[StBernard] Added to the Tally of Hurricane Devastation, a Leader's Parish Post

Westley Annis westley at da-parish.com
Wed Dec 26 20:26:40 EST 2007


Added to the Tally of Hurricane Devastation, a Leader's Parish Post
By LESLIE EATON
CHALMETTE, La. - It took more than two years, but Hurricane Katrina finally
whipped Junior Rodriguez.

Mr. Rodriguez has spent 30 years as a political power in St. Bernard, the
parish just east of New Orleans that was probably hit hardest by the storm.
But last month he lost his bid to be re-elected parish president, and even
he acknowledges that the main reason was frustration by the voters at how
little their devastated community had recovered.

"I didn't just run against an opponent, though he's an excellent
politician," said Mr. Rodriguez, 72. "I ran against a hurricane."

It is not as if he ignored the storm's damage. As parish president, Mr.
Rodriguez rode out the storm on the roof of the government complex.
Afterward, he became nationally known as a peppery and sometimes profane
critic of the Federal Emergency Management Agency's response to the
hurricane, not-quite-joking that FEMA had become his favorite curse word. He
even helped persuade Washington to close a shipping canal that he had
complained for decades was destroying the wetlands that protected the parish
from hurricanes.

But his fiery reputation dimmed the longer his parish remained in ruins.

Before the storm, St. Bernard was sort of the Staten Island of New Orleans,
known simply as "Da Parish." It was mostly white, working class, locally
famous for its bare-knuckle politics, tight-knit neighborhoods and
refineries (mostly oil, some sugar). And its holiday decorations,
affectionately satirized by the songwriter known as Benny Grunch ("Santas
pose in Elvis clothes, it's Christmas in Chalmette").

These days, the parish is just a heartbreak.

If New Orleans's recovery from the storm has been slow, St. Bernard's has
been glacial. A study of the number of households receiving mail last fall
found that only 40 percent of the parish's population had returned, while in
New Orleans 70 percent were back. All but a handful of buildings here were
flooded, many over their eaves. Roads buckled and street lights fell, and
oil tanks floated loose, contaminating blocks.

Some of the schools reopened quickly, and parish officials say that new
families have moved into some of the once-expensive subdivisions. But the
sewer system has not been rebuilt, whole neighborhoods remain abandoned, and
rows of white FEMA trailers still cover acres.

Driving into Chalmette from the Lower Ninth Ward neighborhood of New
Orleans, pretty much the first thing that appears is a dead Wal-Mart, and
there are few places to shop except "everything for a dollar" stores. The
hospital has not reopened.

Down the road, as the more rural eastern end of the parish is known, graves
are still tumbled at the Merrick Cemetery in Violet. The entire front wall
is missing from the museum honoring early settlers from the Canary Islands,
who gave their Hispanic surnames to St. Bernard families like Mr.
Rodriguez's.

Worst of all, many people here say, the floodwaters washed away a whole way
of life. Extended families, living cheek by jowl in the subdivisions to the
west and the fishing villages to the east, are now scattered.

And they are not coming back. More than in any other area, homeowners in St.
Bernard are choosing not to rebuild, but rather to sell their ruined houses
to the state, which is likely to end up with 5,200 to 6,000 properties -
more than 25 percent of the owner-occupied housing that existed here before
the storm. (In New Orleans, that figure is about 7 percent.)

They are people like John Ohler, who goes by Butch and who bought his house
in a subdivision here in 1977. He just sold it to the state for $63,000 and
has moved his wife, daughter and mother (who lived on the same block) to
Covington, across Lake Pontchartrain.

"I hate to pull out," Mr. Ohler said. "I feel like a deserter." But so many
things he liked about the neighborhood are gone: the restaurants nearby, the
stores, the neighbors.

One of the very few who are back is Richard G. Rabin, whose FEMA trailer is
festooned with holiday decorations. "We had contests every year to see who
could decorate the best," Mr. Rabin said, sweeping his hand from one end of
the almost-deserted block to the other.

"There's nothing being done, no progress being made," Mr. Rabin said. "Now
that we have a new parish president, I think we'll move forward a lot
quicker."

That's also a common sentiment at Rocky & Carlo's Restaurant (official
slogan: "Ladies Invited"), down near one of the refineries. "I think people
wanted a change," said Tommoso G. Tommaseo, who owns the restaurant with
some of his older relatives from Sicily.

Change has not always been a welcome thing in St. Bernard; Mr. Tommaseo's
menu, after all, still lists a Wop Salad (with olives and Parmesan cheese).
But while the food has stayed the same at the restaurant, he said, the
clientele has changed. Laborers and construction crews fill the place up at
lunch, as do volunteers.

And when family groups eat together, it may be because they have made a
special trip. Kay Magill did, coming from Slidell to see her sister, Sandra
Gorbaty; they used to live just two miles apart.

They faulted Mr. Rodriguez for the slow pace of recovery. "I think he
thought that if he didn't do anything, it would come back on its own," Ms.
Gorbaty said. "That was never going to happen. Fifty years ago, maybe."

The notion that Mr. Rodriguez's time has passed is a subtext to many
conversations about him. The man who beat him, Craig P. Taffaro Jr., is an
athletic 42-year-old psychologist who serves on the parish council, wears
tasseled loafers and a goatee, talks about diversity and pledges to work
more smoothly with FEMA.

Mr. Rodriguez, officially but rarely called Henry, used to be a seafood
buyer and bar owner, and has spent the last two years living in a
double-wide trailer behind the parish office building. He is now slow-moving
and jowly, wearing cowboy boots and jewel-encrusted belt buckles, and has
been caught in the past using racist language, though these days he seems
sufficiently subdued that he can be quoted almost verbatim in this
newspaper.

The election was nasty and typically colorful; at one point, Mr. Rodriguez's
son ran against him on the platform "I'm Not Junior," and his wife was
almost arrested after confronting Mr. Taffaro.

His fights with FEMA were not just over style; he attracted the attention of
federal investigators because of his spending decisions after the storm. But
he insists he has laid a good foundation for recovery.

"Nobody appreciated what I did anyhow," he said, a little bitterly. "All
they're worried about is what I can't do now, why they can't get back into
their house, why I can't get the trash out of the street. But that's life,
man, that's politics, you know? If I had to do it, I'd do it all over again,
it wouldn't make any difference."




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