Chapters
Shownotes Transcript
A listener note, Against the Odds uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, may be invented, but everything is based on research. This episode of Against the Odds contains explicit language. Please be advised. Jabbar Gibson cracks open the front door of his apartment building in the Fisher Housing Project and peers outside. ♪
He sees his mother, Bernice, speaking to a pair of uniformed police officers. Gibson's heart pounds. Right now, his mother is the only thing standing between him and jail. It's late morning on Wednesday, August 31st, two days since Hurricane Katrina pummeled New Orleans, leaving the residents of Fisher without power and water.
They're running low on food, and some people are out of their medications. The levees are breached, and the city is flooding. Gibson is sure Fisher will flood soon, too, and there's been no sign of rescue. That's why he stole the school bus, now parked at the curb, in order to evacuate as many residents as possible.
But just as he'd gotten the bus loaded with passengers, the police showed up. Gibson had no choice but to flee. He was recently arrested for drug possession. If he's caught with a stolen school bus, he's sure the cops will haul him away in handcuffs. And they'll probably seize the school bus too, leaving the Fisher Project residents stranded. He strains to hear the conversation between Bernice and the police.
No one else is trying to help us get out of here. We're basically on our own. At least my son is doing something. One of the officers glances toward the door where Gibson is hiding. He's certain he's been seen. The officer steps forward. Gibson jumps back from the door, ready to rush up the stairs. Then his mom's voice cuts through the air. Jabbar, get out here. Gibson hesitates, then opens the door and steps outside.
He trusts that his mom wouldn't set him up. He's almost to the curb when Bernice tosses him the keys to the bus. He looks at her confused. His mom shrugs. They're gonna let you drive this bus out of New Orleans. Gibson eyes the police officers. One of them nods. Be careful. Drive safely. Do not get pulled over.
He doesn't give the officer time to think twice. It could start flooding at any moment. He needs to get people out of here. He jumps into the driver's seat and starts honking the horn. Everyone, come on. We're getting out of here. Let's go. When the police showed up, residents scattered too. No one wanted to be caught sitting in a stolen school bus. Now, they emerge from all the apartment buildings around the courtyard and form a line to reclaim their spots on the bus.
Except for Gibson's mom, her niece. She turns and heads back toward her apartment. Gibson calls after her. Mom, what are you doing? I'm going home. What are you talking about? We got to go now. Child, please. You've never driven a bus. I'd rather take my chances here. Gibson opens his mouth to argue, but he knows that look on her face. Her mind is made up, and nothing he can say will change it.
He turns his attention back to the people on the bus. At least his three younger siblings are on board, along with several of his cousins. Everyone is sitting three or four to a seat. Babies and small children are on their parents' laps. Other folks squat in the aisle. Gibson guesses there must be at least 60 passengers, and every single one of them is trusting him to get them to safety. And he's determined not to let them down, despite what his mom thinks.
He starts the ignition and eases the bus forward, making his way toward the highway. He just hopes he can get there before the floodwaters arrive. In our fast-paced, screen-filled world, it can be all too easy to lose that sense of imagination and wonder.
If you're looking for new ways to ignite your creativity and open your mind to fresh perspectives, then let Audible be your guide. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, or any genre you love, you can be inspired to imagine new worlds, new possibilities, and new ways of thinking.
There's more to imagine when you listen. Plus, as an Audible member, you'll get one title a month to keep from their entire catalog. If you're into mythology, then I recommend the title Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman. He's an amazing storyteller that narrates this unique version of the Norse myths.
Listen along. New members can try Audible free for 30 days. Visit audible.com slash the odds or text the odds to 500-500. That's audible.com slash the odds or text the odds to 500-500. Against the Odds is brought to you by Progressive Insurance.
What if comparing car insurance rates was as easy as putting on your favorite podcast? With Progressive, it is. Just visit the Progressive website to quote with all the coverages you want. You'll see Progressive's direct rate. Then their tool will provide options from other companies so you can compare. All you need to do is choose the rate and coverage you'd like. Quote today at Progressive.com to join the over 28 million drivers who trust Progressive.
