In Rural Texas, Blessings and Culture Shock

The Jackson families agreed that all donations would be split evenly. The $3,000 Wal-Mart card someone gave them was carved up 24 ways.

Privately, the pastor worried they were taking too many trips to Wal-Mart. "They want to open that junk drawer that we all have in our homes, and have a drawer full of junk."

But most of the Jacksons still lacked drawers to open.

Oscar, his fiancee and two kids were the first to move into an apartment. The complex had several Section 8 units. It was neat and tidy. In the afternoon the breeze smelled like burned chicken from the nearby Tyson's poultry plant. When Oscar visited his new apartment and walked upstairs to look at his children's bedrooms, he was greeted by two freshly painted beds -- white for his daughter and red for his son -- with matching sheets and blankets. Oscar stared at the beds. The covers had carefully been turned back. The work of more local kindness, this time by Judy Peschel, who works for the local school system.

"We have been so blessed," Oscar said.

His parents kept saying they were blessed, too, but Oscar's mother, Shirley Jackson, was struggling. She and her husband of 39 years were moving into Rosalyn Heights, compliments of the Seguin Housing Authority, near the taquerias on Austin Street. Their two adult daughters would be living with them. Clean and quiet compared with New Orleans projects, but public housing just the same.

When Shirley visited the unit to clean it up, a neighbor knocked and presented a housewarming present: a broom and dustpan. Another appeared with four cans of tuna.

It wasn't Shirley's idea of home, but job applications were easier to fill out when "Best Western" wasn't listed as the home address. Oscar's sister, Paula, the LPN, interviewed with two mental health clinics in town. She drove from her own interview to pick up her younger sister, who was finishing up an interview at a credit union in the nearby city of New Braunfels.

"How did it go?" Paula asked her sister, Lakara.

"The lady says she knows about a teller position at a bank in Seguin," Lakara said. "She knows our situation. She knows I need a permanent situation."

Transportation is a must in Seguin. "Whether it's a hoopty or not, everybody here has a car," Oscar said, realizing the necessity of vehicles.

Landing Jobs

Other Jackson family members still scattered across the South began calling Oscar for help. They, too, had lost everything. By the end of last week, more had arrived, and more were on their way.

A group called Seguin Area Recovery, formed after the 1998 floods, had raised $20,000 for the New Orleans evacuees and was prepared to help.

A fragile existence was taking hold. Oscar learned that his car dealership would pay him two months' salary. On Friday, both of his sisters landed jobs, one in a mental health clinic and the other as a telemarketer. Oscar's cousin, Keith, was waking at 3:30 in the morning to drive to his job with Cisco in San Antonio.

New Orleans was never far from their minds. Several relatives were still unaccounted for. "I'm gonna go back the minute we can go back," said Oscar's sister, Paula. "I need closure. I need to see that place."

How long they would stay in Seguin was anyone's guess. "I wonder what life will be like a year from now for the Jackson family," Butler, the pastor, wondered. "My grandmother used to refer to people by where they came from. Ten years from now, are they still gonna be the Jackson family from New Orleans? They'll have children, and 30 will be 60 will be 90. When you think of migrations, this is what you think of."

In Oscar's new apartment, his 3-year-old son squealed in glee as he ran around the new space. Cap'n Crunch and Golden Grahams were already lined up on top of the refrigerator. In two weeks, the utter transformation of a life.

"We are gonna put a new star on the map," he said, with a weary smile.