just burned down.”

“Yeah. I heard you. so you don’t have anything else to do. Come on out and help us get the turbine on line.”

My next remark: “I can’t get to your plant anyway.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Was down there today trying to get to my nephew’s house to see how it fared in the storm. The road in front of your plant was under three feet of water.”

“That was then. The water’s drained out. You can drive right up.”

I tried one more time. “But my house just burned down.”

“Look,” he said, “we can give you a shower, food, and a place to sleep. You can try a bit tonight, and if you don’t get the breakers closed, you can work on it tomorrow. Come on out.”

I had one more card to toss on the table: “I’m almost out of gas. Can you guys fill me up when I’m finished?”

“Sure. You get the turbine on line, and it’ll put power to the gas pumps. You can fill up before you leave.”

So off I went. Exiting the interstate and driving down a city street which would normally be a kaleidoscope of lights, I drove in eery darkness. I saw one downed power cable a bit too late. There’s a mark on the hood of my SUV where it hit. Twenty minutes later I was at the gates of the plant, and ten minutes after that, I was in the substation plugging in my laptop computer to talk to the system to see what the problem was.

My safety director called. He’d just received word of my house, and his initial reaction was to try to get me out of that job and to refuge in Houston to decompress. He estimated that with the storm and the loss of the house that I just might have a bit too much on my plate to work safely. I told him that this job was EXACTLY what I needed, and that I would take him up on his offer AFTER my client was secured.

Two hours work on Saturday night produced no result other than a lot of data as to the possible problem and several solutions. I retired to the control building. It was now refuge for a dozen plant people who’d rode out the storm there. The big diesel emergency generator was roaring along providing lights and air conditioning and , I found quickly, hot showers. I slept on the floor in an office. It was good enough.

I woke up the next morning to life. A pot of coffee waited for me in the lunchroom, and one of the operators threw together a great breakfast of bacon, eggs, biscuits and cinnamon rolls. By four o’clock the turbine was online, providing the needed power. I got my tank of gas, and left the plant in a lot better shape than it was when I got there, a truly successful venture.

The guy who called me? Arrogant? Yep! Abrasive? Yep! Conscientious? 110%! And one human being that I consider one of the truest and best of friends. What he did for me that night, putting me to work on the job that I love, was just what I needed. He might have doen it by accident, but he did the right thing…

Hurricane, meet Cajun…

Man bites hurricane

By Michael Graham
They were poor. They lived in homes that, to some Americans, would appear no more than shacks. They’ve suffered discrimination at the hands of their fellow Americans. And when the hurricane came, it seemed to veer out of its way, just to hit them.

Some of them weren’t so darned poor, either, rice farmers, cattlemen, oilfield workers, but just plain ol’ ordinary people who felt some sort of wonderful love for this land, THEIR land…

So why didn’t hundreds of Cajuns from western Louisiana appear on my TV screen this week, complaining that George W. Bush doesn’t like them, demanding $200 billion of my tax dollars or blaming the bad weather on Halliburton?

They’re awfully close to roots here. Just about every family has a matriarch or patriarch who can recite the last several generations of the family. And you don’t develop softness as a culture by wresting your living from the lands and waters. Even “civilized” Cajuns know their roots go back to the banks of the bayou… and from there, back to some far-off time in Canada, and ….

Hurricane Rita may have hit western Louisiana harder than Katrina hit New Orleans, but Rita across folks made of sterner stuff then you’ll find in the Ninth Ward. Here’s how one Washington Post story described the scene just hours after Rita made landfall near Intracoastal City, a “city” that in many senses barely exists:

“The only people who can get here are the sturdiest of sorts, a small armada of Cajuns with pretty French names and sunburned skin and don’t-mess-with-me bravado. The bayous were full of them Saturday, gliding high and quick in airboats, and so was the Vermilion River, where they were spinning steering wheels on fast Boston Whalers and kicking up wakes in flat-bottomed, aluminum boats. They did not wait for the president or FEMA or anyone else to tell them that there were people out there, out there and desperate, on rooftops…

I’d like to claim this as a strictly Cajun trait, but I have to be honest. You get away from the big city anthills, and this behaviour is the norm. Get out in the country, in the small towns, and those much maligned good ol’ boys get down to business. Tree down in the road? You got some redneck with a pickup and a chainsaw that has just found his whole reason for existence. Outcome? No more tree. And it matters not if it’s in his drive, yours, or a public road. tree, pickup, chainsaw… it’s a match made in what passes for heaven after one of these disasters.

