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'Reliant City': For Evacuees, a Home Away From Home
Elizabeth Brown, an evacuee from New Orleans, talks with volunteer Hank Land at the Arkansas-Oklahoma Salvation Army relief trailer at the Houston convention complex, which has housed more than 24,000 people since the storm.
(Photos By Kim Christensen For The Washington Post)
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Each bed was neatly made with a gray blanket on top and donated teddy bears resting on the children's pillows. "We've met a lot of people," said Grant, a pastor in New Orleans. "We ask, 'What church are you from?' Then we share stories. Every day, we say good morning."
A few feet away, a woman swept her little corner, a Bible resting on the pillow of her cot.
For all the efforts of a relief staff now 400 strong, many staying here have complained of inaccurate information on services available to them, busy phone lines and a sense that they are not in control of what happens to them. Last Wednesday, 20 evacuees calling themselves the Survivor Leadership Group stood with some Houston area clergy at a news conference outside the Astrodome and demanded more help.
By Friday, organizers said, they had collected about 2,000 signatures on a petition calling for faster cash assistance, a public database of hurricane survivors and a quicker transition out of the shelter into homes.
"It's paper, paper, paper but no action," said Linda Jeffers, who was a community activist in New Orleans. "We don't want to live in the Astrodome for another week."
The mini-city swarms with volunteers, who are quickly screened and put to work. A group in yellow T-shirts that read "Scientology Volunteers" helps unload trucks. Under the rules, no proselytizing is allowed. A group from Wisconsin arrived to find families to adopt and give jobs.
Dave Albins, a retired businessman from Prescott, Ariz., drove his van here and waited for his assignment. A Red Cross volunteer walked up holding a freshly dry-cleaned suit on a hanger. "This is going to Reginald Brown," she told Albins. "That way, he has some real nice clothes when he gets to Dallas to look for a job."
From the day the first evacuees tumbled out of crowded buses from New Orleans, the goal here has been order, to assure the survivors and the outside world that the Astrodome would not repeat the nightmare inside the Louisiana Superdome. Cleaning crews walk around with brooms and dustpans, sweeping the floors inside and the concrete outside.
Barricades and security checkpoints still block the three gates to the complex. But police have made surprisingly few arrests, for offenses that range from marijuana possession to indecent exposure.
For security reasons, everyone must be identified. Pink wristbands for Astrodome residents. Blue for the convention center. Yellow for the other convention hall downtown. At first, anyone looking for food and help could get in. But police locked down the area last week after lines for assistance got out of control, and a promised distribution of debit cards was delayed, then canceled.
"We're making this up as we go along," acknowledged Joe Leonard, the Coast Guard lieutenant in charge of the operation, leaving for another meeting with his commanders.
