How an aspiring New Orleans area sawyer now spends his days

[ex-Engineer Wannabe]

AKA: Reason 1,000,001 To Use More Solid Wood

Howdy, folks!

I've been writing technical documents throughout my career, but I promise you this is one of the few times I've been asked for an encore

So, at the request of several kind members -- including Jeff B -- I'm copying and pasting my own written account of one of the many true human stories now coming out of the greater New Orleans area.  I'm not much of a journalist, but anyone with even a modicum of writing ability would've felt like Edward R. Murrow after seeing this... 

Although it's absent of any truly graphic details, I, nevertheless, warn anyone reading this that these are factual impressions.  The results of any catastrophe, much less a flood in a major urban center, are more often than not unpleasant: and this is certainly no exception.   -- B in NOLA


THE GREAT BROWN LINE

It's a great day...believe me.  I just spent the past two days in the once flourishing town of Old Metairie, so I thought many of you might be interested in reading about what's really going on in the Acadiana.

The modern suburb

Like many towns in the US these days, Metairie is a product of the ever-increasing "urbanization" of a large city—New Orleans, LA [NOLA] in this case.  Resulting from a phenomenon commonly referred to as "white flight," Metairie is by far the largest suburb in the greater New Orleans metropolitan area and a safe haven for many people working in and around downtown.  Given its proximity to NOLA, this thriving town's population has now risen to well over 150,000—making it easily the most densely populated area in Jefferson Parish as well.

As with many affluent suburbs across the nation, Metairie is also home to many well to do people—especially along the levees of Lake Pontchartrain.  Given its continued prosperity, this town has grown at an insane rate for many years.  Consequently, if you were to drive down any given street in this area, odds are you would find a mixture of mid- to upper-priced homes, townhouses and rental properties that would rival most suburbs in the country. 

Given its rate of growth, Metairie, once again like many metropolitan suburbs, also suffers from an intense pressure to develop.  Accordingly, many people in the area have chosen to invest in their homes.  Be it by way of additions, added floors, demolition and reconstruction or just plain old sub-dividing, the homes in this town have "swelled" to the point where there is very little open space to be had. 

"If it keeps on rainin,' levee's going to break"

Now that you have a bit of background information and a few statistics, hopefully, you have a fairly clear idea of what a prosperous suburb like Metairie might look like.  In fact, if you can fix an image of a typical street in a community like this one in your mind—like a mental snapshot—it will go a long way toward understanding the rest of the story.  At this point, try to imagine what a brilliant array of color your image might contain—be it the lush lawns and landscaping, the modern exteriors and roofing, or the expensive automobiles filling the many driveways.  Now consider the picture once again...and imagine what it would look like after steeping the bottom third of the frame in tea for several days.  If you can imagine that, you should now have a pretty good idea of what Old Metairie looks like today—literally a suburb, as if by God himself, steeped in tea. 

With the exception of the dark street surfaces, everything below the great water line is tinted, to one degree or another, an eerie brown.  And when I write "everything," I mean it...lawns; trees; bushes; hedges; pots and planters; landscape walls; every kind of fencing; mailboxes; window: frames, screens and glass; French, solid, garage and sliding-glass doors; doorsteps; every conceivable type of home siding; gutter drains; ornamental pillars; central air condenser units; swimming pools; bikes; trikes; basketball hoops; street lights; garbage cans; bird fountains; lawn and patio furniture; the patios themselves; benches; boats/trailers and, yes, even those expensive automobiles mentioned earlier.  EVERYTHING below the nearly four foot surface line is now tinted brown.

As it has become an all too familiar practice along the gulf coast these days, once the projected path of the storm turned toward NOLA, the people of Metairie followed the standard evacuation plan—stock up, lock up and get the hell out of town.  As security is the main concern in the haste of an evacuation, all windows and doors [including those in cars] are sealed tightly and locked.  And this is a great idea—normally.  But just as the citizens of Metairie were breathing a sigh of relief after the storm passed to the east of downtown NOLA, the resonance of the media machine shifted up to an even higher level as we all began to hear that the worst was actually happening—the main levee along the second largest saltwater lake in the US had been breached. 