Boats are the same way, especially with Cajuns… They’d have done the same for New Orleans if the government had let them. They tried but were turned back… “We’re from the government. We’re here to help…”

‘I got out of the sheriff’s office in about 20 seconds,’ said Steve Artee, as his son, Chris, made a hard, boat-tilting turn on the swollen Vermilion. ‘They just took my cell phone number, and I was gone. That’s because Kathleen Blanco wasn’t involved.'”

Now, anyone who hates Blanco and bureaucrats can’t be all bad. But I don’t agree with Mr. Artee that the people of Vermilion Parish behaved more responsibly or showed more strength of character because Gov. Blanco didn’t have their parish on her speed dial. I believe the people of western Louisiana behaved better because they are, in fact, better people.

The failure revealed by Hurricane Katrina was not a failure of government, at least, not any more than government always fails. The failure in New Orleans was a failure of character. Corrupt people electing corrupt politicians who gave millions in tax dollars to corrupt cronies to either mis-construct vital levees or to spend the money on entirely useless pork projects. Then, when disaster struck, these same people, living a Faustian deal of votes for tax-funded handouts, were utterly lost when those corrupt government officials headed for high ground without them.

Cajuns as a group never expected to get any help. After all, it was a government that they fled from France in 1620. It was a government that tore them from their new homes in 1765. It doesn’t take too many of those events to realize that government isn’t necessarily a good thing, and certainly not one to depend on.

As John Fund of the Wall Street Journal wrote: “In just the past generation, the Pelican State has had a governor, an attorney general, three successive insurance commissioners, a congressman, a federal judge, a state Senate president and a swarm of local officials convicted. Last year, three top officials at Louisiana’s Office of Emergency Preparedness were indicted. Just this summer, associates of former [New Orleans] mayor Marc Morial were indicted for alleged kickbacks involving public contracts. Last month the FBI raided the home and car of Rep. William Jefferson as part of a probe into allegations he had misused his office.”

Not to mention the widespread looting by the citizens of New Orleans themselves, which included televised looting by police officers, too. The chief administrative officer for Kenner, LA, was just busted for pilfering food, drinks, chainsaws and roof tarps from New Orleans and stashing them in his suburban home.

Hey, stay classy, New Orleans!

Then came Hurricane Rita, Katrina’s ugly sister, to wreak similar havoc just a few hundred miles to the west. The communities affected were, on the surface, similar as well: Abbeville or Cameron, LA were “low income” communities. The education levels were similar to the Ninth Ward, too. And you won’t find many branches of the Aryan Nations meeting among the dark-skinned natives of Cajun country, whose heritage is a genetic gumbo of Europe, Africa, the Caribbean and American Indians.

But while the people of New Orleans were panicking and complaining (not to mention stealing, shooting and stabbing) days after the storm, the Cajuns of western Louisiana were out in their boats, looking for lost neighbors and rescuing strangers off rooftops.

It wasn’t just because Gov. Blanco wasn’t involved, it was because almost NO government is involved in these folks’ daily lives. The people of rural Louisiana grow up with the assumption that their survival in this world of woe is their responsibility. Unlike far too many people in New Orleans, “low income” isn’t an excuse to the working families in rural Louisiana. It’s just a condition to be dealt with. They live their lives as though they own them, unlike those government-dependent “victims” who live as though life is something the state provides for them and is responsible to maintain.

Like I said… there are some low income Cajuns, and there a hell of a lot of middle income Cajuns. And to a Cajun, low income doesn’t mean squalor. It means some different meat in the pot. It means getting together with friends and neighbors in the back yard. It may mean that you don’t wear a fine suit going to Mass on Sunday, but I’ll guarantee this: The food will be wonderful, the smiles and laughter real, and the family ties will be tight and strong.

Randy Gary, a fisherman from Cameron, LA, was asked about his future after his boats were destroyed and flooding poisoned the oyster beds he fished.

He didn’t blame FEMA or accuse President Bush of stealing his lunch money. He wasn’t spotted kicking in the door of the local Wal-Mart to snag a plasma-screen TV “for survival purposes.” He has yet to join the Cajun Action Committee to investigate why so many of Rita’s victims spoke French.

Instead, as the AP reports, he smiled.

“What else we gonna do?” he said, pledging to rebuild his shattered home and work. “It’s my life. It’s what I do.”

Hurricane Rita, you’ve met your match.

