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I have just returned from a harrowing, life-altering experience. On a trip to visit a friend who recently bought a home in Gulfport, MS, I was stranded when Katrina grew from category 3 to 4 to 5 in a 12 hour period and flights out of Gulfport were shut down last Sunday. My friend dropped me off at a Red Cross shelter in a school at I- 10 and Hwy 49, about 12 miles inland from the beach. I was on crutches with my foot in a cast recovering from foot surgery. I arrived with a suitcase of clothes and my cell phone but didn't think to grab food and blankets as the experienced local residents did.

We were told to find a place along the walls of two corridors in Harrison Central Elementary to avoid the glass windows of the classrooms. There were senior citizens, babies and all ages, many of whom knew each other from earlier hurricane drills. People began arriving at noon and kept coming on into the night. When folks heard I had not food or bedding, fellow evacuees came forward with some of their provisions and a blanket to sleep on, to the extent that we could sleep. The rain began around 2 am and the high winds picked up from then on. At 5 am, the exterior roof blew off one wing of the school and it began leaking heavily. The police officer in charge feared a collapse on the people sheltered there and the evacuees from that wing had to be brought to our already full corridor. Everyone consolidated their beds and belongings to make room for all in the remaining corridor.

The Red Cross volunteers distributed meals, snacks and drinks systematically to their frightened charges. No one slept much. The howling winds and rain beat at the school and surrounding trees. Periodically, metal canopies, gutters and other structures on the school grounds would be stripped from their moorings. Pieces of debris became projectiles and broke out many car windows in the parking lot. By 6 am Monday when the eye wall began passing over us, the power had gone out and the water service was disrupted. Soon after cell phones were out of battery power and ceased to function with no way to recharge them. The toilets ceased to flush, became more and more full and then overflowed. Tempers flared as smokers grabbed cigarettes in the bathrooms and were told by the officer in charge that they were endangering the people with asthma and other health problems. He told them that if they wished to risk their own life for a smoke, they should go outside by a sheltered side exit. This was a bad idea. Over a dozen smokers made their way to the door, across from where I was sitting and began piling out to smoke. The door was kept open by the wind, still gusting in the 50mph range, and blowing their smoke back into the building. As more and more smokers appeared, another officer arrived and ordered them back inside or he’d issue a $1000 citation for smoking on school grounds. Order was restored and we dozed for awhile.

The wind blew for hours. From my vantage point near the lobby, I watched an ancient oak tree bend far over in the sustained wind but never break and fall. It was a metaphor for the resiliency of the people around me. The high winds didn't subside until 6 pm Monday. The leaking wing was assessed, mopped up and deemed safe for use for night two and the inhabitants of our shelter, thankful to have survived, rearranged themselves for some much needed rest. Food and drinks were running out and dinner consisted of crackers and chips and gatorade. The battery operated security lights ran out and Monday night the school was pitch black except for one cyalume glow stick in each corridor. The stench from the toilets permeated the hallways. I was allowed to move to a classroom after the storm passed because of my cast and crutches. A new family arrived who had spent the latter part of the storm in their son’s car after the back wall of their house and then the roof had collapsed from the assault of wind and water. I asked to borrow their cell phone since my batteries were dead to call home and check on Sherri. I was able to reach my husband in Atlanta who told me my Tuesday morning flight home had been moved to Wednesday evening. I told him that was highly unlikely based on what had happened the night before. I called Sheri’s number to check on her but got her voicemail. Later that day I tried again and her voicemail greeting said she and her roommate John were OK, the cats were OK and the house had survived with manageable damage. I felt an immense sense of relief.

I got some sleep and before sunrise, went outside for fresh air, desperate to relieve myself and to survey my surroundings. I found a girl with a flash light who walked me to the curb and assisted me as I squatted and got back up. The smokers were up early and outside smoking. The people with cars in the lot began surveying the damage to their vehicles. The locals were up and asking when they could go check on their homes. By 7 am there was an exodus of those with cars.

I had spent Monday night in a classroom with a couple of stranded Tampa tourists in their 70's. We discussed our situations and asked the Red Cross people what our options were. The volunteers told us that they were opening a more sanitary, well-stocked shelter at Gulfport High School with running water, electric, food, ice and drinking water. I told Bill and Marion that I’d met someone in the shelter with a car. Maybe she could take us to the new shelter. I spoke with my new friend, Pauline, a 77 year old senior who had a car in the parking lot. She lived right on HWY 90 across the street from the beach in Biloxi and I knew she could not go home yet. She agreed to drive the four of us to the new shelter, which also was in the direction of whatever was left of her apartment. We cleaned the broken glass off her car seats, loaded our things in the trunk and started for Gulfport High, not knowing if there was even enough gas to get there.

I thanked God I had been in Gulfport long enough to know where I was relative to our route to the new shelter. There was devastation everywhere. We were desperate for gas, but the gas pumps were knocked off their foundations at station after station we passed. It was clear there would be no gas Tuesday. Even the pumps still standing would need power to operate and the whole area was without power. Power and phone lines were draped across streets. By some miracle, our route was clear except for dodging a few limbs and pieces of debris. We arrived at the school expecting to see the Red Cross setting up the new shelter. Instead, there was one Gulfport police officer in a squad car who said that the Red Cross and FEMA would be there “soon”. We were told to go in the gym and wait.

