An article from a friend's son.
He was commander of a shelter on a military base. This is
his day by day/hour by hour notes of the events before and after katrina.
Command: Category 4
Lt Col Randy Coats, 333d Training Squadron/CC
Command. There's no better job in the world. After seven years in jobs with “command
authority” and two squadron commands, I figured I had a good idea what command
was all about. I was wrong. What changed my mind? Four words--"Shelter Commander" and
"Hurricane Katrina."
From 28 Aug - 2 Sep, I lived with
730 of my "closest friends" in 50-year old Bryan Hall at Keesler AFB, MS.
It was my third stint as a shelter commander, but it was unlike anything
I had experienced before. As life slowly
returns to normal on the Gulf Coast and I reflect on the experience, I've come to appreciate
the unpredictability of command and how much an event like Katrina can change people and communities.
First, you have to understand some
basics. My shelter is a unique animal on
Keesler. Most shelters here are
dedicated primarily to one unit. Mine is
not. I have all the active duty and
family members from a wide variety of units--two training squadrons, CE and
Security Forces (and prisoners), 100+ Marines, communications students (NCOs
and roughly 60 Lt's), 150 NCO Academy students and their faculty, and 50 international officers
and their families. The building is an
old nuclear fallout shelter, with no windows and no shower facilities. With that setting in mind, I offer the
following memories and thoughts on Hurricane Katrina.
25 Aug (Thu): One of
my sharpest young MSgt points out Katrina "may grow into something over the weekend" and
suggests we update our shelter/evacuation data sheets. I admire his enthusiasm, tell him “that's not
a bad idea", then promptly forget to do anything because Katrina's not
headed our way at all and I've got other things to do besides worry about a
piddly Category 1 storm.
27 Aug (Sat): Two CAT
meetings. Katrina has strengthened and is headed our way, due to arrive
Monday afternoon. Tentatively plan to
open shelters Monday morning. I remember
the MSgt's words and begin repeating every officer’s golden rule--"Never
ignore a SNCO…Never ignore a SNCO."
28 Aug (Sun): Turn on
CNN before heading to 0800 CAT. Radar
picture shows Katrina is Category 5, taking up the whole Gulf of Mexico and
headed straight for us, due to arrive before dawn Monday. "Never ignore a SNCO…Never ignore a
SNCO."
- 1000: Initiate full
recall and order all personnel to evacuate or shelter NLT 2100. Many people out of town for the weekend. Accountability is a nightmare.
- 1700: Open the
shelter. People/families begin
arriving. Have to stop two refrigerators,
one 21" TV set, and three mattresses at the door. Students (of all ranks) drafted to help carry
bags into the shelter. People told to
bring food and water for three days.
Most bring food for two days; smokers bring cigarettes for twenty days. Have to break the news--no smoking inside the
shelter and once you're checked in you can't go outside (Hotel California
rules).
- 2200: Doors locked and boarded up from the outside
by CE (one door in an alcove left uncovered).
29 Aug (Mon):
0500: Winds howling;
can hear them best through vents in bathrooms at the end of the hallway (It
didn’t sound like this during Hurricane Ivan)
0800: Shelterees
(hereafter referred to as "the Natives") start moving around
0800. Smokers looking for nicotine fix,
but remain calm.
1000: Local news
reports indicate rising waters, violent winds.
Plywood ripped from external doorways (I start getting uneasy; plywood
has never moved in previous storms, much less flown away).
1200: News reports
20+ feet of water in local mall. Natives
getting anxious. Smokers getting
jittery.
Afternoon:
- Power goes out;
generators kick in. Not good. CE told us power can only go out if
high-tension cables that survived 200-mph winds during Hurricane Camille go
down. A/C stops working; ventilation
fans stop working. No windows, no open
doors, 731 nervous people…in Mississippi…in August. Ask for
generator fuel status and burn rate.
Have enough fuel for two days.
- Natives who smoke
starting to visibly shake; many look physically ill.
- Cable TV goes
out. Natives get creative with
antennas. Spotted the bottom half of an
NCO sticking out from ceiling tiles.
Apparently reception is better if you connect a stripped copper comm
cable from the TV to pipes in the ceiling.
I appoint a safety observer and hope for the best.
- CE reports primary
generator has flames coming out of it, so shut it off. Lost internet connectivity. Down to one generator; power only in hallways
and a few rooms.
- Water stops
running. Toilets overflowing. With medical advice, I brief the Natives on
how to use plastic bags for toilet facilities (someone used this method within
10 minutes). Disposal of plastic bags in
a sealed building is a concern.
Adventurous major goes into the basement and finds 1961-vintage Civil
Defense Survival Sanitation Kits.
Basically, a 3-foot tall cardboard porta-potty with a hole cut in the
top. This does not look fun. However, 44-year old toilet paper (it was
dated) is surprisingly soft.
