Autumn Linford and Dr. Kevin Stoker, Communications Department

The news media relentlessly covered Hurricane Katrina and it’s reign of destruction since it first touched down near the gulf coast in 2005. The havoc it wreaked on the homes, businesses, and individuals in that area has made federal reports herald it as “one of the worst catastrophes in the history of the United States.” While the torrential rains, high winds, and levy waters left several parts of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and Florida in shambles, New Orleans was arguably the hardest hit. Even a month after the storm, towns were still without drinkable water and electricity.

A year later, the situation is, unfortunately, not much improved. During my visit there this fall, the 8th and 9th wards were nothing more than a ghost town. The damage was so severe that very few residents have returned. The streets are still littered with debris. Businesses stand empty. The paint on what must have been once well-kept homes is flaking away and slowly being overtook by mold. Some areas seem almost uninhabitable.

When I applied for this grant, I intended to make a journalistic record of the LDS families in the area and their struggles to rebuild their lives and dreams as they re-entered the city. In the end, however, my vision changed. The contacts I had made before my trip had all lived in New Orleans, but none were from families in the areas most badly affected. In fact, many of their homes were not badly affected. From the minute I entered the city, it was obvious to me that I was chasing the wrong story. I had imaged the city to still have a few rough spots, but be mostly cleaned up and inhabited. I was literally shocked at how devastated the area was so long after the storm struck the city.

Lines of tanks still could be seen on the streets. Small businesses everywhere were empty. Houses still bore the red “X” marks and numbers rescuers spray painted on doors that told how many were found inside alive, and how many dead. The water lines in the lower 9th ward were visible above doorframes. Gas pumps stood ripped in two. The few standing billboards in the area read things like, “We Tear Down Homes” and “Home Demolition – Fair Prices!” The few hotels up and running were still being restored. Even a few of the famed jazz clubs of Bourbon Street stood like empty skeletons.

In 2005, the city allowed families to slowly re-enter their neighborhood in phases, warning them that it was at their own risk that they did so. At the one year mark, it appeared that the few who did re-enter the most heavily damaged areas were only those who had nowhere else to go ever. The nicer homes appeared to have been empty for months. The only residents still living in the area appeared to be from the lower classes and had very little. Those brave enough to try to rebuild their lives again have to face living in a place covered in mold and mildew, no grocery stores nearby, and nowhere to work.

I started by driving around the lower 9th ward with my husband and photographing the scenes I saw. To be honest, it was disheartening from both humane and photojournalistic perspectives. It was hard as a feeling person to see the destruction, but it was also frustrating as a journalist to try and capture the scenes I saw in a way that would really convey the harshness of the situation. The situation was so horrible that I felt it would cheapen the experience of survivors to publish pictures that were anything less than the truth. A good photojournalist always tries to include people in their shots – it lends the photo both emotion and perspective. New Orleans was so desolate, however, that it proved very difficult to do. Any pictures I took of the houses and cluttered streets ended up looking like house ads, not the provocative, poignant shots I was hoping for. I wanted to come back with the kinds of pictures that portrayed the sick feeling in my stomach that I felt when I looked around at my surroundings. Without residents, it was very hard to do.

I shot a few rounds of film, but without getting anything I really was excited about. We ran into a few people here and there, but I couldn’t get the right feel. I wanted to show the mess the city was in, but still give the residents still living in the damaged areas their dignity. I did not want to concentrate solely on the destruction. I wanted to show life moving forward. Finally, I saw three boys riding their bikes down the street (see Figure 1). The sight of such a common, every-day activity amidst so much destruction and filth made for poignant shot I was looking for. From then on out, I was able to capture several more images and was able to get the information I needed for my newspaper spread.

Unfortunately, when I returned to Utah, I was not able to sell my story and photographs to any of the local newspapers. Despite this, I believe that the experience was well worthwhile. I was able to broaden my viewpoint and cover a kind of story I never had before. I was able to go into a somewhat frighteningly devastated area and find a way to document the destruction while still giving the people who lived in it the respect they deserve. I even included a few of the shots from my New Orleans trip in my portfolio. While I obviously would have preferred to publish my work, but I believe my experience was worthwhile. Again, thank you for the opportunity. I am incredibly grateful for the chance this grant gave me to branch out and report on a national story.