BATON ROUGE -- A Virginia company that did not even exist was paid $5.2 million by the Federal Emergency Management Agency to set up a base camp for disaster relief workers, but most of the work was never done, authorities alleged.
On Monday, U.
S. District Judge James Brady froze the assets of Lighthouse Disaster Relief and owners Gary Lee Heldreth and Kerry Lynn Farmer after the Justice Department claimed the money was being spent on vehicles and checks were being cashed $10,000 at a time.
Lighthouse was one of two companies that bid on the contract to provide food and shelter for 1,000 emergency workers in St.
Bernard Parish days after Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast Aug. 29.
Although the company had no experience in base camp construction and operation, it promised federal authorities it could deliver one in two days, according to papers.
According to the lawsuit, the facility wasn't ready for any residents until Oct. 2 and never was able to support more than 400 people.
Investigators found that Lighthouse Disaster Relief was not even incorporated until October 2005 a month after it won the FEMA contract, according to the court filing.
I say "a version" of the story because I tweaked it slightly for a post-K world and wanted to include post-K photos of the intersections mentioned in the story.
You can read the original version I wrote in 2001 by following the link above and the post-K version here:
Where I've Been
You weren’t sure. You had reservations. You said you’d been hurt before.
You said this felt familiar. You said I worried you. You don’t know where I’ve been.
That’s what you said. I asked if you wanted me to draw you a map. I thought I was joking.
Now it doesn’t seem like such bad idea. Maybe now you can go back into the city when it’s opened and find out whatever it is you think you need to know.
It’s as if nothing happened here.
It always looks shitty in the daylight: run-down, deserted, like every bar looks when the jukebox has been turned off. It’s so quiet in the daytime you can hear animals rustling underneath the wooden deck of that bar on the corner with the green awning, the only signs of life on the whole block. I guess it’s the only time the animals have to gather food before clunking heels and smoky cackles scare them back under the earth.
I met one of those smoky-voiced girls with the clunky heels there one night, in the bar with the wooden deck. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, neither of which fit her too well, probably on purpose. We were in the same class, I think, wound up standing next to each other to get a drink, started talking.
It was two for one night. I remember this because she couldn’t stop talking about how awesome a deal it was. I agreed with her and she put her mouth on my neck.
I didn’t know what to say. I paid for both our drinks and ran my fingers through her hair.
In class the next day she barely even glanced at me.
I assumed she was embarrassed. I can’t say it’s not still painful.
It gets hot and quiet in the Riverbend.
Not many cars come by, and if you sit on the porch long enough, you’re sure to see the Fishing Man carrying three or four poles and a tall plastic paint bucket. Sometimes he wears a cowboy hat over his greasy, stringy hair. No one speaks to him.
They just go inside when he comes by. He doesn’t seem to notice. One night toward the end of the summer his house caught on fire.
I didn’t even know he had a home, or that it was just four houses down from mine.
My house is the lavender one, the shotgun with overgrown grass and empty cigarette boxes in front. There used to be two hooks sticking out of the porch ceiling.
They held a swing. I always wanted to sit in it with someone on one of those rainy summer afternoons. I never got a chance to.
The left hook came out two days after I moved in and the landlord never came by to fix it.
I parked here for Mardi Gras one year, in front of that house. You’ll see which one I’m talking about when you get there, if it hasn’t been torn down, which wouldn’t surprise me.
I saw a thousand stories in that house, stories most people will never know, stories those who know will never forget, no matter how much they want to. I wanted to go inside, but she slammed her door and I saw things moving from bad to worse, so we walked to St. Charles.
I never went back to the house.
Remember these stories I’m telling you, whether you stay to hear more or not. Stories from the past are all you can know me by.
At least that’s what you seem to think.
I spent an afternoon watching birds play in a small fountain here. It’s made out of wrought iron and the water drops down three tiers of smaller fountains before it falls into the last large pool, a green, slimy cesspool no one dares even throw their pennies into.
I guess no one expects any wishes to come true in that fountain. I got my scar at that fountain.
I was watching this one small sparrow standing on the ledge of the top tier, taking a bath.
It would dip its head in, take a drink, then tilt its head back like it was gargling. That was when it slipped off the edge. It must have been slick from all the water.
It was so little and splashing around so fast, momentum just took hold of it.
It hit the tier beneath it and fell into the cesspool. The water there was almost two feet deep, and its little feathers couldn’t flap out of the water.
It just bobbed up and down like a cork and made a small, shrill sound you could hardly hear above the splashing water.
I walked up and reached into the cesspool to pull it out of the water. It bit me, tore the webbing between my thumb and forefinger.
I didn’t pull away immediately. I still tried to help the bird and tightened my grip around its small breast. The water around us grew darker, and the bird kept biting at me, piercing my hand with its small beak.