- One hour later:
Water comes back thanks to CE heroes going out in the storm to repair pumping
station. I hug the first CE troop I can
find. Sanitation Kits thankfully not used, but kept on standby.
- CE troops coming
off shift report half of flight-line underwater; BX and Comissary 6 feet deep
and rising; trees down all over base; CE building collapsed. Natives begin to
get the picture--this is worse than Hurricanes Ivan or Dennis.
Evening:
1800: Winds still
dangerous so cannot open doors. It's
hot…it's humid…Natives are getting cranky.
Smokers showing signs of extreme duress.
One is carrying two unlit cigarettes around. I suggest he tear one open and put it behind
his lip for a nicotine fix. He informs
me he's already eaten an entire pack and it didn't help. Can't think of anything to say in response,
so I pat him on the back and wish him luck.
- Babies and young
kids getting grumpy; too hot to nap.
- Barely-visible news
reports (on very fuzzy TV picture) report massive devastation in the area. Dead silence in hallway as Natives crowd around
the lone TV with a discernible picture.
Tension rising.
2000: Too hot to
breathe. 731 nervous people generate a
lot of sweat and a variety of smells.
Command Post says stay locked down, don't open doors. Natives make strange noises when I walk by. Not sure the "Shelter Commander"
badge is a good thing to be wearing right now.
First Sergeant reports Natives consider me the embodiment of evil.
- Cops go on
shift. The best NCO in the AF is
assigned to patrol base housing; he offers to try to check on my cat during his
shift (we left her in the hallway of my house).
2100: Even
hotter. Poked my head outside--it's ugly
but winds have died down. Command Post
says stay buttoned up. Natives mumbling
in small groups about how to eliminate a commander. Survival instincts tell me to get some air in
here. Posted Marines at every exit and
opened all the doors. I'm a hero;
Natives love me. Haven't heard
"thank you" this much since I put my shirt back on at the squadron
pool party.
2200: Smokers running
out of cigarettes to eat. Open a side
door and rope off a 10' x 10' smoking area.
No more than five people at a time; no more than five minutes. Sucking cigarettes look like blow-torches in
reverse. Everyone loves me.
- Nobody sleeps
much. Tough to sleep in pools of sweat.
30 August (Tuesday):
0145: One of my NCOs
wakes me up because "Cops want to talk to you, Sir". SFS NCO is direct. "The good news is your cat is
fine." Next question obvious. As he hands back my house key he adds,
"The bad news is I didn't need this to get into your house." Doesn't quite register…"How'd you get
in?" He looked me straight in the
eye and said, "I walked through your back wall." That can't be good at all. Looks like a total loss. My wife was on a cot in the hallway. I woke her up to give her the news. Her response?
"I guess it'll be easy to pack when we move next year." (She's getting anything she wants for
Christmas, forever). Spend the rest of
the night thinking of how to stay focused and project a positive attitude given
that all my worldly possessions will probably fit in a gym bag. (note: we were
eventually able to save most things above 4 feet)
0700: Bad news
spreads like wildfire. Entire shelter
knows about my house. Lots of supportive
comments as I wander the halls but I see the struggle behind the words--they're
sorry for my loss but worry about their own. Their concern for my family
despite fears for their own touches me deeply.
First time in 19 years I've really had to fight back tears, but I've got
to do the commander thing and project a positive attitude. As I walk the hallways I truly feel "the
burden of command." My family is
safe; I have to push my losses aside for now.
These 730 people have no access to information other than what I tell
them. I am their link to the outside
world. I see them watching me, watching
how I react and looking for cues as they try to figure out how they should
feel--is the commander scared?
Depressed? Worried? Confident? I
realize that their mood over the next few days will be a direct reflection of
what they perceive as my mood. I've been
tested in command before, but never like this.
0800: Drive to CAT
meeting across base. Devastation is
shocking. Trees down everywhere. Cars trashed everywhere. Windows out.
Walls out. Buildings
collapsed. Roofs ripped apart.
0930: Mass briefing
to the Natives. Most uncomfortable
briefing I've ever given. Reports
indicate widespread devastation. Death
toll probably in the hundreds. Power out
for at least three weeks. Must begin
water conservation. Minimum three months
to resume base mission. Will not leave
shelter for at least three days. 730
stunned and scared faces focused on me.
All are easy to read. (1)
realization of how bad it is, (2) fear of what it did to their homes. Worst possible situation for a
commander--troops need reassurance I can't give. Struggle to keep my voice steady. Not sure how well I did.
