Road Scholars

To Molly

2007-04-08T17:13:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-08T14:59:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-06T09:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-06T09:01:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-06T08:59:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-06T08:58:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-06T08:50:00.000-07:00

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.

Hope

2007-04-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

I had the opportunity to speak with “my” client for the first time yesterday. I was nervous when I picked up the telephone to make the call. The office that I am working in was quiet, but I did not know exactly how to start the conversation. I was, as is typical for me, overly prepared for the call. I had done hours of sifting through papers and typing up exactly what questions to ask. I had poured over and over the documents to make sure that I understood as best I could my client’s situation. Then I picked up the phone to make the call.

When I heard the voice at the other end of the line I felt immediately at ease. Although I was ready to start my interrogation as efficiently and thoroughly as possible, I found that my client answered most of the questions without my having to ask. I just listened. I was new to him – just a little voice at the end of the line, calling on behalf of The Pro Bono Project. I could tell that he was happy to talk to someone regarding his case, regarding his life. He wanted me to know his story.

I listened to my client for more than thirty minutes as he detailed his Katrina experience and how it changed his life. After Katrina hit, he was relocated to Texas. All of his relatives were scattered across the Deep South. He had no telephone numbers and no way to reach anyone. He lost loved ones and friends. In essence, my client lost everything but the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet. He lost everything, he said, but he still came home – home being New Orleans. He will never be back in the place he once lived because it is no longer there. I didn’t know what to say other than how sorry I was for his loss (losses). He said that he has good days and bad days. He said that he has hope that it will all be okay because he is alive today.

Molly, Jay and I traveled to the 9th Ward yesterday. The sky was beginning to gray, which was fitting as we took Rampart Street over the bridge and into the 9th Ward. It didn’t take long to see what looked like a bomb went off. Foundations were all that was left of most of the houses – large gray slabs of concrete lay side by side along the streets. It looked like a ghost town. The businesses and fast food restaurants that lined the lanes were boarded up and empty. Grass was beginning to grow in the cracks of the parking lots. Everything around looked filthy.

We weaved up and down many of the residential streets. One of the homes reminded me of the tin man’s house from the movie The Wizard of Oz. The home was surrounded by big trees, with arms that stretched and twisted and curved like those trees from the movie. The color of the house was brown and gray and the roof near the front of the house slumped down so far that it almost touched the ground. Its “backbone” seemed to curve like a spine – up and then down. I could see furniture through the broken windows and the front entrance. Piles of garbage flanked both sides of the house. Rusted cars were toppled next to each other, one against the other. Some of the houses looked like skeletons. The bricks and frame held the structure strong. Once you looked inside, however, all you could see was wood beams and empty space.

People still walk these streets. Children play outside. FEMA trailers parked outside of many of the houses hold upwards of four to five family members at one time. Imagine looking at your home – damaged and devastated – through the window of a trailer that is now resting on your front lawn. One of the men that we spoke with has to send his two grandchildren, one year apart, to separate schools that are literally at two different ends of town. These children now live with their grandparents in the FEMA trailer parked outside their grandparents’ home. He said that water was seeping up from under the trailer, making his wife sick. Like my client that I had spoken with earlier that day, I think that these people had hope because they are alive. They want to persevere and they want to remain near their home – even if it means living in a FEMA trailer and waiting for relief to come.

As we drove back to the hotel, Molly and Jay talked about the two little boys that are now living with their grandparents. If the grandparents are now raising the children, where are their parents? None of us said anything, nor did we venture to guess, because I think that we all felt like we already knew the answer.

9th Ward Wonders

2007-04-03T21:11:00.000-07:00

The Ward is utter devastation. The homes, empty, slumping and yearning to be whole and full of life again. The roads are peeled down to gravel or pitted from debris and rushing water. And when the homes will be rebuilt and the roads resurfaced is anyone’s guess. As of yet, even the street signs that became the flotsam and jetsam of the receding flood waters have yet to be replaced. Residents – perhaps poking fun at the gawkers – hand lettered their own street signs to replace the missing metal ones.

Kelly Diggins (3L) and I took a spin through the 9th Ward this afternoon. At first our cameras were pretty well hidden. We didn’t want to be that guy – you know, the uncouth gawker pointing a camera into another person’s misery. I was driving, having been through the Ward earlier with Jennifer Maco (No-L). I was watching Kelly’s reactions, listening to her random words – “Oh, no.” “No, no way.” – as she tried to grasp it all. We wozzled our way through a couple of neighborhoods and our cameras came out more and more. The blocks of homes, abandoned and wayward. The people rebuilding against the backdrop of devastation – and listening to the horns of boats on the levy and river. I asked Kelly about it later.

