Recalling the storm's fury, journalism student inspired by Katrina reporters
By Porsha Jackson
After Katrina Newswire
Sunday, Aug. 28.
HATTIESBURG — The memories are deeply etched in my mind. I can clearly remember the empty shelves at Wal-Mart. I remember getting cans of green beans and carrots, definitely not my favorite foods, but at the time there was nothing else left.
I remember standing in line for nearly 30 minutes just to pay for $15 worth of can goods, batteries and water. I even remember the color of the sky as I rode in the back seat of my friend's car while she headed to fill her tank with gas. It was the most beautiful color of vibrant blue with specks of angelic white clouds. I remember asking my friend what the next few days of my life would be like. She had seen many storms like the approaching one, so it was nothing new to her. I, on the other hand, had no idea what was to come the next morning.
An hour and a half away, Josh Norman and Mike Keller were both experiencing the same gnawing uncertainty. Norman, a 27-year-old reporter for the Biloxi Sun Herald, remembers putting his most valuable possessions in his car because he didn't think his apartment would make it though the hurricane.
That Sunday he went to work but soon found that there was little to do. Few people were in the office; many were scrambling around the Coast to prepare for the storm. His original plans were to drive east with a few coworkers in order to dodge potential disaster; however, when he got word that more people were staying behind, he changed his mind. He decided to stay with a few co-workers, among whom was Mike Keller.
Keller, 29, recalls his thoughts that day. "I was concerned with the safety of my car," he said. "I kept making sure that the decision to stay was the right decision. I kept checking the internet."
He remembers going to the beach and seeing outer bands of gray. The same gray in the sky, Katrina's approaching bands, would later spawn misery for millions along the Gulf Coast.
Keller said that later in the day "white misting rains began to come down as the band of gray moved toward the shore. It got a little breezy and a little darker." That night he had nothing to do, so he picked up a police scanner to see what people were doing on the roads. After a while he started to doze off with the scanner by his head. The last things he heard before he went to sleep were the sound of first responders, the winds picking up, long bits of silence and then an immediate sign off.
Monday, Aug. 29.
In Hattiesburg, I woke up to rain tapping at my window and the wind howling a soft melody. I immediately turned on the television to catch a glimpse of the weather channel, but to my surprise cable had already gone out. Fortunately, we still had electricity and running water. I bathed quickly but was interrupted by my resident assistant, who was banging on my door and telling me to get into the hallway because things were starting to look pretty bad. That's when I got scared. I rushed into the hall with my hurricane kit - a bag loaded with food, a flashlight, bottles of water and a first aid kit. I didn't know what to expect so I prepared for the worst. I was not alone.
In Gulfport, Norman recalls waking up at 8:30 to watch the news.
"It was shocking to watch the news and see the roof of the building being ripped off by such powerful winds and the broadcast being cut off," Norman said. But he was able to get phone calls and check the internet until 10 a.m. He spent the day trying not to panic but said it was hard because he could feel pressure on the building.
"Everyone knew this storm was going to be horrible," he said. "Even people who tried to pretend that it wasn't, really knew it was. Everyone was scared to death."
Norman recalls seeing the unmistakable fear in his colleagues' eyes and wondering if they would make it out alive. At 2 p.m. the Sun Herald freelance photographer went out and took pictures of what was going on.
"When he returned he said to us, 'Guys the town is gone,'" Norman said.
Right there by Norman's side was Keller, who recalled his feeling of nervous energy.
"I couldn't help but realize what was going on," he said. "I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach because I didn't know what to expect."
Back in Hattiesburg I was lying on the hallway floor of my dorm, trying to ignore the sound of tree branches hitting my window. My friends and I tried to play games or read, but nothing could calm my nerves. I decided to call my family in California but realized that I had no service on my cell phone. Shortly after the power went out, the roaring sound of the generator kicked in. It was then that I realized how important air conditioning was on a hot summer day in the south. I knew that this was only the beginning.
The days following the storm were filled with mixed emotions. I don't know what was worse: the storm itself or the aftermath. There was no food, no water, no electricity and no security from thieves in the night. We ate processed chicken patties and eggs for breakfast, took showers with bottles of water. It was a struggle to choose between using the water to bathe versus using it to drink. We traveled during the day because by night it was pitch-black. I thought this was bad but little did I know that the Sun Herald reporters had a lot more weight on their shoulders.
Back in Gulfport, Norman and Keller realized that their feelings had to be set aside in order to do what they were paid to do: report the news. Shortly after the storm they went out to see how their cars were. Norman recalls seeing looters and getting yelled at by the police for being out in the streets although he was given permission by authorities. On Wednesday the company that owns the Sun Herald rented cars, but it was difficult to travel on the coast.
"It took me one hour and forty-five minutes to get to Long Beach, a city that's fifteen minutes away," Norman said.
Keller, on the other hand, remembers the days after the storm being hot, dry and adrenaline-filled. During this time he worked almost constantly and had to find time to sleep in between.
"My memory of the days shortly after the storm is very cloudy," he said "I do remember running around like crazy trying to get the stories reported."
His brain immediately went into work mode and put the fear of the circumstances behind. He had to get the stories.
While I struggled for a way to get out of Hattiesburg, Norman and Keller struggled for a way to report the news. Every day they walked or drove to various locations to conduct interviews and find out information. It took them back to the early days of journalism, before cell phones, fax machines and email, when reporters chased stories in person. They realized the passion they had for news and for journalism. They knew that people needed the news, so they got it for them. They drove endless hours to Georgia to get the paper printed because printing systems on the coast were down. They spent hours traveling and reporting in the hot, humid disaster area.
As they reported they also posted messages on their blog. The blog started as merely a way to pass time before the storm, but turned into a national site where hundreds of people logged on to see the latest news. Norman recalls seeing 400 messages from people asking questions from "Are you guys ok?" to "Please help me find my mother." The men had no idea that their blog would turn into such a conduit for vital information.
In the meantime, while Norman and Keller were helping America get the news, I was still trying to get out of the disaster zone. By day four I was on my way to Pensacola, Fla., to a friend's house, to a home-cooked meal, a hot shower, electricity and service on my phone. By day seven I was in Memphis with some of my family members, watching the devastation that Katrina caused to the Gulf Coast. I had left the area with no idea of how bad the damage really was.
I felt sympathy for those who had to report the news and wondered why any reporter would want to stay on the Coast after all that had happened. But six months later I got to meet Keller and Norman, and they opened my eyes to what reporting is all about. They made me think hard about my future as a journalism student, and their bravery awakened in me an abiding love for the practice of journalism. I am deeply grateful to them.
Porsha Jackson is a senior journalism major at the University of Southern Mississippi. The After Katrina Newswire is a project of the School of Mass Communication and Journalism at USM (www.usm.edu/afterkatrina). This story can be reprinted with this credit included.
http://www.usm.edu/afterkatrina/Jackson.html
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