Storming Capitol Hill to Help Louisiana

The chartered jet that lifted off at dawn recently from New Orleans carried 131 Louisiana women -- homemakers, professionals, full-time volunteers and local celebrities, dressed for political combat in pastel power suits, smart skirt outfits and discreet jewelry.

As they sipped coffee and munched scones, their conversations ranged from their kids’ progress at school to next month’s reopening of a downtown landmark, Saks Fifth Avenue.

But the chatter came to a stop when Anne Milling, a striking, slender woman in her 60s, strode to the front of the plane. Brimming with confidence and charm, she outlined the game plan. At stake was nothing less than the future of their Gulf Coast home, battered a year ago by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.

“Be positive, be tenacious, be your upbeat self,” Milling urged her compatriots. “This is how you’re going to sell Louisiana.”

The Women of the Storm, as this ad hoc group calls itself, were about to land in Washington and embark on a one-day mission in the nation’s halls of power. The goal: to persuade members of Congress to help save the state’s fast-disappearing coastline.

The powerful folks in Washington ignore this eclectic group at their peril. The Women are quickly becoming a recognized power among the activist groups that have sprouted from the rubble of Katrina, many fueled by frustration with the slow pace of government assistance.

Their first objective has been to bring Washington to New Orleans. The group’s premise is simple: When lawmakers see how devastated the Gulf Coast looks, they will be roused to help. So far, the group has helped convince 55 of the nation’s 100 senators and at least 106 of its 435 representatives to visit Louisiana.

But the Women of the Storm also have accomplished something just as rare: offering this city, historically fraught with ethnic division, a shining example of cross-cultural unity. Among these women are whites, blacks, Latinas and Asians. They are executives, civil servants and stay-at-home moms, all pulling together for the future of their city.

Before landing to tackle their September agenda, the group’s leaders prepped the fledgling lobbyists.

“Don’t hesitate to be dramatic,” advised Pam Bryan, a member of the group’s executive committee. “What we’re asking for is $15 billion. When you think about it, that’s not a lot of money. Don’t be afraid to ask for that. Please pass on the sense of urgency ... that we need this money now!”

Information sheets rustled, and whispered acknowledgments were heard through the cabin. Two committee members, Beverly Church and Nancy Marsiglia, rose for a role-playing exercise, with Church playing a skeptical U.S. representative and Marsiglia playing a Woman of the Storm.

“What about your leadership? Who is running the city?” Church demanded.

“We think it is important to keep politics out of this,” Marsiglia responded. “We are a citizens group, and citizens are leading the way. We are the face of Louisiana today.”

The grass-roots women’s movement was born on Thanksgiving as Milling sat down to dinner with a group of friends and talked about the paucity of help after the storm. By Jan. 10, Milling had gathered eight pals in her living room to make a plan. And by Jan. 30, when they made their first trip to Capitol Hill to lobby for the release of funds for Louisiana’s Road Home program, they had added more than 120 to their ranks. Today, more than 500 Louisiana members are registered on the group’s e-mail list.

Financed by donations, the group is a broad range of Gulf Coast women, including some local celebrities, like 83-year-old chef Leah Chase, commonly known as the “queen of Creole Cuisine” and owner of the landmark New Orleans restaurant Dooky Chase’s.

They hand-deliver invitations to the politicians and lead those who visit the region on tours of the most damaged neighborhoods.

Still, 45 senators and at least 329 U.S. representatives have not made the journey.

“Why have they not come?” asked Cecile Tebo, a member of the group who is also a crisis unit coordinator for the New Orleans Police Department and a third-generation New Orleanian. “Is it fear? I can’t imagine. This affects the entire country. Until you feel it, see it, smell it, hear it, you don’t understand it.”

For many of the women, mastering the intricacies of lobbying on Capitol Hill is new. But just as Katrina changed New Orleans forever, it changed their minds about their roles in its recovery. Jeanette Bell, a floriculturist who is African American, said, “I believe my presence [in the group] represents a commitment on the part of people of color. Just because we’re not always in the forefront doesn’t mean that we aren’t committed to the rebuilding of the city.”

“It’s the power of group,” added Tebo, the police crisis unit worker. “This is typical New Orleans. There’s that passion. There’s that little bit of funk.”

The women were driven by bus from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport to a grassy area near the Capitol complex. They hoisted blue umbrellas -- symbols of the blue tarps that cover many damaged rooftops in Louisiana. At a news conference, they were surrounded by the state’s two senators and five of its members of Congress.

Before fanning out, some of the women changed from pumps into comfortable walking shoes. Naydja Bynum, a property preservationist who lives in the historic traditionally African American New Orleans neighborhood of Treme, donned black soft fabric slip-on shoes that she bought last year on a trip to Europe. “I knew they would come in handy, she said later that day.

The women traipsed from the House to the Senate, from the Senate to House, navigating the maze of underground tunnels and magnificent corridors that connects them.

On Tebo’s list were one senator and four congressmen. She was partnered with Lang Le, a Vietnamese American whose eastern New Orleans house was inundated by several feet of water. Tebo and Le rushed to their first scheduled appointment, with Rep. Patrick J. Kennedy (D-R.I.), who has not yet visited New Orleans. But he was called away on other business, so a staff member filled in.

Tebo did most of the talking, sticking to the script and convincingly pleading the case of coastal restoration and flood protection.

“I didn’t know if I was saying all the right things,” Tebo said as she left the room.

“You did great,” Le encouraged. “It sounded good.”

Milling was teamed with Rita Benson LeBlanc, executive vice president of administration for the New Orleans Saints football team. At 29, LeBlanc is one of the group’s youngest members.

Their list included Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton (D-N.Y.).

“How’s it going?” Clinton asked the group.

“They know who we are,” Benson LeBlanc informed the senator. The Women need no introduction on the Hill.

Clinton told them how important it was that they were helping put a human face on Louisiana’s tragedy. “Just be persistent,” the senator added.

“You know how women are,” Milling said. “They can nag, and they are tenacious.”

She handed Clinton a book about Katrina by the staff of the Times Picayune as she impressed upon the senator the need to “get the House and the Senate on the same page” in terms of backing coastal restoration in Louisiana.

“We need the revenue now,” Milling told Clinton. “This is an issue that’s crucial to us today.”

“I’m supportive, and I’ll continue to do whatever I can,” the senator promised, as she readied to pose for a photograph with the women.

Many of the elected officials pledged continued assistance. But some in the group said they got the cold shoulder from a few representatives or their testy staffers; and one official reportedly mocked the Women as being nothing more than debutantes. Diplomacy prevented group members from naming names.

Encountering a naysayer or two is par for the course, said Madeline West, an attorney and core member, but “overall it was positive.”

En route to the airport for the trip back to New Orleans, one woman called her kids and promised a hug and a kiss when she got home; another longed for a bath. All recognized that their work was far from done.

“The women-hours in this are tremendous,” member Polly Renwick said. “And it will not end when we leave here.”

As cups of white wine were handed out on board the aircraft, Milling thanked members for their day of hard work -- they had gathered at 5:45 a.m. and landed back in New Orleans at around 10:30 p.m.

She also reminded them to send a thank-you note, or a card, to every official or staffer they had called on.

“It does make a difference being a woman,” Milling said. “We can say and do things men can’t. We are more passionate. It’s different to the way a man would approach a problem.”

ann.simmons@latimes.com