Last Holdouts in Mid-City Get Help to Stay

Julius Celestain stood brazenly on the deserted sidewalk outside his little frame home in the heart of the city Wednesday, unbowed and unafraid.

“Last man standing!” he crowed, having defeated a hurricane and the law during the 18 days holed up in his living room.

A few feet away, the same military patrols that had been telling Celestain, 56, and other holdouts to evacuate were now inviting them to stay as long as they liked. They even offered food and water.

Change has come suddenly to Mid-City, a gritty neighborhood west of the French Quarter that spent nearly two weeks under 4 to 5 feet of water. Not only have the streets been baked dry in the fierce Louisiana sun, but water service is back, and the stubborn colony is feeling vindicated.

U.S. Army Humvees with roof-mounted loudspeakers patrolled debris-clogged streets, repeating a message promising assistance and security. After a week trying to persuade residents to leave, the soldiers and their loudspeakers now blared a welcome refrain:

“Citizens of New Orleans ... we understand that you may not wish to leave your homes, so we are coming to you,” members of the Army’s “technical loudspeaker team” cried out.

The message ended brightly: “Thank you, and have a nice day.”

Sgt. Christopher Burnette, part of the Ft. Bragg, N.C.-based active duty unit, said residents might well be confused by Wednesday’s new tactics, just a week after city officials threatened to evict all holdouts. They had cited threats from bacteria, unstable structures, disease and mosquitoes.

“We changed our message today,” Burnette said. “We’re trying to be more friendly. You’ll notice there aren’t any more infantry guys rolling down the street.”

The new message came a day after Mayor C. Ray Nagin said residents would be allowed to return to many downtown neighborhoods by Monday. He did not mention Mid-City, but some of the 11 holdouts encountered by the loudspeaker teams in Mid-City’s 6th and 7th wards Wednesday predicted that their neighbors would begin drifting back home within days.

Authorities seem to have concluded that with neighborhoods drying out quickly, it is futile to try to clear them of stubborn residents just as officials are preparing to open up areas to returning evacuees.

Sgt. Marshall Maset of the loudspeaker team said his soldiers were assessing neighborhood conditions and residents’ needs.

“We’re looking at transitioning from immediate recovery from the storm to people moving back home and starting to rebuild,” he said.

Several holdouts emerged from their shuttered homes Wednesday, blinking in the brilliant sunshine, no longer lying low to avoid detection by military or police patrols.

“People said I was a fool to stay, but look who’s still living in his own house instead of some trailer off in Texas,” said Al Morris, 66, chief of the “Bone Gang” Mardi Gras club.

The pace of life has quickened in Mid-City and other downtown areas that were underwater until just a few days ago. Although homes and streets in Mid-City are coated in grime, the stench of sewage and rotting garbage is fading. City crews have cleared some debris and righted downed utility poles.

Unlike huge swaths of New Orleans East or suburban parishes east and south of the city, the first-floor living areas of hundreds of Mid-City homes escaped serious water damage. Many houses here are built on raised cement foundations.

On Ursulines Avenue, George Eagerson peered down at a brown watermark left by 4-foot floodwaters that had come to within an inch of slopping over his raised cement stoop and into his living room.

Eagerson was reading and enjoying a soft afternoon breeze when the Army team stopped by his open front door to deliver fliers. One sheet offered tips on avoiding contaminated food and water. Another, from Gov. Kathleen Babineaux Blanco, listed emergency phone numbers.

“Each of you are in my constant prayers,” the governor’s message said. “May God bless and strengthen you.”

Eagerson noticed the symbols military search teams had spray-painted on his home. The marking -- “1A” -- indicated that a team had dropped by Sunday and confirmed that one resident inside was alive.

“Well,” Eagerson said, putting down his book. “How about that? I’ve been confirmed alive!”

The handful of holdouts said they survived on stockpiled canned food and bottled water. Several said they braved the storm because they wanted to protect their homes or because they feared being trapped in a faraway shelter.

“If I was going to be miserable, I’d rather be miserable right here at home,” Eagerson said.

Mid-City is two-thirds African American, with a mix of low-income and working-class residents and a growing number of young whites who have renovated older homes or opened bed-and-breakfasts.

Celestain, a spindly man in a clean white T-shirt, said he used his recently restored running water to wash his clothes. He said he had stockpiled enough eggs in a cool closet to cook a fried-egg-and-grits breakfast on his butane stove every morning.

He hoped to return soon to his job in an antique store in the French Quarter.

In the meantime, he said, “I can stay high and dry for a long time to come.”