As Houses Rise in Phoenix, the Saws Sound Sweeter than Ever
31 January 2007
An aptly named town in rural Louisiana rebuilds on the strength of faith, family, neighbors and strong leadership.
On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, the Rev. Tyronne Edwards was on a mission--just as he has been pretty much every day since the storm surge from hurricane Katrina sloshed over the levees in his tiny town on the east bank of the Mississippi River. When the water receded--it had been 14 feet deep--there wasn’t much left of Phoenix, La: Out of 166 homes, barely 25 or 30 of them were habitable.
But on this day--with a power saw whining and the sermons of the late civil rights leader blaring from a pair of speakers--Edwards nudged his little community and lifelong home one step closer to recovery. By the time the sun had gone down, he and a small crew of helpers, including his 15-year-old son, Sadiki, had put the finishing touches on an office at one end of an old mobile home that is morphing--yet again--into a new nerve center for Phoenix.
In its most recent incarnation, the building had served as a food and clothing depot for hurricane victims, and in the first months after the storm, it was the only place around that had a working public toilet. Now, the ever-serviceable structure is on its way to becoming a technology and fitness center, complete with a bank of computers, several printers, and a large-screen TV in one room, and exercise equipment in another.
“We have a vision,” said Edwards, director of the Zion Travelers Cooperative Center, one of Oxfam America’s partners on the Gulf Coast. “We’re not even looking at the mess. We’re looking beyond.”
Phoenix’s vision includes dozens of new houses--up to 100--that will be built with materials provided by the homeowners and the help of volunteers using two simple plans whose design the community contributed to. The blueprints are based on the realities of life in this rural river town: extended families requiring an extra bedroom or two for live-in relatives, and garrulous neighbors who depend on front porches—and the socializing that goes on there—to keep their community knit tight.
“All of them have porches,” said Edwards. “In the country, you want to be able to sit down on your porch.”
Volunteers Lend Many Hands
Since the storm nearly a year and a half ago, volunteers have been passing through town—sometimes just one or two, other times scores together--needing places to shower, sleep, and eat while they lend residents a hand with the gutting and rebuilding of their homes. The community has accommodated them well.
“Don’t tell anyone Phoenix doesn’t have a restaurant,” said Patricia Ann Thomas, Edwards’ right-hand woman, as she sat down for a late lunch of jambalaya, salad, and coffee in the kitchen at St. Joseph’s church where volunteers gather for meals. Sometimes, they sleep in the church, too, if the 25-bunk trailer parked near the Zion Travelers Cooperative Center is full, which it can be when large faith-based groups arrive to help.
The first of Phoenix’s new houses have started to go up--two of them, wrapped in a pink protective sheathing, and a third whose foundation was recently poured. A total of 16 families have signed up for the program so far, and one of the new houses belongs to Thomas.
“Let’s see if I can walk you through it,” she said, taking visitors on a tour of what someday will be the kitchen--when the walls, flooring, and plumbing have finally been installed. At the moment, the house is simply an empty shell with tottering cinder block steps up to the door. But for Thomas, and her husband Dymond, who lost their own home in the storm, this sturdy new building set off the ground on concrete blocks represents hope for the whole community.
“We started the building process on Thanksgiving,” said Thomas. “There’s a lot to be thankful for.”
Sidney Bentley and his wife, Audrey, would probably second that. They, too, are getting one of Phoenix’s new houses.
“I hope by May I’ll be eatin’ at my own table,” said Audrey, emerging from a washing shed next to the government-issued trailer that has been her home for many long months--an arrangement that has grown increasingly trying.
“At first it was all new to me. I enjoyed it,” Audrey said. But that was before the rats took up residence in her cupboards, forcing her to store her cooking pots out in the open. “Now I’m disgusted with it.”
Managing the Rebirth
Oxfam America has been supporting the reconstruction if this African-American community, most recently with a plan to contribute grant dollars toward the salaries of staffers at the cooperative center who are overseeing the home-building initiative.
Phoenix has moved along fairly efficiently with its recovery, in part because local folks, right from the beginning, voiced their needs clearly and stepped instantly into leadership roles. The cooperative center sprang from the heart of the Zion Travelers Baptist Church, whose mission became one of action and hope. The center’s modus operandi? Cut the red tape.
There is no “case management” in Phoenix’s rebuilding plan, no endless needs assessments and documentation gathering. That’s because here, in this community of connected families, everyone knows who needs what. Walk with Thomas up and down the gravel and tarred lanes of Phoenix, past the boarded-up buildings and clover-covered lots where houses once stood, and you get a sense of just how cohesive the place is.
She tells about one neighbor, 90, who had planned to rebuild his gutted house, until his wife died suddenly, sapping his enthusiasm for the project; and another whose weed-tangled garden signals the depression that has crept upon him since his wife, too, passed away; and still others who are struggling with breast cancer and prostate cancer and diabetes. These are the hidden stories strangers would never know, but that are as much a part of the community hardship as the all-too-visible destruction from the hurricane.
For all the energy and determination coursing through this country town, progress can sometimes feel slow. The phone company is only now digging trenches to lay new land lines for residents, who have been relying on cell phones and have no way to fax FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, any of the documents it requires. And deep in the shade of the tangled oaks behind St. Joseph’s, rows of concrete tombs, strapped to the muddy ground, wait for families--consumed with the hard work of living--to come claim the remains inside. There are no names on the tombs, only numbers hastily painted in red: 082, 125, 060, 00067.
A Short Wish List
What do the people of Phoenix, about 70 percent of whom have now returned, need most at this moment?
“People need resources to build houses. They need money to build houses,” said Edwards. “People need to get out of FEMA trailers and into homes.”
And for that to happen, added Thomas, Phoenix needs more volunteers, particularly highly skilled ones who can guide willing workers through the complexities of house construction.
But regardless of how long it takes, Edwards is determined that Phoenix will rise again.
“I love the sound of saws,” he said, over the roar of one cutting flooring for the trailer office. “It just turns me on.”
