[StBernard] The great escape

Westley Annis westley at da-parish.com
Sat Jan 13 12:23:05 EST 2007


The great escape
By ROB LONGLEY, SUN MEDIA

NEW ORLEANS -- Sometime this afternoon, Ronnie Dugas will go through his
usual game-day routine.

The New Orleans Saints season ticket holder will put on his Drew Brees
jersey, make sure the tailgate necessities are in order, then leave his home
in St. Bernard Parish.

The NFC playoff against the Philadelphia Eagles will have special meaning
for Dugas and thousands like him. And not just because of what's at stake
for the home team.

The Louisiana Superdome will appear like a normal NFL playoff venue. There
will be 70,000 or so fans determined to raise the roof and see their team go
deeper than it ever has in the postseason.

They'll be decked out in black and gold Saints garb accented by the standard
Mardis Gras beads. They'll sing and dance like always putting on a strong,
happy face for the national TV audience gripped by the city's plight.

But when the game is over and the noise subsides, that's where the feel-good
story ends for Dugas, a weekly interlude from his post-hurricane Katrina
life of misery.

Dugas will return home, but not to what was once a pristine middle-class
neighbourhood united in spirit by family, friends, Cajun hospitality and the
Saints.

What passes for home now sits on the lawn in front of his mostly wiped out
single-story house, a standard issue Federal Emergence Management Agency
trailer.

With just enough room for his wife of seven years and their young daughter
to live, it's home, though just barely.

It may be difficult for some to fathom how a football team can be seen as a
symbol of hope for this once great American city. Difficult until Dugas
graciously offers the details of his tiny, temporary (he hopes) abode and
tries to lend some perspective to the passion.

"People like me come out of their FEMA trailers on game day," he said. "We
leave our trailers to forget for three and a half hours. That's how much
this team means.

"It's all I think about every week, something good. I lost everything in my
home. Everything I own. I deserve something to feel good about."

Life in the French Quarter, where the ironically named Hurricane is still a
prime libation of choice, is starting to bubble back to life.

So to is the Superdome, thanks to a US$186 million injection of federal and
state money to spruce up the damage done by both the storm and the tens of
thousands of evacuees who used it as a temporary refuge.

The Quarter and its famed avenue of drinking and dining, Bourbon Street, was
an area that mostly escaped Katrina's wrath when she swept ashore almost 18
months ago and left devastation in its wake.

To see the real picture, one must take a drive across the mighty Mississippi
to St. Bernard Parish or Arabi or the Ninth Ward, bounded on one side by the
river and the other by Lake Ponchartrain.

It's here where houses like the Dugas's are piled up against each other. The
ones that haven't been wiped out, reveal the water lines from the flood,
many of those above the roof line. Some are marked with a simple X, meaning
they're designated to be bulldozed over.

On one street, a couple stands hand-in-hand staring at their former home.
Old residents come back here almost daily, most often in tears, to take
stock of a life now lost and to see what they might salvage. On still
another block, across the street from where the Chalmette Hospital is now an
unsightly pile of rubble, there's a memorial to many of those who died.

And as you continue on the journey, around the corner a McDonald's that
re-opened a week ago is a cause for celebration for the residents.

"It sounds silly, but this is something to be happy about, something to tell
us the city is coming alive again," said cab driver Alfonso Garcia, who
shuttled a visitor through the worst areas, including a tour of his own
rebuilding home.

"It's like how people feel about the Saints. If it can get rid of the sick
in the head feeling for a little while, then this is good." Good indeed. If
a mere football team can be a salve for all this misery, then three cheers
for them.

Donte Stallworth is a receiver for the Eagles but he was with the Saints
last year when the team struggled to carry on in the aftermath. The team was
displaced, playing most of its games in San Antonio, Texas and Baton Rouge,
La., but it was nothing like the hardships felt by the residents.

Stallworth recalls a team visit back to New Orleans shortly after Katrina,
an attempt to boost morale, when he saw and heard the most remarkable thing.


"Some of (the evacuees) had lost family members," Stallworth said. "Some of
them had lost children, lost everything they had ever worked for. And the
thing that surprised me the most talking to those people was they didn't
mention anything about that.

"They were just wondering about how the Saints were doing. Is everybody
ready to start the 2005 season?"

If the team could lift the spirits during a campaign in which it would go
3-13 and finish last, imagine how the city feels now after a 10-6
division-winning season. For so long, the Saints have been an NFL doormat, a
team that's never made a conference final.

Suddenly, thanks to the off-season signing of quarterback Brees and the
drafting of sensational rookie running back Reggie Bush, they're a top
contender in the NFC. Like the city that's working at its own recovery, in
many ways, the Saints renaissance defied the odds with theirs.

Coach Sean Payton has tried to say all the right things this week about the
team, trying to shut out the external distractions and expectations. But
Payton also admitted taking his first NFL head coaching job in such a
troubled town was not an easy decision. Did he want to bring his wife and
kids to a region he could not trust to be safe? Would the distractions be
too much to overcome for players and the coaching staff?

"Players understand the significance of a home playoff game to this town and
what it means," Payton said, careful not to apply too much deeper meaning.
"We need to go out and play our best."

In the immediate aftermath of Katrina, it looked like the Saints might never
return. There was talk of tearing down the Superdome before governor
Kathleen Blanco stepped in and insisted its repair be a top priority. She
saw it as a necessary act of symbolism, one that would offer residents a
glimmer of light on their darkest days.

The spirit may still be wounded, but the Saints have helped ease some of the
despair.

"The way it all played out, it was the right decision," said Bobby
Tortorich, another season ticket holder who no longer lives in temporary
housing but can speak for those who do.

"The Saints truly have brought everyone together at a time when the city
needed it more than ever. And it's a lot easier to sleep in a FEMA trailer
after a win than a loss."




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