New Orleans Stories: Mary Elizabeth B.

Alive in Truth. Posted December 17, 2005.

[Editor's note: this is the third in an ongoing series of oral histories from survivors of Hurricane Katrina. To read and listen to more histories, please visit Alive in Truth.]

Mary Elizabeth B. is a social worker who lived in the Algiers neighborhood of New Orleans. She was evacuated to Austin, Texas. This oral history interview was recorded by Alive in Truth: The New Orleans Disaster Oral History and Memory Project, and all-volunteer organization led by poet and journalist Abe Louise Young. If you would like to support their work, please donate online at Austin Community Foundation and specify "Alive in Truth."

I was born in Natchez, Mississippi, November 19, 1949, to Lawrence and Dorothy. I was the second of five children. Oh, my family raised me up with a work ethic. I never knew I was poor. I always thought we were rich. I did, but we were actually poor. My father worked for the International Paper Company. It was hard for a black man to get a job of that nature back then.

My mother was a domestic. My mother would work for white people. She would go in and take over their homes. She would feed you; she was the boss. They loved her, because she had that type-A personality, she was a take-over person. And, you know, young white women who were professional, but couples, they didn't know how to do things. They didn't know how to raise children. So they felt blessed to have a woman like that. And they were good to my mother, they were very good to my mother. They treated her well, with much respect. Her wisdom, they respected it. The wife would always ask her what to do, "How do you do this, Dorothy?" You know? I saw that when I would go with her sometimes. I didn't do anything, I just observed, because my father really hated that she took me with her, because he wanted more for his children. And, he didn't have to want more, because it was in us. You know, that, we would want to be much more than maids or domestics. Not that we downed my mother for doing that, but that's all she could do with her limited education--which was fine, because she was a beautiful person.

[....]

Okay, the hurricane: I don't think we were well-informed. For instance, the Mayor: before the hurricane came, I was watching T.V. And people were calling in asking him, "What should we do?" People always look to a leader to lead them. Okay? Disciples follow! And the mayor's response was, "You don't need anybody to tell you what to do."

You are a leader, how can you tell your people that? You know, God is our leader, doesn't He tell us what to do? I thought that was awful of him, awful, awful. You left your people to fend for themselves. I was disappointed in Ray Nagin.

I was disappointed with President Bush. President Bush, I thought, was a man who followed God. I have that book from Wal-Mart United We Stand, and President Bush had plans in there, and I was very impressed. But when President Bush didn't help us immediately, I was so hurt and so disappointed. And I felt, "Did he do this because we're Black and poor?" I had held such high regards for him. I was very hurt, like I knew him personally, you know? Because during 9/11, when he told us to do something, set some memorial, you know what I did? I went in my front yard, because the President, our leader, asked us to do this, and I was obedient and compliant. I made a cross in my front yard with flowers to remember the firemen and the people in New York City. I was living in LaPlace, Louisiana, and the children knocked my stuff down. But I was being obedient because our leader asked us.

But if your leader don't lead you, what are you supposed to do? That's why the people acted like animals in New Orleans: we had no leader, so they did what animals do. You know? What do you do? I saw them looting. I bought hot cigarettes, because I smoke. It was so funny, I called them my little thievery friends. I said, "You looking out for me, and the President not, Ray Nagin not, the police not."

I made a "Help" sign, by my house, from the awnings of the house after the hurricane. H E L P. The hurricane had blew them, blown them off. And I made, you know, "Help." It was big enough for any plane to see, because it was white. And then I put glass on it, so that they would know. We were there, "I am here." And every time I heard a plane, I'd run out that house, I'd have this big white hat on. They knew we were there. Because, you know, from the neighbors I had heard that the National Guard was coming, but they never came. Nobody ever came to get us, to tell us anything, nothing. I was there by myself. It was frightening. The house was damaged. I was carrying around a hammer and a pair of scissors in my purse for protection. The neighbors told me, "Mary, you better stay inside, if you know what's good for you." I said, "Baby, I don't have to come out for nothing. When it's night I'm inside." When I come out in the morning, I'd say, "I'm up. I'm okay. I'm going down the street to buy me a pack of hot cigarettes." When I come back, I'd say, "I'm back." And I'd go inside.

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