Betsey's a comin'

I attended sixth grade in New Orleans, or just outside of New Orleans, at Trist Junior High School. It must have been a “middle” school as Micki was also there and was a year ahead of me.

I don’t have a lot of memories of my time there except that I named as my “favorite teacher”, if asked, Karl Bakken. One of many, many teachers I had as you can imagine, averaging two schools a year. I think my first grade year I had, between moves and other reasons, nine different teachers. For some reason, Mr. Bakken stood out. I do remember him dressing up as a superhero for a biology lesson. I also remember his form of punishment, for a rowdy classroom of sixth graders, was to have us stand beside our desks. Can teachers even do that kind of thing now?

Sometimes after lunch, which always included red beans and rice, we would get to mill around outside in the humid New Orleans air. It was a time of social discovery as girls stood in circles with their arms folded across their developing chests and boys ran, pushed and tried to deal with their own social inadequacies. It was during one of these fresh air experiences, windy and hot, that I looked up to see a figure scurrying across the parking lot, chiffon scarf whipping around her freshly teased hair-do....my mother. She was in a hurry, came to me quickly, embarrassingly so, and told me we were going home. She was in quite a state, that’s for sure.

There was a hurricane coming, and a big one at that. We lived in a trailer, which does not stand up well to tornadoes and hurricanes. Mom got us all home, packed, secured what she could which included putting masking tape on the mirrors in a big “X” pattern and taping cabinet doors shut. You have to remember that this house rolled...so we knew how to secure things down. We were quickly out and went downtown to a hotel, which we hoped would offer more security and safety that the aluminum box we knew as home.

The hurricane was big, and named Betsey. It was 1965, and it lasted throughout the evening and night. We were in a hotel room with another family we knew well in the room next door. We watched the blowing and the rain, and the debris flying through the air from our opened hotel room doorway on the third or fourth floor. Two boys skateboarded down the exterior walkway, back and forth, their speed encouraged by the strong winds. The next morning, the damage was apparent as street signs, shingles, glass and panels lay all around the hotel grounds. My dad went to check on the trailer and came back reporting that although the park took quite a lashing, the trailer came through pretty well, shifting off its support blocks only because the trailer next door rammed in to ours. There was a dent in the front corner, but otherwise, things were not bad. Not like some of the other homes in the park, which were completely destroyed, and the insides, those belongings that made these trailers “homes”, scattered throughout.

The next few days passed without electricity and eating what we could keep in a cooler with lots of ice. It took a few days for the city to recover and for us to be allowed back to our home. The pool at the hotel was filled with debris that blew in during the storm so we couldn’t swim. I do remember my brother Kevin somehow managed to “fall in” to the pool and came to the hotel room grinning and wet. If there is water, a boy will be wet.

I remember watching over the balcony one evening as a big, long, black limousine drove slowly down the streets. People told me it was the President, which would have been Lyndon Johnson, surveying the damages. That made an impression and I can still see that overhead shot from the hotel balcony of that limo turning the corner to go around the block and continue its surveillance. I didn’t ever picture people inside that car. I am trying to imagine it now and don’t know if its my imagination or memory from a news story that displays there for me.

I don’t know how long it was before we were allowed back home. I do remember that after a couple days my parents took pity on our poor souls and moved us to a hotel that had the power back on and a clean pool. The hurricane refugees that we once were had suddenly turned in to vacationers.