SEGUIN, Tex. -- It was after the local bank hosted a noontime barbecue dinner for hurricane evacuees that Oscar Jackson made his bold proclamation. "The Jackson family is here to stay," he announced, flashing his broad smile. "These are my new neighbors."
All told, there were 24 members in the large and extended Jackson contingent: husbands, wives, grandparents, children, babies, in-laws, aunties, uncles, cousins and fiancees. They were crammed into six rooms at the Best Western on Interstate 10 as the news from New Orleans turned grimmer by the day. Last week, they traded in hotel life for something more permanent in their adopted state of Texas.
The blessings were many, but the culture shock was real. Where were the city buses that they had relied on to get around in New Orleans? Where were all the black people? Where were folks sitting on porches, in a festive tangle of music and gossip?
Seguin -- 35 miles east of San Antonio -- has a population of 23,000, about 60 percent Hispanic and 9 percent black. Pecan and oak trees shade the banks of the winding Guadalupe River, and barbed-wire fences are strung around cattle or corn fields. The Dairy Queen downtown is a sit-down restaurant where locals refill their coffee for a quarter and Frito Chili Cheese Crunch is currently on special. About 100 evacuees have fled to Seguin (pronounced si-GEEN). About half have decided to stay, including the Jackson contingent.
The town reminded Oscar of a movie set. "I feel like I'm living in an after-school special," said the 32-year-old father of two.
Oscar Jackson was a car salesman in New Orleans, a family man, with an occasional trip to the casino and a penchant for cooking. Now he was in Texas with nothing but his family and the clothes on his back. Summoning all his wit and charm, he began the task of resettling his people.
"I've always chased opportunity," he said, as he looked out across a vast field. "From nothin' to somethin'."
The re-jiggering of the American map is still taking place as the diaspora of hurricane victims keeps spreading. So, too, is a mass reordering of lives on society's rungs.
For the Jackson family, some members are seeing a new beginning kick-started by a portfolio of aid: up to $2,000 from the federal government, local contributions of up to $500, gas vouchers and food stamps, a month's free rent, donated furniture and other help. "This might leave me better than I was," said Oscar's cousin, Keith Conrad, whose employer in New Orleans, Cisco Food Service, quickly placed him in a job in San Antonio and gave him a loaner car to commute from Seguin.
But the move is a downward slide for Oscar's parents, who had scrimped their whole lives to buy their own house only to lose it in the flood.
"I never was a person who wanted a handout," said Shirley Jackson, 54, on the day last week that she signed the lease to move into Seguin's public housing project. "I was a cafeteria worker. I'm not too proud to ask the Best Western manager to give me a job. I have cleaned homes."
Oscar listened as his mother spoke, shifting uncomfortably. Her voice was flattened by exhaustion.
Starting Over in Seguin