Lord, I do believe so. I saw it personally in 1957 when Hurricane Audrey did this the last time. This is just the way it is, at least for another generation or two, anyway. The TV set is the Great Homogenizer these days and we see our youngsters pulled away from the Cajun Two-step played with accordion and fiddle to the glitter of rock and country, but the attitude is still there: “It’s my life. It’s what I do.”

Evacuation kit…

I know that a lot has been discussed about your SHTF or “grab and go” bag.

Well, I delayed my evacuation till 6PM the evening before the hurricane, and then packed in accordance with two criteria:

1. I would be back.

2. There were other hardy souls at the end of my evacuation journey.

To that end, I threw an assortment of easily prepared foods into an ice chest. An ice chest is a handy thing. Obviously, you can put ice in it and keep things cold. But you can also keep things dry. and stable in temperature. And you can use it for a water container. Handy thing, an ice chest. Handles make it easy to maneuver, too.

I packed a sleeping bag and a couple of pillows. I like pillows. Figured a couple extra couldn’t hurt.

I packed three days’ worth of clothes. In the past, these things NEVER lasted more than three days… and my shaving kit…

And guns. One should have guns. Accordingly, I brought my favorite pistol, a Springfield Armory M1911A1, a nice pistol to have… A shotgun, not a hunting shotgun, a social purposes shotgun, a Mossberg 590. And a rifle. A full-blown battle rifle, a nice M-1 Garand, with a bayonet, just to provoke conversation. And enough ammunition for these three to make their presence known…

Turns out that after the fire, that’s all I have left of a considerable armory. Considering that I still have several thousand rounds of ammunition for guns I no longer have, I think I just may have to buy new guns… Lessee… .308… Yeah, gotta be another AR-10. Or an M-1A. Lost both of those. .22 rimfire. Cinch guess. A Ruger 10-22. A good Russian gun in 7.62x54R. An 8×57, so I’m thinking a good Yugo M48.

Hurtful part of this whole thing… I collected guns for the last ten years, and I made good deals. A lot of what I lost, my M1903A3, my M1917 Enfield, I can buy replacements, but only at four or five times what I’d paid for the originals. Such is the case with old guns. American military firearms appreciate.

Well, the autumn days will soon be upon us here in Louisiana, and I’m gonna be at the range…

Online–

Clawing our way out of the stone age here in southwest Louisiana today, we connected a generator to our service entrance at my little office, and as you can see, we’re on line.

Actually, it’s even better. We have air conditioning, running water, lights, phone service, and DSL… Who’da thunk it?

We’ve got our work cut out for us now…

Unlike Katrina’s effect on the electrical power system going into New Orleans, Rita knocked out the entire electrical TRANSMISSION grid. Allow me to explain: in electrical power, transmission moves the big blocks of power from producers (big generation facilities) to areas where it will be used. There it hits DISTRIBUTION substations where it’s dropped in voltage to levels where it is used by end users, i.e., industrial plants, office buildings, and you. Transmission voltages, in KV(thousand volts) are 500, 230, 138 and 69 here in southwest Louisiana. With the exception of the 500 kV system, ALL the transmission system is down, dead, stone cold, down. So it doesn’t matter if your plant is ready to run, there’s no electricity to run it. Doesn’t matter if your powerline to your neighborhood is okay, there’s no electricity coming to that substation around the corner.

That’s what we’re facing down here in southwest Louisiana and southeast Texas. It’s a different animal. WE’re already working in one facility to remediate electrical equipment that was soaked when the roof blew off the switchgear building. fortunately, the plant had already lost power completely when this happened, otherwise our job would be cleaning up the residue of the electrical explosion instead of drying things out and re-lubing mechanical parts…

And we’ll see a lot more of that in the coming weeks. But we’re off down that road already…

Thank you all–

Thank you all very much! You wonderful people have given me a much needed lift in spirits.

The comments, e-mails and offers for help have been overwhelming, and I am past words.

Thank you so very much!

My company has taken great care of me.

I walked in here Monday morning and they gave me $1000 cash, and then the company owner gave me HIS corporate credit card and told me to take care of things.

I am fully insured. I started the claim process Monday. I also filed my FEMA claim. I’m waiting on my FEMA card. Gonna buy me some bling an’ get de ho a new Louis Vuitton purse… Ouch! Sorry, sweetie, that was JUST a figure of speech! You know I love you!

I am happily immersed in work. As you might imagine, our company has to meet the needs of a lot of clients as we try to bring Southwest Louisiana and Southeast Texas industries back online. I’ve already done some of that myself, and we’re putting generation at our office in Sulphur to act as a staging point and a barracks for out of town workers who come in to help us. We’re Americans. We roll up our sleeves and WORK!

