I had just turned 13.
Even 16 years later, I still vividly remember Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. While myself and my family evacuated and made it through unharmed – with some damage to our home – much of my hometown of Gulfport, Miss. faced near-total destruction. Approximately 1,833 souls across the Gulf South paid the ultimate price when the storm made landfall on Aug. 29, 2005.
I’d evacuated storms before, but there seemed to be a little more urgency in my parents’ voices this time as we boarded up our windows and packed our things to head to my grandparents’ home in Tupelo, Miss. I had heard stories of Hurricane Camille in 1969 and seen pictures of the devastation it caused, but never did I think that I would personally see that level of destruction from a storm.
I was wrong. I remember being at my grandparents’ house in Tupelo on the night of the landfall, watching national news anchors going live from my hometown and nearby municipalities discussing the potential for destruction. I distinctly remember one correspondent saying that any weakening of the storm before landfall would be like the difference between being run over by an 18-wheeler versus being run over by a freight train.
The following morning, I saw the devastation on TV for the first time, recognizing what was left of several places I knew well. It was kind of surreal and I didn’t quite know what to think yet. Only later did the gravity of the situation hit me and I had something of a meltdown worrying about home and the safety of my friends.
I also remember being filled with rage watching the trials faced by thousands of people at the Superdome and elsewhere in New Orleans who had seemingly been forgotten by authorities and rescuers.
Going back home from Tupelo after about three weeks and seeing the destruction firsthand was an eye-opener and I remember there being no fences left standing in my neighborhood, and several roofs patched with blue plastic sheeting.
I also remember going closer to the Gulf once access was allowed and seeing my mother sit on a storm drain and cry over the sheer destruction. Save for the colosseum and most of the casinos, everything from Hwy. 90 – which runs right along the Gulf – to everything several blocks inland was leveled. Concrete slabs were all that remained where hotels and restaurants once stood, and the beachfront amusement park and mini golf course I had gone to pretty much my whole childhood was obliterated.
When school resumed early in October, I remember hearing stories of survival from several friends including twin sisters who had tried to ride the storm out, but ended up escaping the rising water to the roof of their home with their mother, as their home washed away beneath them. Another close friend who lived very close to the Gulf ended up with a massive casino barge on top of his house. Several of my friends and teachers were housed in RV trailers and other temporary accommodation as they rebuilt or searched for new homes.
As I went through high school, the Coast gradually healed and reopened, with virtually everything had been rebuilt or transformed.
On Aug 29, 2015, myself and my parents attended a ceremony recognizing 10 years since Katrina. A sky lantern was launched in memory of each person from the Coast who perished during the storm. The ceremony took place on the beach at sunset, during what is locally termed the “magic hour.” A seabreeze cooled the Mississippi heat, waves gently washed ashore, seabirds cawed off in the distance. It was beautiful – stunning, really. It’s always fascinated me how something that gorgeous and peaceful can sometimes bring abject destruction on hundreds of thousands of people.
My last order of business is to thank anyone from around here who helped us after the storm. All of you that helped, I invite you to come to the coast when you get the chance.
You’ve seen the coast at its worst. You’ve seen us at our worst.
Now you deserve to know how far we’ve come.
Charlie Benton is the staff writer for The Graham Star. He can be reached via phone, 479-3383; or email, news@grahamstar.com.