Commentaries by Lance Hill

Commentary by Lance Hill

October 23, 2005

First Published in Gambit Magazine10-23-2005

My friend and I drove down to the Ninth Ward today.  We came across a young man near Caffin Avenue helping his family prepare their house for the insurance adjuster.  It was his first time back.  “They left us back here to drown,” he said bitterly.  His anger was deep and silent like the deadly undertows of the Mississippi river. ”They don’t want us to come back here.”       

I asked if anyone else in the neighborhood had come back.  Not really.  ”My grandma stays down there,” he said, pointing down the street.  “Her house is gone.  Over there is where my Aunt stays.  Her house is gone too.  So is my sister’s–the one next to the blue house.   Did anyone in the neighborhood die?  Yes.  The man around the corner.  Both he and his daughter drowned.  No one knows how it happened and no one wants to talk about it.   

His best friend used to live across the street.  They just sent his body back from Iraq before Katrina hit.  A withered American flag bunting on the porch is the only reminder of his friend’s wake.  “His medals all washed away in the flood,” he said, glancing down at the street. The sun was setting and we had to leave before last light and the curfew.  I asked if we could take his picture.  He flashed a big smile.  I could not believe that there was still a smile left in the Ninth Ward. 

But there it was; irrepressible, generous and forgiving.