I have an ironic and funny story to tell about my first post-hurricane job, but I will wait until a later date to post it. Somebody remind me, okay?

On a personal side, my ex-wife, the mother of my two children, has offered me her husband’s travel trailer for temporary lodging.

And I have all you guys and ladies. I’ve met only one of you face to face, but the comments and e-mails, the offers of prayers, moral support and physical assistance, I am astounded, and deeply appreciative. Thank you all.

Posting may be erratic for the next few days or weeks. I don’t know what sort of connections I might be able to wrangle from our little office in storm-damaged Sulphur, Louisiana, but I will try to drop by for a post to update you…

Awwwww!!!! Cute!

I hav elived in southwest Louisiana all my life, with the exception of the time I spent in the army. Otters are an indigenous species here. However, in all my years here, I have actually seen otters in the wild only a time or two, fleeting glimpses of a secretive and wary animal.

Well, Saturday that changed. As nephew and I were trying to get to his house, we turned down a country road only to see that a quarter-mile down it, the water was over the road. Crossing the road were two sinuous figures: Otters!

As we pulled a bit closer, one of the pair scooted north over the flooded road to the other side, and the second of the pair turned and scooted back in the direction from which it came. It swam a bit toward us, no closer than maybe fifty yards, and then it stopped and stuck its head up out of the water in that classic otter pose and looked at us. Then it flipped under the water a couple of seconds and repeated its observation. It did this several times until we left.

First time I ever saw a wild otter that close, for that long. Cute li’l buggers, they are!

Other wildlife spotted on our post-storm trek: one very wet skunk, an small snapping turtle and several turtles that we call “yellowbellies” down here…

Still alive, but battered…

This is my post-storm post…

I have lived through this one. We sat out the storm proper in a rural home in Ragley, Louisiana. As each rain band passed us, the winds howled and trees swayed. At dawn the light revealed a few pine trees down in the large yard, but no damage to the house.

Nephew and I got out and removed our vehicles from the adjacent pasture where we’d parked them to keep them from damage by falling trees. We took his pickup truck and headed out to see if we could make our way to his house to survey damage. To get out of the rural area, we had to use the truck and a tow strap to drag fallen trees off the road. WE DID THIS. We didn’t wait for FEMA or any other government agency to come to our rescue. We helped our neighbors, because they had chainsaws removing other fallen trees. As we made our way out of the woods to the main road, that was the scene. Everywhere we turned, plain ol’ people were out clearing trees and debris off the roads so that things could start going back to normal.

In high, gusting winds and driving rain from the tail end of Rita, we made our way south. Several times we had to back up and detour around fallen powerlines, but we made our way ALMOST to his house. ALMOST? Yep. If you hear anyone talk about the storm surge flooding from Rita, I can tell you where it stopped south of Lake Charles, because I was there. Nephew’s house was unreachable on Saturday. Today I found that he’d had over a foot of water in his house, which meant the surge actually had three or so feet of water at that point.

When we found we couldn’t get to his house, we returned to our retreat in Ragley. There I got into my own van and headed to my house. I’d lost shingles and the chimney to my fireplace and the old TV antenna, in addition to some corrugated steel off my workshop. I’d brought a portable generator to power up my freezer and refrigerator so I wouldn’t lose any food. I connected that up and had them both running.

Further exploring the house, I found that I had water dripping inside from the damaged roof, so I spread some pans around to catch the drips and headed to my office to get a wet-vac and a ladder so I could suck up the water and put one of those blue tarps over the damaged roof.

When I got back, smoke was pouring out of my house. I called 9-1-1 to report the fire. After I finished reporting, I ran to the house to see if I could break in windows to let out my cats, but the smoke and the fierce heat coming off the building were so much that I couldn’t get within a few yards.

The local fire department responded very fast, but when they got there, the community water system was dry, killed by Hurrican Rita. They called for assistance from several nearby fire departments who transported water in, but the house was a total loss.

Did you ever think about what you lose? Four loyal pets…irreplaceable. Itty, Splot, Mollie, Callie, my four cats… Mom and Dad’s photo albums… photos of the past 80 years. My library…books I’d acquired over the past twenty-odd years. My gun collection… Personal papers… On and on and on… All gone. Devastation is an over-used word. I use it here…

So I’m still alive. Southwest Louisiana, my home, is a patchwork of damaged and destroyed homes, a landscape littered by thousands of toppled trees. There is NO electricity. That complex system of power lines that comprises the power grid, it’s down. Refineries and petrochemical plants are down, including two major oil refineries. And that’s just in southwest Louisiana. Southeast Texas is just as bad.