Progressive Casualty Insurance Company & Affiliates. Comparison rates not available in all states or situations. Prices vary based on how you buy. From Wondery, I'm Cassie DePeckel, and this is Against the Odds.
In August 2005, Hurricane Katrina hit the city of New Orleans. At first, it seemed like the city had weathered the storm better than expected. But officials soon learned that levees designed to keep the city from flooding had been breached. 80% of the city was soon underwater, and residents were stranded without power, food, water, or medical care.
Both local and federal officials were overwhelmed and underprepared for the scale of the catastrophe. As they struggled to muster the resources needed, ordinary residents resorted to extreme actions to survive. This is Episode 3: Beyond Critical. Dr. Kirsta Kurtzberg stares up at the television playing in the hallway of Charity Hospital. She can't believe what she's hearing.
A news anchor on CNN is cheerfully reporting that Charity Hospital in New Orleans is now fully evacuated. Kurtzberg turns to a colleague standing next to her. Hey, did you hear we've been evacuated? Sure did. That's why I'm freshly showered and enjoying a nice hot meal. The two of them laugh, but it's the kind of laugh that could turn into tears at any moment.
The reality is no one at Charity has been evacuated or had a shower or hot meal in days. It's Wednesday, August 31st, and Kurtzberg has been at the hospital since Saturday morning. She and close to 1,200 people, patients, family members, staff, are still stuck here. The blocks surrounding the hospital are flooded with water at least four feet deep.
The power went out Monday morning, and the hospital's generators are flooded. One doctor had brought his own small generators, enough to power the TV and other small appliances, so they had some access to the outside world. But there's no AC. The temperature on the upper floors has reached over 100 degrees, and food is dwindling. All Kurtzberg has eaten today is dry cereal and a packet of peanut butter.
Most of her patients are recovering from major brain and spinal injuries. And without power, there's not much Kurtz-Burke can do for them. She can't even run basic lab tests. One patient has become increasingly disoriented, and Kurtz-Burke doesn't know exactly why. Her patient suffering from gunshot wounds is battling an infection. They need real medical attention, not the hobbled care she's fighting to provide.
Kurtzberg shakes her head at the TV. It's unbelievable that CNN is getting what's happening in New Orleans this wrong. She turns back to her colleague. They probably have a better idea of what's happening halfway around the world in Iraq right now than in a major city in their own country. Hmm.
Her colleague nods. I just hope FEMA has better information and they don't think we've already been evacuated. Kurtzberg feels a chill go through her, despite the sweltering heat. Her colleague is right. She has to try to correct the record. She starts climbing the stairs. She's pretty sure there's one corner on an upper floor with enough cell service to still get a text to go through.
If she can reach her husband, who evacuated to Baton Rouge before the storm hit, maybe he can get word to the media that Charity Hospital hasn't been evacuated and that for many of the patients, time is running out.
Jabbar Gibson grips the large steering wheel of the school bus. He has to hold it firm to keep the giant vehicle from pulling to the right. It's one of the many quirks of this particular bus he's had to figure out over the past couple of hours. But overall, he feels like he's getting the hang of it. It's early Wednesday afternoon. Gibson is heading west on Highway 90, relieved to be out of the city.
He successfully made it past a police roadblock to get onto the highway, but he's still being careful to stay under the speed limit. He doesn't want to do anything that will attract police attention. In the back of the bus, a little girl starts crying. After a moment, the girl's mother calls out to him. "She's hungry. Could we stop for some food?" Gibson grimaces. He'd love to stop and get food, but where?
Even though he's been driving for over two hours, every store and gas station they've passed has been boarded up. He looks into the rearview mirror and shakes his head. "Just try and hold on until we get there." A man not that much older than Gibson shouts from the back row. "Man, where are we even going?" Gibson opens his mouth and starts to answer, then realizes he has no idea. He's been so focused on getting out of New Orleans, he hasn't even thought about a destination.
