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Orleans Parish Prison, won't you free my brother man?
I know it’s sad but he ain't bad
He’s doing the best he can
Orleans Parish Prison, won't you free my brother man?
- Johnny Cash

The flooded abandoned wood house where Gary was squatting is within a block of Orleans Parish Prison. Although the jail’s exterior lights illuminate the street and sheriff cars are parked nearby, three human beings have been sleeping here.

Hours before we met Gary, we went to this house as part of our block-by-block daylight canvas of the neighborhood’s abandoned buildings.  There we had seen three dirty mattresses lying on top of two feet of building debris and garbage.  The conditions were nearly as bad as any we have seen in canvassing New Orleans’ 55,000 abandoned buildings:  left untouched since Katrina, the building was filled with mold, mosquitoes, a putrid stench, unbearable heat, water pouring through holes in the roof, and no plumbing or electricity.

At 1 o’clock in the morning, we went back to the house to awaken whoever was there, announcing ourselves as we approached:

“Hello, hello!  UNITY outreach.  Homeless outreach.  Anyone home?”
 
The 16-inch length of a single cinder block assisted me, the shortest of the Abandoned Building Outreach Team, to ascend the 4-foot rise to the dilapidated porch – strewn with discarded clothing and refuse.  I still needed to grab onto the rotting wood of the frame to pull myself the rest of the way up.

Once up on the porch, we used our flashlights to navigate the holes in the porch floor and find the broken screen door to the kitchen.  The distinctive Katrina smell of moldy walls, decomposing wood, and flooded upholstery greeted us.  Shortly after, we heard noises coming from within the house and again announced ourselves. As they heard our voices, Gary and two other homeless men roused themselves and came out to meet us.

Over the course of two nights the three men – all disabled, the youngest in his late 40s, the oldest weeks shy of 62 years old -- shared their histories.

One of them was Gary, a veteran suffering from longstanding Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Prior to Hurricane Katrina, Gary had rented a shotgun house in the Upper Ninth Ward.  But when the federal levees broke, floodwaters destroyed the house and all his possessions.  The other residents of his Desire Street neighborhood -- the old ladies he used to help out who would invite him in to eat red beans on Mondays and gumbo on weekends, the men who asked Gary to work on their cars -- those neighbors who survived were scattered across multiple states after the storm and many did not return.  

When he returned from evacuation, Gary was able to pick up an occasional job gutting flooded buildings but found that he couldn’t make enough to afford the rents that had risen by 50 percent.  Denied disaster assistance, as were many other renters, Gary made his homes in multiple abandoned buildings, including an abandoned grocery store, and in a junked-out car under a bridge.

Prior to the storm Gary had received primary medical and psychiatric care at the VA Hospital.  After the storm, the hospital sat empty and services were so scattered that an agitated Gary suspended any ongoing use of the clinics.

Gary sank into a disjointed emotional quagmire as time went on – self-medicating his PTSD and major depression with multiple substances; ignoring the need to treat his hepatitis, hypertension, and the increasingly severe arthritis that wracked his large frame.  In fact, most of Gary’s medical records from after the storm reflect only the traumas brought on by a life spiraling downward – multiple ER visits to attend to wounds and broken bones.  He also cycled in and out of Orleans Parish Prison – whose lights illuminated his squat – on public nuisance charges like trespassing and public intoxication, as do many other homeless people.

After we gathered the voluminous medical documentation required for supportive housing, our Rebuilding Communities housing search team found Gary a clean and safe apartment.  Last week, just a few days before the fifth anniversary commemoration of Hurricane Katrina, Gary moved into his new apartment – utilizing a Permanent Supportive Housing rent voucher that homeless and disability advocates had fought for as part of Louisiana hurricane recovery.  Although he is not ready to give up his beer, Gary has agreed to work with his new case manager – also a veteran -- to secure disability benefits and attempt a reentry into the VA primary health and psychiatric clinic system.   

Gary is optimistic as he starts a new journey of healing – finally outside of the glare of the prison lights.
 
Katy Quigley is a member of the Abandoned Buildings Outreach Team of UNITY of Greater New Orleans.  UNITY is partnering with Common Ground to develop mixed-income supportive housing as part of the rebuilding of New Orleans.  Katy and other members of the Abandoned Buildings team blog regularly at www.unitygno.org. 

*Gary's name has been changed to protect his privacy.