What few folks who didn’t evacuate are sitting amidst conditions almost medieval: no electricity, no water, no phones, roads only passable on foot. Yes, they’re digging out even as street and road crews are cutting the way back in. But it will be weeks before people are allowed back into neighborhoods to find out if they even HAVE homes to live in. Hospitals aren’t operable in many cases. There are only the barest vestiges of infrastructure. It may not be the end of the world, but it’s a whole lot different world that it was a mere week ago.

Forgive me if I am somewhat subdued… It’s been a bad few days for me. But it’ll be okay.

If there is one thing I learned from this, I learned that I work for a company that cares for its people. They’ve bent over backwards to take care of use, especially me.

Second thing, I have good friends and clients. I spent the night after the fire at a client facility where I helped them by getting their big generator back on line so they could power their plant back up. In return they fed me, gave a place to shower and to get a night’s sleep, and when I left, a full tank of gas.

Oh, yeah. There’s not a drop of gasoline available from Lafayette, Louisiana to almost Houston, Texas. For any price. Think about how THAT would affect your view of civilization…

Today, I met my company’s management team, and they took good care of me, giving me money and a credit card so I could buy the things I needed to get on with life.

Sorry if this post is a bit disjointed… I don’t usually do “stream-of-consciousness” postings, but I will make an exception this time.

I wish I could say when the next post will show up here, but I can’t right now. I’m doing this from a coffeeshop hotspot, and I will try to continue that as days pass, but I am not able to guarantee anything right now.

Good luck to all of you…

Tough-talking Cajun hauls butt!!!

I’m outta here to a place a bit farther north and inland.

Rita’s tracking me like an ex-wife….

I dunno when the next entry will be, but you guys can watch the fun on the news…

UPDATE!

I am in downtown Ragley, Louisiana. Yeah, that’s a joke! This ain’t the end of the earth, but if you stand on your tippy-toes, you can see it from here.

The evacuation trip was interesting. A drive that normally would be a nice leisurely 45 minutes took SIX HOURS! There wa smuch of interest which I will write about later…

I am safe for now. We’re way above where we are concerned about flooding, but there may be a problem due to toppling pine trees if this thing comes ashore as predicted with Category 4 winds. We can expect 100 MPH here…

Anyway, thank all you all for paying attention. I would write more, but I am on my nephew’s computer on a 26K dial-up, and I don’t know how long the lights and the line will stay up….

(and that password thing? My mistake while getting in a hurry on this post yesterday…)

This is all it takes…

Thoughts on sitting in the middle of a pending disaster

This morning early I tried to make contact with both my Houston office and our Baton Rouge offices. Got right through to Houston, to the answering service. Our guys are out of there, taking care of family, which is as it should be. Trying to get to our Baton Rouge office, a bit later, the phone system (land-line, regular telephones) was hosed. I finally got through after ten minutes of redial. It becomes readily apparent that the communications infrastructure is NOT going to handle disaster communications. I’m going to go haul out my ham radio transceiver. It’s not one that operates on those “around the world” short-wave bands, but it will give me an option for emergency communications. It’s a neat little mobile unit that runs off a car battery.

Sulphur, Louisiana is NOT a big community, but when I left the office an hour ago and hit the first north-south artery out of the city, traffic was at a standstill. One big reason was traffic control. Traffic lights were faithfully changing in acccordance with the patterns established to optimize normal flows. Seems to me that this is the time to change things up. I wonder how programmable those controllers are. There should be an “evacuation mode” that can be enabled to optimize flows in one specific direction.

Racism and Katrina

(Received this e-mail. Thought it worth passing on…)

By Rabbi Aryeh Spero
Posted Sep 7, 2005

In New Orleans, beginning Tuesday morning, August 30, I saw men in helicopters risking their lives to save stranded flood victims from rooftops. The rescuers were white, the stranded black. I saw Caucasians navigating their small, private boats in violent, swirling, toxic floodwaters to find fellow citizens trapped in their houses. Those they saved were black.

I saw brotherhood. New York Congressman Charlie Rangel saw racism.

Yes, there are Two Americas. One is the real America, where virtually every White person I know sends money, food or clothes to those in need now and in other crises — regardless of color. This America is colorblind.

The other is the America fantasized and manufactured by Charlie Rangel, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton, who constantly cry “racism!” even in situations where it does not exist, even when undeniable images illustrate love, compassion and concern.