In the rearview mirror, he can see the entire bus looking at him expectantly. He says the first thing that comes to mind. "Texas. We're heading to Texas." There's a murmur of approval from the crowd. But then, the same man in the back yells again. "Man, that's ours. We need food and water. We're hungry." Another murmur of agreement comes up from the crowd.
And I'm out of diapers. All right, we're gonna stop at this gas station.
but I'm the only one who's getting off this bus. Everyone else is just gonna have to sit tight. Gibson puts on his turn signal and pulls off the highway into the gas station parking lot. He just hopes he won't regret it. Gregory Richardson grimaces as he kicks his legs through the dirty brown water that's flooded New Orleans. His torso rests uncomfortably on a spare door he's using as a raft. He's lightheaded, and his calves are cramping.
Beside him is his neighbor Charles, also clinging to the makeshift raft and weakly kicking his legs. He looks as done in as Richardson feels. They haven't had any food or water in 24 hours. It's Wednesday afternoon. Earlier that morning, Richardson and Charles decided to take their chances in the water rather than stay on their roofs waiting to be rescued. But Richardson's starting to wonder if that was a mistake.
They're paddling down the center of a major street, but the only things on either side of them are flooded businesses with brown water lapping against their storefronts. There's no dry land in sight. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep going. Richardson feels something bump against his leg. He looks behind him and sees a male corpse floating face down in the water. No! No!
He yells in terror, kicking as hard as he can, ignoring the cramps in his muscles. Charles kicks too. Their thrashing splashes dirty water up onto their backs. When they're a few yards away, Richardson stops kicking. Both he and Charles are quiet as they catch their breath. Richardson can't erase the image of the man's lifeless body. What do you think happened to him? Charles shakes his head. No clue. Maybe he was bitten by a snake or...
Or electrocuted? Yeah. Well, maybe he just got too tired and drowned. The two men fall quiet again. Richardson feels lucky that it isn't him floating lifeless in the brown water. At least not yet. Charles nudges him and points. We'll be a whole lot less tired paddling the net. Richardson can't believe their luck. It's an old abandoned rowboat. The two of them start kicking toward it as fast as they can.
Help us, please! Wait, wait.
The water gets deep over here. We'll come to you. Richardson and Charles paddle over to the family and help them clamber into the boat. For the first time in days, Richardson feels a flicker of hope. Just finding the rowboat was a blessing. It's even better to be able to share it. Just then, Richardson hears a familiar sound in the distance. He cranes his neck, looking for the source. Charles, Charles, you hear that?
Sounds like a motorboat. Then he sees it, cutting through the water towards them. A police boat. Charles sees it too. They and their new boatmates begin to yell and wave their arms. Help us! Help us! Over here! Relief washes over Richardson as the police boat approaches. Maybe now, finally, they can get somewhere safe.
Sally Foreman keeps pace with Mayor Ray Nagin as he makes his way up a ramp leading to the entrance of the Superdome. Throngs of people are lined up on either side. A short man in a blue t-shirt yells out from the crowd. This ain't right, Nagin. You can't leave us to rot like this. Foreman nods at him, trying to express sympathy. But the truth is, she has no idea when they'll be able to get anyone out of here.
It's Wednesday afternoon. As the mayor's communications director, Foreman has been holed up all day in a temporary headquarters at the Hyatt Hotel, across the street from the Superdome. She's been trying to gather as much information as possible about what's happening throughout the city. When she can find a phone that works, she's been setting up interviews for the mayor with the national press.
If they can get the word out about how dire the situation in New Orleans is, maybe that will pressure state and federal officials to do more to help. The National Guard, FEMA, and the Army are all here. But not enough is happening to get people the assistance they need. A woman in the crowd reaches up and grabs Foreman's arm. Her cheeks are sunken and her eyes are wide.
Foreman nods and takes the woman's hand. The woman mumbles thanks, but she doesn't sound reassured. Foreman can't really blame the woman. Her promises sound empty, even to herself.
She makes her way over to Negan, who is consoling someone else in the crowd.
