My editor popped his head in the door and said, “Hey, one of this month’s stories is about the 20th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina."
“Why don’t you write a column about your experiences,” he said.
Hmm, it’s hard to believe that it has been 20 years. I was the public service commissioner for south Mississippi back then. I was in the middle of my second term. I vividly remember meeting my district director Archie McRaney at our Hattiesburg office on the Saturday morning before the storm.
Things had changed overnight, and it appeared that the Mississippi Gulf Coast may be in the crosshairs. The storm seemed to be tracking more to the east, and hurricanes that make landfall in the northern gulf tend to jump east at the last moment. Our normal procedure was to set up a command post on the Gulf Coast. Now I like bad weather — I should be a storm chaser — but Archie, he had been in the National Guard and rode out Hurricane Camille on the Gulf Coast. He did not like hurricanes one bit. He looked at me and said, “Boss, if you tell me to go the coast, I’m handing in my resignation.” Needless to say, we used our Hattiesburg office as the command center.
To say Katrina was bad is an understatement. At least 238 Mississippians lost their lives. I have seen estimates that Mississippi’s insured property losses topped $13.6 billion dollars. I recall standing in the middle of Biloxi and Gulfport and not being able to identify where I was. There were no buildings, no signs, no landmarks, just piles of rubble and debris. I have heard a picture is worth a thousand words, but nothing compares to smells, and I know of nothing that smells like the aftermath of a hurricane. The sea has turned over and has a unique and unfamiliar smell. There is a mixture of gas, dead animals, sewage, and sea air that combine to make an unforgettable and repulsive odor.
But the thing that sticks out most in my mind was Mississippians’ response to this disaster. They didn’t whine, cry, or feel sorry for themselves. Then Gov. Haley Barbour said, “We hitched up our britches and went to work.” We helped each other cut trees, repair homes, get food and water, and anything else that needed to be done. People patrolled their neighborhoods to keep order and look out for one another. I watched linemen give their lunches away to people who needed food. I saw spouses of utility workers come to the office and pack lunches, wash clothes, and do whatever they could to assist in restoring lights. As I watched chaos unfold in our neighboring state, I was proud of Mississippians’ response and how, collectively, we handled this disaster. While the news media covered New Orleans and the struggles there, many of us grew frustrated, but Gov. Barbour reminded us, “The press doesn’t cover planes that land safely, only the ones that crash,” and Mississippi wasn’t crashing. I believe it may have been one of Mississippi’s finest moments
