that was wonderfully written.  and in my deep and quiet places, i can't help
knowing he's right.  thanks for sharing this, jo.

kate

Subject: Fw: The Gulf Will Rise Again - John Grisham
Date: Sun, 2 Oct 2005 08:24:16 -0400

Subject: The Gulf Will Rise Again - John Grisham

 I thought this was worth sharing with all of you.  I
 think it says it all.

 The Gulf Will Rise Again By JOHN GRISHAM
 Published: September 25, 2005 Biloxi, Miss.

 On Aug. 17, 1969, Hurricane Camille roared onto the
 Gulf Coast with winds of more than 200 miles an hour,
 only the second Category 5 storm to hit the
 mainland United States. It killed 143 people in
 Mississippi, and 201 more in flooding in central
 Virginia. Over the years, Hurricane Camille's legend
 grew, and it was not uncommon when I was a child and
 student in Mississippi to hear horrific tales from
 coast residents who had survived it. I myself was
 sleeping in a Boy Scout pup tent 200 miles inland when
 the storm swept through. Our losses were
 minimal - the tents, sleeping bags, some food - but
 over time I managed to spice up the adventure and add
 a little danger to it.

 For almost 40 years, it was a well-established belief
 that the Gulf Coast had taken nature's mightiest blow,
 picked itself up, learned some lessons and survived
 rather well. There could simply never be another storm
 like Hurricane Camille.

 After walking the flattened streets of Biloxi, though,
 I suspect that Hurricane Camille will soon be
 downgraded to an April shower. The devastation from
 Hurricane Katrina, a storm surge 80 miles wide and close to 30 feet high,
 is incomprehensible. North from
 the beach for a half a mile, virtually every house has
 been reduced to kindling and debris. At
 least 100,000 people in Jackson County - poor,
 middle-class, wealthy - are homeless. I search for a
 friend's home, a grand old place with a long wide
 porch where we'd sit and gaze at the ocean, and find
 nothing but rubble. Mary Mahoney's, the venerable
 French restaurant and my favorite place to eat on
 the coast, is standing, but gutted. It's built of
 stone and survived many storms but had seen nothing
 like Hurricane Katrina.

 Even without Hurricane Rita chewing its way across the
 region, the notion of starting again is nearly
 impossible to grasp. Some areas will have no
 electricity for months. The schools, churches,
 libraries and offices lucky enough to be standing
 can't open for weeks. Those not standing will be
 scooped up in the rubble, then rebuilt. But where, and
 at what cost?

 So much has disappeared - highways, streets, bridges,
 treatment plants, docks, ports. The next seafood
 harvest is years away, and the shrimpers have lost
 their boats. The bustling casino business - 14,000
 jobs and $500,000 a day in tax revenues - will be
 closed for months and may take years to recover.
 Lawyer friends of mine lost not only their homes and
 offices, but their records and their courthouses. At
 least half of the homes and businesses destroyed were
 not insured against flood losses. For decades,
 developers, builders, real estate and insurance agents
 have been telling people: "Don't worry, Camille didn't
 touch this area. It'll never flood." This advice was
 not ill intentioned; it simply reflected what most
 people believed. Now, those who listened to it and
 built anyway are facing bankruptcy.

 As dark as these days are, though, there is hope. It
 doesn't come from handouts or legislation, and it
 certainly doesn't come from speeches promising rosy
 days ahead. Folks dependent on donated groceries are
 completely unmoved by campaign-style predictions of a
 glorious future.  It's much too early for such talk.
 Hope here comes from the people and their remarkable
 belief that, if we all stick together, we'll survive.
 The residents of the Gulf Coast have an enormous pride
 in their ability to take a punch, even a knockout
 blow, and stagger gamely back into the center of the
 ring. Their parents survived Camille, and Betsy and
 Frederic, and they are determined to get the best of
 this latest legend.  Those who've lost everything have
 nothing to give but their courage and sweat, and there
 is an abundance of both along the coast these days. At
 a school in the small town of De Lisle, the
 superintendent, who's living in
 the parking lot, gives a quick tour of the gymnasium,
 which is now a makeshift food dispensary where
 everything is free and volunteers hurriedly unpack
 supplies. Two nearby schools have vanished, so in
 three weeks she plans to open doors to any student who
 can get to her school. Temporary trailers have been
 ordered and she hopes they're on the way. Ninety-five
 percent of her teachers are homeless but nonetheless
 eager to return to the classrooms. Though she is
 uncertain where she'll find the money to pay the
 teachers, rent the trailers and buy gas for the buses,
 she and her staff are excited about reopening. It's
 important for her students to touch and feel
 something normal. She's lost her home, but her primary
 concern is for the children "Could you send us some
 books?" she asks me. Choking back tears,
 my wife and I say, "Yes, we certainly could." Normalcy
 is the key, and the people cling to anything that's
 familiar -  the school, a church, a routine, but
 especially to one another. Flying low in a Black Hawk
 over the devastated beach towns, the National Guard
 general who is our host says, "What this place needs
 is a good football game." And he's right. It's Friday,
 and a few lucky schools are gearing up for the big
 games, all of which have been rescheduled out of town.
 Signs of normal life are slowly emerging. The task of
 rebuilding is monumental and disheartening to the
 outsider.  But to the battle-scarred survivors of the
 Gulf Coast, today is better than yesterday, and
 tomorrow something good will happen.

 When William Faulkner accepted the Nobel Prize in
 1950, he said, in part: "I believe that man will not
 merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not
 because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible
 voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of
 compassion, sacrifice and endurance." Today, Faulkner
 would find in his native state a resilient spirit that
 is amazing to behold. The people here will sacrifice
 and give and give until one day this storm will be
 behind them, and they will look back, like their
 parents and grandparents, and quietly say, "We
 prevailed."

 John Grisham is the author, most recently, of "The
 Broker."

 Patricia K. Wilson, PHR
 Personnel Director
 Gulf Coast Mental Health Center
 1600 Broad Avenue
 Gulfport, MS 39501
 Phone: 228-865-1716
 Fax:     228-865-1780