March 10, 2010 @ 8:22 am
Common Ground…Common Purpose
Common Ground Relief, New Orleans, LA (15)
As I crossed the bridge to the Lower Ninth Ward, I couldn’t stop the scenes from playing in my head. I remember the men and women signaling the helicopters as they flew by, reporting the devastation for all of us to see on the television. Their hands kept reaching in the air, waving back and forth, pleading for any kind of humanity to show its face. I stood at home, and knew these images would forever be engraved in my memory. Consequently, when arranging my plans for Louisiana, I didn’t have to consider the different options available. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, and exactly where I wanted to do it. The Lower Ninth Ward suffered more than any other New Orleans area. Dating back almost one hundred years, I was ready to rebuild history, with the help of an incredible group of people.
Established in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, the costliest tragedy known to the U.S., Common Ground Relief has provided a sense of stability for many, while rebuilding the communities affected in the New Orleans area. From recreating agricultural independence to the development of a health clinic and women’s shelter, this organization has served over half a million Gulf Coast residents, and they continue this great journey nearly five years later.
As I waited for Nick (who’d so generously agreed to be my faithful guide) to meet me at Common Ground Relief headquarters, I looked around at the people moving about. I looked down the streets. With the exception of the homes created with the great help of Brad Pitt, the streets were quite empty. At one time they were lined with houses, but now, only structures existed, structures that would eventually become homes. So much work had been done, and yet the devastation was still incredible.
Nick arrived and we were ready to visit our first location. I would be hanging drywall for the first part of my day and for the very first time ever (My brothers would be oh-so-proud). We pulled up to our designated project to find a rooster cock-a-doodle-doing. I’m not kidding! This rooster was all over us. He’d found his special spot perched atop a mound of debris, and he was tremendously comfortable with voicing his opinions of us, by the sound of it all, he wasn’t too impressed. I laughed so hard, and just knew how great this day was about to be.
The home was completely gutted. The studs were intact, the bathrooms were beginning to come together, but the rest was up to the many volunteers. As Nick and I made our way through the beams, pipes and wires I learned how to measure, cut and hang the large pieces of drywall. Nick became quite busy quickly, so I worked with two girls from the northeast, Margaret and Kristin. Visiting the Lower Ninth Ward on an alternative spring break of sorts, I was relieved to be working with some very nice girls; girls like myself, inexperienced in construction, but willing to learn. With great detail, each section was assessed, the measurements clearly outlined, and then there was the incision; long, straight, precise. We slowly found our groove, and found ourselves cutting and hanging much like those from Bob the Builder.
Hours faded quickly, and suddenly lunch was upon us. Nick and I hopped back in his car (but not before I snapped a quick shot of the rooster), and we drove back to the Common Ground house. The streets, once smooth, resembled small hills and valleys now. At times, it was difficult to believe I was still in America. The scene at the house resembled something you would see during the holidays; some of us stood, some grabbed a space on the floor. And we learned about one another; some were from the north, others were from the west, but all were amazed at the drive and ambition of this fantastic organization.
After lunch, my time was spent digging large holes that, from what I understand, would provide drainage around the Common Ground Relief house. What we were doing would serve as a model for other houses, and would definitely come in handy during the downpours from which the Gulf Coast frequently suffers. Now, I am absolutely on board to help in any way necessary but I gotta tell ya’, this digging was hard, super hard. So now I need you to try and envision this picture. Here I am, in the trenches so to speak. It’s cold, not freezing, but cold, and the sky is spitting at us, and it’s windy. I grab this shovel. It’s clearly bigger than I am, so I grab another one, just right for me, and I think I’m on my way to perfection. Not the case. I start to shovel mounds of dirt and quite honestly, things are looking pretty good. Then it becomes a bit more difficult, and then even harder. I’m not really understanding what’s going on here, so I get a better look at the mounds of “mud” and it looks almost gray. I was totally confused. So I start confiding in the guy next to me, and it’s not dirt, not mud, it’s clay, Crayola style clay (like the kind you find in the craft section of Wal-Mart). I start throwing every bit of my weight on this shovel, standing with both feet on its “Shoulder” (yeah, I had to google this one), which forced it an inch deeper if that, and I was tired, very tired. So this went on for quite a while more, and then eventually I just start grabbing these chunks of clay with my hands and tossing them over my back shoulder. My hair is matted to my face, my feet weigh five more pounds than they usually do, caked with clay and random seashells that somehow got into this drain I was digging, and again, I’m tired. I started to laugh at myself, looked at the progress of this home, and was reminded why I was there. My day had come to an end, and I really was sad to leave.
To know just what Common Ground Relief accomplishes is to know the work of heaven on earth. Serving 500,000 Gulf Coast residents, directly or indirectly, this organization provides more than labor, houses, clinics and job training. They become immersed in a new way of life; a life that’s generous, selfless and brave. They walk with a common purpose, a purpose that begins early and ends late, a purpose that revives broken buildings, and mends broken hearts.They provide these people with a way to move back to their neighborhoods, in their homes with their families, their friends and the familiarity of that which they once held so tightly.
The New Orleans area continues to need a tremendous amount of work, and the people of this great city are working; citizens and volunteers alike. They’re working to preserve the history of their ancestors, and to present themselves in a way that future history books will describe as saddened but dedicated, disappointed yet hopeful. This is not a people who has succumbed to the blunt force of nature, but rather has risen beyond the darkness and discovered inspiration in the goodness of their people, their past, and the future to come. Though work remains it neither consumes nor negates that which has already been accomplished. They move day to day, with new struggles arising, old dilemmas resolved. And with each task completed, they learn to appreciate their strength and persistence. They are proud. The people of New Orleans are proof that in any circumstance, we can survive, that good can come from any evil, and that if we work together, we will prevail. Hurricane Katrina will never be forgotten; the lives it stole, the homes it destroyed, but the spirit of this city remains. It is pure, it is true, it is alive.
Note: To Nick, Thanks for everything, and good luck in Med School