He leans toward her and mutters into her ear, "Where the hell are the damn buses we asked for?" "I'm sure some will be here soon. Fema said they were in Rood." But the truth is, she's not sure. Trying to get buses has been an ongoing nightmare. She spent hours yesterday tracking down keys to the Regional Transportation Authority's buses, only to learn that the yard where the buses were parked had flooded and the vehicles were non-operational.
And transit departments from other parts of the state are refusing to send buses to New Orleans because of rumors that the city is violent and unsafe.
So their last, best hope for getting buses is FEMA. But thus far, they've done nothing but overpromise and underdeliver. They provided less food and water than they said they would. They did bring in a communications truck, which was supposed to help phone calls get through, but it hasn't been working. So who knows if the bus's FEMA promise will ever arrive? Now, standing in this crowd outside the Superdome, Foreman feels overwhelmed.
There must be thousands of them, and she knows there are tens of thousands of people all over the city who are just as desperate. She wonders how long it will be until riots break out, as people realize that it could still be days before help truly arrives.
When you're hiring, time is of the essence. That's why more than 3.5 million businesses worldwide use Indeed to find exceptional talent fast. Indeed's powerful matching engine works quickly. So quickly that, according to Indeed data worldwide, every minute 23 hires are made on Indeed.
But it doesn't stop there, because Indeed also helps you hire better. 93% of employers agree Indeed delivers the highest quality matches compared to other job sites, according to a recent Indeed survey. That's because their matching engine is always learning from your preference. So the more you use Indeed, the better it gets.
So let Indeed be your go-to for making great hires quickly and easily. And listeners of the show, get a $75 sponsored job credit to get your jobs more visibility at Indeed.com slash the odds. Just go to Indeed.com slash the odds right now and support our show by saying you heard about Indeed on this podcast. Indeed.com slash the odds. Terms and conditions apply. Need to hire? You need Indeed.
These days, it feels like we're all just on the hunt for ways to optimize our health and feel our absolute best. The only problem is, with all these supplements out there, it can be really tough to know which ones are actually worth your time and money. That's where today's sponsor Symbiotica comes in. Symbiotica is a premium supplement brand that's raising the bar when it comes to purity, potency, and efficacy. Their supplements are formulated with high-quality ingredients. That's why their formulas don't have any seed oils, preservatives,
toxins, artificial additives, or natural flavors. Plus, while most supplements can taste chalky or sulfuric, Symbiotica's supplements have amazing flavors like citrus lime, vanilla chai, or wild berry. I've been loving the magnesium supplement from Symbiotica. Being low in magnesium, I've made it a priority lately to take it consistently. I love how I can take it on the go and ensure I'm never missing a dose. Feel more energized, alert, and balanced with high-quality supplements that work.
Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code "Odds" for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. Gregory Richardson hops down from the bed of a National Guard truck. An hour earlier, the truck picked up him and his neighbor Charles from the side of a highway where the police boat dropped them off. He stumbles as his feet hit the pavement. His legs are stiff from his time in the water and the cramped quarters on the truck.
It's Wednesday afternoon. Richardson's eyes swim as he and Charles take in their new surroundings.
They're in a huge crowd of people outside the massive gray convention center. With its glass-covered entryways and cheerful red signage, it resembles a giant Costco. But today, it's a scene of pure chaos. Richardson looks around, stunned. It's just throngs of people everywhere. He sees no police or military presence. People are slumped or stretched out on the ground, suffering in the sweltering heat.
His eyes land on a man about his age, pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair. There's something odd about the woman he can't quite pinpoint. Then it hits him with a jolt. She's not moving or even breathing. She's dead. The man pushing the wheelchair looks completely shell-shocked, mouth slack-jawed. Richardson wonders if it's her son.
Everyone, back up.
Richardson doesn't understand what's happening. Why would a helicopter be landing right in the middle of the street? But the helicopter isn't landing. It's hovering about 50 feet off the ground. Suddenly, something comes flying out from the side of the chopper. It's a pallet full of water bottles, which explode all over the ground on impact.
Richardson lets out a groan as he watches good, clean water spill onto the street. Seconds later, another crate comes whizzing down. Brick-sized packets marked "Meals Ready to Eat" scatter across the concrete. All around him, people chase after them, elbowing and kneeing each other out of the way to get a hold of the precious packets. Richardson is too overwhelmed to move.