“Words cannot really describe it. I felt everything and nothing all at the same time. I was devastated, shocked, so sad. Some of it looked familiar, like I’d seen it on the television. But it wasn’t until you said “It’s been two years” that it sunk in. It has been two years and look at it all. The missing homes, the missing families, the missing children and pets and people. Two years and it looks like it happened last week, in some places.”

Kelly made me stop at a home in particular and I didn’t see why at first. It was the flag that caught her attention “To me the flag represents all things good in America. Patriotism, helping your neighbor. To see that tattered flag, torn, brown and battered wrapped up in the rusty iron fence on the porch…to still have that flag out there for all to see when it would be so easy to just be so angry for what hasn’t happened for them. It looks like the Third World, worse than Third World and this is America? This is home to these people and it’s part of America and yet, where is the help for these people?”

As we tooled out of the Ward near dusk, we spotted the 9th Ward Fire Department – housed in two double wide trailers and the engine parked on the drive. We pulled over to talk with a firefighter in the drive. At first he was very hesitant as we kind of snuck up behind him. We talked for a few minutes and we asked him, “When does it get better?” He smiled simply, “Oh, it is better. Where you’re standing was eight feet under water, so at least we’re able to breathe here, so that’s improvement. And we just got all the houses out of the middle of street, so that’s improvement.” He grinned at our perspective that it was still hell on earth but he started talking about the little things that have made it here home again. “Today, just today, some people came out and planted new trees in the median there. Trees. Replacing the trees,” he said, shaking his head in happy disbelief. And what is still hard? “The stress. I raised horses and they were just a little bit down the road. That was my stress relief – going to my horses. Now they’re in Jackson Mississippi, so there’s my relief – gone. My guys they’re families are in Houston. On their two days off, they’re trying to get to see their families and then hustle on back here. That adds to the stress. They lost their home, they go from this (the double-wide trailer station) to their tiny apartment, no family, no real home. And then they come back to this.” We talked about the needs remaining in the city and the hardship to come. “The government has put so many restrictions on the Road Home grants, it’s like putting too much bit in the horse’s mouth. He has his mind, he has his plan and you’re biting him back. I have a mind. I have my plans. And I need more information to figure out what my options are but they won’t give us the information, the upside, the downside but they want to tell us how to do absolutely everything else.”

Lovely Locals

2007-04-03T21:03:00.000-07:00

In our first few days in the Crescent City, we have been bathed in the version of southern hospitality found only in New Orleans. Those who have lived through Katrina and continue to live with its aftermath have welcomed us with open arms.

Beignets and blessings: Kelly Diggins, one our graduating 3Ls, and I stopped at Café du Monde to rock out their legendary coffee and beignets. I was (shockingly) on the phone and Kelly chatted up a lovely duo to our right. Kelly explained we were part of a group of law students donating our spring break to help out in New Orleans. One of men had lived in New Orleans years before and he had brought his partner here for a visit. I forgot my money when I switched purses and Kelly was shuffling her dollars to pay for both when one of the men – thinking we were without enough to pay our way – opened up his wallet and paid for our dessert. “No, no, it is our pleasure,” he said. “It our pleasure to have people like you here in the city to help, that you care enough to come here, the least we can do is make your first beignet experience one without problems.” Both Kelly and I felt the pricks of tears and not from the hot café au lait.

Lost in NOLA: I had dropped my roommates off at their assignment on Monday and had an hour to kill. I went to find my assignment and got lost and drove around. Finally, I found a firehouse and pulled in. The Wisconsin license plates were a dead give-away. The firefighters rushed to the car, thinking I might be in peril. I was – I need a bathroom. They graciously invited me into the station, showed me the loo and then offered me coffee and good advice on restaurants to visit, the Don’t Miss bars and the areas to go and not to go. “Look, remember our population has shrunk by nearly half but the crime rate has sky rocketed. But ya’ll shouldn’t be afraid. If you’re smart, no problems. If you’re not smart, probably no problems.” The lieutenant at that station said the hardest part for him has been watching his friends move on. “I lost very little, all things considered. But I had a job to do and we were needed. But so many guys, well with the hardship they faced with rebuilding or getting messed around with FEMA, it was just easier to pull up stakes and quit. And these folks weren’t quitters. But this was enough to break their hearts on day and their spirits the next. But a man must know when it is time to move on.” He pulled his hands across his eyes and he seemed very far way for awhile. “But we are so honored to have you all here. It is a kindness we won’t soon forget that you all would come here not just for Bourbon Street but for us. Thank you.” No, sir, thank you.

