Sept. 8, 2005: Ashley and I went to Biloxi with the guys from Knology Cable and St. Peter United Methodist Church from Columbus. The mission: Drop off supplies, cook food and take a family home.
I met Ash around 4:00 a.m. Thursday at the Spectrum on Hwy. 280 in Opelika. We hopped in the “9-Mobile” and trucked on down the highway. I was very surprised that after just three and a half hours of sleep I was coherent. Thankfully, she was awake, too.
The group gathered two 30-foot trucks worth of supplies, and they had a trailer with a huge grill and an ice cream cart from Bruster’s. We caught up with them just before dawn south of Montgomery. That’s when I got to meet everybody for the first time. Hey, it’s lonely in East Alabama.
Fast forward to 10:30 a.m. We’re on I-10 near Pascagoula, MS. Traffic is at a stand still because the bridge leading to Moss Point is a two-way mess. Katrina messed up half the bridge, so everyone was merging. By this point, we’d topped off the gas tank at least three times. You would think gas would be more expensive down there, but gas in Opelika that day was $2.89 per gallon. It was only $2.54 along the coast.
We arrived in Gulfport to drop a family off. They were staying at The Ralston in Columbus, and we thought we were reuniting them with their brother. However, they were going home.
Their complex had limbs everywhere. Inside, a table was set up at the back of the lobby where people were getting bathroom items and so forth. They took two grocery carts of their belongings up to the third floor.
When they opened their door, a horrible odor crept out into the hallway. Their apartment was a mess. Food was everywhere, and the gentleman quickly disappeared around the corner. He quickly returned spraying an air freshener while we interviewed him. It had to be old food, mold and mildew.
We left the complex, and headed to a Red Cross staff shelter. We drove down Hwy. 49 through Gulfport, and it was a complete mess. Power lines were down, traffic lights were either out or missing and USAF Security Police and National Guardsmen were directing traffic. Some restaurants were running limited hours, but most were closed. Buildings were either boarded up, damaged, or just complete rubble.
Probably the most haunting images were a bank and post office. We saw about 50 people standing outside a bank waiting to get their money. At the post office, a sign said there was no regular mail, but they had a big basket out front where you could drop things to send off.
We arrived at the Red Cross shelter where the Columbus group quickly set up a tent and grill. Red Cross volunteers quickly came outside, and the first thing they noticed was the Bruster’s Ice Cream cart. They couldn’t beg for cones quickly enough. Many workers told us they hadn’t had any dairy products in a week and a half. Vanilla ice cream suddenly became worth more than gold.
They had enough hamburgers and hot dogs to feed about 1,000 people. They needed them, too. Not only did volunteers come out to eat, but a low income neighborhood next to the shelter got the word. Parents and kids came out to eat, and they were certainly not turned away. There was a big pile of debris between the shelter and homes, but that didn’t stop anyone. It was an incredible sight.
We finished up our part at the Red Cross and headed to a the Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd near Keesler AFB in Biloxi. I was stationed at Keesler back in 1994-1995, so I knew the area pretty well. I wasn’t prepared to see everything I knew in complete shambles.
At the church, we shot another story and then helped clean out the first truck. As we were taking stuff into the shelter, a number of people came in and brought it right back out. They were families who lost everything. During our breaks, we’d talk to them a bit. I’ve never heard face-to-face stories of how people survive without anything. They were so grateful to the group for bringing all the items. Baby items, clothes, toys, food, water, toiletries… Everything under the sun was in that truck.
A group of guys from Virginia Tech showed up at the last minute and helped unload probably over 50 cases of water. My back was killing me, but just thinking of those in need made the pain go away. Ash was completely tired, as was everyone. Most of the people helping at the church were from San Diego, Oregon and other places.
The second truck showed up not long after we finished the first one. Ashley began going through the phone book trying to find a hotel for us. She was told, “Try Houston or Arkansas.” We should’ve known better. 
As she worked the phone, I jumped in line to help the VT guys unload the next truck.
When all that was finished, the Columbus guys went back to the Red Cross shelter while Ash and I drove down to the Gulf Coast. That’s when I almost lost it.
We pulled up to Hwy. 90, directly across from the Treasure Bay casino. Granted, unless you were familiar with the area, you had no idea what the place was. It was a big boat-shaped casino, and it was a beautiful sight when it was upright. The bottom was torn out of it, and I was surprised to see it was still floating.
Across from Treasure Bay stood a hotel where Dad, Mary and I stayed on their first trip to Keesler to see me. The front was gone. Next to us was a Waffle House, but only a few steel beams remained. Ash and I did our on-camera bits, and she spoke with some Alabama Marine Police officers at the intersection. They cleared us to drive down Hwy. 90 and told us the looters were really bad the night before. They also said bodies were still washing up on shore earlier in the day.
We drove down 90 for a bit. The road itself was dangerous because most of it was just missing. We then happened upon a casino on the wrong side of the road. Mississippi law says casinos must be on water. This thing, barges and all, was on another hotel across the road.
I used to know every inch of this area. I couldn’t recognize a third of it. I was fighting back tears seeing what, if any, was left of the stores and places I used to visit. A city where I spent one fourth of my Air Force career is in utter shambles.
We finally got in contact with the group, and we decided to meet them at Bay Vista Baptist Church near the base. We were hungry, but the one place that was open at 7:30 at night was blocked off. After taking in more of the scenery, we made it to the church and waited.
A very foul stench was in the air. There was an apartment complex right behind the church. We were told the smell was that of decomposing bodies they hadn’t retrieved yet. That is an odor we’ll never forget.
After chatting with members of the Pennsylvania/New Jersey Southern Baptist Convention Disaster Relief Team, our guys finally showed up. They unloaded Buck Ice, and we said good night to Biloxi. Well, almost. As we were headed back to I-10, we were stopped by Biloxi police officers with semi-automatic weapons drawn. A curfew went into effect at 8:00, and our group was told to disappear for the night.
We made the drive to a group member’s house in Orange Beach, Alabama. Around midnight, a hot meal was waiting on us. We ate, got showers and fell asleep for the night.
Part Two of the trip is coming up possibly Tuesday night. Pictures can be found here. I’m sleepy.