My nose smarted and ran along with my eyes, and I clutched my hand close to my chest and watched the bird quietly slip beneath the surface.
I don’t think I’ve ever stopped and looked at the building until now. I’ve always been moving in or out.
I remember what all the hourly-rate motels and video peep shows look like along the way, even though I’ve never been inside, but for some reason an image of this building escapes me. It just looks like a big cave, a hole that swallows you so completely you forget there’s an outside. Someone told me that after Hurricane Betsy hit here they had to prop the building up with two-by-fours.
They just kept serving drinks. I don’t think they were that lucky this time around.
I used to sit on the rotting couch outside, the moldy one in front of the parking lot.
It was inside at the time, across from the pool table, but it didn’t look much different. For awhile I sat on it with someone different every night. A short stretch, one month, maybe two.
I was single for the first time in awhile and thought I was making up for lost time. At the time I thought I was the happiest I’d ever been because everything was exciting and new and I thought I was, too. Then one night I looked around at the people clacking drinks, holding hands, making eyes, going home, ignoring the grisly sadness of it all.
And then I saw my face in the mirror behind the bar and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. We all looked the same, equal in desperation. Except I was the only one who cried about it.
The guys shooting pool pretended not to notice, but I could tell it broke up their good spirits. One of them was so distracted he shot the ball off the table and it landed in between my feet. He froze when he saw where it landed, and then he looked over to his friend, hoping he might have an answer.
The friend just shrugged and picked up the chalk, examining the table for his next shot. The guy carefully crept toward me, hoping that he might not be noticed, and took the cue ball from between my feet. On his way down, he whispered “It’s going to be all right, man.
”
People would walk slower when they passed me on their way to the bathroom, rubbernecking like I was some grisly highway accident. I kept pushing my body against the corner of the couch, hoping it would give way and swallow me whole.
So I guess now you understand why I put up such a fight the night you wanted to go out there with your friends.
I’m sure you’ll think it’s because I don’t want you to run into all the old flames and one-nighters that might be waiting for me there, but that’s not it. They probably wouldn’t even recognize me. I don’t think I made much of an impression.
So now you’ve come to the end, the last stop. You might recognize the cross-streets but probably little else. This isn’t where I’ve been.
This is where I want to stay. No matter how hard, how weird, dirty or disgusting it is to rebuild it and all that it means. It’s worth it.
Right now, it’s all that matters.
I can understand if, after reading this, after you come back, you want to make what we’ve had part of this map, part of history, and that’s something I’m willing to accept. If that happens, I’ll let you see how you’ll appear on the map should someone else ever want to know where I’ve been:
Sun shining through her hair as the wind whipped it across her face.
I quickly adjusted my focus and snapped another picture. She smiled and tucked in her head and shoulders, shy and silly. She brushed the grass off the back of her shirt as she stood and folded her arms.
I asked her to look at me and smile, and she did. I slowly moved the camera in front of my eye and looked through the viewfinder. Her expression didn’t change.
I realized that she wasn’t smiling for the camera. She was smiling for me. I kept the camera in front of my face and acted like I was adjusting all sorts of things just so I could see her look at me like that for a few moments longer.
I snapped the shutter open and closed and it was over. And all I wanted was more. Of all the places I’ve been, this is the one I’d most like to return to.
Press, Dems Involved in Hunting Accident The real serious hunting accident this week is the one that Dems and the press corps have gotten into "hunting" for a larger story in VP Cheney's hunting accident. In the 15 minutes I watched The Situation Room, 11 of it was devoted to the Cheney accident, 3 were devoted to the new House report criticizing the failures of government during Hurricane Katrina, and 1 was devoted to Sec.
of State Rice's appearance before a Senate committee to discuss Iraq. Am I the only one who thinks today must be Opposite Day?
Cheney's accident is extremely unfortunate, but, as best as one can tell at this time, it was an accident and there is no greater story to be had.
How it is indicative of his performance as VP in any relevant way is completely lost on me. Why isn't the press asking what he's doing on a hunting trip in the first place? If you ask me, the President and VP shouldn't get to take a vacation at all in the 4-8 years they serve the country, but that's another matter.
that the reason the press is riding this story is because they feel slighted because they weren't the first people told about the accident. Hell hath no fury like a reporter denied access. The big mistake Cheney has made is by pouring salt on this wound.
When he finally does decide to give a statement, where does he go? Straight to Brit Hume at Fox News, who immediately buckled on his kneepads, chugged some Chloraseptic and proudly dislocated his jaw for Dick. It may have felt good, but it certainly didn't look good.
Dems are struggling to figure out how to turn this in their favor. The problem is there really isn't an issue to ride here other than "Cheney is a man-killing cyborg", which doesn't really generate much traction apart from the people who already believe that. The Dems seem to be like the Keystone Fire Dept.