Shorts needed: Some pack well. Some, not so much. A quorum of the Pauger Street Crue (Lauria and the graduating 3Ls trio Ben Githieya, Kelly Diggins and Luke Hodgin) were on a mission for items not packed. We were driving up Esplanade and didn’t want to leave the fifth Crue member (Ryan Sink) waiting, so we pulled over and haled a woman jogging with her dogs near one of New Orleans famous cemeteries. I bellowed out we were from out of town and needed a Target. She smiled, and graciously held her dogs at bay, pulling off her headphones. She smiled somewhat sheepishly said, “Oh, we here New Orleans shop local, there’s stores a many near here but a Target. Target. Where is the Target?” She gave us directions and then, “Have a wonderful time down here and thank you so much for coming to see us. We’re so glad to have you here in our home.” It’s great to be home, ma’am.

The Reception

2007-04-03T09:37:00.000-07:00

We made it to New Orleans on Sunday morning around 11:00am New Orleans time, 12:00pm Dayton time. There are few times in my life that I can honestly say that I was at a loss for words. As we traveled on I-10 into the city, I truly was at a loss for words. The businesses that I could see from the highway were in ruins. In one abandoned business district, I recognized what appeared to have been a big Wal-Mart store. Almost all of the windows on the front of the building were broken. The sign that must have once appeared on the face of the building was gone. The parking lot surrounding the area was a mess with piles upon piles of twisted iron pipes, broken wood, crumbled glass and other miscellaneous trash. My view of the ruins reminded me of a misplaced garbage dump.

As we began to get closer to the city, I noticed hundreds upon hundreds of homes and apartment buildings completely destroyed. Those homes left standing were not habitable – water damage, broken glass, falling rooftops, crumbled brick. Puddles of muddy water, plastic bottles and bags, newspapers and crumbled paper colored the streets like confetti. I could not say anything other than “oh my God.” I was truly at a loss for words.

I arrived at my placement yesterday about fifteen minutes early. I was greeted by Ellen Atropoeus, who is one of the staff attorneys at The Pro Bono Project Office. She guided me into a conference room and I waited with another classmate for the others to arrive. She served us Café du Monde coffee and beignets. As we waited, we were praised for coming down to New Orleans to help their indigent clients. We had not even done anything and we were already being praised simply for our presence. I felt incredibly humbled by their kindness. I have to admit that I was skeptical about how well we would be received here in New Orleans. Although we are coming to help these people, we are only here for a short period of time. We get to go home when this is all over. I don’t have to walk the dirty streets every day and look at the destruction around me. I am not struggling to get insurance money for my home. I have not lost all of my worldly possessions. I have not had to bury any family or friends as a result of Katrina. I feared that although we would be “welcomed” for our help, we would also be resented. I was ready to have a tough skin. I just prayed that I could help these people. I prayed that they would let me help them. It is safe to say that I have been completely blown away by our reception.

Ellen shared with us her story of how Katrina changed her life. Ellen and her husband are now living in an apartment building. Her house was flooded and although it did not crumble to the ground, it is essentially in ruins. Water damage has kept her out of her home for almost two years. She said that in some ways that made the whole process worse because at first glance it appeared to be “okay” – and only upon entering did she realize that so much was lost and destroyed. She said that her story was just one of thousands.

Each of the volunteers was given two case files. I am attempting to help two individuals get their lives in order by transferring title into their name. Both of these clients are extremely poor, as are most of the people that Ellen works with through The Pro Bono Project Office on a daily basis. This task is interesting to me because I like estate planning. However, as I sifted through the case files I became extremely sad. Ellen explained to us that many people have simply lost hope. She described the obituary section getting larger and larger as each day comes to pass. Curious, I decided to see for myself. I was amazed – reading of so many deaths made me depressed. Many people have simply lost hope because they cannot see an end to the misery. I feel that is another reason why we are here – to share their stories and let others know that it is not okay down here in New Orleans. In some ways, we need to help their voices be heard.

From the Director's Desk: Day 1

2007-04-02T21:52:00.000-07:00

Four of us were originally placed with the Juvenile Justice Project of Louisiana, but as with any large-scale project, there were a few snags. JJPL was not expecting us to show up on their doorstep this morning, but a few phone calls to Student Hurricane Network later and we joined our classmates at the Pro Bono Project for successions work. We've each been assigned two cases and have office space in a nice law firm downtown to work from.

