A Volunteer's Story
By Ibby Vorres

When we arrived in Biloxi the night after Hurricane Katrina, the darkness in South Mississippi was so profound you could see the Milky Way spilling across the sky. Reporter Phil Long and I rolled into the parking lot of the Sun Herald at midnight in a rented RV. It was the first RV in what became Camp Hope.

We were greeted by a tired but somehow energized group of Sun Herald employees and other Knight Ridder journalists. I shared a long, hard hug with my friend Wanda Howell, human resources manager for the Sun Herald. And my adventure as a “first responder” began.

The next 10 days were a blur of hard work, emotion and adrenaline. As dazed employees staggered into the Sun Herald building to be embraced by their friends and colleagues, the question asked again and again was, “How did you make out?” All too often, the answer was, “I lost everything.” As a victim of Hurricane Andrew, I knew how they felt.

The Sun Herald building became a haven for displaced employees and their families. It was office/dormitory for visiting journalists, Knight Ridder and otherwise. It was home to Sun Herald journalists covering the aftermath, key employees operating the facility, and Knight Ridder volunteers doing relief work. At its peak, the population supported at the Sun Herald facility was more than 100.

For the first few days, there were no sanitary facilities. There wasn’t enough water pressure to flush the toilets. When some employees salvaged (or is that “looted?”) a port-o-potty from a ditch, bleached it out and brought it to the paper’s parking lot, they were greeted with cries of joy. When a neat row of port-o-potties was finally installed, we felt like we were at the Ritz-Carlton.

For all but the lucky few who had working showers in their RVs, bathing consisted of sponging off with drinking water or rubbing down with baby wipes. When a bathing tent made its debut, it was a pure heaven. Never mind that you were standing on a wooden pallet dousing yourself with a gallon jug of water.

Small pleasures, great significance.

Sunrise and sunset over Camp Hope were perversely beautiful. It seemed Nature was making amends for walloping the region. And the stars! Each morning when I stepped into the stillness of the pre-dawn I looked up at the stars. Orion marched across the sky. The Seven Sisters were distinct and bright. And the Twins, my favorite.

My days were spent with Sun Herald employees, listening to their stories, connecting them to help and resources, holding them as they cried. I marveled at their courage and was humbled by their unselfishness and strength. Many employees who had lost everything said to me, “I don’t need help. I’m OK. But please help this person.”

Our RV was a maze of laptop wires, cell phone plugs and camera equipment. This was my first experience inside a breaking news story. The insatiable focus (dogged persistence?) of the journalists was a revelation to me. Story angles, photos and coverage decisions were topics of endless debate. I’m proud to say that even my viewpoint as a human resources “outsider” had a place at the table. On the day I flew home to Miami, the skycap in the Pensacola airport refused to accept my tip when he learned I’d been doing hurricane relief work. He folded my fingers around the money and patted my hand. His gesture brought the sting of tears to my eyes. That was months ago. Yet, despite time and distance, those tears are never far away.

Back home in Miami, I pause to look at the stars each morning when I go outside to get the newspaper. Time is suspended in the predawn stillness. There is Orion, marching across the sky. I close my eyes and envision him wheeling high above the devastated Mississippi landscape. It transports me back to those remarkable days in Biloxi. And my thoughts are with the colleagues of my heart as they trudge toward rebuilding and rebirth. ><

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