THE MAN FROM LAKEVIEW
September 4, 2005 Shreveport, LA
Inside the Shreveport State of Louisiana Building, sitting on round chairs in a non-
descript room waiting for the EBT Card, so we can buy some food at the grocery store. A man to my left- he says he came to Shreveport with his wife. They are from Lakeview. Their house was completely destroyed. They sent their children out of the city two days before the storm hit, but they stayed, as faithful and stubborn service-industry workers will do (especially when they are under orders to do so as “essential personnel”). They camped out at their respective hotels of employment, the Hilton and the Holiday Inn, and tried to wait out the storm. The man described the smell of dog and cat shit in the lobby of the hotel.
“Its amazing how fast the whole thing can break down you know? People began coming in from the street. A lot of them had pets. There wasn’t any other place for them to go, so they just let them do it right in the lobby. No bother about cleaning it up. After about a day and a half, boy did it start to stink.”
He described their get-away on day two after the storm. He had to wade through waist-deep sewage water for two blocks to get to his wife’s car, which was parked at the Holiday Inn. The man tells the story like it happened to someone else- flippant, nonchalant- but if you look real close you can tell that it happened to him. A small bead of sweat had begun to form on his upper lip, despite the cool air of the buildings A/C unit swirling around us. An extra set of wrinkles encircled his eyes. Most of the time, he looked right at you. But when he began to talk about his kids and how much he missed them during that time, he looked at the floor.
September 4, 2005 Shreveport, LA
Inside the Shreveport State of Louisiana Building, sitting on round chairs in a non-
descript room waiting for the EBT Card, so we can buy some food at the grocery store. A man to my left- he says he came to Shreveport with his wife. They are from Lakeview. Their house was completely destroyed. They sent their children out of the city two days before the storm hit, but they stayed, as faithful and stubborn service-industry workers will do (especially when they are under orders to do so as “essential personnel”). They camped out at their respective hotels of employment, the Hilton and the Holiday Inn, and tried to wait out the storm. The man described the smell of dog and cat shit in the lobby of the hotel.
“Its amazing how fast the whole thing can break down you know? People began coming in from the street. A lot of them had pets. There wasn’t any other place for them to go, so they just let them do it right in the lobby. No bother about cleaning it up. After about a day and a half, boy did it start to stink.”
He described their get-away on day two after the storm. He had to wade through waist-deep sewage water for two blocks to get to his wife’s car, which was parked at the Holiday Inn. The man tells the story like it happened to someone else- flippant, nonchalant- but if you look real close you can tell that it happened to him. A small bead of sweat had begun to form on his upper lip, despite the cool air of the buildings A/C unit swirling around us. An extra set of wrinkles encircled his eyes. Most of the time, he looked right at you. But when he began to talk about his kids and how much he missed them during that time, he looked at the floor.
posted by Nikki Lyn Pugh | 10:50 AM
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