To Molly

Thank you, Molly, for all your hard work bringing this trip together. As much as we all tried to make a difference to those affected by Katrina, you made a difference in all of us. We are all better people because of this trip. Because of you. Thanks, Molly.

From the Director's Desk: One Thousand

I was assigned two cases dealing with intestate succession. While I did well in and enjoyed Winwood's Wills and Trusts class, I only understand about half of the issues I encounter. I'm a criminal law junkie, and I know that I would have been more effective with the Public Defender or the juvenile court. But you can't always get what you want, and when I turned my files in to the supervising attorney this afternoon, she said I had done well and that one of the cases is ready to be filed.

Wednesday evening we all saddled up and drove through the Lower Ninth Ward. A picture is worth a thousand words, but a thousand pictures cannot accurately portray the conditions that still exist 18 months after the hurricanes.

This is just one of the houses we passed, on the block closest to the Industrial Canal. The Ninth Ward was one of the hardest hit areas because it is low land bordered by the Mississippi River and the Industrial Canal; when the levees broke, a wall of water flooded right into this neighborhood. The force was so great that entire city blocks of houses were washed off their foundations; roofs collapsed, windows broke, and walls crumbled under the pressure of so much water. It's a grassy lot now, but this block used to be full of houses, yards, driveways, and front porches. Those stairs were the front stoop where kids used to play, where neighbors would congregate, where the first day of school pictures were taken. For weeks after the hurricanes, the water reached as high as fifteen feet here.

We saw a lot of homes that had been up-ended like this one. The water was so high in some areas that the people who could not evacuate climbed to their attics. When the water rose higher, they punched through their roofs to escape.

Rescue workers spray-painted each house with this X-shaped code: the top portion is the date that rescue workers arrived at the house; here, September 6 (one week after the first hurricane, which hit New Orleans on August 29, 2005). The right-hand portion is the name of the rescue organization; here, it was a group whose initials were NE. The bottom portion is the number of bodies recovered from the house; the residents of this house were lucky.

Another foundation without a house. In the background you can see the bridge that spans the canal.

Even the residents who were able to evacuate could not take all of their personal possessions. As we walked around, we saw what was left behind of their everyday lives: a laundry basket, clothes in the closet, a couch, shattered dishes, the scrap of a photograph.


New Orleans is a tourist destination: the city offers beautiful architecture, incredible performing arts, tons of museums and points of historical interest, and it's a foodie's paradise. Tour operators offer walking tours of the posh Garden District, of the haunting and historic cemeteries, and of the vivacious French Quarter. Tour operators are also offering tours of the Ninth Ward and other areas that were severely damaged by the hurricanes. These bus tours run up to $75 and more.

While it is important to learn about Hurricane Katrina and Hurricane Rita, I see these operations as nothing more than a way to profit from our fellow man's pain. Over 1600 people died from the hurricanes or the after-effects. I understand that I'm not much better... I drove a 15-passenger van full of my classmates through the neighborhood; we got out, walked around and took pictures. We stared. We peered into windows and doors. We're not here to make money, though; we came to help. We came to listen. We came to document, to learn, to improve.


As I walked around, I wasn't sad. I became angry and then ashamed... I guess that's a good sign that after three years of law school, I'm not completely detached, not completely cynical and jaded. I guess I just can't believe that people could drive by this neighborhood in a cushy air-conditioned tour bus and not do something, anything, to help. I can't believe that our great nation, the wealthiest nation in the world, has effectively forgotten about the post-hurricane Gulf Coast. Eighteen months after the hurricane, families are scattered; some debris and wreckage has been cleared, but not all of it; rebuilding has only just begun; families of 4 or more are still living in the tiny FEMA-issued trailers; people have not been permitted to return to their habitable homes in other areas. Government benefits are as easy to obtain as A's on Professor Durham's exams... and while no one is entitled to ace Basic Real Estate, everyone who lived in New Orleans is entitled to their housing, the loan for repairs to their property, to electricity and running water.

The residents of the Lower Ninth Ward - and of the other affected neighborhoods - did not do anything wrong. The hurricanes were not their fault, and I guess that's what gets to me more than anything. The designation between "worthy" and "unworthy" poor has been drawn once again, and it seems that the people who did not own their own cars, did not have a tv to watch the news and learn of the weather, the elderly and the disabled who needed assistance in evacuating... somehow they have been regarded as not as "worthy" of help and attention. This country was intended as a haven for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses, the tempest-tossed; not just for the fortunate, the privileged and the educated.