Luckily we had been given a couple of pints of water and a few packs of chips and snacks when we left the first shelter. It would have to last until the Red Cross arrived. At least the toilets were clean, although the water was off and we knew that soon they would be overflowing. We staked out a space for our group on the gym floor and rested awhile. Initially the gym was cool compared to the first school but it was just a brief respite. Many other people started arriving; being told as we were that they were coming to a fully stocked shelter, only to find that there was nothing there but a roof over our heads and no one in charge. By the end of the afternoon, the police officer admitted he had no idea when we would get food and water.

I asked Pauline if she could drive me to my friend’s house to see if we could get a gallon of water, some bread and peanut butter to share until the Red Cross arrived. We snaked our way around downed trees and power lines and got to Sherri’s house. We passed apartments, trailer parks and houses with varying degrees of damage. Her home was in fair shape, though the beautiful giant oak trees on her street had all snapped and fallen. By a miracle, all the homes on the one block cul de sac were more or less intact. Their roofs had held, the large trees had missed them and the water from the storm surge had not been too deep. I could see through her sliding glass door that some water had gotten in but I later learned it was only about 6 inches deep inside. The house was locked but the two cats were looking at me though the screened window so I knew Sherri had made it back there. I saw her truck parked in the neighbor’s driveway and assumed she and John were out in his car scouting supplies. I dared not go in through the window lest the cats escape and disappear before I could catch them. I wrote a message on a piece of plywood because I had no paper, telling her where I was and what our situation was. I expected her to check on me when she got home but I didn’t hear from her again until I got out of Gulfport.

Upon returning to the shelter, we learned that there were cases of bottled water and soft drinks in the locked concession stand but that we weren’t allowed to use them. According to the police officer that would be stealing. As the week wore on and no supplies appeared, the police got us keys to open the store room and said we could use the drinks but had to ration them as we didn’t know when new supplies would arrive. A neighbor observing our plight brought a large pot of spaghetti and beans and franks and went door to door in the adjacent neighborhood to let people know of our plight. Despite the fact that there were no stores open to replenish their supplies, the neighbors started bringing whatever they could spare in bread, peanut butter, cheese and Vienna sausages to sustain us. A couple of women organized the feedings, taking names of who was there, who had eaten and who had left our ad hoc shelter. They fed children and seniors first and then the able bodied adults. Everyone was calm and people looked out for each other.

More folks arrived by the hour with harrowing stories of being caught in the rising storm surge near the beach and having to swim their way out of upper story windows and hang on to tree tops for dear life. One family with two young children put their kids in life preservers, fought their way out of their attic through the roof, and swam to an escape boat. The portable radios informed us of the extent of the devastation: the casinos were destroyed or heavily damaged, along with the port of Gulfport and the first few blocks from the beach. The radio continued to direct people to our location as a shelter with food, water and ice, the big three of survival commodities. Our police officers rotated but all told us the same thing: any hour now, the Red Cross/FEMA would be arriving with our supplies. You could tell they were as surprised as we were at how long it was taking. Officers dropped off a case of water from their supplies whenever they could. Harrison County buses brought in more elderly evacuees. Cars prowled by and asked if we had water or food or ice. Many drove on when they learned of our tenuous situation.

As the week wore on, when the gas stations would re-open began to be the main topic as people were now thinking of how to escape the disaster area for shelter with loved ones elsewhere. A couple from Houston, Texas showed up in a big Ford Expedition having run out of gas in Gulfport on their way home via I-10 from a family trip to North Carolina on Tuesday. The police sent them to the shelter to await the re-opening of the gas stations. Rumors and hearsay of where gas was available started flying on Wednesday. The Houston folks, on a tip from some new arrivals, went out in search of gas on Wednesday and were in third place in line when the supply ran out. The owner was pumping with generator power and assured them there would be another shipment on Thursday. On Thursday I reached my husband who told me Airtran had me scheduled on a flight out of Gulfport to Atlanta Friday morning. I protested that I’d heard the airport director on the radio saying they couldn’t resume flights without power and air traffic control. I was offered a ride out with Bob and Bonnie, the Houston couple, who planned to be in line for gas at the same place Thursday morning at dawn. I asked the police officers on duty what they would do, go to the airport or take the ride, the said in unison: “take the ride”.

I had been glued to the radio and shared information I had gleaned with my new friends. I told them going home via I 10 through Louisiana was not possible because of the flooding and refugee situation. I suggested they head north via 49 to 20 and take the long way back to Houston. Bob had a different idea: go east to Pensacola and regroup, get a motel room and some showers and put me on a plane to Atlanta. Once out of the hardest hit area, we could reach their family in Houston and if necessary have them bring gas in gerry cans to enable them to get home. All of our nerves were frayed by now and we agreed to take it one step at a time: step one, get gassed up, two get to Pensacola, three find lodging and four strategize their return trip with their family who had access to the internet for road closings and gas supplies.

It was a truly life altering experience that made me grateful for the Red Cross, Police officers and ordinary citizens who stepped forward to provide disaster relief. I wrote an op-ed piece for my local paper pleading for donations to the Red Cross and Salvation Army and stressing the massive destruction along the gulf coast in places like Gulfport and Bay St. Louis that got a lot less media coverage than New Orleans. I continue to receive first person updates from my friend in Gulfport who has a new roof on her house and is redoing her kitchen which was damaged by the storm. She reports that it’s hard to be there in the aftermath but life goes on and the community is rebuilding. My heart goes out to all who lost so much and are struggling to put their lives back together.

Barb Forcier is a 52 year old young onset Parkinsonian, recently separated and operating an artisan jewelry and collectibles business, Victoria Rose Cottage, at Ruby Lane. Visit her store at http://www.rubylane.com/shops/victoriarosecottage