Mississippi Sees Outpouring of Generosity

In the six days since Hurricane Katrina, Inge Trest has come to appreciate the kindness of strangers.

“An event like this brings out the worst in people. It also brings out the best in people,” said Trest, the wife of the pastor of Bible Fellowship Church, just outside this historic coastal town.

The worst was evident in the harrowing days right after the storm, when looters ransacked stores in several communities along the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The best has been evident since.

In an outpouring of generosity that has touched survivors, Americans from every corner of the country have gathered much-needed supplies and personally delivered them to communities where virtually every vestige of civilized life was swept away by Katrina.

Members of an evangelical church from Orange Beach, Ala., were grilling burgers Saturday in the parking lot of a destroyed shopping mall in Waveland.

Men of Integrity, a church group from Savannah, Ga., huddled in prayer at a gas station near Pascagoula before fanning out to see how they could help.

Members of Helmar Lutheran Church of Newark, Ill., arrived Saturday in Bay St. Louis with diapers, baby formula, bottled water and groceries.

Help also came from those with very little left to give.

Chris Moretz, a 36-year-old writer, swam out of his house after Katrina flooded it to the roofline. He paddled in the churning waters for nearly an hour before he found a boat he could rest on.

His house, two blocks from the beach in Waveland, was destroyed, and Moretz has been staying with a friend. He has kept busy delivering water and ice to those he considers less fortunate.

All along the coast, survivors have similar stories to share.

Mary Kergosien Ladner, 47, a first-grade teacher, said the ground floor of her house was buried under 2 1/2 feet of mud. But the three bedrooms on the second floor are OK. So a couple she rescued from a tree had moved in.

“I said: ‘Come spend the night,’ ” Ladner said. “And one night led to the next.”

Fears of looting continue. Some families are reluctant to walk outside at night; they warily watch any stranger who enters their community.

In food lines, survivors swap horror stories. Waiting for a breakfast of ham and peas Saturday at a Salvation Army center in Long Beach, Debbie Williams said an armed man had awakened her a few nights earlier as she slept with her daughter on their porch.

She begged him to rob the house next door, she said. She told him she wouldn’t tell police. His gun pointed at her forehead, he crept away.

Though scavenging for food and water have become routine, many stories of hope also circulate in the seemingly endless lines under the relentless sun.

“If you have food, you go out to a neighbor and offer [him] some,” said Marjorie Bond, 55, a neurosurgery technician waiting with a crowd of 200 for a free breakfast. “People will show up with bags of ice and share them with each other. The only way we’re going to be able to do this is if we all pull together.”

Times staff writer Stephanie Simon in Denver contributed to this report.