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Digging In Amid the Ruins of a City

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Times Staff Writer

John Kane was manning the grill Sunday at the corner of Poeyfarre and Annunciation streets downtown, a spatula in one hand and a cup of Southern Comfort in the other. He wore a Panama hat, sunglasses and a yellow Hawaiian shirt.

Kane and his partner, Eric Lowe, were grilling the last of the Creole burgers from the freezer of a friend’s restaurant across the street. Despite Hurricane Katrina, the couple remained in their 1867 Victorian home, defiantly living the good life -- or at least an approximation of it.

Less than two miles away, along flooded Ursulines Avenue in the 6th Ward, Jim Jones was wading hip-deep in foul floodwaters, towing his wife and toddler son in a fishing boat. Jones, too, was determined to stay in his home, a wood-frame structure that remained fairly dry. But he was out foraging for his food.

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Kane and Lowe are white professionals who live in a gentrified neighborhood. Jones is an African American of modest means who lives in a poor Mid-City district.

As New Orleans prepares to evacuate residents who have clung to their homes despite terrible privations -- a step officials say must be taken before recovery can begin -- an unknown number of people seem inclined to dig in.

The city’s ability to deal equitably and consistently with its racial and socioeconomic strata may be an early indicator of how successful its rebuilding efforts will be.

Those still in their homes are aware that the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers says it could take 80 days to pump water out of the city. But they say they are more comfortable at home, have no other place to go and want to protect their property.

New Orleans Mayor C. Ray Nagin has said that legal advisors assured him the city had the right to forcibly evict residents in the wake of such an epic natural disaster. So police began knocking on doors Sunday, explaining to people that they had to leave, Nagin said.

“I ain’t leaving -- where am I supposed to go?” Jones, 31, a construction laborer, said as he towed his boat beneath a highway overpass, sweat drenching his white T-shirt and the dank water staining his pants. His wife, Betty, bent low in the boat, using her body to shield 2-year-old Walter from the fierce afternoon sun.

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“I got a family,” Jones said. “We’re a lot better off at home.”

Kane, 47, an insurance broker, said he would resist any attempt to force him out. He grew up in the house, he said, and his family has lived there for four generations.

“If they tried to force me out, I’d tell them we’re cleaning debris. We’re stabilizing the neighborhood, protecting it,” he said.

Lowe cut him off. “We’d tell them we’re part of the solution, not the problem,” he said.

But Nagin said everyone would be required to leave, regardless of the condition of their neighborhood. In addition to downed power lines and weakened buildings, he said, there are gas leaks, fires that can’t be adequately controlled and a possible mosquito infestation.

“They need to leave,” Nagin said. “It’s not safe. It’s not healthy. They’ll come back, but they have to leave.”

Police have encountered those who say they will refuse to leave, Nagin said. “It’s the spirit of New Orleans: ‘I don’t want to leave this city. I don’t want to give up on it.’ I understand that.

“But once we explain the danger, they are cooperating.”

Nagin said officials will use a global-positioning system to ensure that each of the city’s 188,000 households is checked. The city has not said when officials would begin the removals, or who will enforce them.

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In Mid-City, where Jones and small groups of other residents remained in their flood-damaged homes Sunday, boat rescue teams continued to evacuate people trapped on elevated sections of Interstate 10 who were desperate to leave.

The boats took the evacuees to the Elysian Fields exit ramp, where they boarded helicopters bound for Louis Armstrong International Airport. From there, they were triaged to determine who would be taken for medical care and who would be put on buses bound for Texas.

Jenny Michel, 14, a smooth-faced girl with a brilliant smile, said she had hoped to continue living in her house in the 9th Ward, where she and her grandmother had survived on stockpiled food and water. But her grandmother, Iranise Morris, 61, fell ill.

“My grandmoms, she’s my heart, so I had to take her to get treatment,” Jenny said before boarding the helicopter. “Otherwise, I would rather stay home than get taken somewhere -- somewhere where I don’t even know where we’re going.”

In the dark waters below the overpass, Brian Johnson, 32, wanted nothing to do with the evacuation. He said he was perfectly content in his house on Ursulines Avenue, which he said had suffered only slight water damage. He has survived on stockpiled bread, pretzels, canned meats and water.

Johnson, who said he cleans a taproom for a living, was wading back home, a bottle of beer in each hand. He said a neighbor had given him the beer after he delivered plastic bags for storing clothing.

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“We got six people living in my house, and they’re all doing fine,” Johnson said. “They can try to kick us out, but we got nowhere we’d rather be.”

To the east, where police and National Guard soldiers patrolled largely deserted downtown streets, the French Quarter and the lower Garden District seemed tranquil. Both the Superdome and convention center nearby were empty after having served as refuges for tens of thousands of evacuees who left behind mountains of garbage, litter and debris. A handmade sign nearby read: “U LOOT, I SHOOT.”

In the French Quarter, Dave Richardson gulped a beer as he guided his mule, Satchmo, who was pulling a red-and-white tourist carriage down Decatur Street. Aboard were five French Quarter residents.

The little group constituted the entire annual “Southern Decadence” parade, a Labor Day tradition normally attended by a fleet of carriages. They said they wanted to show that they were flourishing despite conditions.

“The city would be foolish to kick us out. That would only turn us into a liability,” said Richardson, 56, the owner of a carriage company. He wore dirty shorts, old sneakers and a pith helmet.

One of the passengers, Jeannette Roy, said she and other residents have survived on stockpiled food. They still have city gas service, she said, and are able to cook communal meals.

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“They can’t kick me out,” Roy said. “This is my home. I can take care of myself. I don’t need anybody to subsidize me.”

On the seat in front of Roy, two male passengers guzzling beer hollered for Richardson to get the carriage rolling again. Richardson jiggled the reins, Satchmo stirred, and the painted carriage careened down Decatur Street, bound for home.

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Times staff writer Scott Gold contributed to this report.

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