This entry has carried a certain tone and I'd like to end it on a different note. Despite the destruction we witnessed, and the stories of struggle and loss, the City of New Orleans will not give in. There are Help Wanted signs in every restaurant and shop window, but the short-staff issue does not affect service or spirit. I feel like the city greeted me with open arms, without even knowing I was there to volunteer, and treated me with the kind of southern hospitality I usually only find with family. After a night spent shopping and chatting over cafe au laits, a friend and I watched a movie being filmed in Jackson Square amidst the street artists and buskers. The Aquarium of the Americas advertises with a sense of humor: "The only part of New Orleans still under water!" While some tempers are short, the vast majority of people I talked to were wonderfully open, upbeat, and warm; I felt right at home. We were only in New Orleans for a week, but for that week, New Orleans was my home. The Big Easy got under my skin and I became attached. The good times are rolling again.

Past, Present & Future

Staffed out to various groups around the city, UDSL students have been working with New Orleans’ past, present and future. Molly Buckman (3L), Jay Rivera (3L) and others have been wading through the history of families in New Orleans to establish ownership of homes destroyed in Katrina and her aftermath. “This is nothing like I learned in Ohio,” Buckman quipped. Louisiana operates under the Napleonic Code and property interests are more complicated then a DNA helix. Suppose Mary bought her home in1930. Mary had five children and they all grew up in the home but only Robert, Mary’s son, lived in the house when Mary died. Robert passed the house on to his son Michael and he, in turn, passed the house on to his daughter Lisa. Lisa is living there when Katrina hits and Lisa now needs FEMA grants to rebuild. Only she is not the owner of record. USDL students have been securing releases of interest from all the siblings, cousins and second cousins. Why? Because when Mary died her estate was divided into fifths – one for each child. When those children died, their interest was divided among that child’s children and so on. “You can have 30 or 35 people to track down to get releases from so the person living in the house at the time can get help to rebuild,” explained Buckman.

In another part of the Pro Bono Project, students worked on securing divorces. They filled out papers for clients, searched for missing spouses and finished up cases started by students that came before. “I got two people divorced today,” Kelly Diggins gleefully announced one day on our commute home. Well before Katrina, Louisiana had a procedure to secure divorces from missing spouses. It involved getting something called a curator – a lawyer to represent the missing partner’s interest. There is a desperate need for curators now: Benefits and federal grants can by stymied by a long-dead marriage. If someone has applied for FEMA money or state benefits and is still married – even though the spouse is long gone – the “familial” income can disqualify the New Orleans resident from funding. “Our boss told us that it used to be no problem to get attorneys to act as curators because they did their pro bono work in their free time,” Diggins said. “But they lost their homes to Katrina, too, and now are all their free time is spent trying to get their lives back to normal.” But for at least a few people in desperate need, the divorce team at the Pro Bono Project made a difference in someone’s life today.

And Jennifer Maco (No-L) was working on the future. “I wrote a grant proposal to fund a project to bring diversified, educated women into New Orleans. The idea is to get women to move here and live in a particular community in homes in the area. In exchange for the forgiveness of their student loans, they would be given a place to live and be required to spend so many hours sharing the skills, their education with the residents of the community.” She also worked on a proposal to fund building of eco-friendly homes that would be built using an apprenticeship program which would target residents for training as plumbers, electricians and other specialized skills. “They get the training and become skilled tradesman by building these new, better homes. Everybody wins.”

My Window On The World

I’ve tried to tell you of our visit here through the words of others, letting them describe their mental snapshots of our time here. For what’s it worth, here’s my window on the world. I spent a lot of time seeking out residents, gently probing for their stories. I am, by nature, a happy person, given to laughing and smiling. It was hard to be me here some days.

My first glimpse of the Superdome, driving by the Convention Center, seeing the bridge where the prisoners of the Orleans Parish Prison sweated out the hot sunny days that followed Katrina brought on that sinking feeling in my stomach. My mind’s eye replayed snapshots from the coverage of the disaster. Crossing into the 9th Ward for the first time brought an onslaught of those images. Turning off St. Claude into the neighborhood, seeing all the lost homes brought me near to tears. That sense of loss turned to anger with each passing block. Tears welled up as I saw a little boy, maybe 6 or 7, walking his dog – with a breathing mask dangling from his neck and work gloves tucked snuggly in his back pocket. He was 4 or 5 when Katrina approached and government at all levels failed him. He was walking four blocks from the Industrial breach. To him, this is normal. How sad is that? Anger spurted into fury when I spotted a home with several spray painted messages: 9/11 – four dogs, two cats, gave water. 9/28 – same, left water/food. 9/30 – two dogs dead. Rest gone? I’m a complete sucker for animals.