Afternoon:
- Natives' supplies
running out. Most critical shortfalls:
food, diapers, baby food, and feminine hygiene products. Issue MREs for adults. Assign "Baby POC" to track baby
supplies. Develop new metric for morning/evening
briefings--diaper burn rate. 17 infants
in shelter x
5 diapers/day & 4
jars of baby food/day. Have one day supply
of diapers, two days of baby food, but at least three more days in the
shelter. Submit urgent supply request to
Command Post. Luckily, Sanitation Kits
include 44-year old feminine products.
- Still no cable TV
and no internet. Information is
life. I average (I counted) no more than
10 steps before someone stops me to ask what's going on outside.
- Lieutenant students
offer to take over operation of the Children's Recreation Room. One has been to Clown College; several brought coloring books. First Sergeant asks me later (a) "How
come the officers have coloring books?" and (b) "How come some of the
pictures were colored in before the children started using them?" Honor of the officer corps is at stake; I
quickly assign the Shirt to a meaningless task to distract her. Hope it worked. Best not
to ask. (Note: to be perfectly honest,
that actually happened during Hurricane Dennis in July, but it's 100% true and
was too good a story not to include here)
- Pregnant Native
goes into premature labor. Ambulance
evacuates her to hospital.
- Another
uncomfortable night. All Natives (and
myself) report profuse sweating in lieu of sleep. Set up special room with lots of fans for
children to sleep in. Authorized
Chaplain to take a small raiding party to Chapel next door to get rocking
chairs for parents with small children.
31 August (Wed):
- 731 people, 36+
hours with no a/c and no showers.
Natives stink. Shelter
stinks. Natives convinced everyone
stinks but themselves. Shirt reports
Natives blame it all on me. Wife asks if
I can boost SGLI from here. Tasked my
most creative NCO to come up with some way to hose people off. Result: water hose connected to sink in
bathroom supply closet, with sandbag walls leading to drain in center of
bathroom. No hot water, but showers are
a success. Still rationing water--3
minute shower every other day.
Nonetheless, Natives can wash away the stink for at least 10 minutes
till they start sweating again. I'm a
hero.
- Still hot. Two cases of dehydration evacuated to
hospital. I'm dehydrated, nauseous, and
weak despite drinking constantly. Can't
believe I let this happen. Check with
medics, but saline solution is in short supply and if I'm still walking I don't
need it bad enough. They give me some
good drugs to control symptoms. Eight
hours, 240 ounces of water (I had to keep track), and 9,000 bathroom breaks
later I feel much better.
- Lots of debris
around the building. Still dangerous for
people to go outside, but Natives are getting stir-crazy. Assigned a team to clear and rope off an area
near the building. Post guards to ensure
nobody wanders off, then allow small groups outside for fresh air for short
periods of time. They love me again.
- Wing/CC reads off
list of inbound aid at CAT meeting. Not the
same as hearing it on TV. I never
imagined that it would mean so much to know that so many people are focused on
helping you.
- Baby supplies
critical. Wing/CC orders a raid on
what's left of Commissary and BX.
Deliveries to shelters save the day.
- Another bad
briefing to the Natives. Only one way to
explain why they can't leave the shelter--tell them the truth as I know
it. Looting rampant off-base. Looters in base housing. AF member car-jacked right outside the
gate. No gas in local area; $5/gallon
three hours away. Chaos in New Orleans is moving our way.
Extra Security Forces with .50 cals on HMMWVs en route to help secure
the base.
- Natives frantic
about their homes. They fear anything
that survived the storm won't survive the looters. Try to focus them on aid headed our way. Emotions running high. One woman goes into shock; evacuated to
hospital.
- Another sweaty,
sleepless night. Natives apparently
locate world's largest stock of extension cords. Conservative estimates indicate we're running
500 fans off 5 power outlets and 2,000 extension cords. Confiscated the most impressive daisy chains
as a safety hazard. Briefed Shelter
Management Team to increase fire checks of the building.
01 Sep (Thu):
- Cannot release
people to return to homes overnight due to security concerns. However, must let Natives assess their homes
or risk bodily harm trying to keep them here.
Strict guidelines for home assessments--provide written route of travel;
must have a wingman; no dependents can go; max of one hour to save what you can
and return to shelter; must be decontaminated before reentering shelter because
many houses (mine included) have sludge/sewage inches deep. Lieutenants do great job controlling
departure and decon lines.
- Natives return to
shelter. Many are homeless. Commander School never taught me how to respond to "I have nothing
left," or how to comfort women and men crying uncontrollably in my
arms. Some cried for what they lost,
some for what they saw. News reports
didn't prepare them for seeing not just their home but their entire
neighborhood destroyed, or for the cops telling them the bad smell they noticed
was probably neighbors who tried to ride out the storm and were buried in the
rubble. My only consolation is that I
know how they feel. The stink in the
house made me gag; the mud was gooey, sticky, and got on everything. My wife spent years building a beautiful
collection of Amish figurines. Seeing
the trail of broken figures across two yards (I never found the curio cabinet)
was painful to endure. Crabs running
across my feet in the bedroom (which scared the bee-geezus out of me) was a
comical twist to a non-comical situation.
