Shelters Full-- Keep Driving North
I had arrived in Shreveport in the early hours of Friday, September 23, along with 800 other people and Red Cross volunteers from the Cajun Dome, in Lafayette. We had convoyed to Shreveport to avoid Hurricane Rita.
The shelter was set up in the exposition hall in downtown Shreveport. Friday was almost total chaos at the shelter. There was no security, supplies were short, and people were pouring into the shelter from the streets and personal cars. By late afternoon, there were 1300 people in the shelter. I and my friend Mark made plans to flee in our Red Cross car if things got bad, but in the evening the National Guard and local police arrived and set up security, and things settled down.
On Saturday morning, Rita passed just to the west of Shreveport. She had been downgraded to a tropical storm, but by 10AM, the winds were blowing hard and the rain came horizontally. There were widespread power outages, and the shelter ran on emergency generator for several days.
I decided that I would spend the day outside. I had never been in a tropical storm, much less the remnants of a real hurricane, so I put on my raingear and went out. People were still arriving at the shelter. They would park in the parking lot on the south side of the building, which was in the lee of the storm, only to discover that the National Guard security and entrance was on the west side of the building, straight in the howling wind and rain. So I spent most of the day, pockets stuffed with large plastic garbage sacks, helping stragglers put their clothes and bedding in the garbage backs to keep them dry, and then helping them around to the entrance where they could check in to the shelter.
During the day, I looked over at the shelter, and noticed a young man leaning against a brick wall at the side of the building. I had been busy, and didn't know how long he had been standing there. I watched for a while, somewhat amazed at the sight, and then walked up to him. He was clean cut, and dressed in a white T-shirt, brown cargo pants, and had a black nylon day pack on his back. He leaned motionless against the building, with his head against the wall.
He was soaking wet, and the wind and rain howled against his back. I got close, and said, "It looks like you need help". He mumbled, "I don't know what to do". I asked him what his name was, and where he was from. He replied, "Justin. Beaumont. I've been hitch hiking for two days, and I don't know what to do". I asked him if he knew where he was, and he replied, "Shreveport".
"Well, I'm wondering why you're leaning against the outside of a hurricane shelter in the pouring rain".
Then he said something that astonished me. He said, "When we came into town there was a flashing sign on the freeway that said, 'Hurricane Shelters Full-- Keep Driving North' but my ride dropped me off here".
Then, my astonishment turned to sadness. Here was a young man, on the road for two days running from a hurricane; he was tired, wet, and less than one foot from warmth and safety. Exhausted, all he could think about was a sign that said, "Hurricane Shelters Full-- Keep Driving North".
I led him around to the front, and Red Cross volunteers at the entrance checked him in. Later that evening I went looking for Justin. The shelter was, indeed full. I found him on a cot in a hallway near a side entrance, across from a National Guardsman sitting on a folding chair watching the exit. He was in dry clothes, and had a white crocheted baby blanket covering him.
The next morning, Sunday, dawned sunny and blue. Rita had passed. I was on my way back to Baton Rouge, but before I left I checked on Justin one more time. I found him asleep on his cot. The guard said he had been sleeping for sixteen hours.