The supervising attorney has only been with the agency for 18 months; she started shortly before Hurricane Katrina hit. Before we got down to our assignments, she shared her Katrina story with us. She told us about the two evacuations she and her family went through; the limited access to the city because of the flooding; the difficulty in finding clients and attorneys to represent them; the struggle to keep the office open and in one location; the loss of her home and the departure of her friends and professional colleagues for other locations; and the emotional toll that the storm has taken on the city and its residents.

I can remember exactly where I was on 9/11: I was a junior in college, on my way to Abnormal Psych, when my best friend (a New Yorker, no less) grabbed me and made me turn on CNN; we didn't move for hours. I can remember exactly where I was when Hurricane Katrina hit; I was a second-year law student at home, looking forward to my stack of cases printed out for the appellate brief. I grew up in Chicago, and while I'm headed for sunny, winter-free Texas after graduation, Chicago will always be my home.

I can't imagine what it would feel like to see the Loop flooded; to see Michigan Avenue damaged beyond recognition; to have thousands of people try to take shelter in Wrigley Field, to see Grant Park washed into Lake Michigan; to see the Palmer House boarded up. My heart would be broken if Goose Island were under water; if Lou Mitchell's and Miller's Pub never re-opened; if the Pilsen neighborhood was just washed away; if the Tribune Building or the Picasso were so damaged that they had to be torn down. It's my home; whenever I'm there, I slide back into the south-side Chicago accent (think the Superfans from SNL) that I inherited from my mom and grandma; I inevitably walk by the Marshall Field's clock on State Street (where my parents first met); and I know my favorite greasy spoon on Maxwell Street will always be waiting for me.

That's exactly what happened to New Orleans and to the people for whom it was home. We haven't been out to see any of the major damage in the Ninth Ward yet, but just driving into the city on I-10, it was hard to miss the collapsed roofs, the blown-out windows and piles of lumber that used to be houses. I wonder how many other people have just forgotten what it was like to watch the news in the days after the hurricane, and I wonder how different things would be if more people thought of the damage in terms of their own hometown.

And We're Here

2007-04-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

After several hundred miles, 14 hours on the road, a couple of pit stops, close calls, an inumerable number of "are we there yets?" we're finally here~! Day 1 in the Big Easy starts today!

Blessings

2007-03-30T07:09:00.000-07:00

As soon as I learned about the ASB program I knew that I wanted to be involved. I still remember watching the news before Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans. I remember imagining the people frantically driving away from an unpredictable storm that would inevitably devastate some area between New Orleans and the Florida Panhandle. I remember imagining what it would be like to be unable to identify my street or unable to find my house because it was gone. I imagined the bodies under the destruction. I imagined the hot hell of the south during the summer. I thought of the five-hundred year old oak tress gone. I thought of the antebellum homes destroyed. I thought of our country, our history. We all know that the effect of Hurricane Katrina on New Orleans was devastating. We see the national news and we know that it was catastrophic. I imagined all of these things but I never knew what I could do to help – beyond making a donation. The truth is that I am detached from New Orleans. I have never lived on the Gulf Coast. I have no family in the Gulf Coast. As the time after Hurricane Katrina began to pass and the local news began to focus on other issues – the war in Iraq, politics, rising gas prices, the latest celebrity drama – I began to forget.

I began to forget until I learned of the ASB program. I was so excited because ASB provided a way for me to use the skills that I have been learning the past three years of my time at the University of Dayton School of Law to “make a difference.” I am not so naïve as to think that the little that I do will cause any major change. However, like Molly, I do believe that if everyone can help a little bit the aggregate effect of our help could make a difference. Looking back, I wish that I would have tried a little harder to do this a couple of years ago. I didn’t go out of my way to find this program or try to figure out how I could help beyond a small donation. Thanks to Molly’s efforts, however, I was able to jump on board this amazing program from the very beginning. For that I am eternally grateful to her. For that I feel blessed.

I will be working at the offices of the Pro Bono Project. I will be helping with successions. Katrina victims cannot get their FEMA money, cash insurance checks, get SBA loans or deal with the Louisiana Recovery Authority without having title to their house. Children and grandchildren of the original owners are living in the family home, but the latest generation does not have their name on the deeds in the courthouse. I will be helping to complete the probate process in order to transfer the title. I am extremely excited about my placement because I am interested in practicing in the estate planning area of the law. Although I feel blessed to have the ability to work in an area of the law that I am interested in, I truly hope that I can connect with these people and make a difference in even one person’s life.

From the Director's Desk

2007-03-29T11:28:00.000-07:00

"There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why... I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?" - Robert F. Kennedy

Since I started this project last December, a lot of people have asked me why I started ASB, and what inspired me to do so. To tell the truth, I can't pin it down. I think it all came down to the realization that it was possible for me to help other people, and why not do it?

