Hurricane blends church and state as Mt. Pleasant becomes "incredible"
A student of scripture, Jeff Croley's belief is that God's a lot more interested in a man's heart than his theology, which is about the best explanation for a Methodist pastor's regular attendance at Catholic Mass. The church is the church. The Bible tells him so.
Church and State are no longer separated here. Denominational lines aren't blurred - they're simply of no consequence, at least in this moment.
This is an incomplete account of the resources of local government, local business and local churches poured into a community stew. From Jeff Croley's perspective, it all started in the Best Western Motel parking lot on a Tuesday afternoon, the day the people of Louisiana realized they won't be going home for a long time.
From the perspective of at least one family of Hurricane Evacuees, "Mt. Pleasant is the most incredible town on earth," David Delacroix said.
The Saturday before Katrina blew into the gulf coast, he was working in his brother's shop, but keeping an eye on the news. At mid afternoon he decided it was time to gather the family and leave. Sunday morning they hit the road, calling ahead as they drove, hunting a place to hunker down, expecting to be gone a couple of days.
As far north as Shreveport, everything was full. They crossed into Texas. Taking a chance turn north at Marshall, they followed the map into Mt. Pleasant.
David and June are mom and dad. David Junior and Anne are the children. Rose Candebat is June's mom.
Monday morning they woke up to newscasts of the hurricane blowing ashore.
Tuesday morning they woke up to newscasts of the flood. They live in Metarie, just north of New Orleans, one of the first places to go under.
Rose wanted out of the motel, away from the news. She wanted to go to Mass. David found the church address. Jeff Croley came in and sat by Rose.
Here's a choice you can make as you read this story. It was a chance meeting and it's only natural for someone in distress to have a need to talk, to pour out their story.
Or, it was a moment structured by Providence. That's how Rose sees it.
"As far as she's concerned, there was something going on from the moment Jeff sat down beside her," David said.
After Mass, she told Jeff her story. She introduced her son in law. They prayed. They left.
Jeff decided to do something pastoral.
"I decided I'd take them donuts," he said.
He hadn't been watching the news. His first inkling of the extent of the devastation was the story Rose told him. He stood in the motel parking lot thinking about that. He started counting Louisiana licence tags. Instead of delivering donuts, he called the room.
"How many people in the motel do you think are here from Louisiana?" he asked David.
"Jeff . . . everybody," David said.
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Jeff changed his mind about the donuts. He called Kay Bryant, a member of his Greenhill Methodist congregation.
"How much have we got in the community fund?"
"I dunno, why?"
"Can I have two hundred dollars?"
"Sure."
"Good. I want 200 hamburgers, ice, coolers, drinks, trimmings -- and a barbecue pit. A big one. Bring everything to the Best Western parking lot."
That call lit up the church grapevine. The world seemed to tilt a bit out of control.
In their rooms, the evacuees sat glued to newscasts, watching destruction.
"It just kept getting worse," said David Delacroix. "Surreal. Helpless. Despair. Loss."
Jeff watched from the parking lot, which by then was a growing ant hill of activity, covered with Greenhill Methodists setting up a cookout.
"People were pulling back curtains, watching us, but nobody was coming out," Jeff said. "I started thinking how stupid I was going to look if nobody came. And I thought, 'so what?'" So he got church people to start calling other motels, to pass the word.
. . . As far back as the 1930's, the Tarver family has been in the tractor business in Folsom, Louisiana. These days, they import equipment. Conroy Tractor in Mt. Pleasant is a long-standing customer.
The day after the storm, Alan Tarver drove into Mississippi to find a working phone. He called Johnny Conroy with a first hand report - no power, no water, no food. People being buried where they were found.
"We need everything," he said. "And Johnny - there's no bank up and running. We need money."
Like Jeff on the parking lot fearing he'd wind up a fool, Johnny had a queasy moment - money? He put it aside and began working his network. He tapped car dealers, banks and churches. Pittsburg Tractor sold him a dozen chain saws and six 10,000-watt generators at cost. His employees chipped in cash and went to work building sideboards on an open trailer. They spent $5,000 on groceries. Welch Butane sent filled butane bottles. Trailer dealers sent dump trailers, trucks and drivers. Home Depot and Momentum Motor Sports provided more generators at cost. He collected $5,000 in cash, attached a bill for $55,000 for equipment and groceries. At two the next morning, the convoy pulled out.
. . .
Wondering how his cookout was going to turn out, Jeff called Mike Schutt, a buddy from a cross-denominational Friday morning Bible study. Mike Schutt called Judy Lee, the community outreach liaison from his church, a woman capable of drumming up and organizing manpower for anything.
About five that afternoon, the evacuees began coming out.
"Shell shock," Jeff said. "No emotion, no expression . . . just kind of there." For a moment he felt like he was standing on a field between opposing teams - Greenhill Methodists vs Evacuees, Round One! The burgers were cooking, but nobody was moving.
Then everything was happening at once. Judy, Mike Schutt and Trinity Baptist Pastor Mike Kessler were there.
In the days the followed, First Baptist, Northridge Church of Christ, the local Chamber, Trinity and a list of local banks were all organizing relief efforts. By the end of the week, it became evident that efforts were overlapping, duplicating services.
. . .
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A week later, the chamber office became Mission Control with Judy as the community coordinator. That's pulling together meals, housing and counseling services. Medical services, pharmacy services, jobs and government services from unemployment benefits to social security and FEMA.
New issues are coming up. For one thing, local funds are gone. The Ministerial Alliance treasury is wiped out; so are the indigent funds overseen at city hall.
"It's something we're going to have to address," Judy said on Friday.
. . .
Saturday morning the phone rang at the Journal office.
"Listen to this," Johnny Conroy said, already chuckling. "We sent a second load of stuff to my buddy down in Louisiana. They'd distributed the first load and doled out the money, but Alan must have found his banker because he sent back $5,000. He wants it to go to whatever local charity we've got that needs it."
. . .
David Delacroix is a sales rep who works across state lines. A week after the storm, he and his son drove seven hours back home. They returned the following day. The son's house is gone. So is the daughter's. His own home is waist deep in water. A quick check of housing in nearby towns wasn't promising. But he's got his feet back under him. He's got things in perspective.
"We're lucky," he said. "I've still got work and so many others don't. We're together. We'll manage. We'll be okay."