Welcomed Interruptions

Eucharist Rogers

While sitting at the first table at Java Joe's--the only spot with an electrical outlet next to it--I am in a position where people stop by to talk to me. Some are curious about what I'm doing; others want to know about blogging; still others want to know where all the Wi-Fi zones are in the area. But, mostly, it is the "regulars" who want and need to talk.

I came down here expecting to be assigned to people to listen to as a part of a "listening team". But we haven't completed other commitments first in order to get over to the church where this was to happen. Not to worry. I do my "job" right here.

I met Mr. St. Armand the first day here. I guess that he is in his mid-80's. Originally from New Orleans, he calls me "Chere" [pronounced "share"] and after ascertaining no wedding ring on my finger, proceeds to flirt. Very upbeat, he says he has lost everything, but has his health and happiness so actually hasn't lost a thing at all. He saddens only when talking about his wife whom he describes only as "disabled." His son is mourning the loss of his childhood things, including photos, and hasn't listened yet to his Daddy who tells him that he still has his memories and should be thankful. A couple of days later, at a time when Java Joe's was closed but McDonald's Wi-Fi zone beckoned, in walked Mr. St. Armand while I was there. He let out a belly laugh and said "Chere! You waited for me!" It seems that he needs his coffee like I need an internet fix for my blog.

Yesterday, a man waiting for his coffee at the counter mentioned to someone he had his car in a repair shop in Hartford. "Connecticut?" I asked, introducing myself as being from Simsbury. His blank look told me he wasn't familiar with northwestern Connecticut, so I did a little explaining, and so did he. We exchanged email addresses (I'm collecting a lot of them for follow-up reporting) and cut our conversation short when my friend Barbara walked in. But I had learned he was originally from San Diego, had his dog kenneled in Vermont, his car repaired in Hartford, had visited his daughter in Tampa, had a conversion experience in New Orleans, and was looking for work, housing, and a woman in Biloxi--the latter three via the internet.

Just now, I met a FEMA worker named Eucharist Rogers. Dispelling at least one rumor about FEMA workers, Eucharist's house still is unrepaired, and she is on a three-month waiting list for an electrician. She is working 11 hour days, and is usually too exhausted to attend to the necessary cleaning and mucking in her home to have it considered for any of the volunteer rebuilding going on in the area. She is both too poor--even with her job--and lacking in time to see to private contractors. So, for now, she remains in her FEMA trailer. We have a mutual acquaintance--Jacquelyn Wright--who will rate a story all her own when I can get to it. [I referred to her a little in an earlier blog post.]

Earlier this morning, a woman walked in and apologized to Sherry for not having been in before today [since the storm.] "I am SO glad to see that you have re-opened," she said, adding that since the library hadn't opened yet she was out of a job. I asked her what she does with her time now and she says "I live in my FEMA trailer and most days just wander around, dazed, in a stupor." She says that while the library only received about 27 inches of water, many of the books may be ruined by mildew. She thinks the library should be opened by November. Given the nice weather outside, it takes me a moment to realize that November is many months away.

A couple of structural and architectural consultants from New York stop in, and ask me if the team I'm working with evaluates the safety and structural integrity of our own worksites, or do we rely upon professionals for that. I don't really know the answer to this, but offer that I believe the sites have previously been inspected adequately and certainly no one from my team is going around giving such opinions on a professional basis. They seem very relieved. But then are distressed again when they learn our volunteers are largely from white collar professions. I attempt to reassure by saying most of us have either been trained, or have done similar work on our own homes. This brings about relief again. I think.