We 3Ls engaged in a spirited debate in our Professional Responsibility classes last fall about whether lawyers have an ethical duty to do pro bono work. Is a lawyer more or less ethical, more or less professional, based on the amount of pro bono service she renders every year? I don't know. I do know that there is some part of me that sees no logical course of action other than volunteering this week. The attention that I've received for being part of ASB is flattering, and I am thrilled that the community is interested in what we're doing. Still... I don't think I've done anything extraordinary (my team of 1L and 2L fundraisers, however, *are* extraordinary); I just did what I thought was right.

It's two short days before I leave for New Orleans, and I have some serious running-around to do: picking up keys, filing forms, finalizing reservations, returning emails and making phone calls. I should also think about filing my taxes, applying for a Bar study loan, and calling my mom. Hi Mom, I'm fine. Don't worry.

I've been placed with the Juvenile Justice Project, which makes sense with my social work degree, a summer at a District Attorney's office and a semester as an intern for the local Juvenile Prosecutor. I'm not looking to make miracles happen, but I'm hopeful that I can make some headway on a few cases. Over 1000 law students from over 100 law schools will be traveling to New Orleans this spring, and if we each do a little bit, the aggregate effect could be overwhelmingly positive.

"Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change a small portion of events, and in the total; of all those acts will be written the history of this generation." - Robert F. Kennedy

It All Begins

2007-03-28T15:35:00.000-07:00

When I was in grade school, I happened to be a fanatical reader of the mythology of ancient civilizations. Oddly enough for a small-private-Catholic school our library had a rather interesting selection of anthologies containing tales from the Norse, Egyptian, Greek and Roman traditions. Now as I prepare to travel to the Gulf Coast region, I am reminded of a favorite whose retelling in my own words will follow this sentence in brief detail.

Long ago in the age of legend, the curiosity of a certain young girl got the better of her and in the process wrought all manner of evil into existence. Upon opening a certain box that she'd been bidden to keep sealed, poor Pandora gave form to suffering, sickness, and despair... sorrows which were previously unknown in this world. Ironically her name means "all gifts" and while one may be tempted to give a sarcastic jeer in thanks for what she had done, do remember that she also gave us hope. In the form of a shinning jewel at the bottom of that box, hope sat waiting to be discovered. Whereas the ills that been sealed within were akin to vapors that quickly escaped and spread, hope was solid, tangible, and lay waiting to be found. Armed with that jewel, humanity has endured through the ages.

Starting on Friday the University of Dayton, School of Law will send out it's first Alternative Spring Break class. Thirty-one law students, with enthusiastic representation from all three class years, will travel down to the battered Gulf Coast region. The majority of us will be in New Orleans proper, where we'll be spread out across the city, but we'll also have individuals working in Baton Rouge. After months of hard and work and vigorous fundraising we've finally come to the easy part that is to say, the giving up of our Easter Break and sharing of our individual talents. During our week we are mindful that we represent UDSL, the ideals of the Marianist University of which we are all a part, our families, our hometowns, and most importantly hope.

This Blog represents the desire of four of the participants to share a kaleidoscope of viewpoints who'll be posting as time permits during the week we'll all be working. My colleagues and I will do our best to inform everyone reading about the present conditions in the city and surrounding area as well as share how we've been touched by the experience from our individual perspectives.In speaking for myself, I find my thoughts captivated by the following...

Given a choice we all would wish for a life untouched by tragedy, wouldn't we? Yet I challenge that assumption, because however desirable that may be what would then provide the catalyst for change? If all our needs were met, and our lives comfortable, how would any of us ever reach our fullest potential? I realize how easy it is for me to ponder such things, I mean, here I am preparing to depart a city that has been spared what befell New Orleans, a city I will return to once the week allotted for Spring Break has concluded. Those I will leave behind have no such option, and I know that whatever I am able to accomplish will not be enough. Here I am writing this post secure in the knowledge that my loved ones are safe. How can I presume to think that my empathy for the people I will help will be sincere? How can I possibly understand what they have gone through without having experienced some loss myself?

These questions lay in wait at the periphery of my mind, and it takes a great deal of effort to maintain that distance. Doubt is surest way to despair which itself is the great devourer of hope. The questions I've given voice to in the above paragraph raise interesting points, and how I come to terms with each one remains to be seen. Yet I being engaged in the endeavor will ultimately provide the fodder for my posts. Check back when and as you can, as I figure to be profilic...