: they sit around and wait for something to happen and then rush out there without any hoses or protective gear. In a frenzy, they decide to throw more gasoline on the fire in the hopes it'll burn itself out. Only that never works.
While this all may make for good punchlines for Leno and Letterman, this is not the kind of bullshit that will alter the course of the country politically, and the Democrats, if they do indeed have any concept of what is good for them, would be wise to lay off of it and spend more of their time coming up with real alternatives to the status quo.
I know everyone loves a scandal involving some kind of deadly accident, but this is not even in the same car as Chappaquiddick (not even the same bridge or the same road). I'm sure Dems are praying that this guy dies or something bigger comes of it, but there's a lot of other people who die every day because of things Cheney has supported.
I know everyone anti-Cheney wants this to amount to so much more, but clapping your hands if you believe in fairies doesn't make it so.
But stay tuned to Wolf Blitzer, who assures us that they will keep updating us on this important story.
Here's the response I received from Sen. Diane Feinstein:
Thank you for writing to share your ideas about how the Federal government should rebuild the Gulf Region after Hurricane Katrina. I appreciate hearing from you and welcome the opportunity to respond.
I share your interest in rebuilding the Gulf Region using the most effective and efficient means possible. I believe that our efforts should first address the humanitarian needs of the victims of this horrific disaster; second, rebuild and strengthen the infrastructure in affected areas; and third, assist affected businesses in repairing damaged buildings and restoring their day-to-day operations. I also believe that Congress must work to ensure the proper oversight of funding for the rebuilding effort so that the needs of the victims of this horrific disaster are met.I am interested in many of the ideas put forth by colleagues in the Senate and others and will continue to monitor this situation closely.
Again, thank you for your letter. Please know that I will keep your ideas in mind when legislation related to this issue comes to the Senate floor.If you have any further questions or comments, please do not hesitate to contact my Washington, D.C. staff at (202) 224-3841.
Best regards.
Sincerely yours,
Dianne Feinstein
United States
Senator
Her three-step plan for recovery makes New Orleans' actions seem downright miraculous. Can you believe they're able to deliver humanitarian need, rebuild infrastructure and help restore day-to-day operations all at the same time?
This must be a supercity, or Feinstein must be a complete fucking moron.
Unless we differ on the definition of "humanitarian", I think that stage of aid has been over for a few months in most cases. To me, "humanitarian" means dropping food from the sky with pro-American leaflets enclosed.
Anything else is just aid.
And, of course, she'll be sure to get interested when legistlation comes to the Senate floor. She will not help get it there.
Oh no. That would be too much work.
I thought was lacking.
Boy was I wrong. But seriously, Sen. Feinstein, your letter is wonderful .
.. FOR ME TO POOP ON!
Two days after she is romanced by Stephen Colbert, Sen. Barbara Boxer responds to a letter I wrote her last week urging her to do more about helping the Gulf Coast after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, including my asking her to resurrect Rep.
Baker's homeowner bailout proposal. Of the three legistlators I wrote to (Boxer, Feinstein and Rep. Adam Schiff), Boxer is the first to respond.
Dear Friend:
Thank you for contacting me regarding the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina.
Like most Americans, I am extremely upset about the Bush Administration's appallingly inept response to assist the victims of this disaster. The people who have suffered so much in the wake of Hurricane Katrina now need to know that their government will help them rebuild their lives, homes, and communities.
That is why I am proud to be a co-sponsor of the Katrina Emergency Relief Act, which would provide medical coverage, housing, educational aid, and financial assistance for survivors. I am also co-sponsoring S.1647, the Hurricane Katrina Bankruptcy Relief and Community Protection Act of 2005, which would exempt victims of the hurricane from many of the harmful provisions of the new bankruptcy law.In addition, I supported two laws (P.L.109-73 and P.
L.109-135) that are providing much-needed tax relief to individuals and businesses in the areas affected by the hurricane.
At the same time, I am redoubling my efforts to ensure disaster preparedness in California .After learning that FEMA does not have a specific disaster recovery plan for a major California earthquake, I called on the agency to develop an adequate plan. I am also working to expand Army Corps of Engineers flood protection projects in California and to provide emergency funding for interoperable communications so that our emergency workers can communicate with each other.
It is essential that the federal government continue to provide support for the people and places affected by Hurricane Katrina and improve its preparedness for any future disasters.
Thank you again for writing to me about this very important issue. Rest assured, I will keep working to get help for those who need it most and get the federal government moving in the right direction again.
Barbara Boxer
United States Senator
Ray Lamontagne's mailing list claims he is hard at work recording a new album due out sometime this year.
Changing the World, One Factual Error at a Time
.
.. and he gets his name above the title, like all the bigshots.
There's a great interview inside and some funny stuff.