- In an attempt to
improve morale, the chow hall (excuse me, “Dining Facility”) next to the
shelter opens for one hot meal of whatever was available. Natives happily wait in line 2+ hours for
rice with spaghetti sauce and a piece of bread.
After the week we’ve had, it’s like Grandma’s Thanksgiving dinner.
- Third straight day
of gorgeous weather. Security still a
big concern. My DO reports her neighbors
shot a looter (it may not be politically correct, but I applaud their
initiative). Natives don't care, they
just want out. Shelter Commanders
compare notes at CAT—we’re all seriously concerned about tempers rising in the
shelters. Believe the Natives are just
about at the breaking point.
- Still no a/c. Lots of sweat and little sleep.
02 Sep (Fri):
- Security situation
better. Natives' are about worn
out. Wing/CC authorizes release from
shelters. Six days and five nights we
will never forget, and the recovery efforts have only just begun.
To say that Hurricane Katrina has
been a "life event" would be an understatement. During my time running the Bryan Hall shelter I saw the best and the worst of people
first-hand. Some sat in their little
piece of floor space and watched others work to make the situation better. Most looked for every opportunity to help
others and to make our little slice of hell a little more comfortable. I was amazed at how easy it was to read their
faces. I could see clearly as fear
changed to shock, disbelief, then anger.
I watched in amazement as the anger was replaced with a calm sense of
resolve and focus to simply move forward and do what needed to be done. From the little boy I found wandering the
halls at midnight (obviously looking for a bathroom) to the lieutenants who
stepped up, took charge when I asked, and showed all of us what
"officership" is all about, every person in that shelter taught me their
own unique and valuable lesson about command.
The CE troops and the Cops in my
shelter taught me the meaning of dedication.
I watched them tramp in and out on shift work throughout the storm and
its aftermath. They were wet, muddy,
sweaty, and tired. But every time they
came through those doors they took time to find someone whose house they
checked on and they always stopped by to give me an update on what they
saw. To quote a favorite TV show of
mine, "They were…magnificent."
My Wing/CC described it perfectly a few days after the storm. Some puffed-up colonel called him up in the
CAT and said "General so-and-so is coming down there. I want to know who the most important person
on that base is and I want their name right now." The boss' response was classic. "Well, colonel, the most important
person on this base is a Staff Sergeant with a chainsaw and if you'll give me
ten minutes I'll get that name for you."
CE and Cops. If you're looking
for the heroes of Keesler, I'll be happy to escort you to their buildings.
As
for the rest of the folks in the shelter, they were just as amazing in a
different way. For all but the first 16
hours of our 6-day adventure they lived in a hot, poorly-ventilated building
with virtually no amenities but running water.
Most slept on tile floors. All
slept in puddles of their own sweat. All
spent 5 days not knowing whether or not they had a home to go home to. Yet through all of it, they kept a sense of
humor and worked together to make the best of a bad situation. Even in the darkest moments I never walked
down the hall without hearing a constant stream of "Morning,
Colonel!" "How's it going,
Sir?" or "Hey, Sir! When's the beer truck getting
here?" I was only chewed out once
by a shelteree. I would argue that in a
"typical" group of 731 people, I would've been chewed out several
times a day at least.
In my 19
years of service I have never seen a better demonstration of the military
"family", or a better demonstration of true professionalism. I have to add, though, that what I've seen in
the 12 days since has been just as impressive.
The base and its leadership have been amazing. In addition to bringing our mission back
on-line in less than 3 weeks, we've provided critical support to local communities. At last count, we'd sent nearly 50 missions
out the gates to deliver food, water, and medical support. I was the CAT Director when a local cop
showed up and said the shelter down the street had an outbreak of diarrhea and
vomiting. The boss had medical teams,
food, and water on site within 30 minutes.
The list goes on and on.
The same is true for my own
unit. With more than one-third of my
squadron homeless, my troops (military and civilian) have done things that will
bring a tear to anyone's eye. Not one
single person in my unit has cleaned out a storm-damaged home alone. We've had teams out every day helping
squadron members and retirees (and sometimes people we didn't even know) cut
trees and clean out flooded homes. They
have made me proud to be part of their team and proud to be part of the US military. They have
taught me when it comes right down to it they don't need leadership. They are, each and every one of them, leaders
in their own right. Leaders with the
willingness, the desire, and the compassion to do the right thing without being
told. In truth, they don't need a
commander, they only need a cheerleader who will give them the support and the
freedom they need to do what needs to be done.
When I look back in years to come and ponder what Hurricane Katrina
taught me about command that may just be the most important lesson of all.