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The memory I recall most often is that of a very tired, older gentleman who approached the entrance to a staging area that the Louisiana Humane Society had set up in Tylertown, Mississippi. I was sort of guarding the gate because we had learned the hard way that we had a real need for security. As I greeted the man, I noticed how very tired and tousled he looked, but he was still able to grace his greeting to me with a genuine smile and a look of hope in his eyes. I asked how I could assist him, and he answered that he was looking for his two dogs, which he then described. I explained that the man who had a list of the dogs we had (around 200 that day) was helping someone else but would be back shortly. I offered the gent a chair and tried to make some conversation with him. It was difficult because there seemed to be the same sadness to him that I was seeing with so many other folks who had just come through the horrors of Katrina.
When I asked him where he had come from and where he had last known his dogs to be, his answer was New Orleans. I dreaded the answer to my next question but felt it had to be asked. “Do you think your home was badly damaged?” It was then that the dam broke. “I lost everything and everybody. The only thing I might still find are these two dogs. Everything else is gone. I can't tell you how much it would mean to me to find my two best friends! Please, sir, I can't talk about this any longer!” The poor man dissolved in front of me, his eyes filled with tears. To me, his face was the face of New Orleans. It showed everything those poor people had gone through.
We spent an hour or so going over the list of the dogs we had, and we walked around to every run or cage area we had, but to no avail. We did not have his dogs. I will never forget that wonderful gentleman, and he will always be to me the “Face of What Katrina Did.”
The greatest lesson I learned from driving down there nonstop and going right to work—or at least trying to—was that I'm too old to be doing it! At 77, with bad knees and shoulders and lacking sleep, I do not have anywhere near the energy I once enjoyed, nor even close to what was needed to keep up with the truly wonderful young folks that were in our group. Dr. Monique Kramer, a veterinarian, and Tammy Lebeau, a vet tech, both from the Fryeburg Veterinary Hospital in Maine, put together a group of extremely caring volunteers, all of whom I'm proud to have come to know. There was Jim Rice, Chris, and our “embedded reporter,” Dena Libner.
We traveled there in mid-September, when things were totally confused. Our destination was changed four times between Fryeburg, Maine, and Tuscaloosa, Alabama. The authority we were to report to was changed at least three times during that period. We were there prior to Rita, but she was known to be a very possible threat. We were there when the New Orleans area was about to be opened so folks could return to their homes; then it was decided that they were not to be allowed in. Then that decision was reversed, but only a few hours later it was reversed again—and the people in the city had to leave once more, and others were prohibited from entering! It was a terrible experience for all of us, but can you even imagine how heartbreaking all this had to be for the poor people who went through this firsthand. It was all about their lives, their homes, their jobs, and their loved ones. The look I saw on the faces was a look I had seen some years ago on other survivors. It was a look I never wanted to see again, but here it was and, do you know what, many of the animals had almost the exact same look or expression.
As an ACO and constable in several towns in western Maine, my primary purpose was to assist in the actual rescue of the animals. But due to the conditions, only somewhat described above, very little of that was available to us. Helping Monique treat dogs at the staging area and establishing security was most of what we did. For most of our time there, Monique was the only vet in that area. There aren't words for me to describe what that young lady accomplished. Since a large number of the dogs we were seeing were pit bulls, and since illegal fighting was done on a large scale, we soon learned that there was a real and present danger of folks entering the complex at night and stealing dogs. Security became a major concern. We did it rather well!
Another strong fact this whole experience proved was that volunteers should, for their own safety, the safety of others, and for the success of the mission, get some hands-on training in handling animals. The use of the basic equipment used in handling animals such as restraining poles, bite gloves, etc., should be shown to all volunteers. We had one night that trucks were arriving all night with frightened, starving, sick, and exhausted dogs, and I could almost say there were as many ambulances leaving with wonderful, well-meaning volunteers inside them with serious bite wounds! I remember wishing those poor guys had had the benefit of the HSUS course I had recently taken that covered setting up emergency disaster animal shelters. Fact is, even though I have been doing this for eight years or so, there were very many things I took from that training that came to bear several times in the effort to help after Katrina.
Dick McGoldrick is an Animal Control Office and Constable, western Maine; president, Harvest Hills Animal Shelter, Fryeburg, Maine
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