He turns to the woman next to him, shouting over the roar of the helicopter. Why are they chucking all this food and water into the street like that? Why don't they distribute it in an orderly way? She shakes her head. Because, well, you know, they're scared of us black folks. Most of them so-called National Guardsmen have locked themselves into a hallway inside and refused to come out. Richardson stares at her in disbelief.
He thought he'd been rescued when the police boat picked him and Charles up and brought them here. But this doesn't seem any safer than if he'd just stayed on his roof. If his father is here, he needs to find him. He can't leave him alone in this place.
Marty Bamunde clutches his Blackberry, willing it to buzz. His shirt is soaked with sweat, and his nose burns from the acrid stench of urine. He just needs one shred of good news. Ideally, someone would shout that the FEMA buses are here, but at this point, he'd take any bit he can get. It's Wednesday evening.
Bahamande has spent all day at the Superdome, trying to get more supplies brought in to help the thousands of people who evacuated here and have been left stranded for days. But so far, he's failed. Despite his continued attempts to communicate how dire the situation is, his bosses at FEMA seem oblivious at best and indifferent at worst.
People who managed to survive the flooding are now dying from heat stroke or lack of access to the medical care they need. Bob Munday's phone buzzes as he scrambles to open the email. It's from FEMA Director Mike Brown's press secretary. She's telling everyone to ease up on making requests of Brown for the next hour or so. She says Brown is on his way to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse in Baton Rouge and needs time to eat in peace.
Bahmundi stares at the email in disbelief. He feels like he's in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Just yesterday, Mike Brown was in New Orleans. He saw the Superdome. He met with Mayor Ray Nagin. He saw the flooding. He knows the situation is past critical.
Now he's off eating steaks and sipping drinks. Before Balmondi can stop himself, he starts typing out a reply. "I just ate an MRE and crapped in the hallway of the Superdome along with 30,000 other close friends. I hope the wait at Ruth's is short." He hits send before he can stop himself. He used his government email. It will be a permanent part of the public record. But Balmondi doesn't care.
He needs to document how badly FEMA leadership is failing to grasp the magnitude of this disaster. Jabbar Gibson pushes open the glass door of a convenience store and steps inside. The blast of air conditioning gives him goosebumps, but it's refreshing after hours on the bus. He nods at the cashier, an older white man in a gray button-down shirt, and strides into the aisles, trying to look relaxed and confident.
It's Wednesday evening. Gibson and his busload of Fisher Project residents have made it all the way to Lake Charles, Louisiana. Ordinarily, it's a three-hour drive, but it's taken them closer to six. Gibson has been careful to drive well under the speed limit. Plus, they've had to stop multiple times for gas and supplies. He's still not sure where exactly he's going to take all these people.
They should reach the Texas border in the next hour or so, depending on the traffic. But once he's there, he doesn't know where he'll go. A mother on board said she needed formula for her baby. So that's what Gibson looks for first. He can feel the cashier's eyes on him. He's certain the white guy behind the counter thinks he's shoplifting. He's been watched like this in stores before.
He tries to stay focused. The sooner he finds the formula and gets the other food he needs, the sooner he can get out of here and back on the road. Gibson hears the cashier's chair squeak, followed by footsteps. But Gibson doesn't pay much attention. He's found the formula. He grabs three containers. When he turns around, the cashier is right next to him. He's holding a flip phone, his thumb hovering over the call button.
And that's your bus out front. The man narrows his eyes.
Gibson nods again, watching the cell phone in the man's hand. He's sure the cashier has already dialed 911 and is waiting for one wrong move from Gibson to hit call. Gibson thinks about sprinting back to the bus and gunning the engine before the police have a chance to show up. But then the cashier snaps his phone closed and puts it in his pocket.
Here, let me get you a couple coolers and some ice. And a few cases of water. Gibson looks at the man, shocked. What? What do you mean? I've been watching the news. Y'all been through hell. I want to be sure you get down to Houston safe and sound. The cashier heads to the freezers at the back of the store. Gibson trails after him. Houston? Houston?