These three men, together with today’s NAACP, want to continue the notion of racist America. It is their mantra, their calling card. Their power, money, and continued media appearances depend on it.

Often, people caught up in accusing others of neglect and sin need to undergo their own personal introspection. They begin to think they alone inhabit the moral high ground. It is high time these men peered into their own hearts at the dark chamber that causes this unceasing labeling of their fellow Americans as racist.” They may find in that chamber their own racism — against whites.

There is only one real America. Beginning Friday morning in Houston, thousands of regular citizens poured into the astrodome offering water, food, clean clothes, personal items, baby diapers and toys, love and even their homes to the evacuees who had been bused in from New Orleans. Most of the givers were white, most of those being helped were black. But there was
Jesse Jackson, busy on TV, accusing the country of not putting blacks–i.e., him — on some type of commission he is demanding. Where was he early in the week? Not sweating with others from around the country who had scraped their last dollar to come help. With Jesse, it’s always about Jesse.

After decades of hearing accusations from Jesse, Al, Charlie, the NAACP and certain elitists about how racist America is, it would have been refreshing to hear them for once give thanks to those they for years have been maligning. These self-anointed spokesmen for the black community lead only when it comes to foisting guilt and condemnation, and not when it comes to
acknowledging the good in those they have made a career in castigating.

As a rabbi I have a message I wish to offer to my fellow members of the cloth, Reverends Jackson and Sharpton: It is time to do some soul searching. Your continued efforts to tear this country apart, even in light of the monumental goodness shown by your white brothers, is a sin.

There are no churches in the world like the American churches. And there are no better parishioners and members of churches anywhere in the world.

These churches are saving the day. Their members — infused by the special and singular teachings of our unique American Judeo-Christian understanding of the Bible — are, at this moment, writing an historic chapter in giving, initiative, and selflessness.

They are opening their homes to strangers. They are doing what government is incapable of doing.

America works because of its faith-based institutions. It always has. That is what makes it America.

So next time the ACLU tries to diminish and marginalizes the churches, saying there is no role for religion in American public life, that an impenetrable wall must be erected separating the citizens from their faith, cry out “Katrina.”

Next time the ACLU goes to court asking that U.S. soldiers not be allowed to say grace in the messhall and that communities be forbidden from setting up a nativity scene, ask yourself: without the motivation of goodness sourced in faith, would people offer such sacrifice? Where else does this brotherhood come from but the Bible which teaches “Thou shall love thy
neighbor as yourself.”

I saw brotherhood on Fox News, where 24/7 reporters used their perch as a clearing-house for search-and-rescue missions and communication between the stranded and those in position to save. In contrast, the old-line networks continued with their usual foolish, brain-numbing programming. Those who always preach “compassion” chose profit over people.

The New York Times has utterly failed America. Its columnists could have used their talents and word skills to inspire and unite a nation.

Columnists such as Frank Rich and Paul Krugman, however, revealed their true colors by evading their once-in-a-lifetime chance to help and instead chose to divide, condemn, and fuel the fires and poison the waters of Louisiana. In them, I saw no brotherhood. The newspaper always preaching “compassion” verifies Shakespeare’s “They protest too much.”

Similar elitists here in the northeast and on the west coast have over the years expressed their view of the South as “unsophisticated” and Texans as “cowboys.” Well, the South has come through, especially Houston and other parts of Texas, hereas, as I write this on Labor Day, the limousine oralizers are lying on east and west coast beaches thinking they’re doing
their part by reading Times’ editorials and calling George Bush “racist.”

How sanctimonious life becomes when proving you are not a racist depends not on living in a truly integrated neighborhood, but by simply calling others racist.

Like so often in history, facts trump platitudes. Reality reigns. Those who always preach brotherhood, thus far have acted devoid of it.

Those who for decades have been accused by elitists of not having compassion are the ones living it. They are: the churches, the military, and the sons and daughters of the South.

Oh, well…

The parish (county) government has just issued a “mandatory” evacuation for all people in the parish south of Interstate 10.

I live south of Interstate 10, about two miles south, to be exact.

It is my opinion that these bed-wetters are scared of their own shadows, especially after Mayor Nagin and Governess Blanco muffed the Katrina evacuation. since Katrian, you won’t be able to FART in the Gulf of Mexico without the Mommy State calling for mandatory evacuation.

This ain’t New Orleans, and I am NOT one of those useless souls sucking off the government teat. I am not going anywhere.