A Death of a Friend in the Lower Ninth
So the story goes something like this...
Magnolia Discount sits on the corner of Tupelo and Claiborne in the Lower Ninth Ward. Following Hurricane Katrina, the convenience store was the first business to re-open in the devastated community.
Whenever I return to New Orleans, Magnolia is always one of my first stops. Danny, Dee, and A.B. greet me warmly, genuinely grateful to see me with another group. During the week, when some in my group take the half-mile walk down to Magnolia at lunch, I know that the crew behind the counter are an added set of eyes watching out for my kids.
But one set of eyes are no longer there. Those eyes belonged to Robert. This note is about him.
I met Robert on July 4th, 2007, during my trip to New Orleans. I'd gone to the ATM at Magnolia (at the time, the only ATM in the entire Lower Ninth) to take out cash for the group. We needed water, snacks, and money for cabs. I took out $200.00, but the machine never dispensed the currency. My receipt indicated I'd received the funds, and the machine had even "churned" like it does when it spits out the money. However, my ten Andrew Jackson's never came out.
At first, I thought I was out the money. How was I going to convince someone -- anyone-- I hadn't received my $200.00? I told Danny (this was the first time I met him), but obviously, he couldn't do anything about it. The ATM belonged to another company, not the store. But he said he'd try the technician who serviced the machine. Since it was a holiday, I was hardly optimistic.
The ATM service agent -- Robert -- answered Danny's call. Robert lived out past Kenner and the airport. For those of you familiar with New Orleans geography, that's at least a half-hour drive. Well, even though it was the holiday, Robert said he'd take the drive to look into the matter. He told Danny I should meet him at the store in a couple hours.
I did. After returning to my group and telling them what was going on, I went back to Magnolia. Sure enough, Robert was already there. He checked the machine, called his company, spoke with Danny, crunched some numbers, and had me call my bank. Then he handed me my $200.00. I stuck around while he serviced the machine. I learned his story -- what happened to him and his family during Katrina, why he returned to New Orleans when so many hadn't, and what the last two years had been like for his loved ones.
Ever since, whenever I visit Magnolia upon arriving in the Lower Ninth, I always ask after Robert. A couple times, I've even run into him. We small-talk about our July 4th encounter and chat for awhile. I always thank him for his incredble kindness that day.
Well, last week, when we arrived at Magnolia, it was so great seeing Danny and Dee again. Like always, I asked about Robert.
"They killed him," Danny said. "Just last week."
The kids who were with me when I received the news said I teetered and grabbed the counter. I don't recall. It was news out of nowhere, and for awhile, I was definitely out of sorts.
Learning of Robert's murder effected me on so many different levels. First, I'd lost a friend. I truly considered Robert a friend. Second, he was killed "in the line of duty." After the storm, he'd returned to the city he loved and dared to work in the neighborhoods that so many others had shunned.
But what's effected me the most was the way Danny told me. And the way the others who knew him treated his death. It seemed too "everyday." Death, despair, and heartache are commonplace in the Lower Ninth Ward. It's still present on virtually every corner. It's never unexpected, especially post August 29, 2005. Those living in the neighborhood have developed a numbness. Is it PTSD? Or is it simply resignation? Is that how things are when one is forced to confront -- on a daily basis -- what once was and what may never be?
No, I don't know what to make of it. I thought writing about it would provide me with some clarity, or perhaps, steer me down a new lane of thought. But so far, it has provided me with no insights. I still can't reconcile it.
Just like I won't ever be able to reconcile what was allowed to happen to New Orleans.
Magnolia Discount sits on the corner of Tupelo and Claiborne in the Lower Ninth Ward. Following Hurricane Katrina, the convenience store was the first business to re-open in the devastated community.
Whenever I return to New Orleans, Magnolia is always one of my first stops. Danny, Dee, and A.B. greet me warmly, genuinely grateful to see me with another group. During the week, when some in my group take the half-mile walk down to Magnolia at lunch, I know that the crew behind the counter are an added set of eyes watching out for my kids.
But one set of eyes are no longer there. Those eyes belonged to Robert. This note is about him.
I met Robert on July 4th, 2007, during my trip to New Orleans. I'd gone to the ATM at Magnolia (at the time, the only ATM in the entire Lower Ninth) to take out cash for the group. We needed water, snacks, and money for cabs. I took out $200.00, but the machine never dispensed the currency. My receipt indicated I'd received the funds, and the machine had even "churned" like it does when it spits out the money. However, my ten Andrew Jackson's never came out.
At first, I thought I was out the money. How was I going to convince someone -- anyone-- I hadn't received my $200.00? I told Danny (this was the first time I met him), but obviously, he couldn't do anything about it. The ATM belonged to another company, not the store. But he said he'd try the technician who serviced the machine. Since it was a holiday, I was hardly optimistic.
The ATM service agent -- Robert -- answered Danny's call. Robert lived out past Kenner and the airport. For those of you familiar with New Orleans geography, that's at least a half-hour drive. Well, even though it was the holiday, Robert said he'd take the drive to look into the matter. He told Danny I should meet him at the store in a couple hours.
I did. After returning to my group and telling them what was going on, I went back to Magnolia. Sure enough, Robert was already there. He checked the machine, called his company, spoke with Danny, crunched some numbers, and had me call my bank. Then he handed me my $200.00. I stuck around while he serviced the machine. I learned his story -- what happened to him and his family during Katrina, why he returned to New Orleans when so many hadn't, and what the last two years had been like for his loved ones.
Ever since, whenever I visit Magnolia upon arriving in the Lower Ninth, I always ask after Robert. A couple times, I've even run into him. We small-talk about our July 4th encounter and chat for awhile. I always thank him for his incredble kindness that day.
Well, last week, when we arrived at Magnolia, it was so great seeing Danny and Dee again. Like always, I asked about Robert.
"They killed him," Danny said. "Just last week."
The kids who were with me when I received the news said I teetered and grabbed the counter. I don't recall. It was news out of nowhere, and for awhile, I was definitely out of sorts.
Learning of Robert's murder effected me on so many different levels. First, I'd lost a friend. I truly considered Robert a friend. Second, he was killed "in the line of duty." After the storm, he'd returned to the city he loved and dared to work in the neighborhoods that so many others had shunned.
But what's effected me the most was the way Danny told me. And the way the others who knew him treated his death. It seemed too "everyday." Death, despair, and heartache are commonplace in the Lower Ninth Ward. It's still present on virtually every corner. It's never unexpected, especially post August 29, 2005. Those living in the neighborhood have developed a numbness. Is it PTSD? Or is it simply resignation? Is that how things are when one is forced to confront -- on a daily basis -- what once was and what may never be?
No, I don't know what to make of it. I thought writing about it would provide me with some clarity, or perhaps, steer me down a new lane of thought. But so far, it has provided me with no insights. I still can't reconcile it.
Just like I won't ever be able to reconcile what was allowed to happen to New Orleans.