That's where you're headed, right? Uh... The Red Cross is setting up the Astro Dome as a shelter for Katrina evacuees. I just assumed that's where you were going. Gibson smiles. That's exactly the information he needed. Yeah, yeah, that's where we're off to. The cashier pulls out a 20-pound bag of ice and dumps it into two styrofoam containers.
Gibson watches him, grateful for the man's generosity and relieved to have a plan. He just has to figure out how to get to the Astrodome in Houston, and everyone will be safe. Gregory Richardson jolts awake to the sound of someone screaming. For a second, he struggles to remember where he is. Then it all comes rushing back. He's lying on the floor of the convention center.
His neighbor Charles lies next to him. His house is underwater. He doesn't know where his father is or when he will be reunited with his wife. It's Wednesday night.
Richardson spent much of the afternoon either in line to get food or searching for his father. He was successful in getting something to eat, not from the government or anyone official, but from a few strangers who had scavenged several grills and some chicken from a nearby grocery store and were barbecuing outside the convention center. After two hours in line, he got one piece of chicken and a bottle of water.
But he still can't find his father. He tries to remain hopeful. There are thousands of people here and thousands more at the Superdome, a mile away. But worry gnaws at the back of his mind. His father is in his 90s. Richardson saw so many corpses along the side of the street leading to the convention center. Most of them were elderly. He can't shake the feeling that his father might have met the same fate. Ah!
Who's there? I don't know. Just try to ignore it. Was that a gunshot? I don't know. Maybe?
The floor vibrates as dozens of National Guardsmen rush toward the sound of the gunfire. Richardson curls into a tight ball, clutching himself. He prays that come morning, he'll be able to get out of this awful place, find his father, and escape from this nightmare.
This season, Instacart has your back-to-school. As in, they've got your back-to-school lunch favorites, like snack packs and fresh fruit. And they've got your back-to-school supplies, like backpacks, binders, and pencils. And they've got your back when your kid casually tells you they have a huge school project due tomorrow.
Let's face it, we were all that kid. So first call your parents to say I'm sorry, and then download the Instacart app to get delivery in as fast as 30 minutes all school year long. Get a $0 delivery fee for your first three orders while supplies last. Minimum $10 per order. Additional terms apply.
Dr. Kirsta Kurtzberg stands in the doorway of a hospital room, hardly daring to breathe. In front of her, her gunshot patient sits on the edge of his bed, gripping the arms of a physical therapist. With a massive amount of effort, the young man hauls himself to his feet. He sways back and forth for a moment. Kurtzberg holds her breath, willing him to walk.
It's Wednesday evening. It's been a long day. A few hours ago, she had reached her husband by text and begged him to get the word out that Charity Hospital was not evacuated. It was good to set the record straight, but it didn't solve the bigger problem. They're still stuck in the hospital with no power and dwindling food supplies.
Earlier in the afternoon, a doctor on the Code Grey team had stood up in a meeting and given it to the charity staff straight. The whole Katrina rescue effort was a disaster, and no one had any idea when they'd be evacuated. He told everyone they needed to prepare, physically and mentally, to be stuck at charity for another week.
Kurtzberg has been doing her best, but surviving here for another week is a daunting proposition. So she's clinging to this one positive moment when her patient might walk. She needs something good to happen. The patient steadies himself and Kurtzberg lets out the breath she was holding. The physical therapist nods to the patient. Good. Now, whenever you're ready, try to step forward with your right foot.
The patient clenches his jaw, then slowly lifts his right foot and sets it down. Sweat drips down the side of his face, in part from the heat, but more from the effort. He takes another step, then breaks out into a huge grin. I'm doing it. Did you see that? I'm walking. Kurtzberg feels some hope rise inside her. They're in a terrible situation, but people are still healing.
The moment is interrupted by the sound of breaking glass, and then of someone running down the hallway, screaming. The patient and the physical therapist look at Kurtzberg, alarmed. Get him back in bed. I'm going to find out what's going on. She dashes into the hallway, where she sees the woman who runs the hospital's daycare, cowering in the corner.
