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In Miss., Time Now Stands Still
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Two weeks ago, the Catholic Diocese of Biloxi informed O'Bryan that it won't rebuild the church.
"The bishop tells me we were insured for Camille [a 1969 hurricane] but not for Katrina," O'Bryan said. "I remember going for a walk just before the storm and saying to myself, 'Lord, you aren't going to take my little kingdom from me, are you?' I realized now that he was."
Point Cadet
Point Cadet was the soul of the steamy port city of Biloxi, a place where generations of blacks and whites grew up, joined by Yugoslav and Vietnamese immigrants. It was much beloved and nothing fancy, and it's gone.
On Fourth Street, a row of old wood houses still lies in the street like toppled dominoes. At night, no lights shine. Councilman Bill Stallworth, who represents a poor black neighborhood, points to the gleaming casino towers that edge Point Cadet on three sides. Developers, he said, already talk of the condo towers and green parks in between.
"Without some quick federal money, we're going to look up and see nothing but high-rises in a few years without everyone pressured out," Stallworth said. "If we lose these people who made this city, that would be a lowdown dirty shame."
The anxiety about what was lost and what might come exacts a psychological toll. Before Katrina, county officials said ambulances made about eight calls per month on mental health emergencies. In October, ambulances transported 167 people for psychiatric treatment, many suffering from post-traumatic stress and some talking of suicide.
Rosie Alexander, a woman around age 50 with a fast smile, grew up in Point Cadet and lives in a nearby apartment. She has a master's degree in nursing and worked in a casino. She's out of work, and this state pays the lowest unemployment premium in the nation. Her old casino sent a letter stating that if she's rehired, she must accept an entry-level wage.
Her home stinks of mold, and FEMA hasn't delivered a trailer. She rode out the hurricane in Biloxi and was stunned by what she saw. Bodies in drainage canals, children's dresses and dolls in trees, her best friend's house collapsed and destroyed, along with her friend.
She keeps trying to pack up her possessions. She wrote to Oprah Winfrey and asked for help, but she knows that's foolishness. In her darkest moments, she worries that bridges will be repaired and freight trains will rumble through Biloxi again -- and too many desperate people will seek their end on those tracks.
"I have nightmares, I have flashbacks." She shakes her head; she has talked for an hour with many tears. "I get so upset with all these rich people who say Biloxi will come back bigger and better. Not for us. No, no, no. Nobody I know is getting better."