By now, we all have the endless adjectives associated with this storm burned into our memories, so it was not my intention to dramatize the flooding even further in the previous paragraph.  Instead, it was my intention to establish how the homes of Metairie were left during the massive evacuation.  In addition to the exterior image previously described, one must also think three dimensionally and, accordingly, consider how the water line would appear INSIDE all of these modern homes.  Furthermore, consider what a large sealed up home, devoid of all utilities, flooded with about 40-inches of brackish lake water, and left standing in 90+ degree Louisiana heat for days on end, might contain once it is mercifully drained. 

Breaking the seal on mold heaven

After spending two days arresting mold growth inside an Old Metairie home fitting this description, I can only make a feeble attempt at describing the scene.  And to make it all a bit more bizarre, the two people involved in demolishing the first floor of this home—the homeowner and myself—didn't own any of the possessions it contained.  Yes, after repeatedly asking the tenants for assistance—a cop and his family no less—the owner of the home was facing the grim prospect of starting the mold abatement by himself.  Having overheard a conversation about this sorry situation, I felt like it was the least I could do to help him out.  Regardless, there's really no way to fully appreciate what becomes of a home under these conditions until you literally drag a car out of the way and break the door seal on one yourself.  And as before, the most obvious feature of this sad scene is the water line.  The great brown line is continuous and unbroken.

Apart from lugging submerged furniture, emptying flooded cabinets and dealing with a now toxic refrigerator—which was floating freely during the flood—it's quite a sobering experience to carry out handful after handful of a stranger's water logged personal possessions.  And this terrible feeling really began to set in for me once we started working on a room belonging to a young girl—about 4 years of age judging by the many ruined photos strewn about the house.  And just like everyone else working frantically to remove all the sources of moisture from inside these dwellings, we were forced to add all these belongings to the snowdrift like ridge of refuse running along either side of the street.

As heartless as these actions might seem, I now know the work was, without question, immediately necessary to save the structure itself.  To appreciate the necessity of this work, one must first consider the conditions again.  A sealed home—full of carpet and padding, drywall and fiberglass insulation, modern upholstered furniture, books and magazines, and toys of every description—left standing in over 3 feet of warm salt water for many days...all the while being heated by a string of intensely sunny summer days of over 90 degrees...it wouldn't be much different than dropping the same unventilated, fully furnished, wood frame home into a shallow river in the middle of a rainforest for several days, pulling it out and letting it drain in the humidity of the jungle itself.  To say that these conditions are ideal for the growth of mold and mildew is clearly a huge understatement.  In my mind, it was like mold heaven.

The demolition of a frame home

For those of us who have owned a modern frame home, the use of drywall as an interior barrier is a given.  Furthermore, we all know that paper backed fiberglass dunnage is the standard insulation type in practically all housing today.  Keeping these materials in mind, think about the consequences of their exposure to standing water.  Gypsum, a chemical desiccant, is the main component in paper-backed wallboard.  After seeing it myself, I can tell you that it turns into a waterlogged vanilla pudding "sandwich" after it soaks up enough water.  As it's chemically ideal for holding water, it's also the perfect breeding ground for mold in hot, humid and stagnant conditions. 

With everything off the floors, the carpeting and its padding—and any other form of floor covering—is literally cut out and trashed.  After you've freed them from their wiring and plumbing connections, the major appliances are next to go.  As it's too sickening for words, it will have to suffice to report that the refrigerator was simply taped closed and dollied to the street.  Now reconsider just how extensive the use of drywall is in modern construction.  It's used in every room of a frame house—including kitchens and bathrooms.  And that's not to mention the use of particleboard cabinetry in these areas!  I realize that it's used to make all of our precious Chinese made stuff these days, but I've always had a hatred for pressed wood.  And I've never seen more justification for this attitude than the chunks of cabinets, furniture and shelving the two of us dragged to the curb.  In short, once these mold hotels swell up like a sponge, they're easily destroyed with a simple claw hammer (food for thought)...but I digress...

Once the sources of standing water—the pots, pans and bowls—in a kitchen are dumped outside, it's time to unhook all the plumbing.  Once all the water lines and drains are disconnected, the soaked garbage disposal is removed and tossed on the trash heap.  After that, the particleboard counter top holding the kitchen sink assembly is lifted out and carefully stored—what are the chances an insurance adjuster is going to pay for plumbing fixtures?  This leaves the pressed wood cabinets, which again, are taken apart a chunk at a time.  And all of this hurried destruction is carried out while taking great care not to damage the plumbing itself.  Once again, can you really rely on mercy from a major insurance company?

