Five who refused to budge

Sipping beer and tequila, residents rode out the storm; they even savored a treat: pork chops

BY J. JIONI PALMER | STAFF CORRESPONDENT

September 7, 2005

NEW ORLEANS - The house on Cortez Street is an oasis of sorts amid the greenish tide, uprooted live oaks and the downed power lines that have turned this city into an urban bayou.

In it live five men - Calvin Edwards, Albert Martin, James Brown, Daniel Mirende and Dewayne Henderson - the last remaining residents on this block in Mid-City New Orleans. They are the vestige of a community that is no more, while hoping to be the spark of a neighborhood revival.

"The only thing I own is my home. I stayed behind to watch it and I told my neighbors I'd watch theirs too," said Martin, 59, a house painter.

For the better part of the past week he has looked after his place from the relative comfort of the Edwards' house while he and his comrades have passed the hours listening to news and tunes on the radio, sipping beer and tequila, rationing canned goods and playing dominoes. And recently, they savored a special treat: pork chops.

Edwards' yellow two-story structure with a high cement foundation designed to withstand floods became a community refuge as house by house became uninhabitable.

At one point, nearly 20 people from multiple family units shared the four bedrooms in Edwards' home, but as the water rose with no sign of receding quickly the occupants dwindled with each passing rescue boat to the five who now remain.

Their reasons for staying, and for so long, are many. All underestimated the havoc Katrina would wreak, and even if the devastating impact could have been predicted - there just weren't many options for some.

"I ain't got nowhere to go and I ain't got no money," said Edwards, a front door bellman at the Pontchartrain Hotel.

At some point during the worst of the flood, Edwards said, he thought about leaving. His brother and his girlfriend evacuated before Katrina struck and are staying with kin somewhere in Baton Rouge.

"They gave me the number," Edwards said, "but it got wet."

After riding out the storm and enduring the flood the first few days, then seeing it drop - albeit slowly - it just didn't seem right to leave after all this time.

Besides, if he goes now, he'll be at the mercy of authorities.

"I don't want to leave and be under the command of someone else," he said.

All things considered, Edwards and his housemates are in good spirits. They play dominoes every evening, tell jokes and have plenty of batteries to keep the radio, television and flashlights working. They have a stash of beer and a smidgen of tequila. "If we had some ice, we'd be straight," said Edwards.

"Yeah, we got plenty of canned goods," concurred Martin. "We ain't gonna starve."

Their sustenance has been far from gourmet, but then again it isn't quite Spartan.

A cafeteria-sized vat of red beans and rice - the remnants still on the kitchen stove - nourished them through the hurricane and the next several days.

With natural gas service interrupted, they use a small smoker to cook. They used charcoal until they ran out, so now they burn whatever they can, including shirts and parts of a wooden fence.

They held off eating the pork chops as long as they could. They smelled good, Edwards said, and tasted even better. Around that time a rescue crew came along.

"The Coast Guard said, 'you eatin' better than me,'" Edwards cracked. "So we gave him the last of the pork chops."

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Five who refused to budge

Sipping beer and tequila, residents rode out the storm; they even savored a treat: pork chops

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