U.S. Air Force personnel construct top-flight temporary volunteer housing in Biloxi, Miss.

The Surge After the Storm
Volunteers, supporters flood Gulf states.

by Shala Carlson

Carmen Kuit

Bill & France Moriarty

Larry Gluth

After six trips to East Biloxi to assist with recovery efforts, volunteer Bart Tucker feels at home in the still-devastated community. "East Biloxi is our neighborhood," he says.

Operation Home Delivery estimates that more than 30,000 volunteers like Tucker have signed up to join Habitat's hurricane recovery efforts. Affiliates along the Gulf Coast are hosting hundreds of volunteers at a time--individuals, church and professional groups, students, RV Care-A-Vanners. Hundreds of thousands more continue to generously donate everything from pocket change to corporate pledges.

These resources and energy propel OHD's recovery momentum. "They are the heart and soul of our efforts," says Ken Meinert, OHD senior vice president. "Were it not for these, the Gulf would be a hopeless place. And the real work in the most devastated communities is just beginning."

In the early days after Katrina, Tucker--former president of the board of Habitat for Humanity of Northern Virginia--saw media coverage of southeastern Louisiana, but knew other communities also were in desperate need. Chalking it up to what he refers to as his "contrarian nature," Tucker started to call churches in the Biloxi area until he found one number that still worked, which eventually led him to a pastor on a cell phone who said, "Come on down." And so a week after the storm struck, Tucker and six others loaded up a church van and a trailer with food, water and roof-repair supplies and set out. Two weeks later, 13 more friends made the journey from Virginia to join the effort. "The group was sort of half church friends and half Habitat friends," Tucker says. "Our initial focus was that we would take advantage of our Habitat skills and do roof repairs."

The group soon also began mucking out flooded houses. The first they cleaned out was in East Biloxi. "When we got to that area," Tucker recalls, "we were just impressed by how incredibly quiet it was. Very few people around. No services. It became clear that this was the place that we were supposed to serve." And so the group began going house to house. "We began to use the Habitat model, if you will, to talk to families," Tucker says. "We would look for people who were trying to help themselves."

	Virginian Bart Tucker and his fellow volunteers have adopted the Mississippi community in the aftermath of Katrina.

Tucker and his volunteers stayed three and half weeks that first visit, returning home determined to raise funds. They went back to the Gulf Coast in October to begin restoring houses, those they found on their own and the flooded homes of the Harrison County Habitat affiliate. Tucker and his workers have forged relationships between Habitat affiliates (Virginia's Loudoun affiliate has joined Northern Virginia in sending volunteers and resources), but also between Mississippi and Virginia churches, civic organizations, and city and county governments. When he visits, Tucker sleeps in churches and lunches with the Salvation Army. "I think the point really is that I've got another guy that's been down here six times," he says. "And I've got another guy that's been here three times. People can't say no. They keep coming back."

Tucker's words echo off the newly installed drywall of the home that he and his northern Virginia volunteers are helping to restore. As he steps outside to join a joyous lunch, Vietnamese specialties prepared by the homeowners, Tucker reflects on his "move" to Mississippi.

"When we walk down the street, people flag us down and hug us, and we do the same in return," the retired Air Force pilot and defense contractor says, struggling through a sudden catch in his voice. "We are of East Biloxi now."

Laura Scanlan
Laura Scanlan woke up one morning shortly after Katrina ravaged the Gulf Coast and knew what to do. "I'm in this nice, comfortable bed on this nice, comfortable mattress in a warm house," she says. "And I'm thinking about all these people on cots, in tents, in shelters." A retired bookkeeper for the New York City housing authority, Scanlan chairs the retirees' Sunshine Committee of the Local 237 of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, a New York City municipal workers union. The committee raises funds for a variety of worthy causes and collects clothing, food, eyeglass frames or similar items for distribution. "What was special was that, after the hurricanes, the Sunshine Committee--because they were so taken with what had happened--decided to dedicate the whole year to Habitat for Humanity," says Susan Milisits, the union's assistant director for retiree education and recreation programs.