Kurtzberg approaches her. The woman looks up at her, eyes wide with terror. They're shooting. They're shooting at us. Who's shooting? I haven't heard any gunshots. I heard them shoot out the windows. It must be looters looking for drugs. Stay here. I'll go make sure everyone's okay. Kurtzberg checks each floor until she finds one where the windows have been smashed out. She approaches a nurse sitting in her station. Are you okay?
Has anyone been hurt? The nurse shrugs. We're fine. The windows up here don't open. We couldn't take the heat anymore, so we knocked them out. Kurtzberg's glad no one was hurt, but she's still alarmed by the daycare worker's conviction that the hospital was under attack. The nurse grins at her. Aren't you glad we're getting evacuated tomorrow? We are. How do you know? I heard President Bush is on Air Force One, flying here as we speak.
He's going to personally oversee our evacuation. For a second, Kurtzberg assumes the nurse is joking. But no, she clearly believes this latest ridiculous rumor. Kurtzberg spoke to the Code Grey team just a few hours ago. She knows there is still no update on when they'll be evacuated, and there's no way President Bush is going to evacuate them himself. She gives the nurse a weak smile and heads back down to her floor.
The stress is breaking people. She doesn't know how much longer the staff at Charity can hold up under these conditions, or how much longer she can. Jabbar Gibson pulls into the empty parking lot of the Astrodome. His arms are shaking from the effort of piloting the huge school bus for so long. But behind him, the people on the bus are whooping and clapping with joy. They made it over 350 miles.
Gibson leans back in the seat with a grin. He's proud of himself. Because of him, his siblings, friends, cousins, neighbors, they're all going to be safe.
It's Wednesday night, almost 12 hours after they left New Orleans. Gibson just wants some food, and then any kind of soft service will do. He bets he could probably sleep for an entire day. Then, he notices workers in Red Cross uniforms approaching the bus. Gibson opens up the doors, and a man with a clipboard steps aboard. "You're here from the Superdome?" "No, not exactly."
Okay, but you work for FEMA, correct? No, man, what are you talking about? The worker frowns. Hang on a second. He gets off the bus and confers with a group of other workers standing to the side. Gibson watches them through the window, but he can't hear what they're saying. As the workers continue to talk, the passengers on the bus grow restless. What's going on?
Hang on. I'm gonna go talk to him. Son, we're gonna need you to get back on that bus and drive away. You weren't the bus we were expecting. So what?
We're the bus that's here. I don't see any other buses. I'm really sorry, but we're only authorized to accept evacuees from the Superdome. Gibson shakes his head in disbelief. Look, man, the only reason we're not from the Superdome is because no one bothered to rescue us and take us to the Superdome. I'm sorry, but... I've got people on that bus who are old and sick. I've got babies, pregnant ladies, little kids. We spent 12 hours driving here, and we've got nowhere else to go.
You really about to tell them that we can't stay here just because we didn't come from the Superdome? I thought your job was to help folks. The Red Cross worker bites his lip. Hold on. He walks back to the group of other workers. Less than a minute later, he comes back to Gibson. It's okay. You can stay. Gibson lets out a small laugh and rushes back to the bus. He yells inside. Everybody out!
We're staying here. Let's go. The passengers cheer and start filing out. As they walk past Gibson, many of them stop to pat him on the shoulder or give him a quick hug. Thank you. Oh, thank you so much. Thank you. Bless your heart. God bless you.
Gibson watches them head into the Astrodome, relieved that the people in his care are safe at last. He just wishes his mom was one of them. He hopes she's okay back in New Orleans. Sally Foreman hurries into the reception area of the heliport across from the Superdome. She's there for a meeting between city officials and the various state and federal government agencies, including FEMA, the Coast Guard, and Louisiana Search and Rescue.
Foreman settles into her seat, but she's rattled. She and the mayor have just returned from a helicopter ride over the city. It's Thursday, September 1st, four days since the levees were breached, and the city is still unrecognizable. So many landmarks remain underwater. From the helicopter, Foreman saw many people on rooftops and fire escapes still awaiting rescue.