Across St. Claude, a decimated fire house reminded me of the vulnerability of even those we call on to protect us. Then a house, tumbled in upon itself, a toilet on its side and clothing seeping through its blown out walls. Its dark shingles almost hid the message. I was standing before a home where someone had to hack through the attic and paint a plea on its roof. Where did they go? Did they die? Did help come in time? There is no way for me to know. So much has gotten better here in New Orleans, residents say, and things improve every day. It’s a slow process and made slower by a bureaucracy that is heartless and mindless, based on what I’ve heard firsthand. And sometimes, I wondered why they keep going. How do they not get overwhelmed? Maybe it’s because, in a way, this is part of their history. Sings one artist who grew up along the Gulf Coast: “If a hurricane doesn't leave you dead, it will make you strong. Don't try to explain it, just nod your head. Breathe In. Breathe Out. Move On.” The residents of New Orleans are doing just that when it becomes too much. The least I can do for them is to do the same and get back to work, cranking on my own little cog in system.

Rue Bourbon

Okay, it’s true. We’ve all wandered the Vieux Carre – and its main attraction of Bourbon Street. (No beads have been earned in the traditional way, we are proud to report.) Students have had hurricanes at Pat O’s as well as hitting some of the famous eateries in the Quarter. During the day, buskers roam the streets to entertain the tourists. A man painted head to toe in silver acts as a statute until an unwitting victim gets too close. Muscisians with their guitars and sound systems roll around from one impromptu venue to the next on a trolley. One magician was working an intersection on Bourbon and gave the crowd a history lesson as well as entertainment. “Thank you all for stopping buy. I’m from New York originally and worked here for a long time. I go back and forth between here and home. But I am here today, and have been here since they let me come back into the Quarter, to make sure that the street performers return. It is the street performers that many remember from their visit to Bourbon Street. Many left and don’t want to come back because they lost everything and it’s too hard to come back. But there are many of us that don’t want to lose this tradition, a tradition that has made our lives better and hopefully, yours better as well. And thanks for coming to our city, to our show. We can bring back New Orleans, you and me and tell all your friends. I’ll be here all week.”

Humbling

The 9th Ward continues to amaze. Molly Buckman, our fearless leader and graduating 3L, played Mother Hen to a three-vehicle caravan of Dayton Law students and friends for a …well, now I’m stuck for the right word. “Touring” seems like something one does in France or through bucolic fields. “Gazing” makes one thing of celestial bodies. “Gawking” or “rubbernecking” is what people do when they get to that spot in the free way that backed up traffic. Ah, there’s the word. Humbling. Molly took us for a humbling.

Let’s face it. We are the privileged few. We made it to law school, some us are within sniffing distance of the finish line. Some of us come from money; some of us have worked hard to overcome the curveballs thrown at us our whole lives. But today, we were reminded how easy it can come to end. Some of the hardiest of the group walked through some of the houses. “I couldn’t do it. I was already crying, just looking at the damage. They said there clothes still hanging in closets, stuff people couldn’t take with them when it happened. And the clothes are still hanging there, ruined for sure, but still there,” said Ashley Russell.

Of Guilt and Innocence

At the Innocence Project, students reviewed questionnaires submitted from inmates in Louisiana and Mississippi. Ashley, and Briann and I – and Briann’s boyfriend Jason - spent the week assessing the questionnaires to see if there was a chance of wrongful conviction. Odds are higher then you can believe that some of names warehoused in the seven filing cabinets in the office don’t belong in prison. Richard Davis, the liaison with the students, provided chilling details. “If Louisiana was a country, it would have the highest percentage of people incarcerated then anywhere in the world,” Davis said in his clipped British accent. “Louisiana has the highest wrongful conviction rate in the country. It is documented and confirmed. The Louisiana system convicts people wrongfully and frequently.” Finding candidates for the project involves prowling through questionnaires, discovery, trial transcripts and even the occasional hand-written appellate brief – replete with Bluebook citation formats and IRAC! Many of the questionnaires have been sitting for five or more years because there simply is not enough man power to get through all the files, many of which have no real evidence of wrongful conviction. But then you get the files where the problems with the system come in to sharp focus. One man was tried twice in 8 days – the first time ended in a hung jury and the second in a conviction. The difference? Perhaps it was because a prosecution witness was not available to testify at the second trial and the judge allowed the previous trial testimony to be read to the jury. The defense lawyer – who discredited the witness the first time around – didn’t get the same opportunity this time. There was note from the client that by the time the cross examination portion was being read during the second trial, the jurors were nodding off or staring into space. On appeal, the Court of Appeals affirmed the conviction and denied the inmate’s motion for a new trial based on the violation of his Confrontation Clause rights. “There was ample evidence to convict,” the court wrote. “There was no error in allowing the testimony to be read in and the defendant was provided an opportunity to confront the witness.” Ample evidence? The first jury was hung so it’s not so clear to me there was ample evidence. The man is currently serving a life sentence for murder.