Practically the same process was repeated in the bathroom, but this time in nearly zero light.  In fact, after removing the bathroom door at the hinge pins, we still had to employ a flashlight to work by as we bailed out and disassembled the toilet; which, I assure you, was not the high point of the day.  And what about the shower area?  Yes, everything, including that faux marble sheeting, is attached to drywall—so it has to go! 

Now that all the first floor drywall has been exposed, it becomes disturbingly simple at this point.  Score the walls above the water line and begin opening them up.  As mentioned previously, the goal is to remove every possible source of moisture from the frame of the structure.  Everything, save the wiring and outlets, has to be broken up, cut out and carted to the street.  And just as before, the majority of this work is carried out with a claw hammer and a small pry bar. 

Despite the dispiriting enormity of all this waste, as we got closer and closer to the goal, we were both very happy that the sources of humidity and mold were out of the house.  Breathing fresh air is a wonderful thing.  And with that phrase in mind, I'll close by repeating the first words that came to mind as I drove away from Metairie the first day: It's a great day!

© Bill Tuttle, Gretna, Louisiana 09-21-05

[Fla._Deadheader]

 Really graphic story the way you wrote it. I could picture the whole event in my mind. Great writing ability. Thanks Bill

[Bibbyman]

Yep,  been there, done that.  Back in the flood of 93 everything had to come out.  - even the ceiling tile that didn't get wet because it was also contaminated.  The masonry surfaces were scrubbed down with disinfectant and then repainted.

Weeks after the flood waters went down the stink even got worse as the dead vegetation begins to rot.

[Part_Timer]

I could picture every thing in my head.  Nice writing.  I remember when I was a kid the dike broke in Ft.Wayne and we helped the neighbors do just what you discribed.  I could have done with out remembering the fridge though :D

[DanG]

Good job, Bill!  That was a great story that needed telling, and you told it well.  I'm sure that when the sensational parts of the storm's aftermath have passed, the rest of the country will forget.  The volunteers will go home, the donations will dry up, and you guys will be left to slog through the really tough part by yourselves.  :(

Stay in touch here and keep us posted on the progress from your vantage point in the middle of it all, would ya?  This is a whole lot more meaningful than a TV news report. ;)

[OneWithWood]

Bill, thank-you for the vivid account of your experience.  It does not sound pretty, and your well written account just brought back all the sights and smells of the times I have done just what you did.  It sure does make you appreciate a clean breeze and sunny skies.

[LSUNo1]

Bill, great account of what its like here. I was involved in draining the underpass at Airline and Causeway and spent a few afternoons catching a faceful of wind from the east out of New Orleans and that was some foul smelling liquid.

The scary thing is our Environmental Dept. took samples of the standing water in Old Metairie and believe or not its was not much worse than a normal rainy day!

[Fla._Deadheader]

I just gotta ask, if that was saltwater pouring outta Lake Pontchartrain, what will be the outcome of all the steel nails used to build the walls in those houses ??????  Ya gonna hafta re-nail into those salt soaked 2 X's??

[LSUNo1]

That was my recommendation to my in laws. Their houses had 6 to 7ft. of water standing for a couple of weeks. Since your down to the studs anyway it would only cost a few hours with a nail gun and a few boxes of nails to elimate future problems.

[DanG]

Stainless steel nails are about $400-$500 a box.  That seems like a lot, but it is pretty cheap insurance, if you really think about it.

[ex-Engineer Wannabe]

Thanks to all who took the time to read my diatribe about the flooding    As I eluded to earlier, I was COMPELLED to write something factual for my friends and family to read -- the press coverage has been [to put it extremely kindly] less than informative.

It was also most interesting to read that someone else on the board has seen some of the same things recently.  LSUNo1, I hope you and yours are doing well despite everything.  I'm also sorry about the recent loss to UT as well. 

As I've always enjoyed his good humor, I was happy to read the posts supplied by Dan in FLA.  Many thanks to the rest of you for your kind words, and for your encouragement.  I guess Chris in GA is so busy with his Lucas that he doesn't get much time for the ol' keyboard these days?   Anyway, I hope he's knockin' 'em dead over there -- the logs that is  ;)

Bill in NOLA  ;D