The pilot dropped provisions to help them survive, but the helicopter wasn't equipped to rescue anyone. Things remain desperate, and it feels like the people who are supposed to be helping are barely doing anything.
Before the meeting starts, a FEMA official announces that they're going to have a special guest: Lieutenant General Russell Honore, chair of President Bush's Joint Task Force on Katrina. He's due to arrive any moment and will be taking over the recovery operations.
Foreman raises an eyebrow. Just yesterday, Phil Parr from FEMA showed up with the same mandate, but nothing changed, so she's not getting her hopes up. The door opens and a tall man in his late 50s strides in. He's in full military fatigues, with a black beret perched on his head and a cigar clamped between his teeth. As soon as he opens his mouth to introduce himself, Foreman can tell he's a Louisiana native. Good day.
One by one, each person in the room begins to speak about the challenges they face. Much of the city's still underwater. Search and rescue personnel too exhausted to keep working.
Multiple resources, like Coast Guard helicopters, on standby but lacking authorization to deploy. And thousands still stranded at the Superdome and the Convention Center, with no power, no bathrooms, and extreme heat.
When everyone else has given their updates, Parr from FEMA pipes up. I just want to be clear that it's important that we follow all FEMA guidelines and regulations as we proceed forward. He begins to list a slew of technicalities, and Foreman feels herself growing enraged. This is an emergency, and he's telling them all the things they can't do. She wonders if FEMA's unofficial motto is to just say no.
Honoré leans forward, takes a cigar out of his mouth, and cuts Parr off. Excuse me, FEMA, but before you say another word, I think you need to produce a fucking success. Parr's mouth snaps shut. Foreman sits upright in her chair and has to restrain herself from cheering.
Without hesitation, Honoré begins barking orders. Coast Guard, get those birds up in the air. Wildlife and fisheries, get your guys on rotation so everyone's getting rest, but keep those boats in the water. Search and rescue operations must continue. Foreman looks over at Mayor Nagin and gives him a smile.
There's a new sheriff in town. And for the first time since the start of the crisis, Foreman feels like the people of New Orleans might finally get the help they need.
This is episode three of our four-part series, Hurricane Katrina. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this story, we recommend Breach of Faith, Hurricane Katrina, and the Near Death of a Great American City by Jed Horn.
The Great Deluge, Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, and the Mississippi Gulf Coast by Douglas Brinkley. Disaster, Hurricane Katrina and the Failure of Homeland Security by Christopher Cooper and Robert Block. And Eye of the Storm, Inside City Hall During Katrina by Sally Foreman.
I'm your host, Cassie DePeckel. Austin Rackless wrote this episode. Our editor is Alyssa Adams. Script consulting by Jed Horn. Additional story consulting by Petrina Peters. Voice acting by Ace Anderson and Cat Peoples. Sound design and Dolby Atmos mix by Outhouse Audio. Audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Coordinating producers are Christian Banas and Desi Blaylock.
Produced by Alita Rosansky, Olivia Richard, and Emily Frost. Managing producer is Matt Gant. Senior managing producer is Ryan Lohr. Senior producer is Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Stephanie Jens, and Marsha Louis. For Wondery...
Scammers are best known for living the high life until they're forced to trade it all in for handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit once they're finally caught. I'm Sachi Cole. And I'm Sarah Hagee. And we're the host of Scamfluencers, a weekly podcast from Wondery that takes you along the twists and turns of some of the most infamous scams of all time, the impact on victims, and what's left once the facade falls away.
We've covered stories like a Shark Tank certified entrepreneur who left the show with an investment but soon faced mounting bills, an active lawsuit filed by Larry King, and no real product to push. He then began to prey on vulnerable women instead, selling the idea of a future together while stealing from them behind their backs.
To the infamous scams of Real Housewives stars like Teresa Giudice, what should have proven to be a major downfall only seemed to solidify her place in the Real Housewives Hall of Fame. Follow Scamfluencers on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Scamfluencers early and ad-free right now on Wondery+.