Scanlan put out the call to her fellow retirees, a membership that ranges in age from 50 to close to 100. "People sent whatever they could afford. Some were maybe just a dollar or two," says Scanlan, who notes that many of the contributors live on fixed incomes. "There's no way that we could physically be there to help, due to our ages. We really admire and envy all those that can be down there, and we just thought this was one of the main ways we could help."

In the end, the union members' gifts totaled $2,300. "It renews your faith in people," says Milisits. "It's inspirational to see how every little bit contributes and helps."

Jenna MacFarlane
Charlotte, N.C., resident Jenna MacFarlane wanted to do her part, as well. She had experienced minor water damage in her southern California home years ago. "I do know what it feels like to lose your home, however temporarily," MacFarlane says. "What I went through was nothing like the devastation that was experienced by New Orleanians. But I definitely can empathize with some of the feelings."

MacFarlane added her name to the online Habitat volunteer database and was assigned to Camp Premier, an all-volunteer tent city just outside New Orleans in devastated St. Bernard Parish. Nothing had prepared her for what she saw as her taxicab drove through New Orleans. "My jaw just dropped," she says. "My face was pressed against the glass. It was shattering. Anything that I had heard or seen on the news was such a narrow scope."

MacFarlane joined 2,000 other Camp Premier volunteers from multiple organizations - including Habitat, Samaritan's Purse and Common Ground - many of whom were working on the slow, sad process of debris removal. Members of her assigned work team hailed from New Jersey, Texas, Ohio and South Korea. Pushing her wheelbarrow, MacFarlane entered homes that looked as if their residents had just walked away right before the storm--food was still in cabinets, furniture now tossed around the rooms topsy-turvy. "You just see destruction everywhere, and we were in the middle," MacFarlane recalls. "It felt like all the groups of volunteers formed their own separate little bright spots.

"However small the progress was compared to the scale of the damage, I do think we sent a message of hope to the people there. I think the most miraculous thing was seeing how many people descended on that place to try to help."

St. Teresa of Avila Catholic Student Center
Miles away and months before, people descended on another place to try to help: the St. Teresa of Avila Catholic Student Center at Indiana's Valparaiso University. Shortly after Katrina, St. Teresa's students came to Father Kevin McCarthy. The priest and his congregants came up with an inspired-if-modest idea. The center decided to host a night of "Sleepless Solidarity," an all-night prayer event. "We invite you to sleep with us outside or on the floor of our chapel, like the many who presently find themselves homeless," the bulletin notice read. "For every individual who spends the night in this prayer experience, with the many sleeping on the streets of New Orleans or on the floor of the Astrodome, the community of St. Teresa will donate $100.00."

The event was announced only the week before. "I turned to our campus minister, and I said, 'What is your wildest dream?'" McCarthy remembers. "And he said, 'I'll be really happy with 25.' And then I turned to our secretary, and she said, 'I'm thinking more like 50.' Well, the word of mouth spread beyond our wildest dreams."

On a Sunday night in September, St. Teresa's celebrated its usual mass and post-service social, this one New Orleans-themed with rice and beans and andouille sausage. "From that moment on, the students just kept coming. It was amazing. I had to cut if off," he says a bit sheepishly. "I hadn't run any of this past our pastoral council or our finance person." McCarthy estimates that anywhere from 300 to 400 people spent the night, college students joined by professors and their children and neighbors; participants prayed, studied, played games, and watched news coverage of the hurricane and its aftermath.

The community knew of St. Teresa's financial pledge and, after the event, began sending donations to help the center keep its promise. In the end, McCarthy was able to distribute a $30,000 gift equally among Catholic Charities' relief efforts, Lutheran Disaster Response and East St. Tammany Habitat for Humanity in Slidell, La. St. Teresa's students chose the affiliate, McCarthy says, because a group of them spent a 2005 spring break trip working there.

McCarthy marvels at the success of Sleepless Solidarity, likening it to the feeding of the 5,000. "Our students--and this was key for us--would not necessarily financially have been able to give, but here was a way that they could," he says. "What was important was that they were sleeping on the ground, whether in the church or outside, connecting with what many people were doing in New Orleans and the surrounding areas."